Part 14 (2/2)

”Boy, boy!” the packer groaned.

”What difference can it make now?”

”_All_ the difference--all the difference there is! I thought you were out here touring it with them fool boys and they were all the chance you had for help outside. You suppose her father is going to see her git left? _They_'ll get in here, if they have to crawl on their bellies or climb through the tree-limbs. They know how! And we've wasted the grub and talked like a couple of women!”

”Oh, don't--don't torment me!” Paul groaned. ”It was all over. Can't you leave the dead in peace!”

”We are not the dead! I 'most wish we were. Boy, I've got a big word to say to you about that. Come closer!” The packer's speech hoa.r.s.ened and failed. They could only hear each other breathe. Then it seemed to the packer that his was the only breath in the darkness. He listened. A faint cheer arose in the forest and a cras.h.i.+ng of the dead underlimbs of the pines.

He turned frantically upon his son, but no pledge could be extorted now.

Paul's lips were closed. He had lost consciousness.

XIV

KIND INQUIRIES

The colonel's drawing-room was as hot as usual the first hour after dinner, and as usual it was full of kindly partic.i.p.ant neighbors who had dropped in to repeat their congratulations on the good news, now almost a week old. Mrs. Bogardus had not come down, and, though asked after by all, the talk was noticeably freer for her absence.

Mrs. Creve, in response to a telegram from her brother, had arrived from Fort Sherman on the day before, prepared for anything, from frozen feet to a wedding. She had spent the afternoon in town doing errands for Moya, and being late for dinner had not changed her dress. There never was such a ”natural” person as aunt Annie. At present she was addressing the company at large, as if they were all her promising children.

”n.o.body talks about their star in these days. I used to have a star. I forget which it was. I know it was a pretty lucky one. Now I trust in Providence and the major and wear thick shoes.” She exhibited the shoes, a particularly large and sensible kind which she imported from the East.

Everybody laughed and longed to embrace her. ”Has Moya got a star?” she asked seriously.

”The whole galaxy!” a male voice replied. ”Doesn't the luck prove it?”

”Moya has got a 'temperament,'” said Doctor Fleming, the Post surgeon.

”That's as good as having a star. You know there are persons who attract misfortune just as sickly children catch all the diseases that are going. I knew that boy was sure to be found. Anything of Moya's would be.”

”So you think it was Moya's 'temperament' that pulled him out of the snow?” said the colonel, wheeling his chair into the discussion.

”How about Mr. Winslow's temperament? I prefer to leave a little of the credit to him,” said Moya sweetly.

A young officer, who had been suffering in the corner by the fire, jumped to his feet and bowed, then blushed and sat down again, regretting his rashness. Moya continued to look at him with steadfast friendliness. Winslow had led the rescue that brought her lover home.

A glow of sympathy united these friends and neighbors; the air was electrical and full of emotion.

”I suppose no date has been fixed for the wedding?” Mrs. Dawson, on the divan, murmured to Mrs. Creve. The latter smiled a non-committal a.s.sent.

”I should think they would just put the doctor aside and be married anyhow. My husband says he ought to go to a warmer climate at once.”

”My dear, a young man can't be married in his dressing-gown and slippers!”

”No! It's not as bad as that?”

”Well, not quite. He's up and dressed and walks about, but he doesn't come down to his meals,--he can eat so very little at a time, and it tires him to sit through a dinner. It isn't one of those ravenous recoveries. It went too far with him for that.”

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