The Port of Adventure Part 32

"No. I don't want that, either," said Wisler, smiling his slow smile.

"It's a long time since I got lost in the woods, and I'll do my best not to lose my reckoning this time. I must worry along without you, I see. But I'm not discouraged. When you've finished up this trip that you seem to think so important, I may have news for you, of one kind or another."

Nick looked at his watch. It was time to go back to the Fairmount if he meant to take Angela away that night.

XXIII

THE HAPPY VALLEY

In thinking of the Yosemite, Angela had, half-unconsciously, pictured herself and Nick Hilliard alone in the valley together, separated from "mere tourists" by a kind of magic wall. But down it tumbled with her first moment at El Portal; and behold, on the other side of the wall were hundreds of eager young men and women who no doubt resented her existence as much as she resented theirs.

The huge veranda of the log-built hotel, on the hill above the railway, swarmed with brides and bridegrooms. It was extremely early in the morning, and everybody was sleepy, even those who had pa.s.sed their night in the hotel, not in the train; nevertheless, though good-natured, one and all wore an air of square-chinned, indomitable determination which puzzled Angela.

Something was evidently about to happen, something of immense importance, for which each man with all his feminine belongings intended to be ready if possible before any one else. Angela watched the silent preparations with impersonal interest while she waited for Hilliard to come from the office and tell her about the special carriage for which he had telegraphed.

By this time a hasty breakfast had been s.n.a.t.c.hed, and in a crowded dining-room full of laughter and chattering she had resigned herself to the falling of the magic wall. Other people had a right to enjoy the Yosemite and she must not grudge them their place. "I suppose," she said to Kate, who stood beside her on the veranda, "that all these nice girls and men are going off for different excursions. They seem a good deal excited. I wonder why?"

Just then a stage drawn by four splendid horses drove up the veranda steps. Something was shouted. Angela could not catch the announcement, for she had all she could do not to be carried off her feet in the general rush. A dozen of the firm-faced men and resolute girls made a dash for the box seat. With no malice in their eyes, they fought and wrestled with each other; and it was a case of the best man wins. Those worsted in the struggle with the utmost good-nature contented themselves with the next best places; and so on to the back seat, into which the weakest fell, almost before the driver had brought his horses to a full stop. Away tore the stage with its laughing load, and another vehicle whirled up to the hotel steps, to be filled in a breathless instant.

As Angela stood watching, fascinated yet appalled, Nick came out to her, with the air of a general who has lost a battle.

"How glad I am," she whispered, "that we haven't got to fight for our lives like that. I simply couldn't do it."

"Mrs. May, we _have_ got to!" he groaned. "I've failed, after all my boastings of what I could do for you in the Yosemite. A private carriage can't be had, and they've made a rule that no one's allowed to book a seat in advance. When the stage for the Sentinel Hotel comes along, I shall swing you on to the box seat, if I kill ten men."

Angela rebelled. She pitied herself so intensely that she had no compa.s.sion left for Nick. "What--dash people away, and push ahead of them?

I'd rather--yes, I'd rather turn back to San Francisco."

"I don't see myself letting you turn back," said Nick. And said it so firmly that Angela, never opposed by him before, looked up in surprise. He was not smiling. Evidently he was in earnest, deadly earnest. She knew that what he told her she would have to do, and, oddly enough, she grew quite calm.

"When our stage comes along," he said in a low voice, "I shall get in before any one else, and keep a place for you. Don't hesitate a second, but be ready for a jump. I'll have you up by my side before you know what's happened. Kate must be close behind, and I'll try to swing her up to the next seat."

"Why shouldn't _we_ have the back places, since somebody must?" Angela questioned meekly.

"Because I want you to have the best there is, and I'm going to get it for you, that's the only reason," Nick explained, leaving no room for further argument. "It's the least I owe you, after failing to keep my other promises."

She said no more; and round her the fight for places went on, desperate, yet extraordinarily good-natured. People tried with all their might to grab what they coveted, but if somebody else s.n.a.t.c.hed it from under their noses, why, blame Kismet! The rule of the game was to make no moan.

Always, as a new relay surged forward, Nick by some insidious manoeuvre edged Angela and Kate nearer to the front. At last he got them wedged behind the foremost row of travellers who were waiting to spring upon and overwhelm an approaching stage. Those who had won the way to the front and achieved safety, unless defeated by an unexpected rear attack, wore an appearance of deceitful calm. Two extremely big young men, who had the air of footballers in training, did what they could to form a hollow square round a couple of fragile but determined girls. The party, while in reality bent upon securing the two best seats at any cost to life or limb, pretended to be looking at an ill.u.s.trated newspaper. This feint was intended to put others off their guard; and the four concealed their emotions by discussing the pictures on the uppermost page.

A name spoken by one of the girls was an electric shock for Angela. In an instant the veranda, the crowd on it, and the stage whose turn would come next, vanished from before her eyes like a dissolving view.

"Prince di Sereno! What a romantic name. And say, _isn't_ he handsome? I wonder if he's as good-looking as that, really?"

"She's handsome, too," the other girl added. "I do hope they won't be killed."

"Come along, kids--look sharp!" said the two young men. And before others who hoped to annex the box seat could breathe after an interlude of footballing, the conquering four secured what they wanted. Those less fortunate were tumbling up as best they could; and Angela had scarcely time to realize that she had not dreamed the incident, when the stageload had bounced away.

She was left dazed, and blus.h.i.+ng deeply, so deeply that Nick, quick to notice lights and shadows on her face, wondered what match had lit that rosy fire.

Angela's first thought was that somehow she had been found out. Then she remembered that the girls had seen the name in a newspaper. Also they had been looking at Paolo's picture. And he _could_ be handsome--in a picture.

But of whom had they said, "She's handsome, too?" Could it be that her own photograph had been published with Paolo's? If so, who had dared to reproduce it, and why? What if Nick should come across the picture and recognize the face as hers? She did not want him to know that she was the Princess di Sereno until, for her own reasons and in her own time, she should choose to tell him the story of her life. Once she had thought there was no reason why he need ever know; that they would part, and she would remain in his memory as Angela May. Now, however, she began to see that the moment must come when she would not only need, but wish, to tell him all, so that he might know why. But she never quite finished this explanation in her mind. It was too fond of trying to finish itself without waiting to be put into words.

She was a little frightened now, lest by chance there should be a premature revelation, for in the rush to get away the girls dropped the paper they had been reading. It lay on the veranda steps, and though the cover was turned back, and only an advertis.e.m.e.nt page could be seen, Angela discovered that it was the _Ill.u.s.trated London News_.

Perhaps the page which lay face down was the page of the photograph. She half longed, half dreaded that a flutter of wind or a pa.s.sing foot might turn the paper over. What could the girl have meant by saying, "I hope they won't be killed?"

Could Angela have read Theo Dene's mind the day at Santa Barbara, this picture and paragraph would have been less mysterious to her. "I wonder if Mrs. May _knows about the Prince_?" Theo had asked herself.

"There's an English paper on the step," said Nick, following the direction of her eyes. "Does it make you homesick? If it does, I'll put in a claim to it. There may be time for you to glance it over before the right stage turns up."

"No, no," said Angela, hastily. "I don't want the paper. And oh, look, it says 'Sentinel' on this stage that's coming."

The next thing she knew, she was swaying between earth and heaven, over heads that surged beneath her. Somehow, Nick had got that place on the box seat, and he was beside her, resolutely helping Kate on to the high step.

Suddenly, however, Timmy's covered basket flew open. Kate had been playing with the cat, and had forgotten to fasten Tim in. Resenting the confusion, Timmy made a leap, Kate screamed and jumped down from the stage, carrying not only the cat's basket, but a small dressing-bag of Angela's--all she had brought, except a suit-case containing a dress or two for the journey.

Some one else had, of course, scrambled into the coveted seat so miraculously vacated, and the stage, with its full complement of pa.s.sengers, went swinging down the road, with Kate and Timmy and the dressing-bag left behind.

"Shall we try to stop?" Nick began; but Angela cut him short, her face now as determined as those of the square-chinned girls who had pa.s.sed triumphantly on their way. "No!" she said. "I can't go through that again!

Kate will have to come on later."

"There'll be another 'Sentinel' stage in about an hour, I guess,"

announced the good-natured driver. "She'll be all right."

"She knows where we're going," said Angela. "She's a quick-witted girl, and I shan't worry. I mean to be happy in spite of everything--and _because_ of everything!"

So the stage rolled on into the gate of the Yosemite and Kate remained on the veranda of the hotel at El Portal, consoling herself, when she had retrieved Timmy, by looking at the pictures in the _Ill.u.s.trated London News_, an old number of a fortnight or three weeks ago. She found it so interesting and absorbing, one page in particular, that when the next coach bound for the Sentinel Hotel came along, she forgot to fight for a place until it was too late to fight. There was not another stage bound for that destination until to-morrow. And to-morrow Mrs. May and Hilliard were going on somewhere else. Kate could not remember where.

Seeing her dismay, the manager of the hotel took pity on the pretty Irish girl. "Never mind," said he. "You can 'phone from here to the Sentinel.

When your lady arrives there this afternoon, she'll find your message and know what's happened. Then she can 'phone back what she wants you to do."

"But I won't get to her to-night, will I?" wailed Kate.

"No, you won't get to her to-night," he echoed. "But I guess she ain't so helpless she can't do up her back hair without you, is she?"

"Her blouse b.u.t.tons up behind," Kate murmured, as one murmurs in a painful dream. "And, oh, by the powers, if I haven't got her nightgown in this dressing-bag!"

Naturally the manager was not deeply interested in Mrs. May's nightgown.

As for Mrs. May herself, she was not yet conscious of the loss of it. She was thinking, at first, about the pictures which she had not seen in the _Ill.u.s.trated London News_, and the girl's exclamation: "I hope they won't be killed!" Then, later, of the valley through whose door she had just entered with Nick Hilliard, the hidden valley which Indians knew and loved long before a few cattle-seeking American soldiers ferreted out the secret.

The voice of the Merced drowned the dull voice of the past which had suddenly called to her. It was a gay laughing voice that sang among the tumbled rocks sent down to the river for playthings, by her tall brothers the mountains; and the voices of pines and cedars answered, all singing the same high song in the same language--the language of Nature. Only, they sang in different tones and different keys--soprano and contralto, tenor and ba.s.s. The song was so sweet that no one could think of anything else, unless it might be of love; for the song told of love, because nature is love.

As the sun rose higher and warmed the air, the valley was like a great box full of spices, such as the three Wise Men of the East carried for an offering when they followed their Star; a secret, golden box was the valley, high-sided, with a lid of turquoise and sapphire, which was the sky itself.

The deep, still trout-pools of the Merced--bravest and strongest river of the valley--were coloured like beds of purple pansies; or they were vivid green, glinting with sparks of gold, like the wings of a Brazilian beetle.

Far down in the clear depths, Angela caught glimpses of darting fish, swift as silver arrows shot from an unseen bow. And close to the sky, high on the rocky sides of the Yosemite treasure-chest, were curiously traced bas-reliefs, which might have been carved by a dead race of giants: heads of elephants, profiles of Indians and t.i.tanic tortoises, most of them appropriately and whimsically named by ancient pioneers.