CHAPTER XIV
On the next morning Helen was awakened by what she imagined had been adream of some one shouting. With a start she sat up. The sunshine showedpink and gold on the ragged spruce line of the mountain rims. Bo was onher knees, braiding her hair with shaking hands, and at the same timetrying to peep out.
And the echoes of a ringing cry were cracking back from the cliffs. Thathad been Dale's voice.
"Nell! Nell! Wake up!" called Bo, wildly. "Oh, some one's come! Horsesand men!"
Helen got to her knees and peered out over Bo's shoulder. Dale, standingtall and striking beside the campfire, was waving his sombrero. Awaydown the open edge of the park came a string of pack-burros with mountedmen behind. In the foremost rider Helen recognized Roy Beeman.
"That first one's Roy!" she exclaimed. "I'd never forget him on ahorse.... Bo, it must mean Uncle Al's come!"
"Sure! We're born lucky. Here we are safe and sound--and all this grandcamp trip.... Look at the cowboys.... LOOK! Oh, maybe this isn't great!"babbled Bo.
Dale wheeled to see the girls peeping out.
"It's time you're up!" he called. "Your uncle Al is here."
For an instant after Helen sank back out of Dale's sight she sat thereperfectly motionless, so struck was she by the singular tone of Dale'svoice. She imagined that he regretted what this visiting cavalcade ofhorsemen meant--they had come to take her to her ranch in Pine. Helen'sheart suddenly began to beat fast, but thickly, as if muffled within herbreast.
"Hurry now, girls," called Dale.
Bo was already out, kneeling on the flat stone at the little brook,splashing water in a great hurry. Helen's hands trembled so that shecould scarcely lace her boots or brush her hair, and she was long behindBo in making herself presentable. When Helen stepped out, a short,powerfully built man in coarse garb and heavy boots stood holding Bo'shands.
"Wal, wal! You favor the Rayners," he was saying, "I remember your dad,an' a fine feller he was."
Beside them stood Dale and Roy, and beyond was a group of horses andriders.
"Uncle, here comes Nell," said Bo, softly.
"Aw!" The old cattle-man breathed hard as he turned.
Helen hurried. She had not expected to remember this uncle, but one lookinto the brown, beaming face, with the blue eyes flashing, yet sad, andshe recognized him, at the same instant recalling her mother.
He held out his arms to receive her.
"Nell Auchincloss all over again!" he exclaimed, in deep voice, as hekissed her. "I'd have knowed you anywhere!"
"Uncle Al!" murmured Helen. "I remember you--though I was only four."
"Wal, wal,--that's fine," he replied. "I remember you straddled my kneeonce, an' your hair was brighter--an' curly. It ain't neither now....Sixteen years! An' you're twenty now? What a fine, broad-shouldered girlyou are! An', Nell, you're the handsomest Auchincloss I ever seen!"
Helen found herself blushing, and withdrew her hands from his as Roystepped forward to pay his respects. He stood bareheaded, lean and tall,with neither his clear eyes nor his still face, nor the proffered handexpressing anything of the proven quality of fidelity, of achievement,that Helen sensed in him.
"Howdy, Miss Helen? Howdy, Bo?" he said. "You all both look fine an'brown.... I reckon I was shore slow rustlin' your uncle Al up here. ButI was figgerin' you'd like Milt's camp for a while."
"We sure did," replied Bo, archly.
"Aw!" breathed Auchincloss, heavily. "Lemme set down."
He drew the girls to the rustic seat Dale had built for them under thebig pine.
"Oh, you must be tired! How--how are you?" asked Helen, anxiously.
"Tired! Wal, if I am it's jest this here minit. When Joe Beeman rodein on me with thet news of you--wal, I jest fergot I was a worn-out oldhoss. Haven't felt so good in years. Mebbe two such young an' prettynieces will make a new man of me."
"Uncle Al, you look strong and well to me," said Bo. "And young, too,and--"
"Haw! Haw! Thet 'll do," interrupted Al. "I see through you. What you'lldo to Uncle Al will be aplenty.... Yes, girls, I'm feelin' fine. Butstrange--strange! Mebbe thet's my joy at seein' you safe--safe when Ifeared so thet damned greaser Beasley--"
In Helen's grave gaze his face changed swiftly--and all the serriedyears of toil and battle and privation showed, with something that wasnot age, nor resignation, yet as tragic as both.
"Wal, never mind him--now," he added, slowly, and the warmer lightreturned to his face. "Dale--come here."
The hunter stepped closer.
"I reckon I owe you more 'n I can ever pay," said Auchincloss, with anarm around each niece.
"No, Al, you don't owe me anythin'," returned Dale, thoughtfully, as helooked away.
"A-huh!" grunted Al. "You hear him, girls.... Now listen, you wildhunter. An' you girls listen.... Milt, I never thought you much good,'cept for the wilds. But I reckon I'll have to swallow thet. I do.Comin' to me as you did--an' after bein' druv off--keepin' your councilan' savin' my girls from thet hold-up, wal, it's the biggest deal anyman ever did for me.... An' I'm ashamed of my hard feelin's, an' here'smy hand."
"Thanks, Al," replied Dale, with his fleeting smile, and he met theproffered hand. "Now, will you be makin' camp here?"
"Wal, no. I'll rest a little, an' you can pack the girls' outfit--thenwe'll go. Sure you're goin' with us?"
"I'll call the girls to breakfast," replied Dale, and he moved awaywithout answering Auchincloss's query.
Helen divined that Dale did not mean to go down to Pine with them, andthe knowledge gave her a blank feeling of surprise. Had she expected himto go?
"Come here, Jeff," called Al, to one of his men.
A short, bow-legged horseman with dusty garb and sun-bleached facehobbled forth from the group. He was not young, but he had a boyish grinand bright little eyes. Awkwardly he doffed his slouch sombrero.
"Jeff, shake hands with my nieces," said Al. "This 's Helen, an' yourboss from now on. An' this 's Bo, fer short. Her name was Nancy, butwhen she lay a baby in her cradle I called her Bo-Peep, an' the name'sstuck.... Girls, this here's my foreman, Jeff Mulvey, who's been with metwenty years."
The introduction caused embarrassment to all three principals,particularly to Jeff.
"Jeff, throw the packs an' saddles fer a rest," was Al's order to hisforeman.
"Nell, reckon you'll have fun bossin' thet outfit," chuckled Al. "Noneof 'em's got a wife. Lot of scalawags they are; no women would havethem!"
"Uncle, I hope I'll never have to be their boss," replied Helen.
"Wal, you're goin' to be, right off," declared Al. "They ain't a badlot, after all. An' I got a likely new man."
With that he turned to Bo, and, after studying her pretty face,he asked, in apparently severe tone, "Did you send a cowboy namedCarmichael to ask me for a job?"
Bo looked quite startled.
"Carmichael! Why, Uncle, I never heard that name before," replied Bo,bewilderedly.
"A-huh! Reckoned the young rascal was lyin'," said Auchincloss. "But Iliked the fellar's looks an' so let him stay."
Then the rancher turned to the group of lounging riders.
"Las Vegas, come here," he ordered, in a loud voice.
Helen thrilled at sight of a tall, superbly built cowboy reluctantlydetaching himself from the group. He had a red-bronze face, young like aboy's. Helen recognized it, and the flowing red scarf, and the swinginggun, and the slow, spur-clinking gait. No other than Bo's Las Vegascowboy admirer!
Then Helen flashed a look at Bo, which look gave her a delicious,almost irresistible desire to laugh. That young lady also recognized thereluctant individual approaching with flushed and downcast face. Helenrecorded her first experience of Bo's utter discomfiture. Bo turnedwhite then red as a rose.
"Say, my niece said she never heard of the name Carmichael," declaredAl, severely, as the cowboy halted before him. Helen knew her uncle hadthe repute of dealing hard with his men, but here she was reassured andpleased at the twinkle in his
eye.
"Shore, boss, I can't help thet," drawled the cowboy. "It's good oldTexas stock."
He did not appear shamefaced now, but just as cool, easy, clear-eyed,and lazy as the day Helen had liked his warm young face and intent gaze.
"Texas! You fellars from the Pan Handle are always hollerin' Texas.I never seen thet Texans had any one else beat--say from Missouri,"returned Al, testily.
Carmichael maintained a discreet silence, and carefully avoided lookingat the girls.
"Wal, reckon we'll all call you Las Vegas, anyway," continued therancher. "Didn't you say my niece sent you to me for a job?"
Whereupon Carmichael's easy manner vanished.
"Now, boss, shore my memory's pore," he said. "I only says--"
"Don't tell me thet. My memory's not p-o-r-e," replied Al, mimickingthe drawl. "What you said was thet my niece would speak a good word foryou."
Here Carmichael stole a timid glance at Bo, the result of which wasto render him utterly crestfallen. Not improbably he had taken Bo'sexpression to mean something it did not, for Helen read it as a minglingof consternation and fright. Her eyes were big and blazing; a red spotwas growing in each cheek as she gathered strength from his confusion.
"Well, didn't you?" demanded Al.
From the glance the old rancher shot from the cowboy to the others ofhis employ it seemed to Helen that they were having fun at Carmichael'sexpense.
"Yes, sir, I did," suddenly replied the cowboy.
"A-huh! All right, here's my niece. Now see thet she speaks the goodword."
Carmichael looked at Bo and Bo looked at him. Their glances werestrange, wondering, and they grew shy. Bo dropped hers. The cowboyapparently forgot what had been demanded of him.
Helen put a hand on the old rancher's arm.
"Uncle, what happened was my fault," she said. "The train stopped at LasVegas. This young man saw us at the open window. He must have guessed wewere lonely, homesick girls, getting lost in the West. For he spoke tous--nice and friendly. He knew of you. And he asked, in what I tookfor fun, if we thought you would give him a job. And I replied, just totease Bo, that she would surely speak a good word for him."
"Haw! Haw! So thet's it," replied Al, and he turned to Bo with merryeyes. "Wal, I kept this here Las Vegas Carmichael on his say-so. Come onwith your good word, unless you want to see him lose his job."
Bo did not grasp her uncle's bantering, because she was seriously gazingat the cowboy. But she had grasped something.
"He--he was the first person--out West--to speak kindly to us," shesaid, facing her uncle.
"Wal, thet's a pretty good word, but it ain't enough," responded Al.
Subdued laughter came from the listening group. Carmichael shifted fromside to side.
"He--he looks as if he might ride a horse well," ventured Bo.
"Best hossman I ever seen," agreed Al, heartily.
"And--and shoot?" added Bo, hopefully.
"Bo, he packs thet gun low, like Jim Wilson an' all them Texasgun-fighters. Reckon thet ain't no good word."
"Then--I'll vouch for him," said Bo, with finality.
"Thet settles it." Auchincloss turned to the cowboy. "Las Vegas, you'rea stranger to us. But you're welcome to a place in the outfit an' I hopeyou won't never disappoint us."
Auchincloss's tone, passing from jest to earnest, betrayed to Helen theold rancher's need of new and true men, and hinted of trying days tocome.
Carmichael stood before Bo, sombrero in hand, rolling it round andround, manifestly bursting with words he could not speak. And the girllooked very young and sweet with her flushed face and shining eyes.Helen saw in the moment more than that little by-play of confusion.
"Miss--Miss Rayner--I shore--am obliged," he stammered, presently.
"You're very welcome," she replied, softly. "I--I got on the nexttrain," he added.
When he said that Bo was looking straight at him, but she seemed not tohave heard.
"What's your name?" suddenly she asked.
"Carmichael."
"I heard that. But didn't uncle call you Las Vegas?"
"Shore. But it wasn't my fault. Thet cow-punchin' outfit saddled it onme, right off. They Don't know no better. Shore I jest won't answer tothet handle.... Now--Miss Bo--my real name is Tom."
"I simply could not call you--any name but Las Vegas," replied Bo, verysweetly.
"But--beggin' your pardon--I--I don't like thet," blustered Carmichael.
"People often get called names--they don't like," she said, with deepintent.
The cowboy blushed scarlet. Helen as well as he got Bo's inference tothat last audacious epithet he had boldly called out as the train wasleaving Las Vegas. She also sensed something of the disaster in storefor Mr. Carmichael. Just then the embarrassed young man was saved byDale's call to the girls to come to breakfast.
That meal, the last for Helen in Paradise Park, gave rise to a strangeand inexplicable restraint. She had little to say. Bo was in the highestspirits, teasing the pets, joking with her uncle and Roy, and evenpoking fun at Dale. The hunter seemed somewhat somber. Roy was his usualdry, genial self. And Auchincloss, who sat near by, was an interestedspectator. When Tom put in an appearance, lounging with his feline graceinto the camp, as if he knew he was a privileged pet, the rancher couldscarcely contain himself.
"Dale, it's thet damn cougar!" he ejaculated.
"Sure, that's Tom."
"He ought to be corralled or chained. I've no use for cougars,"protested Al.
"Tom is as tame an' safe as a kitten."
"A-huh! Wal, you tell thet to the girls if you like. But not me! I'm anold hoss, I am."
"Uncle Al, Tom sleeps curled up at the foot of my bed," said Bo.
"Aw--what?"
"Honest Injun," she responded. "Well, isn't it so?"
Helen smilingly nodded her corroboration. Then Bo called Tom to her andmade him lie with his head on his stretched paws, right beside her, andbeg for bits to eat.
"Wal! I'd never have believed thet!" exclaimed Al, shaking his big head."Dale, it's one on me. I've had them big cats foller me on the trails,through the woods, moonlight an' dark. An' I've heard 'em let out thetawful cry. They ain't any wild sound on earth thet can beat a cougar's.Does this Tom ever let out one of them wails?"
"Sometimes at night," replied Dale.
"Wal, excuse me. Hope you don't fetch the yaller rascal down to Pine."
"I won't."
"What'll you do with this menagerie?"
Dale regarded the rancher attentively. "Reckon, Al, I'll take care ofthem."
"But you're goin' down to my ranch."
"What for?"
Al scratched his head and gazed perplexedly at the hunter. "Wal, ain'tit customary to visit friends?"
"Thanks, Al. Next time I ride down Pine way--in the spring,perhaps--I'll run over an' see how you are."
"Spring!" ejaculated Auchincloss. Then he shook his head sadly and afar-away look filmed his eyes. "Reckon you'd call some late."
"Al, you'll get well now. These, girls--now--they'll cure you. Reckon Inever saw you look so good."
Auchincloss did not press his point farther at that time, but after themeal, when the other men came to see Dale's camp and pets, Helen's quickears caught the renewal of the subject.
"I'm askin' you--will you come?" Auchincloss said, low and eagerly.
"No. I wouldn't fit in down there," replied Dale.
"Milt, talk sense. You can't go on forever huntin' bear an' tamin'cats," protested the old rancher.
"Why not?" asked the hunter, thoughtfully.
Auchincloss stood up and, shaking himself as if to ward off his testytemper, he put a hand on Dale's arm.
"One reason is you're needed in Pine."
"How? Who needs me?"
"I do. I'm playin' out fast. An' Beasley's my enemy. The ranch an' all Igot will go to Nell. Thet ranch will have to be run by a man an' HELDby a man. Do you savvy? It's a big job. An' I'm offerin' to make you myforeman right now
."
"Al, you sort of take my breath," replied Dale. "An' I'm sure grateful.But the fact is, even if I could handle the job, I--I don't believe I'dwant to."
"Make yourself want to, then. Thet 'd soon come. You'd get interested.This country will develop. I seen thet years ago. The government isgoin' to chase the Apaches out of here. Soon homesteaders will beflockin' in. Big future, Dale. You want to get in now. An'--"
Here Auchincloss hesitated, then spoke lower:
"An' take your chance with the girl!... I'll be on your side."
A slight vibrating start ran over Dale's stalwart form.
"Al--you're plumb dotty!" he exclaimed.
"Dotty! Me? Dotty!" ejaculated Auchincloss. Then he swore. "In a minitI'll tell you what you are."
"But, Al, that talk's so--so--like an old fool's."
"Huh! An' why so?"
"Because that--wonderful girl would never look at me," Dale replied,simply.
"I seen her lookin' already," declared Al, bluntly.
Dale shook his head as if arguing with the old rancher was hopeless.
"Never mind thet," went on Al. "Mebbe I am a dotty old fool--'speciallyfor takin' a shine to you. But I say again--will you come down to Pineand be my foreman?"
"No," replied Dale.
"Milt, I've no son--an' I'm--afraid of Beasley." This was uttered in anagitated whisper.
"Al, you make me ashamed," said Dale, hoarsely. "I can't come. I've nonerve."
"You've no what?"
"Al, I don't know what's wrong with me. But I'm afraid I'd find out if Icame down there."
"A-huh! It's the girl!"
"I don't know, but I'm afraid so. An' I won't come."
"Aw yes, you will--"
Helen rose with beating heart and tingling ears, and moved away out ofhearing. She had listened too long to what had not been intended for herears, yet she could not be sorry. She walked a few rods along the brook,out from under the pines, and, standing in the open edge of the park,she felt the beautiful scene still her agitation. The followingmoments, then, were the happiest she had spent in Paradise Park, and theprofoundest of her whole life.
Presently her uncle called her.
"Nell, this here hunter wants to give you thet black hoss. An' I say youtake him."
"Ranger deserves better care than I can give him," said Dale. "He runsfree in the woods most of the time. I'd be obliged if she'd have him.An' the hound, Pedro, too."
Bo swept a saucy glance from Dale to her sister.
"Sure she'll have Ranger. Just offer him to ME!"
Dale stood there expectantly, holding a blanket in his hand, ready tosaddle the horse. Carmichael walked around Ranger with that appraisingeye so keen in cowboys.
"Las Vegas, do you know anything about horses?" asked Bo.
"Me! Wal, if you ever buy or trade a hoss you shore have me there,"replied Carmichael.
"What do you think of Ranger?" went on Bo.
"Shore I'd buy him sudden, if I could."
"Mr. Las Vegas, you're too late," asserted Helen, as she advanced to laya hand on the horse.
"Ranger is mine."
Dale smoothed out the blanket and, folding it, he threw it over thehorse; and then with one powerful swing he set the saddle in place.
"Thank you very much for him," said Helen, softly.
"You're welcome, an' I'm sure glad," responded Dale, and then, after afew deft, strong pulls at the straps, he continued. "There, he's readyfor you."
With that he laid an arm over the saddle, and faced Helen as she stoodpatting and smoothing Ranger. Helen, strong and calm now, in femininepossession of her secret and his, as well as her composure, lookedfrankly and steadily at Dale. He seemed composed, too, yet the bronze ofhis fine face was a trifle pale.
"But I can't thank you--I'll never be able to repay you--for yourservice to me and my sister," said Helen.
"I reckon you needn't try," Dale returned. "An' my service, as you callit, has been good for me."
"Are you going down to Pine with us?"
"No."
"But you will come soon?"
"Not very soon, I reckon," he replied, and averted his gaze.
"When?"
"Hardly before spring."
"Spring?... That is a long time. Won't you come to see me sooner thanthat?"
"If I can get down to Pine."
"You're the first friend I've made in the West," said Helen, earnestly.
"You'll make many more--an' I reckon soon forget him you called the manof the forest."
"I never forget any of my friends. And you've been the--the biggestfriend I ever had."
"I'll be proud to remember."
"But will you remember--will you promise to come to Pine?"
"I reckon."
"Thank you. All's well, then.... My friend, goodby."
"Good-by," he said, clasping her hand. His glance was clear, warm,beautiful, yet it was sad.
Auchincloss's hearty voice broke the spell. Then Helen saw that theothers were mounted. Bo had ridden up close; her face was earnestand happy and grieved all at once, as she bade good-by to Dale. Thepack-burros were hobbling along toward the green slope. Helen was thelast to mount, but Roy was the last to leave the hunter. Pedro camereluctantly.
It was a merry, singing train which climbed that brown odorous trail,under the dark spruces. Helen assuredly was happy, yet a pang abided inher breast.
She remembered that half-way up the slope there was a turn in the trailwhere it came out upon an open bluff. The time seemed long, but at lastshe got there. And she checked Ranger so as to have a moment's gaze downinto the park.
It yawned there, a dark-green and bright-gold gulf, asleep under awestering sun, exquisite, wild, lonesome. Then she saw Dale standing inthe open space between the pines and the spruces. He waved to her. Andshe returned the salute.
Roy caught up with her then and halted his horse. He waved his sombreroto Dale and let out a piercing yell that awoke the sleeping echoes,splitting strangely from cliff to cliff.
"Shore Milt never knowed what it was to be lonesome," said Roy, as ifthinking aloud. "But he'll know now."
Ranger stepped out of his own accord and, turning off the ledge, enteredthe spruce forest. Helen lost sight of Paradise Park. For hours thenshe rode along a shady, fragrant trail, seeing the beauty of color andwildness, hearing the murmur and rush and roar of water, but all thewhile her mind revolved the sweet and momentous realization which hadthrilled her--that the hunter, this strange man of the forest, so deeplyversed in nature and so unfamiliar with emotion, aloof and simple andstrong like the elements which had developed him, had fallen in lovewith her and did not know it.