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they held all the things I'd ever thought her so, and she was afraid of me, of me, or dreamed in them. I looked away sir, who loved her so deep it drove me from them, at her lips. Her lips were red crazy. as poppies, heavy with redness. They I could see her down the stair, though moved, and I heard them speaking: it was dim and my eyes were filled with
"Poor boy, you love me so, and you tears. I stumbled after her, crying, want to kiss me don't you?”
“Please! Please!" The little wicks I'd "No," said I. But I couldn't turn lit were blowing in the wind from the around. I looked at her hair. I'd always door and smoking the glass beside them thought it was stringy hair. Some hair black. One went out. I pleaded with curls naturally with damp, they say, them, the same as I would plead with a and perhaps that was it, for there were human being. I said I'd be back in a pearls of wet on it, and it was thick and second. I promised. And I went on shimmering around her face, making soft down the stair, crying like a baby beshadows by the temples. There was green cause I'd hurt her, and she was afraid in it, queer strands of green like braids. of me-of
sir. “What is it?" said I
She had gone into her room. The “Nothing but weed," said she, with door was closed against me and I could that slow, sleepy smile.
hear her sobbing beyond it, brokenSomehow or other I felt calmer than I hearted. My heart was broken, too. had any time. “Look here,” said I. I beat on the door with my palms. I “I'm going to light this lamp.” I took begged her to forgive me. I told her I out a match, scratched it, and touched loved her. And all the answer was that the third wick. The flame ran around, sobbing in the dark. bigger than the other two together. And then I lifted the latch and went But still her arms hung there. I bit my in, groping, pleading. "Dearest-please! lip. “By God, I will!” said I to myself, Because I love you!" and I lit the fourth.
I heard her speak down near the floor. It was fierce, sir, fierce! And yet There wasn't any anger in her voice; those arms never trembled. I had to nothing but sadness and despair. look around at her. Her eyes were still "No," said she. “You don't love me, looking into mine, so deep and deep, and Ray. You never have." her red lips were still smiling with that "I do! I have!" queer sleepy droop; the only thing was “No, no," said she, as if she was tired that tears were raining down her cheeks -big, glowing, round, jewel tears. It “Where are you?" I was groping for wasn't human, sir. It was like a dream. her. I thought, and lit a match. She
“Pretty arms,” she sighed, and then, had got to the door and was standing as if those words had broken something there as if ready to fly. I went toward in her heart, there came a great sob her, and she made me stop. She took bursting from her lips. To hear it drove my breath away. “I hurt your arms,” me mad. I reached to drag her away, said I, in a dream. but she was too quick, sir; she cringed "No," said she, hardly moving her from me and slipped out from between lips. She held them out to the match's my hands. It was like she faded away, light for me to look, and there was never sir, and went down in a bundle, nursing a scar on them-not even that soft, goldher poor arms and mourning over them en down was singed, sir. “You can't with those terrible, broken sobs.
hurt my body,” said she, sad as anyThe sound of them took the manhood thing. “Only my heart, Ray; my poor out of me—you'd have been the same, sir. I knelt down beside her on the floor I tell you again, she took my breath and covered my face.
away. I lit another match. “How can “Please," I moaned. “Please! you be so beautiful?” I wondered. Please!” That's all I could say. I She answered in riddles-but oh, the wanted her to forgive me. I reached out sadness of her, sir. a hand, blind, for forgiveness, and I “Because," said she, “I've always so couldn't find her anywhere. I had hurt wanted to be.”
“How come your eyes so heavy?" room. Yes, sir, it was daylight-gray said I.
daylight. I tell you, sir, the man looked “Because I've seen so many things I crazy to me. He was waving his good arm never dreamed of,” said she.
toward the weather windows, and what “How come your hair so thick?" he was saying, over and over, was this:
“It's the seaweed makes it thick," “Look what you done, damn you! said she, smiling queer, queer,
Look what you done!” “How come seaweed there?”
And what I was saying was this: “Out of the bottom of the sea.'
“I've lost her!” She talked in riddles, but it was like I didn't pay any attention to him, nor poetry to hear her, or a song.
him to me. By and by he did, though. “How come your lips so red?” said I. He stopped his talking all of a sudden,
"Because they've wanted so long to and his eyes looked like the devil's eyes. be kissed.”
He put them up close to mine. He Fire was on me, sir. I reached out to grabbed my arm with his good hand, and catch her, but she was gone, out of the I cried, I was so weak. door and down the stair. I followed, “Johnson,” said he, “is that it? By stumbling. I must have tripped on the the living God—if you got a woman out turn, for I remember going through the here, Johnson!" air and fetching up with a crash, and I “No," said I. “I've lost her.” didn't know anything for a spell—how “What do you mean lost her?” long I can't say. When I came to, she "It was dark," said I-and it's funny was there, somewhere, bending over me, how my head was clearing up—"and the crooning, “My love-my love" under door was open—the store-room doorher breath, like a song.
and I was after her—and I guess she But then when I got up, she was not stumbled, maybe—and I lost her.” where my arms went; she was down the “ Johnson,” said he, “what do you stair again, just ahead of me.
I fol mean? You sound crazy-downright lowed her. I was tottering and dizzy crazy. Who?" and full of pain. I tried to catch up with “Her," said I. “Fedderson's wife.” her in the dark of the store-room, but “Who?" she was too quick for me, sir, always a “Her,” said I. And with that he gave little too quick for me. Oh, she was cruel my arm another jerk. to me, sir. I kept bumping against things, "Listen," said he, like a tiger. “Don't hurting myself still worse, and it was cold try that on me. It won't do any goodand wet and a horrible noise all the while, that kind of lies—not where you're going sir; and then, sir, I found the door was to. Fedderson and his wife, too-theboth open, and a sea had parted the hinges. of 'em's drowned deader 'n a door-nail.”
I don't know how it all went, sir. I'd "I know," said I, nodding my head. tell you if I could, but it's all so blurred I was so calm it made him wild. -sometimes it seems more like a dream. “You're crazy! Crazy as
Crazy as a loon, I couldn't find her any more; I couldn't Johnson!” And he was chewing his lip hear her; I went all over, everywhere. red. “I know, because it was me that Once, I remember, I found myself hang- found the old man laying on Back Water ing out of that door between the davits, Flats yesterday morning-me! And looking down into those big black seas she'd been with him in the boat, too, and crying like a baby. It's all riddles because he had a piece of her jacket tore and blur. I can't seem to tell you much, off, tangled in his arm.” sir. It was all-all—I don't know.
“I know,” said I, nodding again, like I was talking to somebody else—not that. her. It was the Inspector. I hardly “You know what, you crazy, murdering knew it was the Inspector. His face was fool?”. Those were his words to me, sir. as gray as a blanket, and his eyes were “I know," said I, “what I know." bloodshot, and his lips were twisted. “And I know,” said he, “what I His left wrist hung down, awkward. It know.” was broken coming aboard the Light in And there you are, sir. He's Inspecthat sea. Yes, we were in the living- tor. I'm-nobody.”
A Rocky Mountain Game Trail
BY WALTER PRICHARD EATON
ARIOUS animals have good fortune recently to find and to foltheir individual trails, low several such game trails along the which they follow with knife-blade ridge of “the backbone of the considerable regularity, world” in Glacier National Park, at and some animals have altitudes varying from seventy-five huncommunal highways dred to almost ten thousand feet. Above
from point to point. the timber, above the glaciers, but never Last winter I found a fox's burrow far up above some patch of moss or tiny garden a steep Berkshire hillside, and leading of alpine flowers, with the vast, tumbled from it a narrow trail trodden about six world spread out below, the goats and or eight inches into the deep snow like sheep traverse their windy highways. a tiny ditch, which wound down through They are the permanent residents of the the thick laurel to a pasture edge above peaks. Sometimes a deer may come, a farm where many chickens were kept. when the trail is easy of access; a Rocky Since the last snow, at any rate, the fox Mountain white-tailed deer circled curihad made every trip to and from his ously around our camp for an hour one nest via this trail
. In an alder and evening only five hundred feet below young pine thicket not a mile away I the Divide at Swift Current Pass. No found a well-packed rabbit highroad doubt an occasional mountain lion or. with innumerable smaller cross streets. coyote may prowl along, looking for a This street system was quite evidently chance to fell a juicy kid or lamb. The used by at least a score of the animals. whistling marmot, first cousin to our Deer have often their individual trails, Eastern woodchuck, may not infreand so have the otter. In the old days quently waddle over the path if it is not the buffalo followed beaten tracks from too lofty; and silver foxes traverse it. one pasturage to another. Even the But the hoofs of the sheep and goats are migrating birds have charted the air. To the feet which have powdered the rock the person who loves the wilds, and who and scanty soil into a visible trail. It is especially enjoys practising self-forget- their highway; and if you follow it far fulness in the wilderness, attempting to enough you will always see why. It ends recreate the forest scene as it must ap at the jumping-off 'place. Not infrepear to the eye of the unstartled animal, quently it begins there, also. Nothing or as it might appear to man's eye could without wings can follow a mountain he render himself invisible and odorless, sheep or goat when he comes to trail's any game trail is a challenge to the end. imagination; some of us, indeed, find One, at least, of the game trails we in this challenge sufficient excitement visited is comparatively easy of access. without being driven to up gun and It lies along the ridge of the Divide just after.
south of Swift Current Pass. The Pass There are few more interesting game itself is a depression in the Divide, seven trails in the United States to-day than thousand one hundred and seventy-six those in the high Rockies, generally far feet above sea-level. It is reached by above timber-line and sometimes
thread an extremely steep but excellent Governing dizzy spines of rock along the Great ment trail, and over it come hundreds of Divide, remote and almost inaccessible. tourists in the summer, which possibly Naturally, they are coming
coming to be most accounts for the fact that during the trodden in our National Parks, where entire July day we spent on this game the game is protected now and at least trail we saw neither goat nor sheep. holding its own in numbers. It was my
The big game may seek a less populous
neighborhood while the tourist season height. Timber ceases abruptly a few is on.
The Pass itself is a grassy feet up its steep slope. You are in the meadow almost, but not quite, above sub-Arctic world characteristic of so timber. It affords shelter for con many million acres of the upper reaches siderable groves of stunted fir, from four of our great Rocky Mountain chain. to eight feet high, and for a vast colony But the end of timber does not mean the of ground-squirrels (Columbia River end of life. Wherever the least little ground-squirrel, Citellus columbianus). hollow has caught a soil deposit some În size and appearance they more nearly wild flower or bunch of grass or bit of resemble a fat gray squirrel than any moss has taken root. From plants alother rodent familiar in the East, though most microscopic-not over half an inch their fur is spotted rufous and green on high-to masses of low heather and
gorthe back; but they live in burrows in the geous bouquets of pink moss campion ground, like prairie-dogs and gophers. the gardens range, a surprise awaiting Coming into an open glade in the Pass you on the lee side of every boulder, or ahead of the pack-train, I counted twen even on the tops of them. As we climbed ty-three of these little creatures scurry this slope we startled a ptarmigan hen ing about in all directions or sitting up and six little chicks, that went scuttling on their haunches and scolding at me, off through the shale behind their before they had become so mixed up that mother. The ptarmigan is the largest further counting was impossible. When bird which lives the year through near a ground-squirrel is surprised by your or above the timber-line. It is somepresence he usually sits up on his hind what smaller than a ruffed grouse, or quarters and clasps his forepaws against partridge, and it changes its color with his whitish belly, as if he had a bad pain. the seasons like a varying hare. In winThen he presses himself hard, his mouth ter it is white, and consequently inconopens, and, exactly like one of those spicuous on the snow; in summer, a mechanical toys you squeeze in the mid brownish gray, so much like the rocks dle, out of his insides comes a shrill, it runs between that it speedily becomes almost birdlike cheep. Then, as often invisible as it scampers away from you. as not, he pops down into his hole. If Protective coloration, too, seems to charyou stand still and wait a moment, you
acterize the marmots of this upland will see his head emerge, either from the world. To be sure, we saw a pair of hole where he went in or from one not them running over a snow-field three far away (for he seems to dig consid thousand feet below at the base of a erable subway systems), and his pretty, cliff, as we were starting out for the day, sharp, little squirrel eyes will peer cau and they were conspicuous enough. But tiously and eagerly around the scene. up on the heights the mountain wood
In such a spot as Swift Current Pass, chuck crawls out on a rock to sun himhowever, where tourist travel is frequent self and looks a part of it. Much of the and lunches are eaten almost every day marmot's head, breast, and shoulders is in summer, these small animals become dirty white, but he has a black muzzle extremely fearless. You may lay a sand and chin and dark eyes. From the wich down beside you only to find it shoulders. he shades off into earthy disappearing when you turn around. brown, varying sometimes toward black. At one of our two-day camps I secured I pursued one of them around a rock a photograph of a squirrel sitting up in with my camera, and finally got two the middle of a cold soup-kettle, and by pictures of him, one as he was peeping the second day several of the little creat out at me around the side of the boulder, ures would climb up on our knees and one as he was lifting up nearly his whole eat scraps from our hands. In such a body over the top. Both pictures were frequented place the greedy old fellows taken with a small iris (in that rarefied are so fat they look like miniature wood- atmosphere rapid photography of great chucks.
definition is possible), and made clean, Directly south of the Swift Current brilliant prints, yet I have to point out Pass meadow rises a pyramid of tumbled to people looking at them which is the rock and shale, about six hundred feet in rock and which the marmot. After