CHAPTER XVI. THE TRAPPER'S CABIN
Dan felt a glow of pleasure as he neared the log cabin which nestledagainst the mountain, sheltered by rock walls on the side from which theworst storms always came.
Eagerly he looked ahead, hoping that he would see the girl. He wanted tothank her for having saved his life, but no one was in sight.
It was a pleasant, home-like place, with chickens clucking cheerfully ina large, wired-in yard. Goats climbed among the rocks at the back, and awashing fluttered on a line at one side, while, to the boy's delight,masses of wild flowers, showing evidence of loving care, carpeted theearth-filled stretches between boulders, and some of them that trailedalong the ground hung over the cliff in vivid bloom. It was Meg's garden,he knew, without being told.
He rapped on the closed front door, but a voice from outside called tohim. "Whoever 'tis, come around here. I'm washin'."
Dan did as he was told and saw a thin, angular woman, who stood up verystraight and looked at him out of keen blue eyes, as she wiped her sudsyhands on her gingham apron. Then she brushed back her graying locks.
Her smile was a friendly one. "You're Dan Abbott's son, ain't you?" shebegan at once. "Hank Wallace, him as drives the stage, stopped in fordinner to our place yesterday and he told us all about having fetched youup. Pa and I knew your pa, and your ma, too, years back, afore any of youchildren was living, and long afore I had Meg." The woman nodded towardthe wooded mountain beyond. "Meg's out studyin' some fandangled thing shecalls bot'ny." Then she waved a bony hand toward the glowing gardens."Them's what she calls her specimens. Queer things they get to larnin' inschools nowadays. I didn't have much iddication. None at all is more likethe real of it. But pa, he went summers for a spell, and learned readin',writin' and 'rithmetic. All a person needs to know in these mountains;but Meg, now, she's been goin' ever since she could talk, seems like.Notion Pa Heger took. He got talked into doin' it by Preacher Bellows."Then, before saying more, the woman cautiously scanned the woods and theroad. Feeling sure that there was no one near enough to hear her, sheconfided: "You see, we ain't dead sure who Meg is. She was about threewhen one of the Ute squaw women fetched her, all done up in one of thembright-colored blankets they make. It was a terrible stormy night.There'd been a cloudburst, and the thunder made this old mountain shakefor true. Pa Heger said he heard someone at the door, and I said 'twasthe wind. He said he knew better, and he went to see. There stood a Utesquaw, and she grunted something and held out the blanket bundle. Pa tookit, bein' as he heard a cry inside of it. That squaw didn't stop. Sheshuffled away and Pa shut the door quick to keep the storm out.
"'Well, Ma,' he says, turning to me, 'what d' s'pose we've got here?'
"'Some Indian papoose,' I reckoned 'twas.
"'Well, if 'tis,' said he, 'I can't throw it out into this awful storm.We'll have to keep it till it clears, an' then I'll pack it back to theUtes.'
"They was over at the Crazy Creek camp then, but when that storm let up,and Pa did go over, there wa'n't a hide or hair left of that Ute tribe.They'd gone to better huntin' grounds, the way they allays do, and we'venever seen 'em since. None of 'em 'cept ol' Slinkin' Coyote. It's queerthe way he sticks to it that he's Meg's pa, but my man won't listen toit. Gets mad as anythin' if I as much as say maybe it's true. He'll rave,Pa will, an' say: 'Look at our Meg! Does she look like a young 'un ofthat skulkin' old wildcat?' Pa says, an' I have to agree she don't. Buthe pesters her, askin' for money. That is, he used to afore Pa Heger setthe law on him. Pa has a paper from the sheriff, givin' him the right toarrest that ol' Ute if he ever sets eyes on him.
"But I declare to it! Here comes Pa Heger himself. He'll be glad to meetyou, bein' as he knew your pa so well."
The lad turned eagerly. He was always glad to meet someone who had knownhis father in the long ago years, when he had come West, just afterleaving college, hoping to win a fortune.
Then, as the boy waited for the man to come up, he wondered why Meg didnot return. Didn't she care to make his acquaintance?
"Pa Heger," as he liked to be called, was a pleasant-faced man whosedeeply wrinkled, leathery countenance showed at once that he hadweathered wind and storm through many a long year in the mountains.
As Ma Heger had done, he seemed to know intuitively who the visitor was.But before he could speak, his talkative spouse began:
"Pa, ain't this boy the splittin' image of Danny Abbott, him as used tocome over to set by our fire and hear you spin them trappin' yarns o'yourn? That was afore he went away an' got married. 'Arter that he wa'n'talone when he come climbin' up the mountain, but along of him was thesweetest purtiest little creature I'd ever sot my eyes on. The two of 'emwere a fine lookin' pair."
Dan shook hands with the silent man, who showed his pleasure more withhis smiling eyes than with words. He was quite willing to let his wife domost of the talking. The lad was pleased with the praise given his fatherand mother, when they were young, and he at once told Mrs. Heger that hissister Jane, who was with him, very closely resembled that bride of longago.
"Wall, now," the good woman exclaimed, "how I'd like to see the gal.She'n my Meg ought to get on fine, if she's anyhow as friendly as her mawas. Mis' Abbott used to come right out to my kitchen. She'd been goin'to some fandangly cookin' school, the while she was gettin' ready to bemarried, and she larned me a lot of things to make kitchen work easier.I'm doin' some of 'em yet, and thinkin' of her often."
Dan did not comment on the possibility of his proud sister becoming anintimate friend of the mountain girl, but, for himself, he found that hevery much wanted to know more about their adopted daughter.
"Mr. Heger," he turned to the man, who stood shyly twirling his fur cap,"your daughter has just saved my life."
His listeners both looked very much surprised.
"Why, how come that?" Mrs. Heger inquired. "You didn't say as how you'dseen Meg, all the time I was talkin' about her."
Dan might have replied that he had not had an opportunity to say much ofanything. But to an interested audience he related the recent occurrence.
"Pshaw, that's queer now!" Pa Heger scratched his gray head back of oneear, which Dan was to learn was a habit with him when he was puzzled.
"You say the mountain lion was crouched to spring at you? Then it must o'been that she had some young near. They're cowards when it comes tohumans, them lions are. They kill sheep an' calves an' deer, an' all thelittle wild critters, but they don't often attack a man. They'll trail'em for hours, curious, sort of, I reckon, keepin' out of sight. Makesyou feel mighty uncomfortable to know one of them big critters isprowlin' arter you, whatever his intentions may be. But that 'un, now,you was mentionin', I'll walk back wi' you, when you go, an' take a lookat it. Thar's a bounty paid for 'em by the ranchers. An' if young airnear by, there'll be no time better for puttin' an end to 'em."
Ma Heger glanced often toward the wooded mountain beyond Meg's "Bot'nyGardens." Then to her husband she said: "I reckon Meg knows thar'scompany, an' that's why she's stayin' so long. She said to me, 'Ma, Iain't agoin' to school today,' says she. 'I reckon I'll get some morespecimens.'"
At that the man looked up quickly, evident alarm in his clear blue eyes.
"Did she say anything about havin' seen that skulkin' Ute? Has he beenpesterin' her? The day arter she's given him money, she don' dare go toschool, fearin' he'll be rarin' drunk wi' fire-water an' waylay her. Ifever I come up wi' that coyote, I'll--I'll----"
The wife tried to quiet the increasing anger of her spouse.
"Pa Heger," she said, "you're alarmin' yerself needless. That Ute knowsthe sheriff gave you power to jail him, an' he's mos' likely gone to wharhis tribe is."
Dan stood silently, wondering what he ought to say. He knew that Meg hadgiven the old Indian money, and he realized that was why she had been athome to save his life.
"I shall be glad to have you walk back with me, Mr. Heger," he said.
Dan wanted to be alone w
ith the mountaineer. When they had started downthe mountain road, the man at Dan's side was silent, a frown gathering onhis leathery forehead. Suddenly he blurted out: "This here business hasgot to stop. That slinkin' ol' Ute's got to prove that my Meg is his gal.In the courts, he's got to prove it, or I'll have him strung up. Jail'stoo good for him. Pesterin' a little gal to get her to give up hersavin's that she's been puttin' by this five year past, meanin' to go toschool in the big city and larn to be a teacher. That's what Meg'sfiggerin' on, and that skulkin' Ute drainin' it away from her little bylittle. I made her pack a gun, an' tol' her to shoot him on sight, but Ireckon she ain't got the heart to take a life, though I'd sooner trap himthan I would a--well, a coyote that he's named arter."
Dan could be quiet no longer. "Mr. Heger," he said, "it was about thatvery Indian that I came up here to talk to you this morning. I saw him inhiding near our cabin. Yesterday afternoon he frightened the children,although he did not come out into the open; then about two hours later wesaw him hiding behind boulders on the road below us. He waylaid yourdaughter, just as you fear. Also she gave him money." While the boy hadbeen talking, the man's great knotted hands had closed and unclosed andcords swelled out on his reddening face. "I knew it," he cried. "DanAbbott, I want you to help me catch that Ute. Meg won't. She ain't surebut what he is her pa, an' it's agin nature to ask her to harm him. Iwon't let on that you tol' me, but, Dan, we've got to trap him. Youneedn't be afraid of him. He won't harm you or your family. He's toocowardly for that. What's more, he's paralyzed in one arm; it's allshriveled up so he can't hold a gun."
Dan felt greatly relieved upon hearing this, and wishing to change theconversation to something pleasanter, he inquired how soon Meg expectedto be able to go away to school. But the subject evidently was notpleasant to the old man. "Next fall's the time, an' me and ma can't bringourselves to think on it. Snowed in all winter without Meg's 'bout aspleasin' as bein' shet in a tomb." The anger had all died out of theleathery, wrinkled face and in the blue eyes there shone that wonderfullove-light that is the most beautiful thing the world holds. "Queer, now,ain't it, how a slip of a baby girl could fill up two lives the way Megdid our'n from the start. An' she cares for us jest as much as we forher, I reckon. 'Pears like she does." The old man's voice had becometender as he spoke.
"I'm sure of it," Dan said heartily. Then, after a pause, Pa Hegercontinued slowly: "That gal of our'n has the queerest notions. One's theway she takes to flowers." Then, looking up inquiringly, "Did Ma tell youhow she earned the money she's savin' for her iddication?" Dan shook hishead, and so the old man continued: "Teacher Bellows 'twas got herstarted on it. He's what folks call a naturalist, an' when he used tostay up to our cabin for weeks at a time an' he'd take Meg wi' himspecimen huntin'. Seems like thar's museum places all over this herecountry that wants specimens of flowers growin' high up in the Rockies.So Teacher Bellows and Meg would hunt for days, startin' early everymornin' and late back in the arternoon, till they had a set of specimens.They'd press 'em till they was dry as paper, then mount 'em, as they callit, an' send 'em off to a museum, and along come a check. Arter TeacherBellows went back to his school, Meg kept right on doin' it by herself,him helpin' now an' then, an' she's saved nigh enough for the two years'schoolin' she'll need to be a low grade schoolmarm. She's got anotherqueer notion, Meg has. I wonder if Ma tol' you about that?" The old manlooked up inquiringly, and Dan, finding himself very much interested inthe notions of this girl whom he did not know, said that he would verymuch like to hear about it.
The old man removed his fur cap and scratched his gray head again. Hisvoice grew even more tender. "You know what it says in that good bookPreacher Bellows is allays readin' out of, how a little child shall lead.Wall, that's sartin what Meg's done for me and Ma Heger. When she wasabout six year old, or maybe, now, she was seven, it was curious howfriendly even the skeeriest little wild critters was toward her. Shecould feed 'em out of her hand, arter a little coaxin', an' how she loved'em! You see, they was all the playmates she's ever had. Then 'twas shestarted her horspital for hurt critters, an' she's kept it goin' eversence. Got one now, but, plague it, I can't remember what kind ofpatients she's got into it. She won't keep nothin' captive arter they'rewell enough to fight for themselves out in the forest. Wall, as I wassayin' back a piece, Meg was about seven as I recollect, when she sort ofsudden like seemed to realize how 'twas I made my livin', trappin' wildanimals and sellin' their skins at the tradin' post.
"But even then, she didn't fully sense what it meant, seemed like, tillthe day we couldn't find her nowhar. She'd never gone far into themountains afore that, but when she didn't come home at noonday, Ma askedme to go an' hunt for her. It was late arternoon afore I come upon her,an' I'll never forget that sight as long as I'm livin'.
"My habit was to set them powerful steel traps to catch mountain lionsand the fur animals I wanted for pelts. Then, every few days, I'd go theround and shoot the critters that had been caught in 'em. Wall, as I wasgoin' toward whar one of them big traps was. I heard sech a pitifulcryin'. Good God, but I was wild wi' fear, an' I ran like wolves wasarter me. I'd a notion our baby gal was catched in it. An' thar she was,sure enough, but not hurt. Instead she was down on the ground wi' herarms around a little black bear cub that had been catched hours beforeand was all torn and bleedin'.
"The fight was gone out o' him, but he wa'n't dead yet. It was our littleMeg who was doin' the cryin'. Clingin' to the little fellow, not heedin'the blood, her sobbin' was pitiful to hear. I picked her up, an' I ain't'shamed to be tellin' you that I was cryin' myself along about that time.
"'Take him out, Pa,' my little gal was beggin'. 'Maybe he'll get well,Pa.'
"So I opened the great steel jaws of that trap and took out the littlecub bear. He was too small to be worth anything for a pelt, an' wefetched him home, but he died soon arter, and Meg, she had me bury him.But she couldn't get over what she had seen. She had a ragin' fever fordays. I sot up every night holdin' her little quiverin' body close in myarms, an' prayin' God if he'd let my little gal live, I'd never setanother of them cruel steel traps to catch any of His critters as long asI'd breath in my body.
"Wall, boy, sort of a miracle took place. That little gal of mine hadfallen asleep while I sat holdin' her, but jest as I made that promise,silent to God, she lifted up her little hand and put it soft like on myface, an' says, still asleep, seemed like--'I love you, Pa Heger.' An'when she woke up next mornin', the fever was gone, and she was well asever.
"I kept my promise," he went on grimly. "I went all over the mountain an'I took them steel traps, one by one, unsprung 'em and dropped 'em downinto that crack some earthquake had split into Bald Peak. It'sbottomless, seems like, an' what goes into that crack never does no moreharm. Now, when I kill a critter that needs killin', I shoot an' theynever know what hits 'em. Meg is a sure-shot, too, though she'd neverpack a gun if 'twant that I make her."
They had reached the spot where the mountain lion still lay, and the oldman stooped to examine it. "I reckon that was a sure shot, all right."Then he shouldered the limp creature. "Thar's fifty dollars bounty, so Imight as well have it. I'll hunt for the cubs tomorrer. So long. Hit thetrail up our way often."
As Dan walked slowly down the mountain road toward his home cabin, hefound that he was more interested in this unknown Meg than he had everbefore been in any girl.
Jane's headache was better when Dan returned, but her disposition wasworse, and poor Julie was about ready to cry. She had been spoken to sosharply when she had really tried to help. Gerald was angry andindignant. He had at first urged his small sister and comrade to pretendthat Jane was being pleasant, but, after a time, even he had decided thatsuch a feat was too much for anyone to accomplish. Then he hadintentionally slammed a door and had declared that he hoped it would make"ol' Jane's" head worse.
It was well that Dan returned just when he did. He entered the cabinliving-room calling cheerily, "Good, Jane, I'm glad to see you are up."Then he looked from one to the other. Ju
lie, tearful, rebellious, stoodnear the kitchen door, and Gerald, with clenched fists, had evidentlybeen saying something of a defiant nature. "Why, what's the matter? Whathas gone wrong?"
Dan was indeed dismayed at the picture before him. Jane, who had seatedherself in the one comfortable chair in the room, said peevishly:"Everything is the matter. Dan, you can see for yourself what a mistake Imade in coming to this terrible place, and trying to live with these twochildren who have had no training whatever. They are defiant andrebellious."
Even as Jane spoke, a memoried picture presented itself of Julie's sweetsolicitude for her earlier that morning, but she would not heed, so shehurried on: "I have been lying in there with this frightful headachethinking it all out, and I have decided that either the children must goback or I will." A hard look, unusual in Dan's face, appeared there andhis voice sounded cold. "Very well, Jane, I will help you pack. The stagepasses soon. If we hurry, we may be ready." The children could hardlykeep from shouting for joy. Something which Julie was cooking, boiledover and so she darted to the kitchen, followed by Gerald, who stood uponhis head in the middle of the floor. But they had rejoiced too soon, forGerry, who a moment later went to the brook for water, returned with thedisheartening news that the stage was passing down their part of theroad. Julie plumped down on the floor and her mouth quivered, but beforeshe could cry, Gerald caught her hands, pulled her up and saidcomfortingly: "Never mind, Jule. The stage will be going past again onMonday. Me and you'll stay on the watch and tell Mister Sourface to stopfor Jane when he goes back to Redfords on Tuesday. That is not so awfullong. Oh, boy, then won't we have the time of our lives?"
Julie agreed that they would indeed and decided to be very patient duringthe remaining two days. So she went back to her cooking and, withGerald's help, soon had the lunch spread.
Jane ate but little, and again shut herself up in her room for all thatafternoon. Dan was almost as glad as were the children that she was to goback to the East, but Jane, strangely enough, was deeply hurt because herbrother, who had been her playmate when they were little, and her pal inlater years, had actually chosen the younger children in preference toherself. That proved how much he really cared for _her_ and, as for hishealth, he seemed to be recovering remarkably. He had coughed a while theevening before, and for a shorter time that morning.
Then he had evidently been on a long hike. Of all that had happened Danhad said nothing, knowing that Jane would not wish to hear about themountain girl, toward whom she felt so unkindly.
That afternoon Dan gave the children another lesson at shooting conesfrom an old pine, far enough from the cabin to keep from disturbing Jane.Julie grew braver as she watched Gerald's success, and at last she tootried, and when, after many failures, she sent a brown cone spinning, sheleaped about wild with joy.
"Now we are both sharpshooters," Gerald cried generously. Then, glancingover at the cabin, he added: "There's Jane sitting out on the porch. Shedoes look sort of sick, doesn't she?"
Dan's heart was touched when he saw the forlorn attitude of the sister heso loved. "You youngsters amuse yourselves for a while," he suggested, "Iwant to have a quiet talk with Jane." Dan neglected to tell the childrennot to wander away.