CHAPTER VIII
WHAT CAME OUT OF THE MIST
It was several hours after Frank Weatherby had set out on the McIntyretrail--when the sun had risen to a point where it came mottling throughthe tree-tops and dried the vines and bushes along the fragrant,yielding path below--that a girl came following in the way which led upthe mountain top. She wore a stout outing costume--short skirt andblouse, heavy boots, and an old felt school hat pinned firmly toluxuriant dark hair. On her arm she carried the basket of manywanderings, and her step was that of health and strength and purpose.One watching Constance Deane unawares--noting her carriage and surenessof foot, the easy grace with which she overcame the various obstructionsin her path--might have said that she belonged by right to these woods,was a part of them, and one might have added that she was a perfectflowering of this splendid forest.
On the evening before, she had inquired of Robin the precise entrance tothe McIntyre trail, and with his general directions she had nohesitation now in setting out on her own account to make the climb whichwould bring her to the coveted specimens at the mountain top. She wouldsecure them with the aid of no one and so give Frank an exhibition ofher independence, and perhaps impress him a little with his own lack ofambition and energy. She had avoided the Lodge, making her way aroundthe lake to the trail, and had left no definite word at home as to herdestination, for it was quite certain that Mrs. Deane would worry if itbecame known that Constance had set off up the mountain alone. Yet shefelt thoroughly equal to the undertaking. In her basket she carried somesandwiches, and she had no doubt of being able to return to the Lodgeduring the afternoon, where she had a certain half-formed idea offinding Frank disconsolately waiting--a rather comforting--even ifpathetic--picture of humiliation.
Constance did not linger at the trout-brook which had enticed Frank fromthe narrow upward path, save to dip up a cold drink with the little cupshe carried, and to rest up a moment and watch the leaping water as itfoamed and sang down the natural stairway which led from one mystery inthe dark vistas above to another mystery and wider vistasbelow--somehow, at last, to reach that deeper and vaster and moreimpenetrable mystery--the sea. She recalled some old German linesbeginning, "_Du Bachlein, silberhell und klar_," and then she rememberedhaving once recited them to Frank, and how he had repeated them in anEnglish translation:
"Thou brooklet, silver-bright and clear-- Forever passing--always here-- Upon thy brink I sit, and think Whence comest thou? Whence goest thou?"
He had not confessed it, but she suspected the translation to be hisown, and it had exasperated her that one who could do a thing well andwith such facility should set so little store by his gift, when another,with a heart hunger for achievement, should have been left so unfavoredof the gods.
She walked rather more slowly when she had passed the brook--musing uponthese things. Then presently the path became precipitous and narrow, andled through thick bushes, and over or under difficult obstructions.Constance drew on a thick pair of gloves to grapple with rough limbs andsharp points of rock. Here and there were fairly level stretches andeasy going, but for the most part it was up and up--steeper andsteeper--over stones and logs, through heavy bushes and vines thatmatted across the trail, so that one must stoop down and burrow like arabbit not to miss the way.
Miss Deane began to realize presently that the McIntyre trail wassomewhat less easy than she had anticipated.
"If Robin calls this an easy trail, I should like to know what he meansby a hard one," she commented aloud, as she made her way through a greattumble of logs only to find that the narrow path disappeared into aclump of bushes beyond and apparently brought up plump against aplunging waterfall on the other side. "One would have to be a perfectsalmon to scale that!"
But arriving at the foot of the fall, she found that the trail merelycrossed the pool below and was clearly marked beyond. This was the brookwhich Frank had not reached. It was no great distance from the summit.
But now the climb became steeper than ever--a hand over hand affair,with scratched face and torn dress and frequent pauses for breath. Therewas no longer any tall timber, but only masses of dwarfed and twistedlittle oak trees--a few feet high, though gnarled and gray with age, andloaded with acorns. Constance knew these for the scrub-oak, thatdegenerate but persistent little scion of a noble race, that pushes itsminiature forests to the very edge and into the last crevice of thebarren mountain top. Soon this diminutive wilderness began to separateinto segments and the trail reached a comparative level. Then suddenlyit became solid rock, with only here and there a clump of the stuntedoak, or a bit of grass. The girl realized that she must be on the summitand would presently reach the peak, where, from a crevice, grew theobject of her adventure. She paused a moment for breath, and tostraighten her disheveled hair. Also she turned for a look at the viewwhich she thought must lie behind her. But she gave a little cry ofdisappointment. A white wraith of mist, like the very ghost of a cloud,was creeping silently along the mountain side and veiled the vision ofthe wide lands below. Where she stood the air was still clear, but sheimagined the cloud was creeping nearer and would presently envelop themountain-top. She would hurry to the peak and try to get a view from theother side, which after all was considered the best outlook.
The trail now led over solid granite and could be followed only bylittle cairns or heaps of stone, placed at some distance apart, but inthe clear air easily seen from one to the other. She moved rapidly, forthe way was no longer steep, and ere long the tripod which marked thehighest point, and near which Robin had seen the strange waxen flower,was outlined against the sky. A moment later when she looked it seemedto her less clear. The air, too, had a chill damp feeling. She turnedquickly to look behind her, and uttered a little cry of surprise thatwas almost terror. The cloud ghost was upon her--she was alreadyenveloped in its trailing cerements. Behind, all was white, and when sheturned again the tripod too had well-nigh disappeared. As if about tolose the object of her quest, she started to run, and when an instantlater the beacon was lost in a thick fold of white she again opened herlips in a wild despairing cry. Yet she did not stop, but raced on,forgetting even the little guiding cairns which pointed the way. Itwould have made no difference had she remembered them, for the cloudbecame so dense that she could not have seen one from the other. Howclose it shut her in, this wall of white, as impalpable and as opaque asthe smoke of burning grass!
It seemed a long way to the tripod. It must have been farther than shehad thought. Suddenly she realized that the granite no longer rose alittle before her, but seemed to drop away. She had missed the tripod,then, and was descending on the other side. Turning, she retraced hersteps, more slowly now, trying to keep the upward slope before her. Butsoon she realized that in this thick and mystifying whiteness she couldnot be certain of the level--that by thinking so she could make thegranite seem to slope a little up or down, and in the same manner, now,she could set the tripod in any direction from her at will. Confused,half terrified at the thought, she stood perfectly still, trying tothink. The tripod, she knew, could not be more than a few yards distant,but surrounded by these enchanted walls which ever receded, yet alwaysclosed about her she must only wander helplessly and find it by merechance. And suppose she found it, and suppose she secured the object ofher search, how, in this blind spot, would she find her way back to thetrail? She recalled now what Robin had said of keeping the trail in thefog. Her heart became cold--numb. The chill mist had crept into her veryveins. She was lost--lost as men have been lost in the snow--to diealmost within their own door-yards. If this dread cloud would only pass,all would be well, but she remembered, too, hopelessly enough, that shehad told no one of her venture, that no one would know where to seekher.
And now the sun, also, must be obscured, for the world was darkening. Anair that pierced her very marrow blew across the mountain and a drop ofrain struck her cheek. Oh, it would be wretched without shelter to facea storm in that bleak spot. She must at least try--she must make every
effort to find the trail. She set out in what she believed to be a widecircuit of the peak, and was suddenly rejoiced to come upon one of thelittle piles of stones which she thought must be one of the cairns,leading to the trail. But which way must she look for the next? Shestrained her eyes through the milky gloom, but could distinguish nothingbeyond a few yards of granite at her feet. It did not avail her toremain by the cairn, yet she dreaded to leave a spot which was at leasta point in the human path. She did so, at last, only to wander down intoan unmarked waste, to be brought all at once against a segment of thescrub-oak forest and to find before her a sort of opening which shethought might be the trail. Eagerly in the gathering gloom she examinedthe face of the granite for some trace of human foot and imagined shecould make out a mark here and there as of boot nails. Then she came toa bit of grass that seemed trampled down. Her heart leaped. Oh, thismust be the trail, after all!
She hastened forward, half running in her eagerness. Branches slappedand tore at her garments--long, tenuous filaments, wet and web-like,drew across her face. Twice she fell and bruised herself cruelly. Andwhen she rose the second time, her heart stopped with fear, for she layjust on the edge of a ghastly precipice--the bottom of which was lost inmist and shadows. It had only been a false trail, after all. Weak andtrembling she made her way back to the open summit, fearing even thatshe might miss this now and so be without the last hope of finding theway, or of being found at last herself.
Back on the solid granite once more, she made a feeble effort to findone of the cairns, or the tripod, anything that had known the humantouch. But now into her confused senses came the recollection that manyparties climbed McIntyre, and she thought that one such might havechosen to-day and be somewhere within call. She stood still to listenfor possible voices, but there was no sound, and the bitter air acrossthe summit made her shrink and tremble. Then she uttered a loud, long,"Hoo-oo-woo-o!" a call she had learned of mountaineers as a child. Shelistened breathlessly for an answer. It was no use. Yet she would callagain--at least it was an effort--a last hope.
"Hoo-oo-woo-oo!" and again "Hoo-oo-woo-oo!" And then her very pulsesceased, for somewhere, far away it seemed, from behind that wall ofwhite her ear caught an answering cry. Once more she called--this timewildly, with every bit of power she could summon. Once more came theanswering "Hoo-oo-woo-oo!" and now it seemed much nearer.
She started to run in the direction of the voice, stopping every fewsteps to call, and to hear the reassuring reply. She was at the brushyedge of the summit when through the mist came the words--it was a man'svoice, and it made her heart leap----
"Stay where you are! Don't move--I will come to you!"
She stood still, for in that voice there was a commanding tone which shewas only too eager to obey. She called again and again, but she waited,and all at once, right in front of her it seemed, the voice said:
"Well, Conny, it's a good thing I found you. If you had played aroundhere much longer you might have got wet."
But Constance was in no mood to take the matter lightly.
"Frank! Oh, Frank!" she cried, and half running, half reeling forward,she fell into his arms.
And then for a little she gave way and sobbed on his shoulder, just asany girl might have done who had been lost and miserable and had all atonce found the shoulder of a man she loved. Then, brokenly----
"Oh, Frank--how did you know I was here?"
His arm was about her and he was holding her close. But for the rest, hewas determined to treat it lightly.
"Well, you know," he said, "you made a good deal of noise about it, andI thought I recognized the tones."
"But how did you come to set out to look for me? How did you know that Icame? Oh, it was brave of you--in this awful fog and with no guide!"
She believed, then, that he had set out purposely to search for her. Hewould let her think so for the moment.
"Why, that's nothing," he said; "a little run up the mountain is justfun for me, and as for fogs, I've always had a weakness for fogs since awinter in London. I didn't really know you were up here, but that mightbe the natural conclusion if you weren't at home, or at the Lodge--afterwhat happened yesterday, of course."
"Oh, Frank, forgive me--I was so horrid yesterday."
"Don't mention it--I didn't give it a second thought."
"But, Frank--" then suddenly she stopped, for her eye had caught thebasket, and the great fish dangling at his side. "Frank!" she concluded,"where in the world did you get that enormous trout?"
It was no use after that, so he confessed and briefly told her thetale--how it was by accident that he had found her--how he had set outat daybreak to find the wonderful flower.
"And haven't you found it either?" he asked, glancing down at herbasket.
Then, in turn, she told how she had missed the tripod just as the fogcame down and could not get near it again.
"And oh, I have lost my luncheon, too," she exclaimed, "and you must bestarving. I must have lost it when I fell."
"Then we'll waste no time in getting home. It's beginning to rain alittle now. We'll be pretty miserable if we stay up here any longer."
"But the trail--how will you find it in this awful mist?"
"Well, it should be somewhere to the west, I think, and with thecompass, you see----"
He had been feeling in a pocket and now stared at her blankly.
"I am afraid I have lost something, too," he exclaimed, "my compass. Ihad it a little while ago and put it in the change pocket of my coat tohave it handy. I suppose the last time I fell down, it slipped out."
He searched hastily in his other pockets, but to no purpose.
"Never mind," he concluded, cheerfully. "All ways lead down themountain. If we can't find the trail we can at least go down till wefind something. If it's a brook or ravine we'll follow that till we getsomewhere. Anything is better than shivering here."
They set out in the direction where it seemed to Frank the trail mustlie. Suddenly a tall shape loomed up before them. It was the tripod.
"Oh!" Constance gasped, "and I hunted for it so long!"
"Those flowers, or whatever they were, should be over here, I think,"Frank said, and Constance produced a little plan which Robin had givenher. But when in the semi-dusk they groped to the spot only some wet,blackened pulp remained of the curious growth. The tender flower of thepeak had perhaps bloomed and perished in a day. Frank lamented thismisfortune, but Constance expressed a slighter regret. They made aneffort now to locate the cairns, but with less success. They did notfind even one, and after wandering about for a little could not find thetripod again, either.
"Never mind," consoled Frank, "we'll trust a little to instinct. Perhapsit will lead us to something." In fact, they came presently to thefringe of scrub-oak, and to what seemed an open way. But Constance shookher head.
"I do not think this is the beginning of the trail. I followed just suchan opening, and it led me to that dreadful cliff."
Perhaps it was the same false lead, for presently an abyss yawned beforethem.
"I shouldn't wonder," speculated Frank, "if this isn't a part of thecliff that I climbed. If we follow along, it may lead us to the sameplace. Then we may be able to make our way over it and down to the riverand so home. It's a long way, but a sure one, if we can only find it."
They proceeded cautiously along the brink for the light was dim and theway uncertain. They grew warmer now, for they were away from the bitterair of the mountain top, and in constant motion. When they had followedthe cliff for perhaps half a mile, Frank suddenly stopped.
"What is it?" asked Constance, "is this where you climbed up?"
Her companion only pointed over the brink.
"Look," he said, "it is not a cliff, here, but one side of a chasm. Ican see trees on the other side."
Sure enough, dimly through the gloom, not many feet away, appeared theoutline of timber of considerable growth, showing that they haddescended somewhat, also an increased depth of soil. It was furtherevi
dent that the canon was getting narrower, and presently they cameupon two logs, laid across it side by side, forming a sort of bridge.Frank knelt and examined them closely.
"Some one has used this," he said. "This may be a trail. Do you think wecan get over, Conny?"
The girl looked at the narrow crossing and at the darkening woodsbeyond. It was that period of stillness and deepening gloom whichprecedes a mountain storm. Still early in the day, one might easilybelieve that night was descending. Constance shuddered. She was a bitnervous and unstrung.
"There is something weird about it," she said. "It is like entering theenchanted forest. Oh, I can cross well enough--it isn't that," andstepping lightly on the little footway she walked as steadily and firmlyas did Frank, a moment later.
"You're a brick, Conny," he said heartily.
An opening in the bushes at the end of the little bridge revealeditself. They entered and pushed along, for the way led downward. Thedarkness grew momentarily. Rain was beginning to fall. Yet they hurriedon, single file, Frank leading and parting the vines and limbs to makethe way easier for his companion. They came presently to a little openspace, where suddenly he halted.
"There's a light," he said, "it must be a camp."
But Constance clung to his arm. It was now quite dark where they stood,and there came a low roll of thunder overhead.
"Oh, suppose it is something dreadful!" she whispered--"a robbers' den,or moonshiners. I've heard of such things."
"It's more likely to be a witch," said Frank, "or an ogre, but I thinkwe must risk it."
The rain came faster and they hurried forward now and presently stood atthe door of a habitation, though even in the mist and gloom it impressedthem as being of a curious sort. There was a window and a light,certainly, but the window held no sash, and the single opening wascovered with a sort of skin, or parchment. There was a door, too, andwalls, but beyond this the structure seemed as a part of the forestitself, with growing trees forming the door and corner posts, whileothers rose apparently from the roof. Further outlines of this unusualstructure were lost in the dimness. Under the low, sheltering eaves theyhesitated.
"Shall we knock?" whispered Constance. "It is all so queer--so uncanny.I feel as if it might be the home of a real witch or magician, orsomething like that."
"Then we may at least learn our fate," Frank answered, and with hisknuckles struck three raps on the heavy door.
At first there was silence, then a sound of movement within, followed bya shuffling step. A moment later the heavy door swung ajar, and in thedim light from within Frank and Constance beheld a tall bowed figurestanding in the opening. In a single brief glance they saw that it was aman--also that his appearance, like that of his house, was unusual. Hewas dressed entirely in skins. His beard was upon his breast, and hisstraggling hair fell about his shoulders. He stood wordless, silentlyregarding the strangers, and Frank at first was at a loss for utterance.Then he said, hesitatingly:
"We missed our way on the mountain. We want shelter from the storm anddirections to the trail that leads to Spruce Lodge."
Still the tall bent figure in the doorway made no movement and utteredno word. They could not see his face, but Constance felt that his eyeswere fixed upon her, and she clung closer to Frank's arm. Yet when thestrange householder spoke at last there was nothing to cause fear,either in his words or tone. His voice was gentle--not much above awhisper.
"I crave your pardon if I seem slow of hospitality," he said, quaintly,"but a visitor seldom comes to my door. Only one other has ever foundhis way here, and he comes not often." He pushed the rude door wider onits creaking withe hinges. "I bid you welcome," he added, then, asConstance came more fully into the light shed by a burning pine knot andan open fire, he stopped, stared at her still more fixedly and mutteredsomething under his breath. But a moment later he said gently, his voicebarely more than a whisper: "I pray you will pardon my staring, but inthat light just now you recalled some one--a woman it was--I used toknow. Besides, I have not been face to face with any woman for nearly ascore of years."