Books: The Man of the Forest

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Helen told Bo to put on her bonnet, and, performing a like
office for herself, she was ashamed of the trembling of her
fingers. There were bustle and talk in the car.

The train stopped. Helen peered out to see a straggling
crowd of Mexicans and Indians, all motionless and stolid, as
if trains or nothing else mattered. Next Helen saw a white
man, and that was a relief. He stood out in front of the
others. Tall and broad, somehow striking, he drew a second
glance that showed him to be a hunter clad in gray-fringed
buckskin, and carrying a rifle.

CHAPTER V

Here, there was no kindly brakeman to help the sisters with
their luggage. Helen bade Bo take her share; thus burdened,
they made an awkward and laborious shift to get off the
train.

Upon the platform of the car a strong hand seized Helen's
heavy bag, with which she was straining, and a loud voice
called out:

"Girls, we're here -- sure out in the wild an' woolly West!"

The speaker was Riggs, and he had possessed himself of part
of her baggage with action and speech meant more to impress
the curious crowd than to be really kind. In the excitement
of arriving Helen had forgotten him. The manner of sudden
reminder -- the insincerity of it -- made her temper flash.
She almost fell, encumbered as she was, in her hurry to
descend the steps. She saw the tall hunter in gray step
forward close to her as she reached for the bag Riggs held.

"Mr. Riggs, I'll carry my bag," she said.

"Let me lug this. You help Bo with hers," he replied,
familiarly.

"But I want it," she rejoined, quietly, with sharp
determination. No little force was needed to pull the bag
away from Riggs.

"See here, Helen, you ain't goin' any farther with that
joke, are you?" he queried, deprecatingly, and he still
spoke quite loud.

"It's no joke to me," replied Helen. "I told you I didn't
want your attention."

"Sure. But that was temper. I'm your friend -- from your
home town. An' I ain't goin' to let a quarrel keep me from
lookin' after you till you're safe at your uncle's."

Helen turned her back upon him. The tall hunter had just
helped Bo off the car. Then Helen looked up into a smooth
bronzed face and piercing gray eyes.

"Are you Helen Rayner?" he asked.

"Yes."

"My name's Dale. I've come to meet you."

"Ah! My uncle sent you?" added Helen, in quick relief.

"No; I can't say Al sent me," began the man, "but I reckon
--"

He was interrupted by Riggs, who, grasping Helen by the arm,
pulled her back a step.

"Say, mister, did Auchincloss send you to meet my young
friends here?" he demanded, arrogantly.

Dale's glance turned from Helen to Riggs. She could not read
this quiet gray gaze, but it thrilled her.

"No. I come on my own hook," he answered.

"You'll understand, then -- they're in my charge," added
Riggs.

This time the steady light-gray eyes met Helen's, and if
there was not a smile in them or behind them she was still
further baffled.

"Helen, I reckon you said you didn't want this fellow's
attention."

"I certainly said that," replied Helen, quickly. Just then
Bo slipped close to her and gave her arm a little squeeze.
Probably Bo's thought was like hers -- here was a real
Western man. That was her first impression, and following
swiftly upon it was a sensation of eased nerves.

Riggs swaggered closer to Dale.

"Say, Buckskin, I hail from Texas --"

"You're wastin' our time an' we've need to hurry,"
interrupted Dale. His tone seemed friendly. "An' if you ever
lived long in Texas you wouldn't pester a lady an' you sure
wouldn't talk like you do."

"What!" shouted Riggs, hotly. He dropped his right hand
significantly to his hip.

"Don't throw your gun. It might go off," said Dale.

Whatever Riggs's intention had been -- and it was probably
just what Dale evidently had read it -- he now flushed an
angry red and jerked at his gun.

Dale's hand flashed too swiftly for Helen's eye to follow
it. But she heard the thud as it struck. The gun went flying
to the platform and scattered a group of Indians and
Mexicans.

"You'll hurt yourself some day," said Dale.

Helen had never heard a slow, cool voice like this hunter's.
Without excitement or emotion or hurry, it yet seemed full
and significant of things the words did not mean. Bo uttered
a strange little exultant cry.

Riggs's arm had dropped limp. No doubt it was numb. He
stared, and his predominating expression was surprise. As
the shuffling crowd began to snicker and whisper, Riggs gave
Dale a malignant glance, shifted it to Helen, and then
lurched away in the direction of his gun.

Dale did not pay any more attention to him. Gathering up
Helen's baggage, he said, "Come on," and shouldered a lane
through the gaping crowd. The girls followed close at his
heels.

"Nell! what 'd I tell you?" whispered Bo. "Oh, you're all
atremble!"

Helen was aware of her unsteadiness; anger and fear and
relief in quick succession had left her rather weak. Once
through the motley crowd of loungers, she saw an old gray
stage-coach and four lean horses. A grizzled, sunburned man
sat on the driver's seat, whip and reins in hand. Beside him
was a younger man with rifle across his knees. Another man,
young, tall, lean, dark, stood holding the coach door open.
He touched his sombrero to the girls. His eyes were sharp as
he addressed Dale.

"Milt, wasn't you held up?"

"No. But some long-haired galoot was tryin' to hold up the
girls. Wanted to throw his gun on me. I was sure scared,"
replied Dale, as he deposited the luggage.

Bo laughed. Her eyes, resting upon Dale, were warm and
bright. The young man at the coach door took a second look
at her, and then a smile changed the dark hardness of his
face.

Dale helped the girls up the high step into the stage, and
then, placing the lighter luggage, in with them, he threw
the heavier pieces on top

"Joe, climb up," he said.

"Wal, Milt," drawled the driver," let's ooze along."

Dale hesitated, with his hand on the door. He glanced at the
crowd, now edging close again, and then at Helen.

"I reckon I ought to tell you," he said, and indecision
appeared to concern him.

"What?" exclaimed Helen.

"Bad news. But talkin' takes time. An' we mustn't lose any."

"There's need of hurry?" queried Helen, sitting up sharply.

"I reckon."

"Is this the stage to Snowdrop?

"No. That leaves in the mornin'. We rustled this old trap to
get a start to-night."

"The sooner the better. But I -- I don't understand," said
Helen, bewildered.

"It'll not be safe for you to ride on the mornin' stage,"
returned Dale.

"Safe! Oh, what do you mean?" exclaimed Helen.
Apprehensively she gazed at him and then back at Bo.

"Explainin' will take time. An' facts may change your mind.
But if you can't trust me --"

"Trust you!" interposed Helen, blankly. "You mean to take us
to Snowdrop? "

"I reckon we'd better go roundabout an' not hit Snowdrop,"
he replied, shortly.

"Then to Pine -- to my uncle -- Al Auchincloss?

"Yes, I'm goin' to try hard."

Helen caught her breath. She divined that some peril menaced
her. She looked steadily, with all a woman's keenness, into
this man's face. The moment was one of the fateful decisions
she knew the West had in store for her. Her future and that
of Bo's were now to be dependent upon her judgments. It was
a hard moment and, though she shivered inwardly, she
welcomed the initial and inevitable step. This man Dale, by
his dress of buckskin, must be either scout or hunter. His
size, his action, the tone of his voice had been reassuring.
But Helen must decide from what she saw in his face whether
or not to trust him. And that face was clear bronze,
unlined, unshadowed, like a tranquil mask, clean-cut,
strong-jawed, with eyes of wonderful transparent gray.

"Yes, I'll trust you," she said. "Get in, and let us hurry.
Then you can explain."

"All ready, Bill. Send 'em along," called Dale.

He had to stoop to enter the stage, and, once in, he
appeared to fill that side upon which he sat. Then the
driver cracked his whip; the stage lurched and began to
roll; the motley crowd was left behind. Helen awakened to
the reality, as she saw Bo staring with big eyes at the
hunter, that a stranger adventure than she had ever dreamed
of had began with the rattling roll of that old stage-coach.

Dale laid off his sombrero and leaned forward, holding his
rifle between his knees. The light shone better upon his
features now that he was bareheaded. Helen had never seen a
face like that, which at first glance appeared darkly
bronzed and hard, and then became clear, cold, aloof, still,
intense. She wished she might see a smile upon it. And now
that the die was cast she could not tell why she had trusted
it. There was singular force in it, but she did not
recognize what kind of force. One instant she thought it was
stern, and the next that it was sweet, and again that it was
neither.

"I'm glad you've got your sister," he said, presently.

"How did you know she's my sister?"

"I reckon she looks like you."

"No one else ever thought so," replied Helen, trying to
smile.

Bo had no difficulty in smiling, as she said, "Wish I was
half as pretty as Nell."

"Nell. Isn't your name Helen?" queried Dale.

"Yes. But my -- some few call me Nell."

"I like Nell better than Helen. An' what's yours?" went on
Dale, looking at Bo.

"Mine's Bo. just plain B-o. Isn't it silly? But I wasn't
asked when they gave it to me," she replied.

"Bo. It's nice an' short. Never heard it before. But I
haven't met many people for years."

"Oh! we've left the town!" cried Bo. "Look, Nell! How bare!
It's just like desert."

"It is desert. We've forty miles of that before we come to a
hill or a tree."

Helen glanced out. A flat, dull-green expanse waved away
from the road on and on to a bright, dark horizon-line,
where the sun was setting rayless in a clear sky. Open,
desolate, and lonely, the scene gave her a cold thrill.

"Did your uncle Al ever write anythin' about a man named
Beasley?" asked Dale.

"Indeed he did," replied Helen, with a start of surprise.

"Beasley! That name is familiar to us -- and detestable. My
uncle complained of this man for years. Then he grew bitter
-- accused Beasley. But the last year or so not a word!"

"Well, now," began the hunter, earnestly, "let's get the bad
news over. I'm sorry you must be worried. But you must learn
to take the West as it is. There's good an' bad, maybe more
bad. That's because the country's young. . . . So to come
right out with it -- this Beasley hired a gang of outlaws to
meet the stage you was goin' in to Snowdrop -- to-morrow --
an' to make off with you."

"Make off with me?" ejaculated Helen, bewildered.

"Kidnap you! Which, in that gang, would be worse than
killing you!" declared Dale, grimly, and he closed a huge
fist on his knee.

Helen was utterly astounded.

"How hor-rible!" she gasped out. "Make off with me! . . .
What in Heaven's name for?"

Bo gave vent to a fierce little utterance.

"For reasons you ought to guess," replied Dale, and he
leaned forward again. Neither his voice nor face changed in
the least, but yet there was a something about him that
fascinated Helen. "I'm a hunter. I live in the woods. A few
nights ago I happened to be caught out in a storm an' I took
to an old log cabin. Soon as I got there I heard horses. I
hid up in the loft. Some men rode up an' come in. It was
dark. They couldn't see me. An' they talked. It turned out
they were Snake Anson an' his gang of sheep-thieves. They
expected to meet Beasley there. Pretty soon he came. He told
Anson how old Al, your uncle, was on his last legs -- how he
had sent for you to have his property when he died. Beasley
swore he had claims on Al. An' he made a deal with Anson to
get you out of the way. He named the day you were to reach
Magdalena. With Al dead an' you not there, Beasley could get
the property. An' then he wouldn't care if you did come to
claim it. It 'd be too late. . . . Well, they rode away that
night. An' next day I rustled down to Pine. They're all my
friends at Pine, except old Al. But they think I'm queer. I
didn't want to confide. in many people. Beasley is strong in
Pine, an' for that matter I suspect Snake Anson has other
friends there besides Beasley. So I went to see your uncle.
He never had any use for me because he thought I was lazy
like an Indian. Old Al hates lazy men. Then we fell out --
or he fell out -- because he believed a tame lion of mine
had killed some of his sheep. An' now I reckon that Tom
might have done it. I tried to lead up to this deal of
Beasley's about you, but old Al wouldn't listen. He's cross
-- very cross. An' when I tried to tell him, why, he went
right out of his head. Sent me off the ranch. Now I reckon
you begin to see what a pickle I was in. Finally I went to
four friends I could trust. They're Mormon boys -- brothers.
That's Joe out on top, with the driver. I told them all
about Beasley's deal an' asked them to help me. So we
planned to beat Anson an' his gang to Magdalena. It happens
that Beasley is as strong in Magdalena as he is in Pine. An'
we had to go careful. But the boys had a couple of friends
here -- Mormons, too, who agreed to help us. They had this
old stage. . . . An' here you are." Dale spread out his big
hands and looked gravely at Helen and then at Bo.

"You're perfectly splendid!" cried Bo, ringingly. She was
white; her fingers were clenched; her eyes blazed.

Dale appeared startled out of his gravity, and surprised,
then pleased. A smile made his face like a boy's. Helen felt
her body all rigid, yet slightly trembling. Her hands were
cold. The horror of this revelation held her speechless. But
in her heart she echoed Bo's exclamation of admiration and
gratitude.

"So far, then," resumed Dale, with a heavy breath of relief.
"No wonder you're upset. I've a blunt way of talkin'. . . .
Now we've thirty miles to ride on this Snowdrop road before
we can turn off. To-day sometime the rest of the boys --
Roy, John, an' Hal -- were to leave Show Down, which's a
town farther on from Snowdrop. They have my horses an' packs
besides their own. Somewhere on the road we'll meet them --
to-night, maybe -- or tomorrow. I hope not to-night, because
that 'd mean Anson's gang was ridin' in to Magdalena."

Helen wrung her hands helplessly.

"Oh, have I no courage?" she whispered.

"Nell, I'm as scared as you are," said Bo, consolingly,
embracing her sister.

"I reckon that's natural," said Dale, as if excusing them.
"But, scared or not, you both brace up. It's a bad job. But
I've done my best. An' you'll be safer with me an' the
Beeman boys than you'd be in Magdalena, or anywhere else,
except your uncle's."

"Mr. -- Mr. Dale," faltered Helen, with her tears falling,
"don't think me a coward -- or -- or ungrateful. I'm
neither. It's only I'm so -- so shocked. After all we hoped
and expected -- this -- this -- is such a -- a terrible
surprise."

"Never mind, Nell dear. Let's take what comes," murmured Bo.

"That's the talk," said Dale. "You see, I've come right out
with the worst. Maybe we'll get through easy. When we meet
the boys we'll take to the horses an' the trails. Can you
ride?"

"Bo has been used to horses all her life and I ride fairly
well," responded Helen. The idea of riding quickened her
spirit.

"Good! We may have some hard ridin' before I get you up to
Pine. Hello! What's that?"

Above the creaking, rattling, rolling roar of the stage
Helen heard a rapid beat of hoofs. A horse flashed by,
galloping hard.

Dale opened the door and peered out. The stage rolled to a
halt. He stepped down and gazed ahead.

"Joe, who was that?" he queried.

"Nary me. An' Bill didn't know him, either," replied Joe. "I
seen him 'way back. He was ridin' some. An' he slowed up
goin' past us. Now he's runnin' again."

Dale shook his head as if he did not like the circumstances.

"Milt, he'll never get by Roy on this road," said Joe.

Maybe he'll get by before Roy strikes in on the road."

"It ain't likely."

Helen could not restrain her fears. "Mr. Dale, you think he
was a messenger -- going ahead to post that -- that Anson
gang?"

"He might be," replied Dale, simply.

Then the young man called Joe leaned out from the seat above
and called: "Miss Helen, don't you worry. Thet fellar is
more liable to stop lead than anythin' else."

His words, meant to be kind and reassuring, were almost as
sinister to Helen as the menace to her own life. Long had
she known how cheap life was held in the West, but she had
only known it abstractly, and she had never let the fact
remain before her consciousness. This cheerful young man
spoke calmly of spilling blood in her behalf. The thought it
roused was tragic -- for bloodshed was insupportable to her
-- and then the thrills which followed were so new, strange,
bold, and tingling that they were revolting. Helen grew
conscious of unplumbed depths, of instincts at which she was
amazed and ashamed.

"Joe, hand down that basket of grub -- the small one with
the canteen," said Dale, reaching out a long arm. Presently
he placed a cloth-covered basket inside the stage. "Girls,
eat all you want an' then some."

"We have a basket half full yet," replied Helen.

"You'll need it all before we get to Pine. . . . Now, I'll
ride up on top with the boys an' eat my supper. It'll be
dark, presently, an' we'll stop often to listen. But don't
be scared."

With that he took his rifle and, closing the door, clambered
up to the driver's seat. Then the stage lurched again and
began to roll along.

Not the least thing to wonder at of this eventful evening
was the way Bo reached for the basket of food. Helen simply
stared at her.

"Bo, you CAN'T EAT!" she exclaimed.

"I should smile I can," replied that practical young lady.
"And you're going to if I have to stuff things in your
mouth. Where's your wits, Nell? He said we must eat. That
means our strength is going to have some pretty severe
trials. . . . Gee! it's all great -- just like a story! The
unexpected -- why, he looks like a prince turned hunter! --
long, dark, stage journey -- held up -- fight -- escape --
wild ride on horses -- woods and camps and wild places --
pursued -- hidden in the forest -- more hard rides -- then
safe at the ranch. And of course he falls madly in love with
me -- no, you, for I'll be true to my Las Vegas lover --"

"Hush, silly! Bo, tell me, aren't you SCARED?"

"Scared! I'm scared stiff. But if Western girls stand such
things, we can. No Western girl is going to beat ME!"

That brought Helen to a realization of the brave place she
had given herself in dreams, and she was at once ashamed of
herself and wildly proud of this little sister.

"Bo, thank Heaven I brought you with me!" exclaimed Helen,
fervently. "I'll eat if it chokes me."

Whereupon she found herself actually hungry, and while she
ate she glanced out of the stage, first from one side and
then from the other. These windows had no glass and they let
the cool night air blow in. The sun had long since sunk. Out
to the west, where a bold, black horizon-line swept away
endlessly, the sky was clear gold, shading to yellow and
blue above. Stars were out, pale and wan, but growing
brighter. The earth appeared bare and heaving, like a calm
sea. The wind bore a fragrance new to Helen, acridly sweet
and clean, and it was so cold it made her fingers numb.

"I heard some animal yelp," said Bo, suddenly, and she
listened with head poised.

But Helen heard nothing save the steady clip-clop of hoofs,
the clink of chains, the creak and rattle of the old stage,
and occasionally the low voices of the men above.

When the girls had satisfied hunger and thirst, night had
settled down black. They pulled the cloaks up over them, and
close together leaned back in a corner of the seat and
talked in whispers. Helen did not have much to say, but Bo
was talkative.

"This beats me!" she said once, after an interval. "Where
are we, Nell? Those men up there are Mormons. Maybe they are
abducting us!"

"Mr. Dale isn't a Mormon," replied Helen.

"How do you know?"

"I could tell by the way he spoke of his friends."

"Well, I wish it wasn't so dark. I'm not afraid of men in
daylight. . . . Nell, did you ever see such a wonderful
looking fellow? What'd they call him? Milt -- Milt Dale. He
said he lived in the woods. If I hadn't fallen in love with
that cowboy who called me -- well, I'd be a goner now."

After an interval of silence Bo whispered, startlingly,
"Wonder if Harve Riggs is following us now?"

"Of course he is," replied Helen, hopelessly.

"He'd better look out. Why, Nell, he never saw -- he never
-- what did Uncle Al used to call it? -- sav -- savvied --
that's it. Riggs never savvied that hunter. But I did, you
bet."

"Savvied! What do you mean, Bo?"

"I mean that long-haired galoot never saw his real danger.
But I felt it. Something went light inside me. Dale never
took him seriously at all."

"Riggs will turn up at Uncle Al's, sure as I'm born," said
Helen.

"Let him turn," replied Bo, contemptuously. "Nell, don't you
ever bother your head again about him. I'll bet they're all
men out here. And I wouldn't be in Harve Riggs's boots for a
lot."

After that Bo talked of her uncle and his fatal illness, and
from that she drifted back to the loved ones at home, now
seemingly at the other side of the world, and then she broke
down and cried, after which she fell asleep on Helen's
shoulder.

But Helen could not have fallen asleep if she had wanted to.

She had always, since she could remember, longed for a
moving, active life; and 'or want of a better idea she had
chosen to dream of gipsies. And now it struck her grimly
that, if these first few hours of her advent in the West
were forecasts of the future, she was destined to have her
longings more than fulfilled.

Presently the stage rolled slower and slower, until it came
to a halt. Then the horses heaved, the harnesses clinked,
the men whispered. Otherwise there was an intense quiet. She
looked out, expecting to find it pitch-dark. It was black,
yet a transparent blackness. To her surprise she could see a
long way. A shooting-star electrified her. The men were
listening. She listened, too, but beyond the slight sounds
about the stage she heard nothing. Presently the driver
clucked to his horses, and travel was resumed.

For a while the stage rolled on rapidly, evidently downhill,
swaying from side to side, and rattling as if about to fall
to pieces. Then it slowed on a level, and again it halted
for a few moments, and once more in motion it began a
laborsome climb. Helen imagined miles had been covered. The
desert appeared to heave into billows, growing rougher, and
dark, round bushes dimly stood out. The road grew uneven and
rocky, and when the stage began another descent its violent
rocking jolted Bo out of her sleep and in fact almost out of
Helen's arms.

"Where am I?" asked Bo, dazedly.

"Bo, you're having your heart's desire, but I can't tell you
where you are," replied Helen.

Bo awakened thoroughly, which fact was now no wonder,
considering the jostling of the old stage.

"Hold on to me, Nell! . . . Is it a runaway?"

"We've come about a thousand miles like this, I think,"
replied Helen. "I've not a whole bone in my body."

Bo peered out of the window.

"Oh, how dark and lonesome! But it'd be nice if it wasn't so
cold. I'm freezing."

"I thought you loved cold air," taunted Helen.

"Say, Nell, you begin to talk like yourself," responded Bo.

It was difficult to hold on to the stage and each other and
the cloak all at once, but they succeeded, except in the
roughest places, when from time to time they were bounced
around. Bo sustained a sharp rap on the head.

"Oooooo!" she moaned. "Nell Rayner, I'll never forgive you
for fetching me on this awful trip."

"Just think of your handsome Las Vegas cowboy," replied
Helen.

Either this remark subdued Bo or the suggestion sufficed to
reconcile her to the hardships of the ride.

Meanwhile, as they talked and maintained silence and tried
to sleep, the driver of the stage kept at his task after the
manner of Western men who knew how to get the best out of
horses and bad roads and distance.

By and by the stage halted again and remained at a
standstill for so long, with the men whispering on top, that
Helen and Bo were roused to apprehension.

Suddenly a sharp whistle came from the darkness ahead.

"Thet's Roy," said Joe Beeman, in a low voice.

"I reckon. An' meetin' us so quick looks bad," replied Dale.
"Drive on, Bill."

"Mebbe it seems quick to you," muttered the driver, but if
we hain't come thirty mile, an' if thet ridge thar hain't
your turnin'-off place, why, I don't know nothin'."

The stage rolled on a little farther, while Helen and Bo sat
clasping each other tight, wondering with bated breath what
was to be the next thing to happen.

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