Man to Man | Page 2

coolness upon the mountainsides.
It was an adventure with its own thrill to ride around a bend in the
narrow trail and be greeted by an old, well-remembered landmark: a
flat-topped boulder where he had lain when a boy, looking up at the sky
and thrilling to the whispered promises of life; or a pool where he had
fished or swum; or a tree he had climbed or from whose branches he
had shot a gray squirrel. A wagon-road which he might have taken he
abandoned for a trail which better suited his present fancy since it led
with closer intimacy into the woods.
It was late afternoon when he came to the gentle rise which gave first
glint of the little lake so like a blue jewel set in the dusty green of the
wooded slopes. As he rose in his stirrups to gaze down a vista through
the tree-trunks, he saw the bright, vivid blue of a cloak.
"Now, there's a woman," thought Packard without enthusiasm. "The
woods were quite well enough alone without her. As I suppose Eden
was. But along she comes just the same. And of course she must pick
out the one dangerous spot on the whole lake shore to display herself
on."
For he knew how, just yonder where the blue cloak caught the sunlight,
there was a sheer bank and how the lapping water had cut into it,
gouging it out year after year so that the loose soil above was always
ready to crumble and spill into the lake. The wearer of the bright
garment stirred and stood up, her back still toward him.
"Young girl, most likely," he hazarded an opinion.
Though she was too far from him to be at all certain, he had sensed
something of youth's own in the very quality of her gesture.
Then suddenly he clapped his spurs to his horse's sides and went racing
down the slope toward the spot where an instant ago she had made such
a gay contrast to dull verdure and gray boulders. For he had glimpsed
the quick flash of an up-thrown arm, had heard a low cry, had guessed

rather than seen through the low underbrush her young body falling.
As he threw himself from his horse's back, his spur caught in the blue
cloak which had dropped from her shoulders; he kicked at it savagely.
He jerked off his boots, poised a moment looking down upon the
disturbed surface of the water which had closed over her head, made
out the sweep of an arm under the widening circles, and dived straight
down.
And so deep down under water they met for the first time, Steve
Packard with a sense of annoyance that was almost outright irritation,
the girl struggling frantically as his right arm closed tight about her. A
quick suspicion came to him that she had not fallen but had thrown
herself downward in some passionate quarrel with life; that she wanted
to die and would give him scant thanks for the rescue.
This thought was followed by the other that in her access of terror she
was doing what the drowning person always does--losing her head,
threatening to bind his arms with her own and drag him down with her.
Struggling half blindly and all silently they rose a little toward the
surface. Packard tightened his grip about her body, managed to
imprison one of her arms against her side, beat at the water with his
free hand, and so, just as his lungs seemed ready to burst, he brought
his nostrils into the air.
He drew in a great breath and struck out mightily for the shore, seeking
a less precipitous bank at the head of a little cove. As he did so, he
noted how her struggles had suddenly given over, how she floated
quietly with him, her free arm even aiding in their progress.
A little later he crawled out of the clear, cold water to a pebbly beach,
drawing her after him.
And now he understood that his destiny and his own headlong nature
had again made a consummate fool of him. The same knowledge was
offered him freely in a pair of gray eyes which fairly blazed at him. No
gratitude there of a maiden heroically succored in the hour of her

supreme distress; just the leaping anger of a girl with a temper like hot
fire who had been rudely handled by a stranger.
Her scanty little bathing-suit, bright blue like the discarded cloak, the
red rubber cap binding the bronze hair--she must have donned the
ridiculous thing with incredible swiftness while he batted an eye--might
have been utterly becoming in other eyes than those of Steve Packard.
Now that they merely told him that he was a blundering ass,