THE MAN WHO DID NOT FORGET

Out of the tempest came the answering halloo; and Haig redoubled his outcries. Twice it came, whipped and broken by the wind; and then there was but the wind itself. Exhausted by his efforts, and sick of desperation and despair, Haig sank back weakly against the rock.

Round and round him whirled the snow; across his face the wind cut him with savage lashes; in his ears there was nothing, nothing but the storm. Then, all grew black before him. After all, it had been an hallucination; he had been as mad as Marion in her delirium; he had peopled the storm with imaginary beings, had given the wind a voice it did not know. Crushed by disappointment, acknowledging the end, he was sinking down upon the snow-covered platform, when, suddenly--

"Hal-lo-o-o!"

It was nearer and louder than before. Haig straightened up, and again filled the tumultuous air with hoa.r.s.e cries. Once more the voice came; and then out of the white chaos at the right of the cave, almost level with the platform, a dark form appeared, striding forward with a peculiar swinging motion, clumsily but sure.

Haig uttered one more call that dribbled into a sobbing cry.

"All--right!" answered the figure, in a smothered tone.

Huge, hunchbacked and c.u.mbersome, the figure shuffled up the slight slope between the level of the snow and the snowy platform, and halted. A mittened hand went up to its head, and brushed the snow from the face.

"Pete!" cried Haig.

He attempted to move forward, stumbled, lunged toward the Indian, and collapsed in his arms. Pete, holding him, looked around until he saw the opening of the cave, and fairly carried Haig inside. For a few seconds, seeing nothing in the sudden change from the dazzling whiteness of the snow to the dim red light of the cavern, Pete stood still. Then Haig stiffened, stood erect, and pushed the Indian from him.

"There! Look!" he gasped, pointing to where Marion lay, wild-eyed on the bed, wrapped in her blankets. Then he sank down on the floor, with his back against the wall, and gave himself up to dizziness and exhaustion.

Pete quickly removed his thick mittens, unstrapped the bundle that rested on his back, and took off the snowshoes that had caused his approach over the snow to appear so like a lumbering animal's.

Flinging all these on the floor, he went swiftly to Marion's side, and knelt there.

"Sick?" he asked.

She did not answer, but stared at him, and smiled.

"Listen!" she whispered. "Somebody--coming!"

Pete stood up, and looked at Haig.

"How long like this?" he asked.

"I forget. Three or four days."

"You well?"

"Yes," Haig answered weakly.

Pete came closer, and pointed to the leg that Haig kept thrust stiffly out before him.

"Broke?"

"Yes."

"How long?"

"Six weeks."

The Indian asked no more questions just then, but hastened to open his pack. First he found a bottle of whisky, and made Haig take a long drink. Pete believed in two remedies for all human ills. He had a brew of herbs that he had inherited from his tribal ancestors, his sole inheritance besides his iron body. This brew was good for fevers; and whisky was good for everything else. Having doctored Haig with the whisky, he now turned to Marion with the brew. From a flask he poured some of the dark brown liquid into a cup, let it come just to a boil among the embers of the fire, and when it had cooled a little placed it to Marion's lips. It was bitter, and she tried to draw away from it, but Pete forced her gently to drain the cup.

Whatever the brew might be worth, the whisky certainly was efficacious.

Haig sat erect, and began hurling questions at the Indian.

"How did you get in here--in G.o.d's name?" was the first.

"Black Lake country."

"But how did you get in there?"

"Simpson's Pa.s.s."

Haig stared at him. He knew that to reach Simpson's Pa.s.s the Indian must have gone far south below the canyon of the Big Bear, made a wide detour over the lower range, and ascended to the Pa.s.s around the shoulder of Big Bear Mountain. He had never heard of the Pa.s.s being crossed in winter, and it was almost unbelievable.

"But the snow!" he exclaimed.

Pete pointed to the snowshoes.

"But the Pa.s.s doesn't let into the Black Lake country," said Haig.

"There's another range of mountains."

"Yes. I come over them."

"How long did it take you?"

"I been four weeks. But most of time looking in forest down there."

"But how did you find us?"

The Indian drew from his pocket a ragged and soiled piece of paper, and spread it out on the floor. It was a crude map, with Paradise Park outlined at one side, and at the other a labyrinth of lines and stars and crosses. The stars were peaks, the crosses were foothills, and the lines were creeks and valleys. Through the maze ran one heavier line that indicated the trail through the Black Lake country up to the cliff at the back of Thunder Mountain.

"Old Parker made it," said Pete.

"Tell me all!" commanded Haig. "But wait!" He pointed to Marion.

Marion's babbling had slowly subsided, and ceased. Pete rose and went to her noiselessly on his moccasined feet; and after looking at her a moment stepped cautiously back.

"She quiet now. Sleep soon," he said.

And it was so. The next time he slipped over to her, the girl's eyes were closed, and soon she had sunk into a profound slumber from which she did not awake until late the next morning.

Meanwhile Pete took up his story. Smythe had delivered Marion's message, and had told them what he feared. Claire's knowledge of the state of Marion's heart and mind enabled her to guess the worst, but Seth scouted the idea of her trying to reach the top of Thunder Mountain, or of Murray permitting her to try it. So two days were lost before the alarm was sounded by Murray, who, after two attempts to reach the top of the mountain, had given up and ridden to the Park for help.

The whole valley responded to the call, and the most desperate efforts were made to reach the plateau, but the storms that Haig and Marion had heard in their sheltered gulch were of such fury and continuity that the hardiest of the ranchmen were unable to prevail against them.

Huntington, half-crazed by the thought of the two days he had allowed to be lost, had gone farther than any of the others, and had been rescued with difficulty by some of his neighbors, who found him lying senseless at the foot of the ascent to the Devil's Chair, where the wind had hurled him back down the slope. Smythe was among those who saved him, for the little tutor had let the last stage go without him, and was one of the most reckless in the attacks on the mountain.

All these efforts having failed, and the winter having fallen with exceptional suddenness and severity, even. Huntington was forced to accept the general opinion that nothing more could be done; that they could only wait for summer, when they could go to the mountain top and bring back Marion's body--and doubtless Haig's too. And so, said Huntington, the feud was ended.