In a Hollow of the Hills | Page 8

"Nary," said Collinson patiently, without moving from the chimney.
"What in God's name was it, then?"
"Only some of them boulders you loosed coming down. It's touch and
go with them for days after. When I first came here I used to start up

and rush out into the road--like as you would--yellin' and screechin'
after folks that never was there and never went by. Then it got kinder
monotonous, and I'd lie still and let 'em slide. Why, one night I'd
a'sworn that some one pulled up with a yell and shook the door. But I
sort of allowed to myself that whatever it was, it wasn't wantin' to eat,
drink, sleep, or it would come in, and I hadn't any call to interfere. And
in the mornin' I found a rock as big as that box, lying chock-a-block
agin the door. Then I knowed I was right."
Preble Key remained looking from the door.
"There's a glow in the sky over Big Canyon," he said, with a meaning
glance at Uncle Dick.
"Saw it an hour ago," said Collinson. "It must be the woods afire just
round the bend above the canyon. Whoever goes to Skinner's had better
give it a wide berth."
Key turned towards Collinson as if to speak, but apparently changed his
mind, and presently joined his companions, who were already rolling
themselves in their blankets, in a series of wooden bunks or berths,
ranged as in a ship's cabin, around the walls of a resinous, sawdusty
apartment that had been the measuring room of the mill. Collinson
disappeared,--no one knew or seemed to care where,--and, in less than
ten minutes from the time that they had returned from the door, the
hush of sleep and rest seemed to possess the whole house. There was
no light but that of the fire in the front room, which threw flickering
and gigantic shadows on the walls of the three empty chairs before it.
An hour later it seemed as if one of the chairs were occupied, and a
grotesque profile of Collinson's slumbering--or meditating--face and
figure was projected grimly on the rafters as though it were the
hovering guardian spirit of the house. But even that passed presently
and faded out, and the beleaguering darkness that had encompassed the
house all the evening began to slowly creep in through every chink and
cranny of the rambling, ill-jointed structure, until it at last obliterated
even the faint embers on the hearth. The cool fragrance of the
woodland depths crept in with it until the steep of human warmth, the
reek of human clothing, and the lingering odors of stale human victual

were swept away in that incorruptible and omnipotent breath. An hour
later--and the wilderness had repossessed itself of all.
Key, the lightest sleeper, awoke early,--so early that the dawn
announced itself only in two dim squares of light that seemed to grow
out of the darkness at the end of the room where the windows looked
out upon the valley. This reminded him of his woodland vision of the
night before, and he lay and watched them until they brightened and
began to outline the figures of his still sleeping companions. But there
were faint stirrings elsewhere,--the soft brushing of a squirrel across the
shingled roof, the tiny flutter of invisible wings in the rafters, the
"peep" and "squeak" of baby life below the floor. And then he fell into
a deeper sleep, and awoke only when it was broad day.
The sun was shining upon the empty bunks; his companions were
already up and gone. They had separated as they had come
together,--with the light-hearted irresponsibility of animals,-- without
regret, and scarcely reminiscence; bearing, with cheerful philosophy
and the hopefulness of a future unfettered by their past, the final
disappointment of their quest. If they ever met again, they would laugh
and remember; if they did not, they would forget without a sigh. He
hurriedly dressed himself, and went outside to dip his face and hands in
the bucket that stood beside the door; but the clear air, the dazzling
sunshine, and the unexpected prospect half intoxicated him.
The abandoned mill stretched beside him in all the pathos of its
premature decay. The ribs of the water-wheel appeared amid a tangle of
shrubs and driftwood, and were twined with long grasses and straggling
vines; mounds of sawdust and heaps of "brush" had taken upon
themselves a velvety moss where the trickling slime of the vanished
river lost itself in sluggish pools, discolored with the dyes of redwood.
But on the other side of the rocky ledge dropped the whole length of
the valley, alternately bathed in sunshine or hidden in drifts of white
and clinging smoke. The upper end of the long canyon, and the crests
of