Wings of the Wind Part 33

I do not know why I did this--this spontaneous though semi-pagan act--except that on my "island," and in my power, slept the girl I loved; she whom I had stolen from her watchful tribe, whom I would have as mate. By all the laws of the wilderness she was mine, and I wanted to tell someone, to challenge the wild, that these arms and hands and this rifle would protect her till the end.

A thin mist hung low upon the prairie, a faint tint of salmon touched the sky, and to my lips sprang the words of that inspiring "Salutation of the Dawn" which found expression in the Orient many thousands of years ago:

_Listen to the Exhortation of the Dawn!

Look to this Day!

For it is life, the very life of life.

In its brief course lie all the verities And realities of your existence: The glory of action, The bliss of growth, The splendor of beauty: For yesterday is but a dream, And tomorrow is only a vision; But today well-lived makes Every yesterday a dream of happiness, And every tomorrow a vision of hope.

Look well, therefore, to this Day!_

Then, as the light increased and the mist began to dissolve, I swept the prairie in all directions for a sign of enemies. Everywhere was peace.

a.s.sured that Efaw Kotee would never find us here I turned and went to my lean-to--to the place my lean-to had been before we moved it beside the spring--gathered up my knick-knacks and repaired to the pool, emerging half an hour later a more presentable man. After this I built a small fire of b.u.t.tonwood and set about preparing breakfast.

But this proved to be a perplexing ordeal. Bilkins had packed in a lot of stuff that he might have manipulated, though to me it was worse than Greek. Of course, I could cook up coffee and bacon--the kind of meal Smilax and I were used to--but Sylvia must never be subjected to that!

And it would be insane of me to go out on the prairie after snipe! There was nothing for it but prepare a dainty concoction from what we had, so, wis.h.i.+ng heartily that Bilkins had come off in the small boat with me, I dived into our stores on a tour of inspection.

Tea!--who wanted tea for breakfast! A pot of b.u.t.ter!--appropriate enough, though it might have been fresher. A can of beans!--worse than tea. A can of finnan haddie came after this, and several cans that only Bilkins could have understood. But in the end I carried a number of them to the fire and had a general opening, arranged them in a row, and began to cook. The chief trouble was that I did not know which should be done thoroughly and which merely warmed up. Anyway, I emptied something, inviting if unp.r.o.nounceable, into the skillet and as it began to sizzle it smelt really good. So I crouched lower, stirring vigorously to keep it from scorching, and thought of the surprise it would be to her--for, to be quite frank, it was a surprise to me!

Then a voice at my back, making me forget the sizzling stuff, the fire, the breakfast, said with a note of extreme anxiety:

"Good morning, Jackachobee! Oughtn't Echochee be here by this time? You don't think any thing's happened to her, do you? I can't whistle like a plover and had to come to breakfast unannounced. I hope it's ready.

You've seen nothing of those men?"

I did not move under this rapid fire of questions and statements. To the contrary, I lowered my head and was afraid to move; afraid to face the rebuke, or the fear, or whatever it would be, that might naturally follow her discovery of my deception. But more potent than this dread was the thrill of joy I felt in knowing that she stood close behind me; that when I turned I should see her there, face to face. Yet the very thought of turning again started the chill of apprehension. Without doubt she would wither me like a parched leaf for having played so silly a part as Indian. I began vigorously to stir the stuff in my skillet which now had stuck to the bottom and was smelling like the very old devil. Of course, my face would have been red, anyway--leaning over the fire as I was!

"Are you keeping anything from me?" she cried, I thought on the verge of "nerves," so hesitating no longer I arose and turned to her.

"Oh!" she gasped, drawing back and putting one hand to her breast--while the other, I noticed, fell mechanically to the b.u.t.t of a revolver swung to her waist. Her eyes were wide with surprise, as her lips were parted in fear and utter wonderment. Truly, she was the incarnation of girlhood standing at bay!

I had known her beauty; I had been astounded by it in the Havana cafe, in my dream, in the little kodak film of Monsieur's, and last, when she stood in her doorway less than forty-eight hours before. But here was something that transcended all that I had previously seen in her.

Perhaps the young sun, golden in the morning atmosphere, cast the spell as it sought out spun-copper strands amongst her waves of hair; perhaps the days of anxiety, terminating in a night of unfearful sleep, had put the dew, the mystery, in her eyes; or it may have been the color, smouldering beneath the attractive tan on her cheeks and tinting her pure throat, that held me charmed; or the indefinable spirit of wildness that showed through a natural poise. I saw, too, in a hazy kind of way, a most bewitching costume--at least, admirably suited to her: a waist of olive-drab, not unlike our service s.h.i.+rts but of delicate material, open at the throat and fitting her snugly; quite a short skirt to match, and laced tan boots.

"Please don't shoot," I said, trying to smile.

"Where is Jackachobee?" she demanded.

"I'm Jackachobee."

"But you're not an Indian!"

"No, but I really am the friend Tachachobee told you of."

I could see that she was growing more alarmed, and now spoke frankly, saying:

"I pretended to be a Seminole last night because explanations would have taken time; and I thought, too, that you'd feel safer with a good Indian because he's easier to boss than a white man."

Her eyes narrowed, subtly suggesting that she might take this as a challenge. At last, having looked me over--but not once removing her hand from the revolver b.u.t.t--she said, with a little pucker between her eyebrows:

"I've seen you somewhere. Were you ever in our--in that place over there?"

Now, of course, I could hardly expect her to see a resemblance between a chap wearing breeches and puttees in a Florida wilderness and the dinner-jacketed yachtsman who dined near her table off yonder in Havana.

It would be asking a great deal--although I did feel disappointed.

"No," I answered, "I haven't been in that settlement; but I watched it from a hiding place all of day before yesterday. You see, I've come two hundred miles to take you away from it."

"You've come to--to take _me_?" she slowly asked, and I thought the color began to smoulder again; while from her eyes flashed a look that might have been a struggle between grat.i.tude, resentment and fear.

Wanting only the first to prevail I continued hastily:

"Yes; I followed ever since you wrote that you were in danger, and I've sworn not to return to my yacht without you."

"Oh!" she gasped, stepping back and staring at me through the swiftly changing lights of her awakening. "Surely," she caught her breath again, "surely you're not the--you _can't_ be!"

"I am," I smiled, holding out my hand. "The man you gave the paper ball to."

Impulsively she clasped it in both of her own, swaying slightly toward me and looking her grat.i.tude through eyes brim-full of tears--but the angels be my witness that spoken words have never been so eloquent!

Then she began to laugh--a little wildly, a little hysterically--so I said:

"It's all right--you're safe here, absolutely! I watched last night and there wasn't the slightest sign of anyone. You see, Smilax--that's Tachachobee, but we call him Smilax because he smiles--well, he and Echochee purposely led those fellows up the coast, and they'll keep on leading them any-old-where until it's safe to join us here. It's been carefully planned out. However, I'll tell you everything after--after----" I looked ruefully at the shriveled black stuff now incinerated on the bottom of my skillet, adding: "but there isn't going to be any after; it's all burned up!"

She had pluckily taken herself in hand by now and, following my dejected stare, cried:

"Is _that_ our breakfast? Heavens, what a calamity! But show me where the things are and I'll cook another!"

"You'll soil your fingers," I hesitatingly protested.

"Soil my fingers! Of course, I will; but there's no scarcity of water, nor of my appet.i.te, either--and we can't possibly eat what you cook!"

"Oh, I don't know," I said, just a little touchily. "I'm a pretty good sort of a cook, I am!" Often have I noticed how the majority of men get touchy about their cooking.

"The evidence is convincing," she laughed. "Where do you keep your stores? Hurry, please do, if you don't want a fainting woman on your hands. I'm starved!"

Now I saw that some of this was being put on; that it was the slackening of tightly pulled nerves; so I encouraged her as far as I dared without being suspected, knowing that it is best to open all vents when one's feelings have been dangerously pent up. As to my ability to cook!--why, there were extenuating circ.u.mstances governing this breakfast that should have excused it. Some day I'd surprise her.

I changed that idea quickly enough when she took charge, however, for in ten minutes there were two or three things sizzling and sending out an aroma that might have brought Epicurus himself back to life. What's more, she did not seem to be worrying over them; she did not even seem particular about stirring them, nor did she burn her fingers, nor get red in the face and hot, nor suffer any of those agonies that I had supposed were a necessary part of culinary science.

"You're a wonder," I exclaimed. "Darned if I've ever seen such a swell cook!"

"Thank you, sir," she tossed her head and mimicked. "I'm glad I please, sir."

"Like your new place?" I asked, gravely.

"I've seen worse, sir."

"Like your new master, too?" I ventured.

"Marster, is it!" She sent me a look with which there was a most fetching little curve at the corners of her lips that she seemed unable to control. "I'll 'ave you understand that queens of the kitchen know no marster!"

"But you won't be in the kitchen all the time."