The Freebooters of the Wilderness | Page 7

That was the beginning. She had come in suddenly, introduced herself
and shaken hands.
And now Wayland felt a dazed wonder how in the world they two in
the course of half an hour--the first half hour they had ever been alone
in their lives--had come to deciding "straddle or fight"; but that was the
unusual thing about her. She got under surfaces; but, until to-night on
the Holy Cross Mountain, he had been able to laugh at his own new
sensations, to laugh even at an occasional sense of his tongue turning to
dough in the roof of his mouth.
"Look, what is that behind your shoulder, Dick?"
"Oh, that," said the Forest Ranger, "that is a well known, game old
elderly spinster lady commonly called the Moon; and that other on the
branch chittering swear words is nothing in the world but a Douglas
squirrel hunting--I think he is really hunting--a flea to mix in his spruce
tips as salad."
"Do you know what he is saying?"

"Of course! Cheer up! Cheer up! Chirrup! He's our Master
Forester--caches the best seed cones for us to steal."
But when he turned back, she had freed her hands, and slipped to the
other side of the slab seat; and Wayland--inconsistent fellow--went all
abash when they had both got hold of themselves and were once more
back to life with feet on solid earth.
"And is it straddle or--fight?"
She had put on her panama sunshade and was looking straight and
steadily in his eyes. The Ranger met the look, the eager look slowly
and deliberately giving place to determined masterdom.
"If that is a challenge, I'll take it!" Then he added; and his face went hot
as her own: "As to the freebooters of the Western Wilderness ripping
the bowels out of public property out here, I'll accept that challenge, too!
We'll put up a bluff of a fight, anyway!"
"I didn't mean that, Dick." She was looking over the edge of the Ridge.
"I couldn't give a precious gift conditionally if I wanted to, Dick. It
would surely give itself before I could stop it. Isn't that always the way?
I wanted you to feel I would be with you in the fight if I could. They
are late. Father and the missionary, Mr. Williams, and his boy were to
have been here an hour ago. I heard them talking of your struggle
against the big steals, and came up here before them to wait. They are
coming to see about changing the sheep from the Holy Cross Range to
the Rim Rocks."
"I can hear 'em coming," Wayland leaned over the precipice. "They are
coming up the switch back now. They have a turn or two to take--we
have a few minutes yet--Eleanor, best gifts come unasked: perhaps,
also, they go unsent. Listen, I couldn't Hope to keep the gift unless I
jumped in this fight for right; but it's a man's job! I mustn't desert
because of the gift! I mustn't take the prize before I finish the job! I
want you to see that--always that I mind my p's and q's and don't
swerve from that resolution. If I deserted and went down from the
Ridge to the Valley, from hard to easy, I wouldn't be worthy of--do you

understand what I am trying to say to you?"
"Not in the least. You wouldn't be worthy of what?"
"Of you," said Wayland.
"Gifts?" It was the falsetto of a boy's voice from the trail below the
Ridge. "Who's talkin' of gifts and things?"
They heard the others ascending. Her woman instinct caught at the first
straw to hand. "Photogravures, Fordie, three more to-day. They are
Watts--"
"He has to round the next turn! Never mind! He didn't hear," interjected
Wayland irritably.
"All the same," she said, "I'm going to send one of those pictures up to
you for the cabin. There is Hope sitting on top of the World, eyes
bandaged, harp strings broken--"
"Don't send that one! Jim-jams enough of my own up here! I want my
Hope clear-eyed even if she has to go it blind for a bit as to you--"
"Then there's Faith sheathing her sword--"
"Not putting away the Big-Stick," interrupted Wayland.
"Then you'll have to take the Happy Warrior--"
"I forget that one: I've been up here four years, you know?"
"It's the Soldier asleep on the Battle-Field--"
"You mean the picture of the girl kissing the man in his sleep--Yes, that
will do all right for me. You can send that one--"
And the Missionary's boy came over the edge of the Ridge trail in a
hand spring.

CHAPTER III
THE CHALLENGE TO A LOSING FIGHT
"Hullo, Dick! Who is talking of pictures and things?" The high falsetto
announced the Missionary's boy