CHAPTER III
NIGHT FISHING
Jack Kilmeny crossed the river by the rope ferry and followed the trailthat ran up. He took the water above the Narrows, about a mile and ahalf from camp. The mosquitoes were pretty bad near the willows alongthe shore, but as he got out farther they annoyed him less and with thecoming of darkness they ceased to trouble.
The fish were feeding and he had a few strikes. Half a dozen eight andnine-inch trout went into his creel, but though he was fishing along theedge of the deep water, the big fellows would not be tempted. His watchshowed a quarter to ten by the moon when at last he hooked one worthwhile.
He was now down by the riffles not far from the Lodge. A long castbrought him what fishermen along the Gunnison call a bump. Quietly hedropped his fly in exactly the same spot. There was a tug, a flash ofwhite above the water, and, like an arrow, the trout was off. The reelwhirred as the line unwound. Kilmeny knew by the pressure that he hadhooked a good one and he played it carefully, keeping the line taut butnot allowing too much strain on it. After a short sharp fight he drewthe fish close enough to net the struggler. Of the Lochleven variety, hejudged the weight of the trout to be about two pounds.
He would have liked to try another cast, but it was ten o'clock, thelimit set by law. He waded ashore, resolved to fish the riffles againto-morrow.
Next day brought Kilmeny the office of camp cook, which was taken inturn by each of the men. Only two meals a day were eaten in camp, sothat he had several hours of leisure after the breakfast things werecleared away. In a desultory fashion he did an hour or two of fishing,though his mind was occupied with other things.
The arrival of the party at the Lodge brought back to him vividly somechapters of his life that had long been buried. His father, ArchibaldKilmeny, had married the daughter of a small cattleman some years afterhe had come to Colorado. Though she had died while he was still a child,Jack still held warmly in his heart some vivid memories of thepassionate uncurbed woman who had been his mother.
She had been a belle in the cow country, charming in her way, beautifulto the day of her death, but without education or restraint. Her husbandhad made the mistake of taking her back to Ireland on a visit to hispeople. The result had been unfortunate. She was unconquerablyprovincial, entirely democratic, as uncultured as her native columbine.Moreover, her temper was of the whirlwind variety. The staid life of theold country, with its well-ordered distinctions of class and ruttedconventions, did not suit her at all. At traditions which she could notunderstand the young wife scoffed openly. Before she left, veileddislike became almost open war. The visit had never been repeated, nor,indeed, had she ever been invited again. This she had bitterly resentedand she had instilled into Jack the antagonism she herself felt. When hewas eight years old Jack's father had insisted on taking him back tomeet his relatives. Immediately upon his return the youngster's motherhad set about undermining any fondness he might have felt for hisBritish kindred. Three years later she had died.
She had been a doting mother, with fierce gusts of passionate adorationfor her boy. Jack remembered these after he forgot her less amiablequalities. He had grown up with an unreasonable feeling of disliketoward those of his father's family who had failed to get along withher. Some instinct of loyalty which he could hardly define set himunconsciously in antagonism to his cousins at the Lodge. He had decidednot to make himself known to them. In a few days their paths woulddiverge again for all time.
Dusk found him again in the river just above the riffles. He fished downthe stream slowly, shortening his line as darkness settled over thehills. His luck was rather worse than usual. The trout were nosing theflies rather than striking with any appetite.
He was nearly opposite the Lodge when he noticed a fisherman in front ofhim. Working steadily forward, Kilmeny found himself gaining on theother. In order not to pass too near he struck out into the deeper watertoward the center of the river. When almost opposite the other he hearda splash not twenty feet away, followed by the whirr of the reel as thetrout made for the deep water. From the shadows where his unknowncompanion was obscured came the click of the line being wound up. Therewas a flash of silver in the moonlight, and again the rapid whirl of thereel.
"You've hooked a whale, neighbor," Kilmeny called across.
The voice that came back to him across the water was eager and glad.Jack would have known its throb of youthful zest among a thousand. "MustI let him have all the line he wants?"
Kilmeny waded toward her as he gave counsel. "Don't make it too easy forhim, but don't jerk. Keep his nose up if you can."
The humming of the reel and the steady click-click-click of the windingalternated. The trout fought gamely and strongly, but the young womanstuck to her work and would not give him any rest. Jack watched hercarefully. He saw that she was tiring, but he did not offer any help,for he knew that she was a sportsman. She would want to win alone or notat all.
Yet he moved closer. The water was up to her hips, and no river in theRockies has a swifter current than the Gunnison. The bottom too iscovered with smooth slippery stones and bowlders, so that a misstepmight send her plunging down. Deprived of the use of her landing pole,she could make less resistance to the tug of the stream, and the four orfive pounds of dynamic energy at the end of her line would give her allshe could do to take care of for the next few minutes. Her pole wasbraced against her body, which made reeling difficult. The man besideher observed that except for a tendency to raise the pole too much shewas playing her trout like a veteran.
The thing that he had anticipated happened. Her foot slipped from itsinsecure rock hold and she stumbled. His arm was round her waist in aninstant.
"Steady! Take your time."
"Thanks. I'm all right now."
His right arm still girdled her slight figure. It met with his approvalthat she had not cried out or dropped her pole, but he would not takethe chance of an accident.
"HE'S HOOKED PRETTY FAST. TAKE YOUR TIME ABOUT GETTINGHIM INTO YOUR NET. THESE BIG FELLOWS ARE LIKELY TO SQUIRM AWAY." (p. 33)]
The trout was tiring. Inch by inch she brought him nearer. Sometimes hewould dart away again, but each dash for liberty was shorter and weakerthan the last.
Presently she panted, "My landing net."
It was caught in the creel. Kilmeny unfastened the net and brought itround where it would be ready for instant use.
"Tell me what I must do now."
"He's hooked pretty fast. Take your time about getting him into yournet, and be careful then. These big fellows are likely to squirm away."
It was a ticklish moment when she let go of the rod with her left handto slip the net under the trout, but she negotiated it in safety.
"Isn't he a whopper?" she cried in delight. "He won't go into the creelat all."
"Then let me have him. The glory is yours. I'll be your gillie to carrythe game bag."
He got his fingers through its gill before he took the hook from themouth of the fish. Carrying the trout in one hand and his pole in theother, he waded slowly through the swift water to the shore.
The girl's vibrant voice came to him as she splashed at his heels towardthe bank. "He's such a ripping good one. I'm so pleased. How much do youthink he will weigh?"
The young man took the catch far enough back from the river, so thatthey could examine him in safety.
"My guess is six pounds. He's the biggest taken this year so far. Icongratulate you, Miss Dwight."
"I would never have got him if you hadn't been there to help me withadvice. But I really did it all myself, didn't I? If you had touched therod before I had him netted I'd never have forgiven you," she confessed,eyes glowing with the joy of her achievement.
"It's no joke to land one of these big fellows. I saw you were tired.But it's the sporting thing to play your own fish."
Her dark eyes flashed a questioning glance at him. She had been broughtup in a society where class lines were closely drawn, but her experiencegave her no data for judging
this young man's social standing. Casualinquiries of old Ballard, the caretaker at the Lodge, had brought herthe information that the party of fishermen were miners from the hills.This one went by the name of Crumbs and sometimes Jack. What puzzledMiss Dwight was the difficulty of reconciling him with himself.Sometimes he used the speech and the slow drawl of the plainsman, andagain he spoke with the correctness of one who has known good society.In spite of his careless garb he had the look of class. The well-shaped,lightly poised head, the level blue eyes of a man unafraid, the gracewith which he carried himself, all denied that he was an uncouth rustic.
A young woman of impulse, she yielded to an audacious one now. "I'm gladyou let me do the sporting thing, Mr.--Crumbs."
His gentle laughter welled out. "Where did you get that?"
"Isn't it your name?" she asked, with a lift of the dark eyebrows.
He hesitated, barely an instant. Of course she knew perfectly well thatit was not his name. But it suited him not to give one more definite.
"I reckon it's a name good enough to bring me to dinner by," he drawled,smiling.
He was back again in the Western idiom and manner. She wondered why. Thechange had come when she had spoken his name. A certain wariness hadsettled over his face like a mask. She could see that he was purposelytaking refuge in the class distinctions that presumably separated them.Yet she could have sworn that nothing had been farther from his mindduring the exciting ten minutes in the water while voice and presenceand arm had steadied her for the battle.
They walked together up the slope to the big house. A fishing costume isnot a thing of grace, but the one this girl wore could not eclipse theelastic suppleness of the slender figure or the joy in life thatanimated the vivid face with the black curls straying from beneath thejaunty cap. The long hip waders she wore so briskly gave her the look ofa modern Rosalind. To deny her beauty was easy, but in the soft siftedmoonlight showered down through the trees it was impossible forKilmeny's eyes to refuse her an admission of charm. There was a hint ofpleasant adventure in the dusky eyes of this clean-limbed young nymph, aplastic energy in the provoking dainty face, that stung his reluctantadmiration. She had the gift for comradeship, and with it a freedom ofmind unusual in one of her class.
She ran up the steps of the Lodge lightly and thanked him with apleasant "Good-night." As he turned away Kilmeny came face to face withanother fisherman returning from the sport of the night. The manopposite him was rather short and thickset. In his eyes was a look ofkind shrewd wisdom. Red-faced and white-bearded, he was unmistakably anEnglishman of the upper class.
Miss Dwight introduced him as Lord Farquhar, and the men shook hands.
"Guess what I've got," demanded the young woman, her hands behind her.
"Heaven only knows. It might be anything from the measles to a newlover," smiled Farquhar.
She flashed upon him the fish that had been hidden behind her waders.
"By Jove! Catch him yourself?"
She nodded, her eyes shining.
Farquhar, very much a sportsman, wanted to know all about it, afterwhich he insisted on weighing the trout. Jack was dragged into the Lodgeto join in this function, and presently found himself meeting LadyFarquhar, a pleasant plump lady who did not at all conform to the usualstage conception of her part. Her smile was warm for this suppleblue-eyed engaging Westerner, but the latter did not need to be toldthat behind her friendliness the instinct of the chaperone was alert.The one swift glance she had thrown at Miss Dwight told him as much.
Into the room drifted presently Miss Seldon, a late novel in her hand.In contrast with her sheathed loveliness Miss Dwight looked like a younggirl. There was something very sweet and appealing in Moya's slimindefinite figure of youth, with its suggestion of developing lines, butmost men ceased to look at her when Joyce swam within the orbit of theirvision.
Joyce Seldon was frankly a beauty in every line and feature. Herexquisite coloring, the soft amber hair so extravagant in quantity, thelong lashes which shaded deep lovely eyes, satisfied the senses no lessthan the supple rounded young body which was carried with such lightgrace. Kilmeny was not very impressionable, but in her presence theworld seemed somehow shot through with a new radiance. She laid uponhim the spell of women.
Presently Dobyans Verinder dropped in with an empty creel and openedwide supercilious eyes at sight of Jack. He was followed presently byCaptain Kilmeny and his sister, the latter a pretty Irish girl, quick oftongue, quicker of eye, and ready for anything from flirting to fishing.
From the talk, Jack gathered that Lord Farquhar and Miss Dwight had bettheir catch would outweigh that of the other three, Farquhar and she tofish opposite the Lodge and the others half a mile below. The minorityparty had won easily, thanks to the big trout and Verinder's obstinacyin sticking to the flies he had used in England with success. There is atype of Englishman that goes through life using the flies he was broughtup on and trying to make them fit all places and times. Any divergenceis a form of treason. Neither Farquhar nor Kilmeny happened to be ofthat kind. They besieged the American with questions and soon had apretty fair idea of fishing on the Gunnison.
"I should think you would ask me. I thought I was the one that catchesthe big fish," suggested Miss Dwight, who had just returned from havingchanged into more conventional attire.
"Make a habit of it, my dear, and we will," Lord Farquhar assured her.
"Once is enough, Moya. I can't afford a pair of gloves every evening,"India Kilmeny protested.
"By Jove, leave some of the big ones for us, Miss Dwight," implored thecaptain. He was a spare wiry man, with the long clean build one expectsto see in soldiers. Long residence in India had darkened his skin to analmost coffee brown, except for a wintry apple red where the high cheekbones seemed about to push through.
Supper, to which Lady Farquhar had insisted that the American stay, wasbeing served informally in the living-room. Verinder helped himself to asandwich, ogling Moya the while with his eyeglass.
"I say, you know, I believe in you, Miss Dwight," he asserted.
That young woman did not know why she resented more than usual hiswheedling attentions. Lady Jim had invited the millionaire to join theirparty, as the girl very well knew, in order to give her charges a chanceat him. Not that Lady Farquhar liked the man. She knew him quite wellfor an ill-bred little snob at heart. But he would pass muster in acrowd, and none of the young women of the party could afford to sniff attwo millions sterling. It was entirely probable that Joyce, with herbeauty and her clear vision of the need of money in the scheme ofthings, would marry as well as if she had a mother to look out for her.But Lady Jim felt it her duty to plan for India and Moya. She was moreanxious about Miss Dwight than the other Irish girl, for Moya was likelyto bolt the traces. Her friendships with men were usually amongineligibles. Verinder had shown a decided drift in her direction, butthe girl had not encouraged him in the least. If she had been possessedof an independent fortune she could not have been more airilyindifferent to his advances.
Since Captain Kilmeny had joined the party in Denver the plans of LadyFarquhar had been modified. The soldier had taken an early opportunityto tell her that he meant to ask Moya Dwight to marry him. He had beenin love with her for years and had asked her just before his regimentleft for India the last time. The captain was not rich, but he hadenough. It happened too that he was a clean honest gentleman who hadmade a reputation for efficiency and gallantry in the army. If he wasnot brilliant, he was at least thorough. Lady Farquhar was quite willingto back his suit so far as she could.
"He's our kind, Ned Kilmeny is," she had told her husband. "I gave Moyaher chance with Verinder but I should have been disappointed in her ifshe had taken him. If she will only fall in love with Ned I'll forgiveher all the queer things she is always doing."
Farquhar had chuckled. "It's an odds-on chance she'll not fancy him,Di."
"For Heaven's sake, why not?" his wife had asked impatiently. "Does sheexpect to marry an emperor?"
> "I don't know what she expects. The subject of matrimony is notall-important to Moya yet. But some day it will be--and then may I bethere to see!"
"You're so ridiculously wrapped up in her," Lady Jim accused with asmile. "Why do you expect her love affair to be so interesting? For mypart, I think Ned quite good enough for her."
"Oh, he's good enough. That isn't quite the point, is it? Moya wants tobe stormed, to be swept from her feet into the arms of the man she isready to love. A sort of a Lochinvar business--full of thrills and greatmoments. Ned can't give her those."
"No, I suppose not. Pity she can't be sensible."
"There are enough of us sensible, Di. We can spare her a few years yetfor romance. When she grows sensible she'll have to give up somethingshe can't afford to lose."
His wife looked at him and smiled fondly. "You haven't quite lost ityourself, Jim."
It was true enough that Lord Farquhar retained an interest in life thatwas refreshing. This evening his eyes gleamed while the Westerner toldof the frontier day program to be held at the little town of Gunnisonnext day.
"You and your friends are miners, I understand. You'll not take part,then?" he asked.
"I used to punch cows. My name is entered for the riding. The boys wantme to take a turn."
India Kilmeny sat up straight. "Let's go. We can ride up in the morning.It will be jolly. All in favor of going eat another sandwich."
"It will be pretty woolly--quite different from anything you have seen,"the miner suggested.
"Thought we came here to fish," Verinder interposed. "Great bore lookingat amateur shows--and it's a long ride."
"Move we go. What say, Lady Farquhar?" put in Captain Kilmeny.
"Do let's go," Moya begged.
"I don't see why we shouldn't," Lady Farquhar smiled. "But I'm like Mr.Verinder about riding. If he'll drive me up the rest of you can go onhorseback."
"Delighted, 'm sure."
Verinder came to time outwardly civil but inwardly fuming. What thedeuce did Lady Farquhar mean? Captain Kilmeny would have five hoursclear with Miss Dwight and Miss Seldon during the ride back and forth.Ever since the soldier had joined the party things had been going badly.
"If we're going it's time you girls were in bed. You've had a hard dayand to-morrow will be another," Lady Jim pronounced.
The Westerner rose to go.
"Night's young yet. Stop and sit in with us to a game of poker. What!"Farquhar invited.
"My pocketbook is at the camp," the American demurred.
"I'll be your banker," his host volunteered.
The ladies said good-night and departed. Chairs were drawn to the cardtable, chips sold, and hands dealt. The light of morning was breakingbefore Kilmeny made his way back to camp. He had in his pockets onehundred seventy three dollars, most of which had recently been theproperty of Dobyans Verinder.
An early start for Gunnison had been agreed upon by the fishermen at thecamp. To go to bed now was hardly worth while. Jack took a towel fromthe willow bush upon which it was hanging, went down to the river,stripped, and from a rock ten feet above a deep pool dived straight asan arrow into the black water. The swirl of the current swept him intothe shallower stream below. He waded ashore, beautiful in his suppleslimness as an Apollo, climbed the rock a second time, and again knewthe delightful shock of a dive into icy water fresh from the mountainsnows.
Ten minutes later he wakened the camp by rattling the stove lids.
"Oh, you sluggards! Time to hit the floor," he shouted.