"Let's stop and have our fortunes told!" cried Miss Dangerfield, but myemployer vetoed that proposition. It was a vivid flash of colour. Thebrightly painted wagons with their canvas tops, the red-shirted men,black of hair and eyes, olive of skin, and graceful in their laziness;the older women bare-headed, bent of shoulder, and brilliantly shroudedin shawls; the younger women straight as arrows, bold and keen ofglance, and decked in ribbons and jewelry, and on every hand swarms ofgipsy children, more or less clothed. The blue smoke of their camp-firestwisted through the dark green of the fir trees in the background.
Again the forest closed upon us. The grade became steeper, and in placesour road had been blasted through solid rock. And then we reached thesummit of this ridge, and like a flash the superb panorama of the Hudsonburst upon us. At our feet lay the broad bosom of the Tappan Zee, itswaters glistening in the sunlight, the spires of a village in theforeground, and the distance blue-girt with cliffs, hills, andmountains.
I have seen it a thousand times, but it is ever new.
"Stop; Jacques Henri!" commanded Miss Harding, and I stopped.
"What's the matter?" asked Harding. "Something busted?"
"We're going to sit right here a minute or more and admire this,"declared Miss Harding.
"Great; isn't it?" admitted Harding. "Who owns it, Smith? Does it costanything to look at it?"
"Not a penny," I said.
"First time I've got something for nothing since I struck New York," wasthe comment of that gentleman.
Four or five miles across the Tappan Zee the blue of the mountain wassplattered with the white of straggling houses. To the left was achecker-board of farms, an area hundreds of square miles in extentbasking in the rays of a cloudless sun. Yet beyond, the Orange mountainslifted their rounded slopes. To the south was the grim line of thePalisades, blue-black save where trees clung to their steep sides. Onthe north Hook Mountain dipped its feet into the Hudson, and to our earscame the dull boom of explosions where vandals are blasting away itssides and ruining its beauty.
"Right over there," said Carter, pointing toward Piermont, "is whereAndre landed when he crossed the river on the mission to Benedict Arnoldwhich ended in his capture and death. Beyond the mountain is themonument which marks the spot where he met with what our school booksterm 'an untimely fate.'"
"A short distance to the south," I added, "is the old house whereWashington made his headquarters during the most discouraging years ofthe Revolution, and in which he and Rochambeau planned the campaignwhich ended with the surrender of Cornwallis at Yorktown. And not faraway is 'Sleepy Hollow,' where Washington Irving lived, wrote, anddied."
"Yes, yes," contributed Chilvers, "and on this sacred soil there now isbunched a cluster of millionaires, any one of whom could pay the entireexpense of the War of the Revolution as easily as I can settle for a gasbill."
We had not noticed Harding, who suddenly appeared in front of themachine with his driver and a handful of golf balls.
"The future historian will record," he declared, "that from this spotRobert L. Harding drove a golf ball into that pond below!"
"Suppose you can, Robert," observed his wife, "what earthly good will itdo you, and what will it prove?"
"It will prove that I can drive one of these blamed things into thatpond," he grinned. "I've got to break into history some way."
On the fifth trial he had the satisfaction of driving a ball into thatpond. It was not much of a drive, but it pleased him immensely.
"I got my money's worth out of those five balls," he declared as heclimbed back into the car.
"See how the sun strikes the sail of that schooner!" exclaimed MissHarding. "And how it glances from the brass work of those yachts atanchor! There goes an auto boat darting through a swarm of sail boatslike a bird through fluttering butterflies. It is a glorious view fromhere!"
"It makes the Rhine look like counterfeit money," asserted Chilvers,whose similes usually are grotesque. "Any time you hear an Americanraving over the wonderful scenery of Europe you can place a bet that hehas never seen that of his own country."
"That's right, Chilvers," said Harding. "We have all kinds of sceneryout West that has never been used. It's a drug in the market, layingaround out-of-doors for the first one that comes along."
We made the next ten miles at a rapid gait through one of the finestcountry-residence sections in this fair land of ours. Then we entered asparsely settled agricultural district. We were opposite a meadow whichrecently had been mowed. It was a gentle slope with picturesque rocksflanking its sides, and near the road was a pond.
"It was not much of a drive"]
"Whoa there, Smith!" shouted Harding. I jammed on brakes and turned tosee what was the matter.
"What is it, papa?" asked Miss Harding.
"This is just the place I've been looking for," he said, standing andsurveying the meadow with the eye of an expert.
"What for?"
"To paste a ball in," he asserted, reaching for his clubs.
"Drive ahead, Jacques Henri!" ordered my charming employer. "PapaHarding, we're not going to stop every time you see a place where youwish to drive a ball!"
"Just this once, Kid," pleaded her father. "Let me soak a few balls outthere, and I won't say another word until we get to Oak Cliff. Be good,Grace, we've got lots of time."
"Very well," she consented, looking at her watch. "We'll wait tenminutes for you."
"Here's where I get some real practice," he said, arming himself with adriver and a box of balls. "Come on, Chilvers, you and Carter help mechase 'em."
"Robert Harding, you are hopeless!" declared his good wife. "You havebecome a perfect golf crank."
"Let me alone," he grinned, as he climbed the fence. "I'm on myvacation. Keep your eyes on this one, boys!"
Before we started from Woodvale he declared that it was all nonsense totake along a change of clothes, and he was dressed in that wonderfulcostume, plaids, red coat and all.
We lay back in our seats and smilingly watched his efforts. He has shownsigns of improvement recently, and is imbued with the enthusiasm of thenovice who realises that his practice has counted for something.
He drove the first half-dozen balls indifferently, but the next one wasreally a good one.
"There was a beaut!" he exclaimed, turning to us as the balldisappeared with a bound over the crest of the slope. "What's the matterwith you folks? Why don't you applaud when a man makes a good shot?"
"That's balls enough, papa, dear," said Miss Harding. "By the time youhave found them your time will be up."
"Right you are, Kid," he admitted. "I'm proud of that last one, and I'mgoing to pace it. Help me pick 'cm up, boys, I'll drive 'em back, andthen we'll go on."
He started to pace the distance of the longer ball, counting as hestrode along. When he reached the crest of the slope we could hear himdroning, "one hundred twenty-one, twenty-two, twenty-three," etc. Carterwas hunting for the balls to the right and Chilvers for those to theleft.
The red coat and plaid cap disappeared over the hill. Miss Dangerfieldwas chattering about something, I know not what. I was looking at MissHarding, and did not hear her.
I did hear some sound which resembled distant thunder. A moment later Isaw the top of that plaid cap bob above the hill. Then I saw theshoulders of that red coat, and the huge figure of the railroad magnatefairly shot into view.
He was running as fast as his stout legs would carry him, waving hisclub and occasionally looking quickly to his rear.
I knew in an instant what was the matter.
"What is papa running for?" exclaimed Miss Harding. That question wasspeedily answered.
"Run! Run, boys!" he yelled as he plowed down that slope. "Run likehell; he's after us!"
Carter and Chilvers took one glance and the three of them came tearingdown that hill.
There came into view the lowered head and humped shoulders of a Holsteinbull close on the trail of the lumbering millionaire. The womenscreamed.
r /> "He will be killed; he will be killed!" moaned Mrs. Harding. "Oh, dosomething to save him, Mr. Smith; please do something!"
I am rather proud of my generalship at that critical moment. I have acertain amount of wit in an emergency, and luckily it did not fail me.It is not an easy matter to head off an enraged bull in an open field,but I saw a chance and took it.
"Run! Run, boys!"]
I grasped Miss Harding and fairly threw her to the ground.
"Jump! Jump!" I yelled to the others.
Mrs. Chilvers and Miss Dangerfield instantly obeyed, but Mrs. Hardingwas too terrified to comprehend my orders. Her eyes were fixed on herhusband, and she neither saw nor heard me. There was not a second tolose.
I swung that heavy touring-car in a backward curve, so as to face thefence over which Mr. Harding had climbed. Turning on full speed I headedfor it.
The powerful machine quivered for the fraction of a second and thenleaped from the roadway. There was a crash of splintered fence posts andboards, a glimpse of flying lumber, and we were in the meadow.
It takes some time to tell this, but it was not long in happening. Whenwe went through that fence Harding was probably seventy yards away andto our left. The bull was not twenty feet back of him and gainingrapidly at every jump. I saw nothing of Carter or Chilvers.
Harding had dropped his club and was running desperately. I feared everymoment that he would fall. He was headed for the pond, but never wouldhave reached it.
"Drop down! Drop down!" I shouted to Mrs. Harding.
We went over a hummock where a drain-pipe had been laid and I thought wewere done for. The shock hurled Mrs. Harding to the floor. Beyond thatpoint the ground was hard and fairly smooth and our speed becameterrific.
"Then I struck the bull"]
The distance between the bull and his intended victim had decreased toso small a space that I despaired of cutting him off. I cannot tellexactly what happened. I only know that I kept my eye on that bull asreligiously as one attempts to obey the golf mandate, "keep your eye onthe ball."
Then I struck the bull.
I caught him with the left of the front of the car. The collision wasat an angle of about thirty degrees, I should say. I missed Harding bynot more than six feet. I presume we were travelling at a rate of a milea minute, and that bull certainly was going one-third that fast.
As the front of the machine was upon the animal I ducked, but did notrelease my firm grip on the steering-wheel. There was photographed on mybrain an impression of a shaggy head, short and sharp horns, rage-crazedeyes, a wet nose and lolling tongue, of turf cast up by flying hooves,of a bearded face with staring eyes, of a red coat and a bewilderingplaid--and then the machine was upon them.
The shock of the collision was so slight that I feared I had missed mytarget. I shut off the power and swung sharply to the right. One glanceproved that Mrs. Harding was uninjured.
Two objects were on the ground over which I had passed, and Carter andChilvers were running toward them. Had I struck Harding? I sufferedagonies in those moments, and I was the first to reach his side.
As I sprang from the car he raised to a sitting posture and attempted tospeak, but it was impossible to do so. Before Mrs. Harding could reachhim he was on his feet, making gestures to indicate that he was nothurt.
"He's all right!" shouted Chilvers, rushing up to us. "Don't be alarmed,Mrs. Harding, he only stumbled and fell. He's winded but will catch hisbreath in a minute!"
Mr. Harding panted, and between gasps bowed and made pantomimic signs toindicate that Chilvers had correctly diagnosed his ailment.
His wife has too much sense to give way to her emotions at such a time.She brushed his clothes and wiped the perspiration from his face. MissHarding and the others were on the scene before his voice came back tohim.
"I'm--all--right!" he declared with much effort, walking and swinginghis arms to prove it to himself and us. Then he shook hands with me, andI noted that his violent exercise had not impaired the strength of hisgrip. We walked over and looked at the dead bull.
"That was a good shot, Smith," he said. "That was great work. Do youknow how close you came to hitting me?"
"It was very close, but I had one eye on you," I replied.
"I honestly believe it was the rush of air from the machine that keeledme over, but I was about done for. I doubt if I would have made thatpond."
"Governor," said Chilvers, "he would have nailed you in two more jumps.That was as pretty a piece of interference as I ever saw."
There was not a mark on the dead animal, whose neck must have beenbroken.
"When you struck him," said Chilvers, "the air was full of surprisedbeef. That bull went at least twelve feet in the air, and he never movedafter he came down. It was a glancing shot, and you could not have donebetter, Smith, if you made a hundred trials."
"Once is enough for me," I said.
I turned my attention to the automobile, and as I started toward it MissHarding intercepted me.
"That was very brave of you, Jacques Henri," she said, offering both ofher hands. "You are an excellent chauffeur, and we all thank you."
"Don't praise me too much or I shall be tempted to demand an exorbitantsalary," I declared. "I'm glad I had the sense to think of it in time.Let's see if much damage was done to the machine."
It was a happy moment for John Henry Smith, and I would tackle a bullevery day under the same circumstances if I knew that there was waitingfor me the reward of such a glance from those eyes and the clasp ofthose little hands.
The forward lamps were smashed beyond repair and several rods wereslightly bent, but aside from these trifles I could not see that anydamage had been done. Mr. Harding and the others joined us.
"I suppose somebody owns that bull," he said. "Do you happen to know whoruns this farm, Smith?"
I had no idea. There was no farmhouse in sight, and Harding was in aquandary. He thought a moment and then produced one of his cards.
"Write this for me, Smith. My hand is too shaky. Let's see," and thenhe dictated the following: "_While playing golf I was attacked by thisbull. Send bill for bull to Woodvale Club_."
"I should say that was all right," he said, reading it carefully. "It isshort and does not go into unnecessary details."
We tied the card to the animal's horns, and I have an idea the owner ofthat unfortunate beast will be mystified to account for the fate whichbefel him. Having repaired the fence as best we could we resumed ourjourney to Oak Cliff, and Mr. Harding was content to remain in his seatuntil we reached there.
Later in the day Chilvers drew a diagram of this exploit on the back ofa menu card, and I paste it in here as a droll memento of this incident.
Chilvers attempted to explain to Harding and the rest of us that thecollision between the auto and the bull resulted in "pulled or hookedshot," the bull taking the place of a golf ball and the machine servingas the face of the driver. It is quite accurate as showing the relativepositions of the various factors, but I should not term it an artproduct.
"I am familiar with the road from here to Oak Cliff," said Miss Hardingwhen we had gone a mile or so. "You may rest, Jacques Henri, and I'lltake your place."
She did so, and handled the big car with the skill of an expert. I didnot talk to her for fear of distracting her attention from the task shehad assumed. I was contented to watch her, to be near her and to knowthat I had had the rare good fortune to do an unexpected turn for onewho was near and dear to her.
I will tell of our day in Oak Cliff in my next entry.