The Everlasting Whisper

  _Chapter XXXI_

  Gloria did not know if she had slept or fainted. When she regainedconsciousness, though it was pitch dark and dead still, there was nofirst puzzled moment of uncertainty. That last wonderfully glad thoughtwhich had filled brain and heart when she sank down on her fir-boughshad persisted throughout her moments or hours of unconsciousness,pervading her subconscious self gloriously, flowering spontaneously inan awakening mind: Mark King had come back to her in her moment ofperil; he had battled for her like the great-hearted hero that he was,he had saved her and had brought her home. Back home! She had prayed toGod when utter undoing seemed inevitable, when death had seemed moredesirable than life, and He had answered. He had sent Mark King to her!

  She was saved, and though it was cold and dark and still, she felt herheart singing within her. Having lived through all that she had endured,having been brought safely through it, she was as confident of thefuture as though never had evil menaced her. She felt new strengthcoursing through her blood, new hope rising within her, new certaintythat all was right with her and Mark King, that all would be righteternally. Terror and anguish and despair that had surged over her in somany great flooding waves now receded and were gone; in their placeshone the great flame of life triumphant; she thrilled through with thelargeness of life.

  Never, thank God, would she forget how Mark King, forgetful of self,contemptuous of the frightful odds against him, had hurled himself intothe midst of those drunken brutes; never would she forget how godlike hehad stood forth in her eyes as those others leaped upon him and he beatthem back. Forgetful of self--he had always been forgetful of self! Shecould not think of him as she had ever thought of any other man she hadever known--for what other man would have come to her as he had done,courting death gladly if only he could stand between her and the hideousthing that attacked her? The rush of great events had swept her mindclear of pettiness and prejudice; they bore her on from familiarview-points and to new levels; like roaring winds out of a tempestuousnorth they cleared away the wretched fogs that had enwrapped aself-centred girl; they made her see a man in the naked glory of hissheer, clean manhood.

  To her now he stood forth clothed in magnificence. She could think uponhim only in superlatives. He was fearless and he was unselfish; he waskind and generous and as honest-hearted as God's own clear sunshine.She knew now, suddenly and for the first time, because he had shown her,what the simple word _man_ meant. How far apart he stood from such asBrodie, the beast! How high above such as Gratton!--And once, in thecity, she had been ashamed of him and had turned to Gratton! Because hehad appeared to her without just so much black cloth upon his back cutin just such a style! And now how bitterly she was ashamed of her shame.But for only an instant. Thereafter she forgot shame of any sort andexulted in her pride of him and in her pride that she was proud.

  Yes, in glad defiance of a Gloria that had been, she was proud of themanhood of a man who had beaten her! He had been right; he had done thatas the last argument with an empty-headed, selfish girl who deserved nobetter at his hands, a girl who had been like the Gratton whom she soabhorred and despised--despised even in death. She had been like Grattonthe cowardly, contemptible, petty, selfish--dishonourable! All alongMark King had been right and she had been wrong, at every step. He hadbeen gentle and patient after a fashion which now set her wondering and,in the end, lifted him to new heights in her esteem. When, withoutloving him, she had lied with her eyes and married him, that had been aGratton sort of trick--like stealing his partners' food----

  _Without loving him_! No, thank God; not that! She had always loved him;she loved him now with her whole heart and soul, with an adoration shehad saved for him. When in the springtime she had ridden with himthrough the forest-lands, when their hands had touched, when he had heldher in his arms--when she had seen him that first time from the stairwayand had looked down into his clear eyes and through them into hisheart--she had always loved him! She wanted suddenly to go to him, toslip into his arms, to make herself humble in pleading for hisforgiveness. She was not afraid that he would not forgive; he was so bigof heart that he would understand.

  "Mark!" she called softly.

  In the utter dark she could see nothing. The absolute stillness wasunbroken. She called anxiously: "Mark, where are you?" There was noanswer. She sprang up and called to him over and over. When still therewas no reply she began a hurried search for a match; there were stillsome upon the rock shelf. Then it was that she stumbled over somethingsprawling on the floor.

  "Mark!" she cried again. "Oh--Mark----"

  She found a match; she got some dry twigs blazing. In their light shesaw him. He lay on his back like a dead man, his arms outflung, hiswhite face turned up toward hers. There was a great smear of bloodacross his brow, the track of a bloody hand as it had sought to wipe agathering dimness out of his eyes. The fire burned brighter; she saw itglisten upon a little pool of blood at her side. She knelt and bent overhim, scarcely breathing. If he were dead--if, after all this, Mark Kingwere dead----His eyes were closed; his face was deathly white, lookingthe more ghastly from the dark stain across it. She lifted her own handthat had touched his side and looked at it with wide frightened eyes;it, too, was red. At that moment King's face was no ghastlier than hers.

  For a little while she sat motionless, her brain reeling. But almostimmediately her brain cleared and there stood forth as in a white lightthe one thought: _Mark King was about to die, and he must not die_! Forhe was Mark King, valiant and full of vigour and vitality, a man strongand hardy and lusty, a man who would not be beaten! He was the victor,not the vanquished. And, further, she, Gloria King, Mark King's wife,would not let him die! He was hers, her own; she would hold him back toher. Had he not come to her when she needed him, and done his uttermostfor her? If now she was filled with life and the pulsating love of life,it was his doing. And now it was her task--her glorious, God-givenprivilege!--to do for him, to fight for him, ignoring the odds againsther, to save him. She sprang up filled with stubborn, confidentdetermination. He was hers and she would not let him die. She hadlearned to fight; she had fought against Gratton, against Brodie; shewould fight as she had never done until now against death itself.

  He was big and she little, yet she dragged his bed close to his side andgot her arms about him and lifted him enough to get him upon theblankets. She ran to her fire and piled and piled wood on it until theflames roared noisily and brightened everything about her. She ran backto him and knelt again and slipped her hand inside his shirt, seekinghis heart. The deep chest was barely warmer than death; the heartstirred only faintly. But it did beat. She sought the wound Brail'sbullet had made and found it in his side. There was blood on her handsbut she did not notice it now. She found where the bullet had enteredand where it had torn its way out through his flesh. She did not know ifany vital organ lay in that narrow span or if any major artery had beensevered or if the rifle-ball had merely glanced along the ribs and beendeflected by them; she only knew that he had lost much blood, that itmust have gushed freely while he strove with Swen Brodie, and that nowit must be stopped utterly. There seemed to be so little blood left inthe pale, battered body! She did see how in the intense cold it hadcoagulated over the wounds, checking its own flow. But she did not meanfor him to lose another precious drop. And then it was that Gloria'shands achieved the first really important work they had ever done in herlife. She tore bits away from her own under-garments and made soft padsover each wound; with their butcher-knife she cut a long strip from ablanket. This she wound about his limp body, making a long, tightbandage. All this time he had not moved; she had to bend close to besure that he still breathed. She got snow and wiped his face clean ofblood, touching the closed eyelids gently.

  When still the eyes remained shut and he looked like one already dead,she longed wildly for some stimulant. There was coffee; she would makehot coffee do. She got the coffee-pot among the coals, filled it withsnow to melt, recklessly poured coffee into it. Then, while she awaitedthe slo
w heating, she returned to him and for the first time saw how wethis boots were.

  She got the boots off and felt his feet; she stooped over them untilfor an instant she laid her cheek against a bare foot. It was like ice.She recalled how he had ministered to her. She heated a blanket andwrapped it about his feet and ankles. She heated other blankets and putthem about him. The canvas at the cave's mouth had been torn down; shegot it back into place to make it warmer for him. She put fresh wood onthe fire. She hastened the coffee boiling all that she could by placingbits of dry wood close all about the pot.

  She knelt at King's side; she got an arm under his shoulders and managedto lift him a little; she rolled up a blanket and put it under his head.Then she brought the cup of black coffee and with a spoon got some of itbetween his teeth. She spilled more than went into his mouth but she wasrewarded by seeing the throat muscles contract as involuntarily heswallowed. Thus, patient and determined and very, very gentle with him,she got several spoonfuls of coffee down him. Thereafter she let him lieback again while she sought to plan cool-thoughtedly just how she mustcare for him, just what she could do for him. She knew little of nursingand yet knew instinctively that his condition was precarious, that hemust be kept warm and still, that what strength remained in him must besaved by proper nourishment. _Proper nourishment_!

  There were scraps of food left; Brodie and his men, in their gold fever,had not so much as thought to gather up the few bits of scantyprovisions. She began taking careful stock; she found a scrap of breadthat had been knocked to the floor and kicked aside; she picked it upand, carrying a torch with her, began seeking any other fallen morsels.In this search she came once to the hole in the floor through whichBrodie and the others had gone down into Gus Ingle's treasure-chamber.And at its side she found something which at this moment was a thousandtimes more precious in her staring eyes than if it had been so muchsolid gold. It was a great hunk of fresh meat. Instantly she knew how ithad come here. King had killed his bear! That was why he had returnedto-night. He had brought it here; had missed her; had dropped it here.And then? She understood now, too, how he had come so unexpectedly intothe lowest cave. He had gone down through this hole and had known apassage-way which led on down. She stood by the hole, bending over it,listening, wondering if any man stirred down there. But that was but fora moment. She caught up the bear meat, carrying it in both arms, andhurried back to her fire.

  Though she knew little more of cookery than of nursing, she set aboutthe very sensible task of making a strong broth. The proper nourishmentthat had seemed so impossible a moment ago was now ready at hand.

  "God is good," she whispered, a sudden new gush of love and reverence inher heart. "He will help me now."

  For herself, since her own strength must be kept up, she cooked a stripof the meat on the coals. Then she went to King and for a long time satat his side, her eyes upon his white face, her hand clasping his. Againand again she stooped and laid her cheek against the strong but now laxfingers; once she put her lips to his forehead; when she sat back hereyes were wet and the slow tears welled up and trickled unnoticed downher cheeks. But they were tears which left the heart sweetened, tears oftenderness, of gratitude, of sympathy and love.

  As the night wore on, since she was determined that King should not bechilled, her fire consumed a great part of the wood. More wood must bebrought; to-night or in the morning. She went to the canvas flap andlooked out. There were clouds, but also there were wide rifts throughwhich the stars blazed in all of that glorious crystalline beauty of thestars of the winter Sierra. While she stood looking out the moon, almostat the full, gilded a cloud edge, and after a moment broke through likean augury of joy. Stars and moon made the wilderness over into a land offairy; at ten million points the snow caught the light, flashing it backas though the white robe spread over the solitudes were sewn with gems.Never had the world looked so white as now with a rare light shiningupon its smooth purity; it was clean and fresh, gloriously spotless.Where black shadows lay they but accentuated the whiteness across whichthey fell.

  Out of this sleeping, enchanted land, rising above it, sweeping acrossit, a low voice like a whisper came to her, a whisper in her ears thatbecame a song in her heart. The snow that had, clung to the pines,muting their needles and stilling their branches, had dropped on duringthe day. Now the night wind which drove the clouds lingered through thepine tops and set them swaying gently in the vast, harmonic rhythm whichis like the surging of a distant ocean. The everlasting whisper of thepines, that ancient hushed voice which through the countless centurieshas never been still save when briefly silenced by the snow; which hadborne its message to Gloria when on that first day she went with MarkKing into the mountains; which many a time had mingled with her fancies,tingeing them, leading her to dream of another life than that of citystreets; which now, suddenly, set chords vibrating softly in her ownbosom. All these days it had been stilled; had it called her ears wouldhave been deaf to it. But now insistently it bore a message to her, sucha message as from now on she would hear in the quiet voices of herlittle camp-fire. To her, attuned by those varying emotions whichlatterly had had their wills with her, it was the ancient call; thesummons back to the real things of his, to the bigness and the truemeaning of life. Rising in response to it, awakening in her own breast,were the old human, instinctive influences, sprouting seeds in the bloodof her forbears. It was the eternal call of the mother earth that onelike Gloria must hear and hearken to and understand before she could setfirm feet upon the ashes of a vanquished self to rise to the true thingsof womanhood. It was the

  "... one everlasting Whisper day and night repeated--so: Something hidden. Go and find it. Go and look behind the Ranges-- Something lost behind the Ranges. Lost and waiting for you. Go!"

  Gloria understood. In her heart, lifting her eyes from the white gloryof the earth to the bright glory of the sky, she thanked God that sheunderstood.

  Benny and the Italian were still alive and might be near? That did notin any way affect the fact that there must be wood brought for King'sfire. She turned back for the rifle and the rope. She saw that King hadnot stirred; that he seemed plunged in a deep, quiet sleep. She stoodover him, looking down at him with her love for him softening her eyes.He was going to get well--_if she did her part_. And her part was soclearly indicated; to give him broth and to keep his fire going. She didnot hesitate and she was not afraid as she went down the cliffs. Shemeant to be Mark King's mate; she meant to be worthy of being his mate.He had not hesitated, he had not been afraid, when one man against fivehe dropped down into the lowest cave. She, like him, was of pioneerstock. She remembered that impressive monument to pioneer fortitudewhich stands in the mountains where the highway runs by Donner Lake; asin a vision she saw the little group that crowns the rugged pile. Thewoman, the pioneer mother, holding her baby to her breast, pressing onwith her own mate, looking fearlessly ahead, daring what might come, notlagging behind the man, rather ready to lead the way should he falter.It was a glorious thing to have blood like that in her veins; it was thefinest thing in the world to be a woman like that woman.

  She stepped down into the packed snow at the base of the cliffs. Hereshe stood looking up and down the gorge for any sign of Benny or of theItalian or of any other of Brodie's crowd who might be alive and astir.But she saw no one; even Gratton's body, where it had been tumbled outinto the snow, was hidden. She heard the deep, quiet breathing of thepines; the canon stream rushed and gurgled and babbled, shouting as itleaped over fails, flinging spray which the moonlight and starlight madeover into jewels.

  Gloria worked at her fuel-gathering, working in the snow until her handsand feet were nearly frozen. But her heart was warm. Though she madehaste and was ever watchful and on the alert, her mind filled with suchthoughts as had never come trooping into it before. Fragmentary, theywere like bright bits spinning about a common centre. She looked up atthe wide sky and it was borne in upon her that the universe was mightyand wonderful and infinite; she looked int
o her own heart and saw whereshe had been small and silly and finite. She saw that the snow-coveredridges stretching endlessly were like a concrete symbol of that infinitywhich extended above and about her; that they were clothed in beauty.She knew that when Mark King was made whole again and had forgiven herand they stood together, hand locked in hand, she would have no fear anymore for his mountains, but rather a great, abiding love. She saw thather life had been empty; that only love could fill it, love and servicesuch as she was rendering to-night. Pretty clothes, dress suits, did notmatter, and strong, loyal hearts did matter. To-night she would ratherhave Mark King hold her in his arms and say "I love you" than to haveall of the red gold in all of the world.

  Three times that night she made the trip up and down the cliffs,bringing wood. At the end, though near exhaustion, she sank down by thefire for but a few minutes. The bear meat was boiling and bubbling; shepoured off a little of the broth, cooled it, and then, as she had givenKing the coffee, she forced some of the strong soup between his teeth.She touched his cheek and dared hope that it was not so icy cold; shechafed his feet and wrapped them again in a not blanket. And then, withall of her covers given to him, she drew a coat about her shoulders andsat down at his side, on the edge of his blankets. And here, throughoutthe night, she sat, dozing and waking, rising again and again to keepthe fire burning.

  She started up to find it full day; she had been asleep, her headagainst his knee. The fire was dying down; she jumped up and replenishedit, setting the broth back among the coals. King lay as he had lain lastnight; his continued coma was like a profound quiet sleep. He was verypale, and yet certainly not paler than when she had first looked uponhis blood-smeared face.

  She went to the canvas screen and looked out. The sun was shining. Andoh, the glory of the sun after these long dark days! The sky was a deep,serene, perfect blue. The snow shone and glittered and sparkledeverywhere. Down in the gorge she saw a little bird in quick flight. Itskimmed the water; it Lighted on a rock in the spray; it put back itshead and seemed to be bursting with a joy of song. A water-ouzel! Afriend from out a happy past----To Gloria it seemed that the world wasfull of promise.

  All day long she ministered to King, going back and forth tirelessly,since love and hope inspired every step she made. None of Brodie's menhad come; she felt a strange confidence that they would not come. Theywere afraid of King as jackals are afraid of a lion; further, they didnot know that he was wounded. She thought little of them, having muchelse to think of. She wound King's watch, guessing at the time; shejudged it sensible to force a little nourishment upon him at regularintervals and brought him his broth every two hours.

  At a little before noon Gloria, stooping over the fire, started erectand whirled about. King's eyes were open! She ran to him, dropping onher knees beside him, catching up his hand, whispering:

  "Mark! Oh, Mark--thank God!"

  He looked at her strangely. There was a puzzled, bewildered expressionin his eyes. He strove to move and again looked at her with that strangebewilderment. She saw his lips move--he wanted to say something, to asksomething and, deserted now by all of that magnificent strength on whichhe had always leaned, was as weak as a baby.

  "Don't try to talk, Mark," she cried softly. "Please; not yet. You arebetter; everything is all right."

  She gave his hand a last squeeze and hurried back to the fire; his eyes,still shadow-filled, followed her curiously. She came back to him withcup and spoon. This he could understand; he opened his lips for thespoon, he accepted what she gave him and when she had finished laylooking up at her wonderingly.

  "You mustn't talk, Mark," she commanded him gently as, again, she kneltby him. "You are getting so much stronger! I'll tell you everything. Itwas last night; you have been unconscious ever since. None of the othermen have been near; I haven't even seen one of them."

  She saw his eyes clear.

  "Mark," she whispered, "we are safe here because--because you are sowonderful! You were like a god--the bravest, noblest, best man in, allthe world! You came in time; you saved me, Mark; they had not put handupon me. And I am well and strong now; I am going to take care of you;you must just lie still and get well--_Oh, Mark_----"

  His eyes closed again; he seemed very faint, very weary. Hushed, she sattense, her eyes never moving from his face. After a long time he openedhis eyes again; he tried again to speak; when the words did not come hemanaged a strange, shadowy smile with his bloodless lips and in anothermoment had sunk again into that heavy sleep that was so like death.

  When next, two hours later, she again brought his broth, he stirred ather touch and awoke. This time his eyes cleared swiftly; he rememberedthe other awakening and her words. He looked at her long and searchinglyand she understood what lay back of that look; he was wondering how shemanaged, how she endured to care for them both, how without his activeaid she withstood hardship. And this time she smiled at him.

  "I have been dining sumptuously on bear steaks," she told him lightly."And I have slept and kept warm. There has been no one near. And thedays are fine again. It was clear last night; the sun has been shiningall day. Now, when you've had your own lunch, I'll tell you anything youwant to know. Only you must not try to talk yet, Mark; not untilto-morrow. I want you strong and well again, you know; it's lonesomewithout you."

  She gave him, for the first time, a whole cup of broth, glorying in thecertainty that already he was stronger. But even yet his weakness was sogreat that, before she had spoken a dozen sentences, he was asleepagain. Clearly, even to Gloria, if but a little more blood had ebbedout of the wounded side, he would never have awakened; clearly toGloria, triumphant, it had been she who had held him back from death.She, Gloria King, alone, had fought the great grim battle; hers was thevictory. For at last she knew with her brain, as all along she had knownin her heart, that it was to be victory.

  So the hours passed. For the most part King slept, lapsing into the deepstupor of a drugged man. But at times he stirred restlessly; with slowlyreturning strength his wounds pained him; in his sleep he muttered;Gloria, watching him, winced as she saw his brow contract and saw how hetried to shift his body as though to pull away from something that hurthim.

  * * * * *

  King was awake. Awakening, he tried to move. His utter weakness, like agreat weight bearing down upon him, held him powerless. But his mind,slowly freeing itself from the shadows of sleep, was suddenly veryclear. He could turn his head a little. It was late afternoon; outsidethe sun was still shining, for a patch of light lay at the side of thecanvas flap. At first he did not see Gloria; but his eyes quested untilat last they found her. She lay by the fire, her head upon her arm,sleeping. The little huddled body looked weary beyond expression.

  For a long time his haggard eyes remained with her. She lay on therocks, without a blanket. His hand moved weakly; there were blanketsunder him, blankets covering him; his feet were wrapped in a blanket. Heremembered that a long, long time ago she had said to him: "It was lastnight." All this long, long time he had had all the blankets.... Helooked again at Gloria, at the fire; he saw wood piled near by. For manyminutes he puzzled the matter; in the end it was obvious, even to a manas sick as King, that she must have gone for wood. Perhaps more thanonce. He closed his eyes and lay very still. He knew now that he hadbeen desperately hurt; that, wounded, his fight with Brodie had broughthim very near a weakness from blood loss that was pale twin to death.And yet he was alive and warm; he had had broth and blankets and thefire had been kept blazing. He managed to slip a hand inside his shirt;before his fingers found it he knew that the bandage was there. Gloriahad done all this ... Gloria, whom he had struck ...

  Ever since that blow, the one act of his life which he would have givenso much to have undone, he had been ashamed. He had rejoiced in hisbattle with the men who had threatened Gloria with worse than death,rejoiced that in some way he might make reparation. But now, beginningto understand all that Gloria had done for him, how great were thesacrifices s
he had made for him, lying unconscious of all she did, itseemed to him that the thing that he had done was a very small thing setin the scales against her own acts. He wanted to get up and go to her;to put his blankets about her; to play the man's part and protect andshelter. But he could not so much as raise his voice to call her tohim.... Ever since that blow, upbraiding himself, he had said: "She wasonly a little, terrified girl and you were a brute to her." And now hethought wonderingly: "After that, she has worked for you, has nursedyou, has saved the worthless life in you when she should have let youdie." Again his eyes flew open; now they clung to her with a strangelook in them, born of many emotions.

  Gloria, as though she felt his eyes upon her, stirred, rose, pushed thehair back from her eyes and came quickly to him. And as she came, shesmiled. She went down on her knees beside him and took his hand in hertwo and held it tight. She had never seen in his eyes a look like theone now burning in them. She could not understand its mute message, butshe spoke softly:

  "Everything is all right, Mark. And you are better every time you wake."

  His lips strove to frame words. She bent close to them and heard hiswondering whisper:

  "Every--thing--all right?"

  "Yes, thank God," she whispered back to him. "Everything in all thewide, wide world!"

  No, he could not understand that. She saw perplexity in his eyes now.But she did not mean to let him talk yet and it was time for brothagain. But again he was whispering:

  "Blankets--yours----"

  "Yes, Mark. After you have had your nourishment. When I need them."

  But when he had taken his cup of hot broth he slipped off to sleep againand Gloria, smiling a tender smile, sat by her fire watching him as amother watches a sick baby who, the doctor has just told her, will live.