Part 89 (1/2)

”Yes”--she hesitated--”I think so.”

”Let Kemp guide them,” he insisted. ”They'll never hold out as far as Cloudy Mountain. All they want is to shoot a boar, no matter how big it is. Miller says the boar are feeding again near the Green Pa.s.s. It's easy enough to send them there.”

”Do you think that is perfectly hospitable? Rosalie and Delancy may find it rather stupid going off alone together with only Kemp to amuse them.

I am fond of him,” she added, ”but you know what a woman like Rosalie is p.r.o.ne to think of Delancy.”

He glanced at her keenly; she had, evidently, not the slightest notion of the _status quo_.

”Oh, they'll get along together, all right,” he said carelessly. ”If they choose to remain with us, of course we all can keep on to Cloudy Mountain; but you'll see them accept Kemp and the Green Pa.s.s with grateful alacrity after two miles of snow-shoeing through the brush; and we'll have the mountain all to ourselves.”

”You're a shameless deviser of schemes, aren't you, dear?” she asked, considering him with that faint, intimate smile, which, however, had always in it something of curiosity. ”You know perfectly well we could drive those poor people the whole way to Cloudy Mountain.”

”Why, that _is_ so!” he exclaimed, pretending surprise; ”but, after all, dear, it's better sport to beat up the alders below Green Pa.s.s and try to jump a pig for them. That's true hospitality----”

She laughed, shaking her head. ”Oh, Duane, Duane!” she murmured, suffering him to capture both her hands and lay them against his face to cover the glee that twitched it at his own unholy perfidy.

And so it came about that, after an early luncheon, a big double sleigh jingled up, received its jolly cargo, and sped away again into the white woodlands, Kathleen waving adieu and Scott deriding them with scoffing and s...o...b..a.l.l.s.

The drive was very beautiful, particularly through the pine and hemlock belt where the great trees, clothed heavily with snow, bent branch and crest under the pale winter suns.h.i.+ne. Tall fir-balsams p.r.i.c.ked the sky, perfect cones of white; spruces were snowy mounds; far into the forest twilight glimmered the unsullied snow.

As they sped along, Geraldine pointed out imprints of fox and rabbit, faint trails where a field-mouse had pa.s.sed, the string of henlike footprints recording the deliberate progress of some ruffed grouse picking its leisurely way across the snow; the sharp, indented marks of squirrels.

Rosalie was enchanted, Delancy mildly so, but when a deeper trail ploughed the snow, running parallel to their progress, he regarded it with more animation.

”Pig,” said Geraldine briefly.

”Wild?” he inquired.

”Of course,” she smiled; ”and probably a good big boar.”

Rosalie thrilled and unconsciously rested her fur-gloved hand on Delancy's sleeve.

”You know,” she said, ”you must shoot a little straighter than you did at target practice this morning. Because I can't run very fast,” she added with another delightful shudder.

Delancy, at her anxious request, modestly a.s.sured her that he would ”plug” the first boar that showed his tusks; and Geraldine laughed and made Rosalie promise to do the same.

”You're both likely to have a shot,” she said as the sleigh drew up on a stone bridge and Miller and Kemp came over and saluted--big, raw-boned men on snow-shoes, wearing no outer coats over their thin woollen s.h.i.+rts, although every thermometer at Roya-Neh recorded zero.

Gun-cases were handed out, rifles withdrawn, and the cases stowed away in the sleigh again. Fur coats were rolled in pairs, strapped, and slung behind the broad shoulders of the guides. Then snow-shoes were adjusted--skis for Geraldine; Miller walked westward and took post; Kemp's huge bulk closed the eastern extremity of the line, and between them, two and two at thirty paces apart, stood the hunters, Duane with Rosalie, Geraldine with Delancy, loading their magazines.

Ahead was an open wood of second growth, birch, beech, and maple; sunlight lay in white splashes here and there; nothing except these blinding pools of light and the soft impression of a fallen twig varied the immaculate snow surface as far as the eye could see.

”Forward and silence,” called out Geraldine; the mellow swish of snow-shoes answered her, and she glided forward on her skis, instructing Delancy under her breath.

”The wind is right,” she said. ”They can't scent us here, though deeper in the mountains the wind cuts up and you never can be sure what it may do. There's just a chance of jumping a pig here, but there's a better chance when we strike the alder country. Try not to shoot a sow.”

”How am I to tell?”

”Sows have no tusks that show. Be careful not to mistake the white patches of snow on a sow's jowl for tusks. They get them by rooting and it's not always easy to tell.”

Delancy said very honestly: ”You'll have to control me; I'm likely to let drive at anything.”