CHAPTER XII
GWEN'S CANYON
Gwen's hope and bright courage, in spite of all her pain, were wonderfulto witness. But all this cheery hope and courage and patience snuffedout as a candle, leaving noisome darkness to settle down in thatsick-room from the day of the doctor's consultation.
The verdict was clear and final. The old doctor, who loved Gwen as hisown, was inclined to hope against hope, but Fawcett, the clever youngdoctor from the distant town, was positive in his opinion. The scene isclear to me now, after many years. We three stood in the outer room; TheDuke and her father were with Gwen. So earnest was the discussion thatnone of us heard the door open just as young Fawcett was saying inincisive tones:
"No! I can see no hope. The child can never walk again."
There was a cry behind us.
"What! Never walk again! It's a lie!" There stood the Old Timer, white,fierce, shaking.
"Hush!" said the old doctor, pointing at the open door. He was too late.Even as he spoke, there came from the inner room a wild, unearthlycry as of some dying thing and, as we stood gazing at one another withawe-stricken faces, we heard Gwen's voice as in quick, sharp pain.
"Daddy! daddy! come! What do they say? Tell me, daddy. It is not true!It is not true! Look at me, daddy!"
She pulled up her father's haggard face from the bed.
"Oh, daddy, daddy, you know it's true. Never walk again!"
She turned with a pitiful cry to The Duke, who stood white and stiffwith arms drawn tight across his breast on the other side of the bed.
"Oh, Duke, did you hear them? You told me to be brave, and I tried notto cry when they hurt me. But I can't be brave! Can I, Duke? Oh, Duke!Never to ride again!"
She stretched out her hands to him. But The Duke, leaning over her andholding her hands fast in his, could only say brokenly over and over:"Don't, Gwen! Don't, Gwen dear!"
But the pitiful, pleading voice went on.
"Oh, Duke! Must I always lie here? Must, I? Why must I?"
"God knows," answered The Duke bitterly, under his breath, "I don't!"
She caught at the word.
"Does He?" she cried, eagerly. Then she paused suddenly, turned to meand said: "Do you remember he said some day I could not do as I liked?"
I was puzzled.
"The Pilot," she cried, impatiently, "don't you remember? And I said Ishould do as I liked till I died."
I nodded my head and said: "But you know you didn't mean it."
"But I did, and I do," she cried, with passionate vehemence, "and I willdo as I like! I will not lie here! I will ride! I will! I will! I will!"and she struggled up, clenched her fists, and sank back faint and weak.It was not a pleasant sight, but gruesome. Her rage against that UnseenOmnipotence was so defiant and so helpless.
Those were dreadful weeks to Gwen and to all about her. The constantpain could not break her proud spirit; she shed no tears; but shefretted and chafed and grew more imperiously exacting every day. Ponkaand Joe she drove like a slave master, and even her father, when hecould not understand her wishes, she impatiently banished from her room.Only The Duke could please or bring her any cheer, and even The Dukebegan to feel that the day was not far off when he, too, would fail, andthe thought made him despair. Her pain was hard to bear, but harder thanthe pain was her longing for the open air and the free, flower-strewn,breeze-swept prairie. But most pitiful of all were the days when, in herutter weariness and uncontrollable unrest, she would pray to be takendown into the canyon.
"Oh, it is so cool and shady," she would plead, "and the flowers up inthe rocks and the vines and things are all so lovely. I am always betterthere. I know I should be better," till The Duke would be distracted andwould come to me and wonder what the end would be.
One day, when the strain had been more terrible than usual, The Dukerode down to me and said:
"Look here, this thing can't go on. Where is The Pilot gone? Why doesn'the stay where he belongs? I wish to Heaven he would get through with hisabsurd rambling."
"He's gone where he was sent," I replied shortly. "You don't set muchstore by him when he does come round. He is gone on an exploring tripthrough the Dog Lake country. He'll be back by the end of next week."
"I say, bring him up, for Heaven's sake," said The Duke, "he may be ofsome use, and anyway it will be a new face for her, poor child." Then headded, rather penitently: "I fear this thing is getting on to my nerves.She almost drove me out to-day. Don't lay it up against me, old chap."
It was a new thing to hear The Duke confess his need of any man, muchless penitence for a fault. I felt my eyes growing dim, but I said,roughly:
"You be hanged! I'll bring The Pilot up when he comes."
It was wonderful how we had all come to confide in The Pilot duringhis year of missionary work among us. Somehow the cowboy's name of "SkyPilot" seemed to express better than anything else the place he heldwith us. Certain it is, that when, in their dark hours, any of thefellows felt in need of help to strike the "upward trail," they went toThe Pilot; and so the name first given in chaff came to be the namethat expressed most truly the deep and tender feeling these rough,big-hearted men cherished for him. When The Pilot came home I carefullyprepared him for his trial, telling all that Gwen had suffered andstriving to make him feel how desperate was her case when even The Dukehad to confess himself beaten. He did not seem sufficiently impressed.Then I pictured for him all her fierce wilfulness and her fretfulhumors, her impatience with those who loved her and were wearing outtheir souls and bodies for her. "In short," I concluded, "she doesn'tcare a rush for anything in heaven or earth, and will yield to neitherman nor God."
The Pilot's eyes had been kindling as I talked, but he only answered,quietly:
"What could you expect?"
"Well, I do think she might show some signs of gratitude and somegentleness towards those ready to die for her."
"Oh, you do!" said he, with high scorn. "You all combine to ruin hertemper and disposition with foolish flattery and weak yielding to herwhims, right or wrong; you smile at her imperious pride and encourageher wilfulness, and then not only wonder at the results, but blame her,poor child, for all. Oh, you are a fine lot, The Duke and all of you!"
He had a most exasperating ability for putting one in the wrong, andI could only think of the proper and sufficient reply long after theopportunity for making it had passed. I wondered what The Duke would sayto this doctrine. All the following day, which was Sunday, I could seethat Gwen was on The Pilot's mind. He was struggling with the problem ofpain.
Monday morning found us on the way to the Old Timer's ranch. And whata morning it was! How beautiful our world seemed! About us rolled theround-topped, velvet hills, brown and yellow or faintly green, spreadingout behind us to the broad prairie, and before, clambering up and upto meet the purple bases of the great mountains that lay their mightylength along the horizon and thrust up white, sunlit peaks into the bluesky. On the hillsides and down in the sheltering hollows we could seethe bunches of cattle and horses feeding upon the rich grasses. Highabove, the sky, cloudless and blue, arched its great kindly roof fromprairie to mountain peaks, and over all, above, below, upon prairie,hillsides and mountains, the sun poured his floods of radiant yellowlight.
As we followed the trail that wound up and into the heart of theserounded hills and ever nearer to the purple mountains, the morningbreeze swept down to meet us, bearing a thousand scents, and filling uswith its own fresh life. One can know the quickening joyousness of theseFoothill breezes only after he has drunk with wide-open mouth, deep andfull of them.
Through all this mingling beauty of sunlit hills and shady hollows andpurple, snow-peaked mountains, we rode with hardly a word, every minuteadding to our heart-filling delight, but ever with the thought ofthe little room where, shut in from all this outside glory, lay Gwen,heart-sore with fretting and longing. This must have been in The Pilot'smind, for he suddenly held up his horse and burst out:
"Poor Gwen, how she loves al
l this!--it is her very life. How can shehelp fretting the heart out of her? To see this no more!" He flunghimself off his bronco and said, as if thinking aloud: "It is too awful!Oh, it is cruel! I don't wonder at her! God help me, what can I say toher?"
He threw himself down upon the grass and turned over on his face. Aftera few minutes he appealed to me, and his face was sorely troubled.
"How can one go to her? It seems to me sheerest mockery to speak ofpatience and submission to a wild young thing from whom all thisis suddenly snatched forever--and this was very life to her, too,remember."
Then he sprang up and we rode hard for an hour, till we came to themouth of the canyon. Here the trail grew difficult and we came to awalk. As we went down into the cool depths the spirit of the canyon cameto meet us and took The Pilot in its grip. He rode in front, feastinghis eyes on all the wonders in that storehouse of beauty. Trees of manykinds deepened the shadows of the canyon. Over us waved the big elmsthat grew up here and there out of the bottom, and around their feetclustered low cedars and hemlocks and balsams, while the sturdy, ruggedoaks and delicate, trembling poplars clung to the rocky sides andclambered up and out to the canyon's sunny lips. Back of all, the greatblack rocks, decked with mossy bits and clinging things, glistened cooland moist between the parting trees. From many an oozy nook the daintyclematis and columbine shook out their bells, and, lower down, frombeds of many-colored moss the late wind-flower and maiden-hair and tinyviolet lifted up brave, sweet faces. And through the canyon the LittleSwan sang its song to rocks and flowers and overhanging trees, a songof many tones, deep-booming where it took its first sheer plunge,gay-chattering where it threw itself down the ragged rocks, andsoft-murmuring where it lingered about the roots of the loving,listening elms. A cool, sweet, soothing place it was, with all itsshades and sounds and silences, and, lest it should be sad to any, thesharp, quick sunbeams danced and laughed down through all its leavesupon mosses, flowers and rocks. No wonder that The Pilot, drawing a deepbreath as he touched the prairie sod again, said:
"That does me good. It is better at times even than the sunny hills.This was Gwen's best spot."
I saw that the canyon had done its work with him. His face was strongand calm as the hills on a summer morning, and with this face he lookedin upon Gwen. It was one of her bad days and one of her bad moods, butlike a summer breeze he burst into the little room.
"Oh, Gwen!" he cried, without a word of greeting, much less ofCommiseration, "we have had such a ride!" And he spread out the sunlit,round-topped hills before her, till I could feel their very breezes inmy face. This The Duke had never dared to do, fearing to grieve her withpictures of what she should look upon no more. But, as The Pilot talked,before she knew, Gwen was out again upon her beloved hills, breathingtheir fresh, sunny air, filling her heart with their multitudinousdelights, till her eyes grew bright and the lines of fretting smoothedout of her face and she forgot her pain. Then, before she couldremember, he had her down into the canyon, feasting her heart with itsairs and sights and sounds. The black, glistening rocks, tricked outwith moss and trailing vines, the great elms and low green cedars, theoaks and shivering poplars, the clematis and columbine hanging fromthe rocky nooks, and the violets and maiden-hair deep bedded in theirmosses. All this and far more he showed her with a touch so light as notto shake the morning dew from bell or leaf or frond, and with a voice sosoft and full of music as to fill our hearts with the canyon's minglingsounds, and, as I looked upon her face, I said to myself: "Dear oldPilot! for this I shall always love you well." As poor Gwen listened,the rapture of it drew the big tears down her cheeks--alas! no longerbrown, but white, and for that day at least the dull, dead weariness waslifted from her heart.