a jolly party set off for velpen sunday morning. hank bruebacher had remained over night on purpose to escort them to the river in his ’bus. it had been caught on the wrong side. the channel had closed over about the middle of the week. the ice had been very thin at first; there had been no drop of the thermometer, but a gradual lowering night after night had at last made men deem it safe to cross on foot. a rumor to this effect had drifted in to the tired jurors hanging around and killing time, waiting to be called. sunday in kemah was impossible—to many. besides, they had had a week of it. they were sure of a good dinner at velpen, where there had been no such fearful inroads on the supplies, and the base of whose supplies, moreover, was not cut off as it was at kemah by the closing of the river, which was not yet solid enough for traffic. that consideration held weight with many. saloon service was a little better, and that, too, had its votaries. business appointments actuated gordon and perhaps a few others. ennui pure and simple moved the court and the court’s assistant.
it was about ten in the morning. it was frosty, but bright, and the little cold snap bade fair to die prematurely. it surely was wonderful weather for south dakota.
“where is mary?” asked the judge, as louise came lightly down the stairs, ready to put on her gloves.
“she went out to the whites’ an hour or so ago—to do the week’s washing, i suspect. mr. langford took her out.”
“louise! on sunday!” even the tolerant judge was shocked.
“it’s true, uncle hammond,” persisted louise, earnestly.
she wore a modish hat that was immensely becoming, and looked charming. gordon stood at the worn, wooden steps, hat off, despite the nipping air, waiting to assist her to the place the gallant hank had reserved for her.
he sat down at her right, judge dale at her left. the jurymen filled the other places rapidly. the heavy wagon lurched forward. the road was good; there had been no snows or thaws. now was hank in his element. it is very probable that he was the most unreservedly contented man in seven states that fair sunday morning—always excepting munson of the three bars. a few straggling buckboards and horsemen brought up the rear. judge dale, taking to himself as much room as it was possible to confiscate with elbows slyly pressed outward chickenwing-wise, fished out his newspaper leisurely, leaned over gordon to say in a matter-of-fact voice, “just amuse louise for a little while, will you, dick, while i glance at the news; you won’t have to play, just talk,—she likes to talk,” and buried himself in the folds of the jiggling paper; much jiggled because hank had no intention of permitting any vehicle to pass the outfit of which the judge was passenger while he, hank bruebacher, held the reins. he was an authority of the road, and as such, he refused to be passed by anything on wheels.
the rattle of the wagon drowned all coherent conversation. the judge’s outspread arms had forced louise very close to her neighbor on the right, who had the instructions to keep her amused, but even then he must bend his head if he were to obey orders strictly and—talk. he chose to obey. last night, he had been worn out with the strain of the week; he had not been able to forget things. to-day,—well, to-day was to-day.
“are you going to hear the bishop?” asked louise. it was a little hard to make conversation when every time one lifted one’s eyes one found one’s self so startlingly close to a man’s fine face.
“surely!” responded gordon. “an incomparable scholar—an indefatigable workman—truest of saints.” there was grave reverence in his lowered voice.
“you know him well?”
“yes. i see him often in his indian mission work. he is one of the best friends i have.”
the river gleamed with a frozen deadness alongside. the horses’ hoofs pounded rhythmically over the hardened road. opposite, a man who had evidently found saloon service in kemah pretty good, but who doubtless would put himself in a position to make comparisons as soon as ever his unsteady feet could carry him there, began to sing a rollicking melody in a maudlin falsetto.
“shut up!” one of the men nudged him roughly.
“right you are,” said the singer, pleasantly, whose name was lawson. “it is not seemly that we lift up our voices in worldly melody on this holy day and—in the presence of a lady,” with an elaborate bow and a vacant grin that made louise shrink closer to the judge. “i suggest we all join in a sacred song.” he followed up his own suggestion with a discordant burst of “yes, we will gather at the river.”
“he means the kind o’ rivers they have in the ‘place around the corner,’” volunteered hank, turning around with a knowing wink. “they have rivers there—plenty of ’em—only none of ’em ever saw water.”
“i tell you, shut up,” whispered the man who had first chided. “can’t you see there’s a lady present? no more monkey-shines or we’ll oust you. hear?”
“i bow to the demands of the lady,” said lawson, subsiding with happy gallantry.
“you have many ‘best friends’ for a man who boasted not so long ago that he stood alone in the cow country,” said louise, resuming the interrupted conversation with gordon.
“he is one of the fingers,” retorted gordon. “i confessed to one hand, you will remember.”
“let me see,” said louise, musingly. she began counting on her own daintily gloved hand.
“mrs. higgins is the thumb, you said?” questioningly.
“yes.”
“mr. langford is the first finger, of course?”
“of course.”
“and uncle hammond is the middle finger?”
“you have said it.”
“and the bishop is the third finger?”
“he surely is.”
“and—and—mary is the next?”
“sorceress! you have guessed all right.”
“then where am i?” she challenged, half in earnest, half in fun. “you might have left at least the little finger for me.”
he laughed under his breath—an unsteady sort of laugh, as if something had knocked at his habitual self control. there was only one answer to that gay, mocking challenge—only one—and that he could not give. he forgot for a little while that there were other people in the wagon. the poor babbling, grinning man across the way was not the only drunken man therein. only one answer, and that to draw the form closer—closer to him—against his heart—for there was where she belonged. fingers? what did he care for fingers now? he wanted to lay his face down against her soft hair—it was so perilously near. if only he might win in his fight! but even so, what would it matter? what could there ever be for her in this cruel, alien land? she had been so kindly and lovingly nurtured. in her heart nestled the home call—for all time. she was bound in its meshes. they would draw her sooner or later to her sure and inevitable destiny. and what was there for him elsewhere—after all these years? kismet. he drew a long breath.
“i’m a poor maverick, i suppose, marked with no man’s friendship. but you see i’m learning the language of the brotherhood. why don’t you compliment me on my adaptability?”
she looked up smilingly. she was hurt, but he should never know it. and he, because of the pain in him, answered almost roughly:
“it is not a language for you to learn. you will never learn. quit trying. you are not like us.”
she, because she did not understand, felt the old homesick choking in her throat, and remembered with a reminiscent shudder of the first awful time she had spun along that road. everybody seemed to spin in this strange land. she felt herself longing for the fat, lazy, old jogging horses of her country home. horses couldn’t hurry there because the hills were too many and the roads too heavy. these lean, shaggy, range-bred horses were diabolical in their predilection for going. hank’s surely were no exception to the rule. he pulled them up with a grand flourish at the edge of the steep incline leading directly upon the pontoon that bridged the narrowed river on the kemah side of the island, and they stopped dead still with the cleanness worthy of cow ponies. the suddenness of the halt precipitated them all into a general mix-up. gordon had braced himself for the shock, but louise was wholly unprepared. she was thrown violently against him. the contact paled his face. the soft hair he had longed to caress in his madness brushed his cheek. he shivered.
“oh!” cried louise, laughing and blushing, “i wasn’t expecting that!”
most of the men were already out and down on the bridge. a lone pedestrian was making his way across.
“all safe?” queried judge dale, as he came up.
“a little thin over the channel, but all safe if you cross a-foot.”
“suppose we walk across the island,” suggested the judge, who occasionally overcame his indolence in spasmodic efforts to counteract his growing portliness, “and our friend hank will meet us here in the morning.”
so it was agreed. the little party straggled gayly across the bridge. the walk across the island was far from irksome. the air was still bracing, though rags of smoky cloud were beginning to obscure the sun. the gaunt cottonwoods stood out in sombre silhouette against the unsoftened bareness of the winter landscape. louise was somewhat thoughtful and pensive since her little attempt to challenge intimacy had been so ungraciously received. to gordon, on the other hand, had come a strange, new exhilaration. his blood bounded joyously through his veins. this was his day—he would live it to the dregs. to-morrow, and renunciation—well, that was to-morrow. he could not even resent, as, being a man, he should have resented, the unwelcome and ludicrous attentions of the drunken singer to the one woman in the crowd, because whenever the offender came near, louise would press closer to him, gordon, and once, in her quick distaste to the proximity of the man, she clutched gordon’s coat-sleeve nervously. it was the second time he had felt her hand on his arm. he never forgot either. but the man received such a withering chastisement from gordon’s warning eyes that he ceased to molest until the remainder of the island road had been traversed.
then men looked at each other questioningly. a long, narrow, single-plank bridge stretched across the channel. it was not then so safe as report would have it. the boards were stretched lengthwise with a long step between each board and the next. what was to be done? hank had gone long since. no one coveted the long walk back to kemah. every one did covet the comfort or pleasure upon which each had set his heart. gordon, the madness of his intoxication still upon him, constituted himself master of ceremonies. he stepped lightly upon the near plank to reconnoitre. he walked painstakingly from board to board. he was dealing in precious freight—he would draw no rash conclusions. when he had reached what he considered the middle of the channel, he returned and pronounced it in his opinion safe, with proper care, and advised strongly that no one step upon a plank till the one in front of him had left it. thus the weight of only one person at a time would materially lessen the danger of the ice’s giving way. so the little procession took up its line of march.
gordon had planned that louise should follow her uncle and he himself would follow louise; thus he might rest assured that there would be no encroachment upon her preserves. the officious songster, contrary to orders, glided ahead of his place when the line of march was well taken up—usurping anybody’s plank at will, and trotting along over the bare ice until finally he drew alongside louise with an amiable grin.
“i will be here ready for emergencies,” he confided, meaningly. “you need not be afraid. if the ice breaks, i will save you.”
“get back, you fool,” cried gordon, fiercely.
“and leave this young lady alone? not so was i brought up, young man,” answered lawson, with great dignity. “give me your hand, miss, i will steady you.”
louise shrank from his touch and stepped back to the end of her plank.
“get on that plank, idiot!” cried gordon, wrathfully. “and if you dare step on this lady’s board again, i’ll wring your neck. do you hear?”
he had stepped lightly off his own plank for a moment while he drew louise back to it. the ice gave treacherously, and a little pool of water showed where his foot had been. louise faltered.
“it—it—flows so fast,” she said, nervously.
“it is nothing,” he reassured her. “i will be more careful another time.”
it was a perilous place for two. he hurried her to the next board as soon as the subdued transgressor had left it, he himself holding back.
it was indeed an odd procession. dark figures balanced themselves on the slim footing, each the length of a plank from the other, the line seeming to stretch from bank to bank. it would have been ludicrous had it not been for the danger, which all realized. some half-grown boys, prowling along the velpen shore looking for safe skating, gibed them with flippant rudeness.
lawson took fire.
“whoop ’er up, boys,” he yelled, waving his hat enthusiastically.
he pranced up gayly to the judge, tripping along on the bare ice.
“your arm, your honor,” he cried. “it is a blot on my escutcheon that i have left you to traverse this danger-bristling way alone—you, the judge. but trust me. if the ice breaks, i will save you. i swim like a fish.”
“my friend,” said dale, fixing on him eyes of calm disapproval, “if you are the cause of my being forced to a cold-water plunge bath against my wishes, i will sentence you to the gallows. now go!”
he went. he was hurt, but he was not deterred. he would wait for the lady. a gentleman could do no less. louise stopped. gordon stopped. the whole back line stopped. each man stood to his colors and—his plank. louise, glancing appealingly over her shoulder, gave an hysterical little laugh.
“move on!” cried gordon, impatiently.
instead of moving on, however, lawson came confidently toward louise. she stifled a little feminine scream in her handkerchief and stepped hastily backward.
“don’t be afraid,” said lawson.
gordon repressed a rising oath, and cried out, “if you dare—,” but lawson had already dared. his heavy step was upon louise’s frail support. she thought shudderingly, intuitively, of the dark, swift, angry current under its thin veneer of ice—the current that was always hungry and ate islands and fertile fields in ravenous mouthfuls. she ran back to the end of her plank.
“have no fear,” said the drunken man, blandly. he stepped to the bare ice at her side. “a man can’t walk pigeon-toed always,” he confided. “besides, there’s not a particle of danger. these fools are making a mountain of a mole-hill.”
gordon came forward quickly.
“run ahead, miss dale, i’ll tend to this fellow,” he said.
he extended a firm hand. he meant to clutch the man, shove him behind, and keep him there. but at that moment the ice began to give under lawson’s clumsy feet. a look of blank, piteous helplessness came into his drunken eyes as he felt the treacherous ice sinking beneath him. he tottered, then, with frantic, unthinking haste, and sprang to the plank, but it, too, began to sink. he laid desperate hold of the girl.
“save me!” he shrieked.
louise was conscious only of a quick, awful terror, a dreadful horror of swaying and sinking, and then she was muffled against a rough coat, strong arms clasped her tightly and bore her backward. shivering, she hid her face in the coat, clutching the lapels with nervous strength.
“you’ll spoil your sunday clothes,” she moaned, trying desperately to be calm and sensible.
and gordon held her at last as he had dreamed in his mad moments of holding her—close against his heart—in the place he had not dared to tell her he had already put her. his face was pressed against the fair hair that he had longed with an indescribable longing to caress such a short time ago. his lips brushed the soft strands with infinite tenderness. now was his dream come true. this day was his. no one might take it from him. to-morrow,—but that was to-morrow. to-day was his. he would live it to the end. closer he held her,—the dear woman,—there was no one else in all the world. when he released her, she was confronting a man whose face was as white as the ice around them.
“is this—the last of us?” she questioned, tremulously.
he flung his arm over her shoulders again. he did not know exactly what he did. men were coming forward rapidly, aware that a great tragedy had threatened, had been averted. dale was hastily retracing his steps. lawson had crawled to a place of safety on a forward plank after having been flung out of the way by gordon in his swift rush for louise. he was grinning foolishly, but was partially sobered by the shock.
“back! all of you!” cried gordon, imperiously. he was very pale, but he had regained his self-control. “idiots! do you want another accident? back to your places! we’ll have to go around.”
the ice was broken in many spots. louise had really gone through, but so quick had been her rescue that she escaped with wet feet only. by making a portable bridge of two of the planks, they skirted the yawning hole in safety. it was a more dangerous undertaking now that two must stand on a plank at the same time. luckily, the greater number were ahead when the accident occurred. it was not much past noon,—but gordon’s day was ended. it was as if the sun had gone down on it. he found no opportunity to speak to louise again, and the to-morrow, his to-morrow, had come. but the one day had been worth while.
