The Everlasting Whisper
_Chapter VIII_
Through the long shadows of evening they rode back to the log house.While King unsaddled, Gloria stood watching him; her eyes shone softlythrough the dusk.
"It has been a truly wonderful day," she said simply.
"It is you who have been wonderful," he answered stoutly. "I know youare not used to long rides like ours to-day; I know you are tired out.And you never gave a sign."
"The blood of my ancestors," she laughed happily.
In the house Gratton looked at them sharply and suspiciously; Archie andTeddy saw only Gloria through sorrowful eyes. King, with a nod to thevarious guests and a few words with Mrs. Gaynor, entirely given to warmpraise of her daughter, drew Ben aside for a discussion of conditions ashe had found them and left them to-day. He was dead sure that Brodie hadgone back to Honeycutt, had gotten what he wanted, and was off in abee-line to put to the proof the old man's tale.
Gloria was off to bed early, saying "good-night everybody" ratherabsently. She climbed up the stairs wearily. When her mother slippedaway from the others, having started the victrola and urged them todancing, she found Gloria ready for bed but standing before her window,looking out at the first stars. Mrs. Gaynor discovered in her littledaughter a new, grave-eyed uncommunicativeness. Gloria usually had somany bright, gushing things to say after a day of pleasure, but to-nightshe appeared oddly preoccupied.
"Oh, I'm dead tired, mamma," she said impatiently. "Nothing happened.I'll tell you to-morrow--anything I can think of. And now, good-night;I'm so sleepy." She kissed her mother and added: "I didn't tell Markgood-night--"
"_Mark_? Already, my dear?"
"He was outside with papa," said Gloria, slipping into bed. "Will youtell him good-night for me?"
"He's gone," retorted her mother, with a certain relish.
"Gone!" Gloria sat up, a very pretty picture of consternation. "Where?"
"Back into the woods. Where he came from, of course. I actually think,"and she laughed deprecatingly though with a shrewd watchful look to markher daughter's quick play of expression, "that that man couldn't sleeptwo consecutive nights under a roof. His clothes smell like a pine-tree.He wouldn't understand us any more than we could understand him, Isuppose."
Gloria was silent and thoughtful. Then, "Good-night, mamma," she offeredagain, her cheek snuggled against her pillow. "And put out the light asyou go, please."
Mrs. Gaynor, accepting her dismissal though reluctantly, sighed and wentout. As the door closed Gloria tossed back the covers and sprang out ofbed, going again to her window. She watched the mountain ridges turnblacker and blacker; saw a second star and another and suddenly theheavens filled with a softly glimmering spray of twinkling lights; sheheard the night wind rustling, tender with vague voices. A tiny shivershook the white shoulders, a shiver not from cold, since not yet had theair chilled. Through her mind swept a dozen vivid pictures, all of King,most of them of him out there, alone with the night and the mountains.But she saw him also as she had seen him to-day; riding before her,breaking the alders aside, catching her as she fell. All day she hadthrilled to him. Now, more than ever, she thrilled. She imagined she sawhim striding along through the big boles of the pines; passing swiftly,silent and stern, through a faint patch of light; standing in theshadows, listening, his keen eyes drilling the obscurity; passing onagain, vigorous, forceful, determined, and "splendid." She wondered ifhe would come up with Swen Brodie; most of all she wondered when shewould see him again.
In all likelihood Miss Gloria, healthy, tired young animal, would haveslept until noon next day had she been left to her own devices. But atnine o'clock her mother came up with a breakfast-tray. Gloria regardedit sleepily.
"I would have let you sleep, my dear," said Mrs. Gaynor, "but there areyour guests, you know----"
"Hang my guests," was Gloria's morning greeting. "Just because I invitedthem up here do I have to give up every shred of my independence?" Shewas lying in identically the same position in which she had dropped offto sleep the night before; now she turned and emitted a sudden "Ouch!"Not only was she stiff from head to foot; her whole body ached as thoughit were nothing but bruises.
So began Gloria's day after her picnicking with Mark King. And in verymuch the same way her day continued. Long before the sun set she hadquarrelled with Georgia, turned up her nose at Teddy, laughed derisivelyat poor Archie's dog-like devotion, and considerably perplexed andworried Mr. Gratton, who was astute enough to keep tactfully in thebackground, hurt her mother's feelings, and alarmed her father by a wildand for the instant perfectly heartfelt determination to go and be a"movie" actress. There was no dancing that night. Gloria, when theythought her upstairs, sat alone out in the gloaming, a wistful, droopinglittle girl surrendering sweepingly to youthful melancholia. She didn'tknow just what the matter was; she didn't seek for reasons andexplanations; she merely stared at the far-off stars which swam in ablue blur, and felt miserable.
But morning came again, as bright as that first day in Eden; the birdssang and the air was crisp, and young blood ran pleasantly. She camedown early, all radiant smiles; she kissed her mother on both cheeks andthe lips, rumpled her father's hair affectionately, went for a strollwith Mr. Gratton before breakfast, craved Georgia's pardon abjectly, andmade the world an abiding-place of joy for the college boys.
Gloria was mildly surprised that Gratton did not appear in the least toresent her day of adventuring with King. He was interested; he did shakehis head with one of his suave smiles and murmur "Lucky dog!" when Kingwas referred to. But his interest seemed to be chiefly in "that quaintlittle relic of past, turbulent days, Coloma." He had her tell him allabout it; of the deserted houses, the store, everything. Hence hiscuriosity in Honeycutt and Brodie, and just what happened between Kingand them, did not stand out alone and made no impression on Gloria. Longago Gratton had had from her lips what rumours had been repeated by herfather to her mother and then relayed on to her own ears. Down in SanFrancisco, busied with her own youthful joys, this quest of Ben Gaynorand Mark King had had no serious import to the girl; she had merelychatted of it because of its colourful phases. Naturally, had shethought a great deal of it, she would have supposed that Gratton, innowise concerned, was even more superficially interested than herself.
By the end of the week her guests began taking their leaves. Georgia andConnie Grayson were off to foregather with a crowd of friends at theLake Tahoe "Tavern"; Evelyn returned to her mother in Oakland; Archiedeparted importantly to aid his father "in the business"; Teddy wentaway regretfully. Even Mr. Gratton, having lingered longest of all, wentback to his city affairs, promising to run up again when he could,prophesying smilingly that he would see both Gloria and her mother intown within ten days. Ben, leaving his oldest and most dependabletimber-jack to look out for the womenfolk, hastened back to thelumber-camp, where he returned like a fish to water to his old pipe andold clothes and roomy boots. And Gloria was plunged deep intoloneliness.
She would walk up the creek back of the house, sit by the hour near thepool where the water came slithering down over a green and grey boulder,watching for the water-ouzel, entertained in an absent sort of way byhis bobbings and flirtings and snatches of song. She dreamed day-dreams;she started expectantly every time a chipmunk made a scurrying racketin dead leaves. She made a hundred romantic conclusions to the story,just begun, by Mark King going in the night into the mountains whereBrodie was. Her mind was rife with speculation, having ample food forthought in all the information she had extracted from her father. Thus,she knew of Andy Parker's death; of old Honeycutt's box; of Honeycutt'sboastings of a wild youth; of Brodie's threats and King's interferenceand the old man's shotgun. If she could only _know_ what was happeningnow out there beyond those silent blue barriers! Night after night shestood at her window, swayed through many swift moods by her livefancies.
She grew wildly homesick for town. A theatre, dance, a ride through thepark. Activity. And people. It was for her mother that she consented toremain here another we
ek. Mrs. Gaynor declared that she must have a fewmore days of rest; she was worn out from a year of going eternally,entertaining or being entertained. Gloria, yielding, plunged into anorgy of letter-writing. She answered letters weeks old; she scribbledcountless bright and unnecessary notes. Also she succeeded in gettingher mother to drive with her frequently to Tahoe, to call on those oftheir friends there who had come to the mountains so early in theseason. Several times they remained overnight at the Tavern.
It was after one of these absences that Jim Spalding, the oldtimber-jack, told Mrs. Gaynor in his abashed stammer that Mark King hadshowed up while they were gone. Gloria, on her way to her room, whirledand came back, and extracted the tale in its entirety, pumping it out ofthe brief, few-worded old Spalding in jerky details. King had appearedlate yesterday afternoon, coming out of the woods. Looked like he'd beenroughin' it an' goin' it hard, at that. Had told Jim he wanted totelephone. Had stuck around for a while gettin' his call through; hadeaten supper with Jim; had gone back into the woods just about dark.That was all Jim knowed about it.
Rather, that was all that he supposed he knew until Miss Gloria wasdone with him. She dragged other bits of information to the surface.King had phoned her father; they had talked ten minutes; Mr. Gaynor wasto telephone to the log house again to-morrow or next day. There wouldbe a message for King; mos' likely from Coloma. King wanted to knowsomething; Ben was to find out; King would turn up within a few days forthe message.
Mrs. Gaynor that same day said to her daughter in a way so casual thatGloria immediately was on the alert:
"You've been very sweet to stay up here in this lonely place with me,dear. I am ready to go at any time now. Shall we go to-morrow?"
"Mother thinks she is so deep!" was Gloria's unspoken comment.
"We've such a lot of packing to do," said Gloria, with an assumption ofcarelessness far more artistic than her mother's. "And I'm as sleepy andlazy as an owl after being up so late last night." Her yawn, softlypatted by four pink-and-white fingers, was as ingenuous as a kitten's."I'm really in no hurry, mamma. To-morrow, if we're ready. Or next day."
They were still in the log house when, twenty-four hours later, thetelephone rang, and Gloria, quick to forestall her mother, heard theoperator saying: "Coloma calling Ben Gaynor's residence."
"Coloma!" thought Gloria with a quickened heartbeat. Then it wouldn't beher father, after all; it would be Mark King----
But her father it was, and she was disappointed. The message, however,was for King.
"Mark will show up in a day or so," he said. "Tell him that I did as heasked; that Brodie is in and out from here, the Lord knows what about;that old Honeycutt boasts that what he has hidden nobody is going tofind. I think if he ever talks to anybody it will be to me, and I'll runin and see him whenever I get a chance to get over here. And tell Kingthat--that----Oh, I guess that's all; better let me have a word withyour mother."
Ben Gaynor was never the man for successful subterfuge, especially withhis daughter; she could read every look in his eye, every twitch of hismouth, and now, over many miles of country telephone lines, she knewthat her beloved old humbug of a male parent was "holding out on her."Her first impulse was to face him down and demand to be told the rest.But realizing that a father at the end of a long-distance line waspossessed of a certain strategic advantage presenting more difficultiesthan a mother at hand, she said lightly:
"All right, papa. I'll call her. Be sure you take good care of yourself.Bydie." She relinquished the telephone instrument to her mother andstood waiting.
She could hear the buzzing of her father's voice but no distinct word.Her mother said "Yes?" and "Yes," and "Yes, Ben." And then: "Oh, _Ben_!I don't understand." And then her mother's voice sharpened, and she cutinto something Gaynor was saying: "I can't say anything like _that_! Itis as though we suspected him of being underhanded. And----"
Such scraps of talk were baffling, and Gloria, with scant patience forthe baffling, moved up and down restlessly. When her mother had clickedup the receiver, Gloria followed her and demanded to be told. Mrs.Gaynor looked worried; said it was nothing, and refused to talk. But infive minutes her daughter knew everything Gaynor had said. King was tobe told that Gratton, instead of going straight to San Francisco, hadgone down to Placerville, and next had turned up at Coloma; that he hadspent three days there; that he had gone several times to Honeycutt'sshanty, and had been seen, more than once, with Swen Brodie.
"It's an outrage," cried Mrs. Gaynor, "to retail all that to Mark King.What business of his is it if Mr. Gratton does go to Coloma, or anywhereelse?"
"That's for you and papa to argue out," said Gloria serenely.
"We are going back to San Francisco to-morrow!"
"I'm not. You know I'm not ready to go yet."
"That is very undutiful, Gloria," said her mother anxiously. "When yourown mother----"
"Oh, let's not get tragic! And, anyway, papa wanted us to stay until Mr.King came, so that we could tell him."
"Jim Spalding will be here; he can tell----"
"Why, mamma! After papa has trusted to _us_ to see that his message isdelivered!" Gloria looked shocked, incredulous. "Surely----"
So they waited for Mark King to come again out of the forest. All thenext day Gloria, dressed very daintily and looking so lovely in herexpectancy that even old Jim Spalding's eyes followed her everywhere,watched from the porch or a window or her place by the creek. She wassure that he would step out of the shadows into the sun with thatfamiliar appearance of having just materialized from among the treetrunks; over and over she was prepared, with prettily simulatedsurprise, to greet his coming. But the day passed, night drove themindoors to a cosy fireplace and lights and fragments of music whichGloria played wistfully or crashingly in bursts of impatience, and stillhe did not come. Mrs. Gaynor went off to bed at nine o'clock; Gloria,suddenly absorbed in a book, elected to sit up and finish her chapter.She outwatched the log fire; at eleven o'clock the air was chill, andGloria as she went upstairs shivered a little and felt tired and vaguelysad.
The next day she put on another pretty dress, did her hair in herfavourite way, and went about the house as gay as a lark. The daydragged by; King did not come. By nightfall the look in Gloria's eyeshad altered, and a stubborn expression played havoc with the tenderercurves of her mouth. She resented at this late date King's way of going;not only had he not told her good-bye, he had left no word with herfather for her. She sat smiling over a letter received some days agofrom Gratton--after she had retrieved the letter from a heap of crumpledpapers in her bedroom waste-paper basket. She read to her motherfragments, bright, gossipy remarks in Gratton's clever way of sayingthem; she wrote a long, dashingly composed answer.
Two days later she said to her mother, out of a long silence over thecoffee cups:
"Let's go back to San Francisco. This stupid place gets on my nerves."
"Why, of course, dear," agreed Mrs. Gaynor. "I can have everythingpacked this afternoon, and to-morrow----"
"Nonsense," said Gloria. "You know we can get packed in half an hour."
That day they left Jim Spalding in charge and departed for Truckee tocatch a train for San Francisco. Mrs. Gaynor dutifully entrusted toSpalding her husband's message for Mark King. That is to say, thatportion of the message which she considered important. Gloria herselfleft no message with old Jim; not in so many words. But she did impresshim with her abundant gaiety, with her eagerness for San Francisco,where all of her best and dearest friends were. If any one should askold Jim concerning Miss Gloria, Jim would be sure to make it clear thatshe had no minutest regret in going but a very lively anticipation ofthe fullest happiness elsewhere.