Part 28 (2/2)

Alice Mansfield, accustomed to having her way, and in this case presuming upon Ward's weakness, insisted on going. Outwardly he had argued against it, making much of the possible storms, of the rough trails, of the cold and dampness. But she argued that she was quite as able to go as Mrs. Adams, the wife of the botanist of the expedition. So Ward had yielded, and here these women were forming part of a cavalcade which was headed for Fremont Peak, concerning whose height and formation the leader wished to inform himself. Alice was, however, a bit dashed by Ward's change of manner as he laid upon his train his final instructions.

”There is to be no skylarking,” he said, ”and no back-tracking. Each one is to exercise great care. We cannot afford to lose a horse nor waste our provisions. This is not a picnic excursion, but a serious government enterprise. I cannot turn back because of any discomfort you may encounter in camp.”

”I am ready for what comes,” Alice answered, smilingly.

But she rode for the rest of the day remarkably silent. There had been times when she was certain that Ward cared a great deal for her--not in the impersonal way indicated by his reprimand--but in the way of a lover, and she was very fond of him, had indeed looked forward to this trip in his company as one sure to yield hours of delightful intimacy.

On the train he had been very devoted, ”almost lover-like,” Peggy Adams insisted. But now she was dismayed by his tone of military command.

Their first day's march brought them to a beautiful water called Heart Lake, which shone dark and deep amid its martial firs at the head of one of the streams which descended into the East Fork, and there the guides advised a camp. They were now above the hunters, almost above the game, in a region ”delightfully primeval,” as the women put it, and very beautiful and peaceful.

After the tents were in order and the supper eaten, Alice, having tuned up her little metal banjo, began to twitter tender melodies (to the moon, of course), and the long face of the man of science broadened and he seemed less concerned about rocks and fauna and flora.

The camp was maintained at Heart Lake for a day while Ward and his men explored the various gorges in order to discover a way into Blizzard Basin, which was their goal. They returned to camp each time more and more troubled about the question of taking the women over the divide into the ”rough country” which lay to the north.

”It is a totally different world,” Adams explained to his wife. ”It is colder and stormier over there. The forest on the north slopes is full of down-timber and the cliffs are stupendous. I wish you girls were back in the settlement,” and in this wish Ward heartily joined.

However, the more they talked the more determined the women were to go.

It was like a May day the following noon as they left timber-line and, following the row of tiny monuments set up by the foresters, entered upon the wide and undulating stretch of low edges which led to the summit. The air was clear and the verdureless shapes of the monstrous peaks stood sharp as steel against the sky. The tender gra.s.s was filled with minute glistening flowers. The wind was gentle, sweet, moist, and cool.

”Pooh!” said Alice, ”this is absurdly easy. Freeman has been telling us dreadful tales all along just to be rid of us.”

But she began to admit that her escort of four strong men was a comfort, as the guide explained that this ”rough country” had long been known as the retreat of cattle-thieves and outlaws.

”Do you think there are any such men in here now?” asked Mrs. Adams.

”Undoubtedly,” Ward said; ”but I don't think, from the condition of this trail, that they come in on this side of the range. I suspect it's too lonely even for a cattle-thief.”

They unsaddled that night on the bank of a stream near a small meadow, and around the camp-fire discussed the trail which they were to take next day. The guides agreed that it was ”a holy terror,” which made Alice the more eager to traverse it.

”I like trails that make men quake. I welcome adventure--that's what I came for,” she said.

Early the next forenoon, as they were descending the steep north-slope trail, Alice gave out a cry of pain, and Adams called to Ward:

”Hold on! Allie's horse is down.”

Ward was not surprised. He rode in continual expectation of trouble. She was forever trying short cuts and getting snared in the fallen logs.

Once she had been sc.r.a.ped from her saddle by an overhanging bough, and now, in attempting to find an easier path down a slippery ridge, her horse had fallen with her. Ward was ungracious enough to say:

”Precisely what I've warned her against,” but he hurried to her relief, nevertheless.

”Are you badly hurt?” he asked, as she stood before him, striving to keep back her tears of pain.

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