Part 22 (1/2)

She, unwomanlike, did not like the idea of his yielding to this reluctance to go. ”He was ready, nothing detained him, why not have the final pain of going over at once?”

He made no reply, but lounged restlessly about.

At about nine o'clock George came bursting in, with his eyes flas.h.i.+ng, and his golden hair wet with perspiration; and catching his breath, and reducing and restraining his voice, cried out: ”Julia Markham is lost in the woods, and they can't find her!” The words struck Bart like electricity, and at once made him his best self.

”Lost, George?” taking him by both hands, and speaking coolly, ”tell me all about it.”

A few great gasps had relieved George, and the cool, firm hands of Bart had fully restored his quick wits.

”She and Nell Roberts had been to Coe's, and Orville started to go home with Julia, and he did go down to Judge Markham's fields, where he left her.”

”Well?”

”She did not go home, nor anywhere, and they have been looking for her, all through the woods, everywhere.”

”All through what woods, Georgie?”

”Down between Coe's and the State road.”

”They will never find her there; there is a new chopping, back of Judge Markham's fields, which she mistook for the fields, and when she found out the mistake she turned back to the old road, and I will wager the world that she went into 'the woods,' confused and lost.”

After a moment--”Mother, put some of your wine in my hunting-flask, and give me something that can be eaten. Edward, bring me two of those bundles of hickory; and George, let me have your hatchet and belt.”

He spoke in his ordinary voice, but he looked like one inspired.

Throwing off his coat, and arraying himself in a red ”wamus,” and replacing his boots with heavy, close-fitting brogans, he was ready.

”Boys,” said he, ”go about and notify all in the neighborhood to meet at Markham's, at daylight; and tell them for G.o.d's sake, if she is not found, to form a line, and sweep through the west woods. If I am not back by daylight, push out and do all you can. Mother, don't be anxious for me. If it storms and grows cold, you know I am a born woodsman. I know now what kept me.”

”I am anxious, Barton, only that you may find her. G.o.d go with you!”

With the other things, Edward placed in his hands a long wax taper, made for the sugar camp, lighted, and with a kiss to his mother, and a cheery good-night to the boys, he sprang out.

As Julia did not return at dark, her father and mother supposed she had stopped with Nell Roberts. Mrs. Markham remembered the adventure which signalized her last walk from Coe's, and was anxious; and the Judge went down to Roberts's for her. Nell had been home one hour, and said Orville had gone home with Julia. A messenger was hurried off to Coe's, and word was sent through the neighborhood, to call out the men and boys. It had been years since an alarm and a hunt for the lost had occurred. The messenger returned with young Coe, who said that he went with Miss Markham to within sight of her father's fields, when she insisted that he should return, and he did.

Cool and collected, the Judge and his party, with lanterns and torches, accompanied by Coe, proceeded to the point where he parted with Julia, when it was discovered that what she had mistaken for her father's fields, was a new opening in the woods, a considerable distance back from them. It was supposed that in endeavoring to find a pa.s.sage through, or around the fallen timber, she had lost her way.

Obviously, if she went back towards the old road, which was a broad opening through the woods, she would in no event cross it, and must be somewhere within the forest, east of it, and between the State road and the one which led from it to Coe's. Through these woods, with flas.h.i.+ng torch and gleaming lantern, with shout and loud halloa, the Judge and his now numerous party swept. As often as a dry tree or combustible matter was found, it was set on fire, there being no danger of burning over the forest, wet with the rains of Spring.

This forest covered hundreds of acres, traversed by streams and gullies, and rocky precipices, rendered difficult of pa.s.sage by fallen trees, thickets, twining vines and briers.

The weather had been intensely hot for the season, ominously so, for the last two days, and on this day, the sun, after hanging like a fiery ball in the thickening heavens, disappeared at mid-afternoon, in the dark ma.s.s of vapor that gathered in the lower atmosphere. The night came on early, with a black darkness, and while there was no wind, there was a low, humming moan in the air, as if to warn of coming tempest, and the atmosphere was already chill with the approaching change.

CHAPTER XXVII.

THE BABES IN THE WOODS.

”There, Orville, here are our fields. I am almost home; now hurry back.

It is late. I am obliged to you.” They had reached the opening, and the young man turned back, and the young girl tripped lightly and carelessly on; not to find the fence, as she expected, but an expanse of fallen timber, huge trunks, immense jams of tree-tops, and numerous piles of brush, under which the path was hidden. As she looked over and across, in the gloomy twilight, trees seemed to stand thick and high on the other side. Julia at once concluded that they had taken a wrong path; and she thought that she remembered to have seen one, which she and Barton pa.s.sed, on the memorable night of their adventure; and without attempting to traverse the chopping, or go around it, she turned and hurried back to the old road. As she went, she thought of what had then happened, and how pleasant it would be if he were with her, and how bad it had all been since that time.

When she got back to the old road, it seemed very strange, and as if it had undergone some change; looking each way, for a moment, undecided, she finally walked rapidly to the north, until she came to a path leading to the left, which she entered, with a sense of relief, and hurried forward.

It was quite dark, silent, and gloomy in the woods, and she sped on--on past huge trees, through open glades, down through little sinks and swales, and up on high ground, until she came to an opening.

”Thank G.o.d! thank G.o.d!” cried the relieved and grateful child; ”I am out at last. How glad I am!” And she reached the margin of the woods, to be confronted with an interminable black jungle of fallen and decaying tree-trunks, limbs and thick standing brush, over which, and out of which, stood the dense tops of young trees. She paused for a moment, and turning to the left, thought to skirt about this obstruction, until she should reach the fence and field, which she was sure were now near her. On and on, and still on she went; over the trunks of fallen trees, through tangles of brush and pools of water, until, when she turned to look for the opening, she was alarmed and dismayed to find that it had disappeared. Her heart now for the first time sank within her. She listened, but no sound, save the ominous moan in the air, came to her ear. The solemn, still, black night was all about her. She looked up, and a cold, starless, dim blank was all over her; and all around, standing thick, were cold, dark, silent trees. She stood and tried to think back: where was she, and how came she there? She knew she had once turned back, from something to somewhere--to the old road, as she remembered; and it flashed across her, that in the strange appearance of things, and in her confusion, she had crossed it, and was in the awful, endless woods! How far had she gone? If lost, had she wandered round and round, as lost folks do?