Ladybird (8 page)

The sun had slipped its last golden-bound crimson edge behind the mountain as Fraley reached the tree, and she stood up with more assurance now. There was no brilliant sunlight to pick out her little figure as it stood upright upon the hill.

The tree was not quite at the top of the hill, but from its highest branch, she felt she could see over, so she unstrapped her burden and laid it on the ground while she took a tired hold of the tree and began to go up, hand over hand, knees gripping the trunk hard, feet clinging like well-trained hands. Oh, she knew how to climb. It had been her one sport as she ranged her own mountain, keeping in sight of mother’s signal, an old cloth she hung out on the line behind the cabin whenever she wanted Fraley to return.

So now she went easily up into the branches and clung there, searching with her binoculars first the place where she had come from, then the opposite mountain, lying dark against a bright sky. It all lay peaceful and serene. She could now see bunches of cattle grazing here and there, or going down to patches of water to drink. Then she turned her eyes to the south.

The ground sloped down here to another valley, which stretched out and narrowed farther on into a deep pass or cut between more mountains. She did not remember having seen it before. It was hidden from the cabin on her own mountain by the range that shut in this side of the valley she had just crossed.

There were no cattle in this pass, though she could see them farther back in the new valley, and as she studied every bit of ground within sight, she could see, just below her, half hidden among a group of trees, a little log cabin. That startled her, for she feared it might belong to some of the gang of outlaws against which she had been warned. Her impulse was to slide down the tree at once and fly again, but a certain intuition warned her not to be in a hurry. So she clung quietly to her tree and studied the little log house in the waning light. Its single window on this side reflected the faint glow of the flame in the sunset sky, but there was no light of candle within, and the crude chimney gave forth no smoke, although this was the hour for preparing an evening meal if the occupant were at home. The place looked lonely and deserted, and she half decided that no one lived there until she noticed, several feet beyond it, halfway up the crest of the hillside, a cow tethered to a long rope. Then she decided that the householder was gone from home and might return at any time now. For no one who valued his cow would remain away without milking it. It would certainly be wise to get beyond this house before the owner came back.

Having thus decided, she gave one sweep of the landscape with her binoculars to make sure all was right then slid down the tree, took up her bag, and hurried forward, keeping just below the crest of the hill where she could study the house, ready to fly back over on the other side if she saw signs of human approach.

When she had got past the back of the cabin and nearer to where the cow was tethered, the creature broke out bawling, and Fraley, accustomed to the ways of a cow, noticed that her bag was full. The poor thing needed milking, and no one was at home.

With sudden pity for the cow, she paused and looked around sharply. The landscape was very still, and deep shadows were beginning to gather in every hollow and crevice. It was twilight down there by the log cabin. If she only had a pail she could relieve the poor cow and perhaps get some milk for herself. That would help greatly. Yes, down there on a bench by the door of the cabin was a pail turned upside down. Dared she sneak down there and get it? Perhaps she was a fool to think of it, but she could not bear to see the poor cow suffering.

She hesitated, and the cow started bawling again, as if she knew what the girl was thinking, and Fraley took a sudden resolve. This was something she must do.

Softly, cautiously, she stole down and secured the pail, swiftly flew back again up the hillside and behind the cow. With quick furtive glances around, she knelt and began to milk, and soon the pail was foaming with the sweet, warm liquid. The fragrance of it made the famished girl feel faint with her need of it. And when she had finished and the cow was comfortable again, she took out her tin cup and drank deeply. She had a right to that much surely, after having performed this service for the cow.

When she had drunk all that she could, she took out her little water bottle and carefully filled that full, setting the cork tight again. Then she carried the pail carefully down the hill and put it on the bench. There was nothing near with which to cover it, but at least she had done what she could. Then, having tiptoed away from the house, she fled up the hill and away, on feet that were suddenly frenzied at the thought of what she had done. Perhaps the owner of that cow was a friend of Brand’s and would presently meet her and punish her for having drunk his milk and meddled with his cow.

Yet she was going now on the strength of that milk, with fleeter step than she had traveled all day long. New strength seemed to have come into her veins with that sweet, warm draught.

There were woods beyond, and if she could gain them before she met any returning householder, perhaps she would be safe for another night. She had her eyes upon that narrow pass, out between the mountains. If she could gain that and get beyond, perhaps she would be out in the world where safety lay.

It was growing dusky now, and the way was dim and indefinite. Rough stones cropped up and almost tripped her; little hollows appeared in unsuspected places and almost threw her. Yet her feet seemed to have been given wings for the moment; she fled over all difficulties and, breathless, at last gained the shadow of the scattered woods. The rose color and the flame, the golden and the green were fading now from the western sky, and the little pink clouds catching reflected glory in the east were scurrying away to the dark. There seemed to be no creature stirring, and the ground where she was traveling had grown rough and pebbly. The grass was scant, which gave her relief, for she knew there would be no cattle around, and she did not want to repeat the wild terror of the night before.

She kept along the edge of the woods again, with her face ever toward the mountain pass in the distance. She would go as long as she could see then find a place to drop down and rest until the moon came up and get on a little farther. So she kept on at an incredible pace for one who had traveled as far and been through as many strenuous experiences as she had until suddenly she came to a little nook that seemed made for rest—two trees with their roots locked together in a kind of natural bed.

The woods were behind her as she dropped down upon it, and the ground below her sloped away to a sort of gravelly bed, perhaps the bed of an old stream. Across a wide stretch of this she could see the looming darkness of the mountain beyond that continued on to the pass, which was almost invisible now that it was quite dark.

There were more of the friendly stars above than there had been the night before. She looked up and was glad they were there.

She gathered the old coat around her, drew closer the knot of the old handkerchief that covered her bright curls, placed her bag on the roots, curled her feet under her coat, lay down with her head pillowed on the old Bible, and soon fell asleep.

Back across the mountains and a valley her enemies drank and plotted to ensnare her, while behind her and around her were creatures of the dark, but none of them came near her as she slept guarded by an angelic band or, perhaps, even by the loved mother whose body was lying in a crude grave in the other valley. Who knows?

The moon rose and grew bright. It sailed on high for hours, looked down on the little soul hid among the branches, and stole away on its course to the west. The stars twinkled dimly, and the night waned.

Up through the mountain pass on horses came two riders through the night. Their voices were low but distinct in the clear air. Their horses were weary, as though they had come a long way that day, and they rode slowly and talked deliberately. The horses’ feet clinked on the rocky road as they went. The sound pierced the night and seemed to stir the little shadows as they came.

Something reached the young sleeper as they drew nearer, and she woke sharply in alarm but did not stir. Her senses seemed to be startled into breathlessness. Were these her enemies come again to find her? And dared she try to escape again through those dark unknown woods? She felt too stupid with sleep to dare to climb a tree, and the travelers were too near now for her to move without giving them warning of her presence. No, she must just lie still, with her face hidden, and hope they would pass by without noticing her.

The voices came on—low, angry, troubled, disheartened. They did not sound like drunken voices; and with relief she noticed now that they were not any voices that she knew.

“It was that Pierce Boyden done it,” said the voice of one of the riders resentfully. “I seen him. But you can’t do nothin’ about it. He’s too slick with his gun. You gotta let him get by with it.”

“She was there, then? You’re sure she was there?” the other voice questioned anxiously.

“Oh, yes, she was there. I seen her all right. I trailed her down.”

Fraley’s heart stood still with horror. These must be some of Brand’s gang, and they had been trailing her! But what had Pierce Boyden to do with it? Had he some fiendish plan to trap her and make her pay for her escape?

Then the older voice spoke again, gravely, as if perplexed. “But I thought that woman was dead. I thought they told you they saw her buried.”

“Oh, you mean the old ’un,” said the other man. “Yep, she’s dead all righty. No mistake! But the young ’un is at the old stand, an’ she’s ninety times as peppy as her ma! She’s a looker, too—got bleached hair an’ has the boys right on her string. She keeps ’em all a-guessing, too.”

“And you think Boyden did it for her sake?” questioned the elder.

“Positive! He’s jealous as a cat. I stood right beside him an’ I saw him look at her, an’ then I saw him draw a bead ”

The riders suddenly rounded a curve behind the trees, and their voices were drowned in a breeze that sprang up and tossed the branches around.

Fraley sat up and strained her ears but could only catch detached words now and then that meant nothing, and there she sat for some time trying to make out what the men had meant. Draw a bead. Then they were not talking about her after all, perhaps. It must be some other girl. Who were these men? They did not sound as if they were friends of Pierce Boyden. The older voice sounded sad and different from the men around here. Perhaps it was the owner of the log cabin where she had milked the cow.

But she could take no chances. She must get away from here as soon as it was light enough to see a step before her. It would not do to go yet, however. The men might be returning soon, or others of their party might straggle on behind. She must wait until she could see ahead of her or she would run into more difficulties.

She let her head drop back again on her hard pillow and closed her eyes. She did not intend to go to sleep again, just to rest until she felt it was safe to go on; but the weariness of her young flesh asserted itself, and she was soon soundly sleeping again, so soundly that she did not hear a stealthy foot on the trail ten feet from her bed, nor hear the sniff of an inquisitive nose as the creature paused and tried to analyze the new scent. Then across the valley a dark shadow stole into deeper shadows, and all was still again.

Day was just dawning when she was awakened again, this time by a leaf softly fluttering down on her face. Looking up startled, she saw two bright eyes above her as a saucy chipmunk frisked away on a slender limb and chattered noisily.

She sat up and looked around her cautiously. The woods were very dim behind her yet, and still, save for a stray bird note now and then as some old chorister gave his warning cry preparatory to the early matins. Gray and dim also was the valley stretching out to the grim mountain beyond. But down at the end of the valley toward which she was facing, the mountain pass was lit with the rising sun, just the first pale streaks in the sky, rosy and golden, framed by the mountains on either hand a wondrous picture to gaze at. Fraley caught her breath at the beauty of it.

But this was no time to gaze at beautiful vistas. She must be on her way before the enemy was on her track. If she could make the mountain pass before anyone came by, she felt she would have some chance. But it was a long way off, and she could not tell but perhaps it might be an all-day’s walk. Distances were deceptive. She had learned that yesterday.

Reaching in her bag, she took out the little bottle of milk and drank its contents. She might need it more later, but by then it might have soured, and she must not run the risk of losing it.

She started on her way in the mist before the dawn, walking toward the rising sun. She found herself stiff and sore from lying on her humpy bed and from the exertions of the day before, but the milk had heartened her, and she stepped forth briskly, trying to keep a straight course to the mountain pass.

The going was easier than the day before, for the trail was clearly defined as if it was in frequent use, and she got on faster than she had hoped. Before the sun was up above the mountains, she was fairly beneath the grim straight shadow of this great stone gateway into the next valley into a new world for her, she hoped. Nearer and nearer she drew to its foot and passed between the rocky walls, looking up, straight up to heaven with a new awe upon her. She had never been right at the foot of a great sheer mountain like this before, and it almost oppressed her with its grandeur. It somehow surprised her to note that there was foliage draped upon its rugged breast, trailing vines putting out new leaves of tender green, gray moss and lichens covering the bare rocks in other places, here and there a small windflower growing, unafraid, from a crack in the stone and blossoming a childish pink or blue, blowing in the wind as happily as if it had opened its eyes in a safe sweet meadow instead of on this bare cliff. And up toward the summit, one or two temerarious pines had set courageous fingers in a crevice and were growing out above the pass like truants, daring others to swing high and wide and free.