The Short Cut Part 29

While Dart meditated, planned and philosophised, Wayne Shandon prepared a quick meal for Helga Strawn.

"I know you're done up already," he said, "but it can't be helped.

You've got to get back to the Echo Creek to-night, if for no other reason because it may be the last chance you'll have to get out at all."

"You mean the snow?"

"Yes. A horse can carry you through to-night; to-morrow, if this keeps up, the poor brute would have his work cut out to get through alone.

If you'll help yourself and see that your clothes are good and dry I'll go out and get the horses ready."

"Horses? You are going with me?"

"No," he said emphatically. "I haven't been going to Mr. Leland's home for a long time. After what I have learned to-night I suppose that I'll never go there again. I am going to send Dart with you."

"What have you learned?" she asked quickly. "You mean what I have told you?"

"No. It is something which I am afraid I can't talk about just yet, Miss Strawn. Now, if you will excuse me a minute?"

He went down to the stable, saw that both Helga's horse and Old Bots had a feeding of barley, and fed his own saddle animal.

"I'll have to fight my way out on webs tomorrow," he mused. "I can lead you until we get across the ridge where the snow will be lighter."

Then he went to Dart in the bunk house.

"Dart," he called abruptly, "you'd better come up to the house and get something to eat. Then you've got to get ready to ride."

"Ride?" demanded Dart, a little anxiously. "You mean me and Old Bots and the chariot?"

"You can't make it," Shandon told him positively. "I don't know how you managed to get back from the Echo Creek with the cart. You'll have to go on horseback now, whether you like it or not."

"Where am I going, Chief?"

"To the Leland's. Miss Hazleton is going back and I want you to go with her. You'd have to go in the morning anyway and it will be easier if you go right away. And I want you to do something for me."

"Love's little messenger again?" grinned Dart. "Gee, Red, I'm turning into a regular carrier pigeon."

"I am going to write a short note to Miss Leland," Shandon went on quietly. "I want you to give it to her to-night. And I don't want anybody to see you do it. Will you do that for me?"

"Did I ever turn a pal down?" reproachfully. "But, say, Red; I'm just healed up good from my ride in here last summer. Can't I walk?"

Shandon laughed and the two men hurried together back to the house.

Helga, who was still eating, looked up at them with frank curiosity as they came in. Her eyes rested longest upon Dart; her contempt for him had pa.s.sed or else she had resolved to hide it and appear friendly.

Through the brief meal he strove constantly to be entertaining, and his little sallies which had formerly elicited nothing beyond her silent contempt now provoked her ready laughter.

"It ain't a little jolt of brandy that made the difference, either,"

Dart informed himself thoughtfully in the midst of an enthusiastic recital of the gallant way in which his pal, Red, had saved him from a horrible death in some wonderful land whose geographical location he failed to make perfectly clear. "She's wise I'm the gent with a noodle full of things she's dying to know. Red ain't told her what I told him. We're sure going to have an awful chummy time on our jingle bell party back to old Mart's."

And he went on with his tale until Wayne returning from the kitchen stopped him.

Shandon had written his note and gave it to Dart as the two men went out to saddle the horses. Ten minutes later Helga Strawn and her guide left the Bar L-M. During the long ride, although Dart seemed the most ingenuous of creatures, Helga Strawn obtained no satisfactory report of the news which he had brought and which had so obviously steeled Shandon's will.

An hour before they came to the Echo Creek the snow ceased abruptly and it began to rain.

When at last they reached the ranch house the girl was clinging wearily to the horn of her saddle, drenched to the skin, her face pinched and white and drawn from cold and the hardest day's physical work her woman's body had ever buffeted through. When Dart glanced at her in the lamplight of the living room he filed a swift mental note of the fact that what Helga Strawn set out to do she was very likely to accomplish. For her eyes, their brilliancy undimmed, their calculating penetration unaltered, told of a fighting spirit which no bodily fatigue could touch.

There had been only two lights burning in the house; one in Martin's private room from which came the voices of Garth Conway and Leland himself; one in Wanda's bedroom. But at Dart's knock both Wanda and her mother hastened to receive them, replenished the fireplace until it roared l.u.s.tily in its deep throat, found warm, dry clothing and hot drinks, and made them comfortable for the night. If Wanda were "sore"

as Dart had expressed it, she did not in any way give evidence of it.

"Them ginneys that go chasing off to climb the North Pole," was Dart's cheery comment as he reappeared from a brief absence in the kitchen, "ain't going to find me choking up the trail in front of 'em. This here is good enough for me."

In the kitchen he had changed his own outer, soaked clothing for a suit of Martin's which Mrs. Leland had given him, and now the general effect of his appearance was that of a very small boy in a very large hat.

But he had not forgotten to transfer Wayne's note with the transfer of garments. And when Wanda left the room presently for the sandwich Dart had requested he followed her, his coat and trousers seeming to flow about him and after him with a will of their own.

"Love and kisses from Red," he whispered, handing her the note.

And be it said to the credit of Mr. Willie Dart that, although he had been perfectly aware that there was a steaming kettle of water on the kitchen stove, his haste had been so great to deliver the message that he had not taken time to avail himself of the opportunity.

That night Wanda went quietly about her preparation for to-morrow. Her skis, gathering dust in the attic, were brought down, cleaned and given the thin coat of sh.e.l.lac which, drying by morning, would put them in shape. A glance outdoors showed her that it had stopped raining and was clear and cold. There would be a good crust formed during the night. Shandon's note, which she read more than once, ran:--

"Dear Wanda--Will you try to meet me at your cliff to-morrow? I have something which I must tell you.

"WAYNE."

All night, waking or sleeping, Wanda was restless and worried. She had guessed swiftly that the thing Wayne was going to tell her had something to do with Helga Strawn; it might also have something to do with Garth and Martin Leland. Garth had been strangely agitated when he burst into the house. Then he and her father were closeted for a long time in the study, their voices at times raised in what sounded like anger, at times lowered almost to whispers. She knew that Martin had gone out to the men's quarters, that Jim had saddled his horse and ridden away upon some errand which must have been born of Garth's coming. She felt that it all was in some way connected with Wayne Shandon and she was a little afraid.

In the morning, as Wanda made her early breakfast alone, a glance outside at the white world showed her that where there had been jagged rocks and logs strewn upon the hillsides, now there were only smooth mounds. Tree stumps and fences, their ident.i.ty already lost, were hooded things that in another two days would be completely covered and hidden.

The girl buckled her arctics upon her warmly stockinged feet, drew her hood down over her ears, strapped on her skis and slipped on her mittens before she left the kitchen. From the back door which in summer was three feet above ground she pushed her way out upon the level snow. Then, through a white world of silence she moved quietly through the clear, crisp morning.

She arrived early at the cliffs, but already Shandon, although he had travelled further, was before her. For the last quarter of a mile she had travelled in the deeper tracks, which his broader skis and heavier weight had made. Already he had gone ahead of her up the great cedar, as she saw by the branches from which he had sc.r.a.ped the snow. And when she came to the top and peeped into the cave she saw him piling wood upon the fire he had blazing to welcome her.

"G.o.d bless you," he said tenderly. "You came."

"Of course I came," she answered. "Now tell me, Wayne. What is it?"

First he made her draw off her sweater and arctics and take the stool he placed at the fire for her.

"Wanda," he began, at last, "I've got something to tell you that's going to be hard telling. I have hoped all along that things would smooth themselves out for us, that in due time your father would come to see that neither he nor any other man has the right to stand in the way of our happiness. But now, dear, there is no hope of that.

Matters are bad enough now, G.o.d knows. And they are going to get worse. Do you love me very much, Wanda?"

"You know that I do," she answered simply.

"So much that you could cleave to me through everything? Even when the unpleasantness which already exists between your father and me grows into positive, hard, open opposition? On my part as well as his?"

"Is it so bad as that, Wayne?" she asked, her eyes darkening a little.

"Yes," he answered bitterly. "It is worse than you know. You will find it as hard to believe as I found it."