Part 25 (1/2)
The young woman gazed at him wide-eyed, and drew in her breath. ”You saved him.”
”If he obeyed me--I did.”
”And all the twenty years were you alone?”
”I always had a horse.”
”But for a companion--had you never one?”
”Never.”
”Are you, too, a good man who has done a deed against the law of your land?”
The big man looked off a moment, then down at her with a little smile playing about his lips. ”I never did a deed against the law of any land that I know of, but as for the good part--that's another thing. I may be fairly good as goodness goes.”
”Goodnessgoes!” She repeated after him as if it were one word from which she was trying to extract a meaning. ”Was it then to flee from the wicked world that you lived all the twenty years thus alone?”
”Hardly that, either. To tell the truth, it may be only a habit with me.”
”Will you forgive me that I asked? It was only that to me it has been terrible to live always in hiding and fear. I love people, and desire greatly to have kind people near me,--but of the world where my father and mother lived, and at the court--and of the n.o.bles, of all these I am afraid.”
”Yes, yes. I fancy you were.” A grim look settled about his mouth, although his eyes twinkled kindly. He marveled to think how trustingly they accompanied him into this wilderness--but then--poor babes! What else could they do? ”You'll be safe from all the courts and n.o.bles in the world where I'm taking you.”
”That is why my eyes do not weep for my father. He is now gone where none can find him but G.o.d. It is very terrible that a good man should always hide--hide and live in fear--always--even from his own kinsmen.
I understand some of the sorrows of the world.”
”You'll forget it all up there.”
”I will try if my mother recovers.” She drew in her breath with a little quivering catch.
”We'll wake her now, and start on. It won't do to waste daylight any longer.” Secretly he was afraid that they might be followed by Indians, and was sorry he had made the fire in the night, but he reasoned that he could never have brought them on without such refreshment. Women are different from men. He could eat raw bacon and hard-tack and go without coffee, when necessary, but to ask women to do so was quite another thing.
For long hours now they traveled on, even after the moon had set, in the darkness. It was just before the dawn, where the trail wound and doubled on itself, that the sorrel horse was startled by a small rolling stone that had been loosened on the trail above them.
Instantly the big man halted where they were.
”Are you brave enough to wait here a bit by your mother's horse while I go on? That stone did not loosen itself. It may be nothing but some little beast,--if it were a bear, the horses would have made a fuss.”
He mounted the sorrel and went forward, leaving her standing on the trail, holding the leading strap of her mother's horse, which tossed its head and stepped about restlessly, trying to follow. She petted and soothed the animal and talked in low tones to her mother. Then with beating heart she listened. Two men's voices came down to her--one, the big man's--and the other--yes, she had heard it before.
”It is 'Arry King, mother. Surely he has come down to meet us,” she said joyfully. She would have hurried on, but bethought herself she would better wait as she had been directed. Soon the big man returned, looking displeased and grim.
”Young chap couldn't wait. He gave me his promise, but he didn't keep it.”
”It was 'Arry King?” He made no reply, and they resumed their way as before. ”It was long to wait, and nothing to do,” she pleaded, divining his mood.
”I had good reasons, Miss. No matter. I sent him back. No need of him here. We'll make it before morning now, and he will have the cabin warm and hot coffee for us, if you can stand to go on for a goodish long pull.”
A goodish long pull it surely was, in the darkness, but the women bore up with courage, and their guide led them safely. The horse Amalia rode, being his own horse, knew the way well.