Part 14 (1/2)

Tisdale's brows relaxed. He laughed a little softly, trying to ease her evident distress. ”I am glad you did, Miss Armitage. I am mighty glad you did. But I see,” he went on slowly, his face clouding again, ”I see Mrs.

Weatherbee had been talking to you about that tract. It's strange I hadn't thought of that possibility. I'll wager she even tried to sell the land off a map, in Seattle. I wonder, though, when this Weatherbee trip was arranged to look the property over, that she didn't come, too. But no doubt that seemed too eager.”

The blue lights flashed in her eyes; her lip trembled. ”Be fair,” she said. ”You can afford to be--generous.”

”I am going to be generous, Miss Armitage, to you.” The ready humor touched his mouth again, the corners of his eyes. ”I am going to take you over the ground with me; show you Weatherbee's project, his drawn plans.

But afterwards, if you outbid me--”

”You need not be afraid of that,” she interrupted quickly. ”I--you must know”--she paused, her lashes drooped--”I--am not very rich,” she finessed.

Tisdale laughed outright. ”Neither am I. Neither am I.” Then, his glance studying the road, he said: ”I think we take that branch. But wait!” He drew his map from his pocket and pored over it a moment. ”Yes, we turn there. After that there is just one track.”

For an instant Miss Armitage seemed to waver. She sent a backward look to the river, and the glance, returning, swept Tisdale; then she straightened in her seat and swung the bays into the branch. It cut the valley diagonally, away from the Wenatchee, past a last orchard, into wild lands that stretched in level benches under the mountain wall. One tawny, sage-mottled slope began to detach from the rest; it took the shape of a reclining brazen beast, partly leopard, partly wolf, and a line of pine trees that had taken root in a moist strata along the backbone had the effect of a bristling mane.

”That is Weatherbee's landmark,” said Tisdale. ”He called it Cerberus. It is all sketched in true as life on his plans. The gap there under the brute's paw is the entrance to his vale.”

As they approached, the mountain seemed to move; it took the appearance of an animal, ready to spring. Miss Armitage, watching, s.h.i.+vered. The dreadful expectation she had shown the previous night when the cry of the cougar came down the wind, rose in her face. It was as though she had come upon that beast, more terrifying than she had feared, lying in wait for her. Then the moment pa.s.sed. She raised her head, her hands tightened on the reins, and she drove resolutely into the shadows of the awful front.

”Now,” she said, not quite steadily, ”now I know how monstrously alive a mountain can seem.”

Tisdale looked at her. ”You never could live in Alaska,” he said. ”You feel too much this personality of inanimate things. That was David Weatherbee's trouble. You know how in the end he thought those Alaska peaks were moving. They got to 'crowding' him.”

The girl turned a little and met his look. Her eyes, wide with dread, entreated him. ”Yes, I know,” she said, and her voice was almost a whisper. ”I was thinking of him. But please don't say any more. I can't-- bear it--here.”

So she was thinking of Weatherbee. Her emotion sprang from her sympathy for him. A gentleness that was almost tenderness crept over Tisdale's face. How fine she was, how sensitively made, and how measureless her capacity for loving, if she could feel like this for a man of whom she had only heard.

Miss Armitage, squaring her shoulders and sitting very erect once more, her lips closed in a straight red line drove firmly on. A stream ran musically along the road side,--a stream so small it was marvelous it had a voice. As they rounded the mountain, the gap widened into the mouth of the vale, which lifted back to an upper bench, over-topped by a lofty plateau. Then she swung the team around and stopped. The way was cut off by a barbed wire fence.

The enclosure was apparently a corral for a flock of Angora goats. There was no gate for the pa.s.sage of teams; the road ended there, and a rough sign nailed to a hingeless wicket warned the wayfarer to ”Keep Out.” On a rocky k.n.o.b near this entrance a gaunt, hard-featured woman sat knitting.

She measured the trespa.s.sers with a furtive, smouldering glance and clicked her needles with unnecessary force.

Tisdale's eyes made a swift inventory of the poor shelter, half cabin, partly shed, that evidently housed both the woman and her flock, then searched the barren field for some sort of hitching post. But the few bushes along the stream were small, kept low, doubtless, by the browsing goats, and his glance rested on a fringe of poplars beyond the upper fence.

”There's no way around,” he said at last, and the amus.e.m.e.nt broke softly in his face. ”We will have to go through.”

”The wicket will take the team singly,” she answered, ”but we must unhitch and leave the buggy here.”

”And first, if you think you can hold the colts that long, I must tackle this thistle.”

”I can manage,” she said, and the sparkles danced in her eyes, ”unless you are vanquished.”

The woman rose and stood glowering while he sprang down and drew the wooden pin to open the wicket. Then, ”You keep off my land,” she ordered sharply. ”I will, madam,” he answered quietly, ”as soon as I am satisfied it is yours.”

”I've lived on this claim 'most five years,” she screamed. ”I'm homesteading, and when I've used the water seven years, I get the rights.”

She sprang backward with a cattish movement and caught up a gun that had been concealed in some bushes. ”Now you go,” she said.

But Tisdale stayed. He stood weighing her with his steady, appraising eyes, while he drew the towns.h.i.+p plat from his pocket.

”This is the quarter section I have come to look up. It starts here, you see,”--and having unfolded the map, he turned to hold it under her glance--”at the mouth of this gap, and lifts back through the pocket, taking in the slopes to this bench and on up over this ridge to include these springs.”

The woman, curbing herself to look at the plat, allowed the rifle to settle in the curve of her arm. ”I piped the water down,” she said. ”This stream was a dry gully. I fenced and put up a house.”