Historical Newspapers of South Carolina

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pSTffi? 1/ Femglfce Story <& ( Vho Drank o?jt qr [A /T^OTwaoceYc r^-tfef (Cyriag Tc 5^v, k( Author of^Wiefo Better nan ffy apoaci^^ Br^ c^yr,^ n,% *V CHAPTER XIX. ; The Challenge of the Rangb. Mr. James Armstrong sat at his desk before the west window in his ' .private room in one of the tallest j buildings in Denver. His suite of of- ' flees was situated on one of the top ] floors, and from It he had a clear and unobstructed view of the mighty ' range over the Intervening house tops I and other buildings. The earth was ? covered with snow. It had fallen stead- i illy through the night, but with the dawn the air had cleared and the sun had come out brightly, although it was < very cold. i Letters, papers, documents, the demands of a business extensive and var- 1 led, were left unnoticed. He sat with | ' his elbow on the desk, his head on his 1 hand, looking moodily at the range. In the month that had elapsed since i he had received news of Enid Mait- i land's disappearance he had sat often 11 In that way, in that place, staring at 11 the range, a prey to most despondent 1 reflections, heavy hearted and discon- J solate indeed. After that memorable interview , with Mr. Stephen Maitland in Phila- J 1 delphia he had deemed it proper to 1 i hwait there the arrival of Mr. kod- i ert Maitland. A brief Interview with J that distracted gentleman had put J him in possession of all the facts in 1 the case. As Robert Maitland had said, after presentation of the tragic story, the situation was quite hopeless. Even Armstrong reluctantly admitted that her uncle and old Klrkby had done everything that was possl^ Me for the rescue or discovery of r Therefore the two despondent gentlemen had shortly after returned to their western homes, Robert Maitland in this instance beiDg accompanied by his brother Stephen. The latter never knew how much his daughter had been to him until this evil fate had befallen her. Robert Maitland had promised to inaugurate a thorough and extensive search to solve the mystery of her death, which he felt was certain, in the spring, when the weather permitted humanity to have free course through the mountains. Mr. Stephen Maitland found a cer tain c jn being i at least near the place where neithei 1 he nor any one had any doubt bis 1 daughter's remains lay hid beneath i the snow or ice on the mountains in 1 the freezing cold. Robert Maitland 1 had no other idea than that Enid's ? body was in the lake. He intended to t drain it?an engineering task of no t great difficulty?and yet he intended, also, to search the hills for miles on either side of the main stream down j which' she .had gone, for she might! possibly have strayed away and died ! of starvation and exposure, rather j than drowning. At any rate, he' . would leave nothing undone to discover her. He had strenuously opposed Armstrong's recklessly expressed intention of going into the mountains immediately to search for her. Arm strong was not easily moved from any purpose lie entertained, or lightly to : be hindered from attempting any en-1 terprise that he projected, but by the time the party reached Denver tho' winter had set in, and even he real-; Ized the futility of any irnmediatej search for a dead body lost in the i mountair.3. Admitting that Enid was j dead, the conclusions were sound, of, course. The others pointed out to Armstrong : that if the woman they all loved had j by any fortunate chance escaped the i cloudburst, she must inevitably have j perished from cold, starvation and ex-1 posure in the mountain long since, j ( There was scarcely a possibility that she could have escaped the flood, but | if she had, it would only to be de- j voted to death a little later. If she j was not in the lake, what remained of I her would be in some lateral canon. It would be impossible to discover her body in the deep snows until tho spring and the warm weather came. When the snows melted what was concealed would bo revealed. Alone, she could do nothing. And admitting again that Enid was alone, this conclusion was as sound as the other. Now no one had the faintest hope , that Enid Maitland was yet alive, exf Zertalty Persons J * J ^pser?d>Praa3y . I Aa"tfeMp?rk? ? i 1$8xSorW^#OXXV6 '" "> - I . y. o. g?i*.-pm *> . . ; : >.:;' cept, perhaps, her father, Mr. Stephen t Maltland. They could not convince 1 Mm h? was so old and set In his opin- I Ions and so utterly unfamiliar with the 1 conditions that they tried to describe t to him, that he clung to his belief in t Bpite of all, and finally they let him r take such comfort as he could from 1 his vain hope without any further at- i tempt at contradiction. 1 In spite of all the arguments, how- ' ever, Mr. James Armstrong was not 1 satisfied. He was as hopeless as the < rest, but his temperament would not 3 permit him to accept the inevitable * calmly. It was barely possible that 1 she might not be dead, and that she 1 might not be alone. There was scarce- t up enough possibility of this to justify a suspicion, but that is not saying i there was none at all. 1 Day after day he had sat In his office denying himself to everyone and refusing to consider anything, brood- t Ing o\er the situation. He loved Enid 1 Maitland, he loved her before, and now that he had Ic3t her, he loved her still more. E Not altogether admirable had been { lames Armstrong's outwardly success- ^ ful career. In much that is high and noble and manly his actions?and his ;haracter?had often been lacking, but jven the base can love, and sometimes , love transforms, if it be given a c :hance. The passion of Cymon for Iphgenia, made a man and prince out of . :he rustic boor, and his real love for Enid Maitland might have done more . for Armstrong than he himself or anynne who knew him as he was, and few there were who had such . knowledge of him, dreamed jtfd possible. There-was eye thingf^HI love could not do, howeverJ^PB lould not make him a patient phil-j . nsopher, a good waiter. His rule of i life was not very high, but in one way t was admirable, in that prompt, bold ? lesire action was his chlefest characeriRtie f On this certain morning a month liter the heart-breaking disaster, his s power of passive endurance had been j strained to the vanishing point. The t jreat white range was flung in his face E ike a challenge. Within its secret releases lay the solution of the mystery, j 3omewhere, dead or alive, beyond the t soaring rampart was the woman he ( oved. It was impossible for him to i emain quiet any longer. Common t sen&e, reason, every argument that i iad beer; adduced, suddenly became of t io weight. He lifted his head and i 3tared straight westward, his eyes j i swept the long semicircle of horizon i scrns3 which the mighty range was x lrawn like the chord of gigantic arc r rhe string of a mighty bow. Each hits pen1- mocked him. the insolent t - || [l t ui^ I "It Is Msdness," Urged Robert Mait- j land. : , agression of the range called him irresistibly to action. ! c "By Heaven," he said under his T breath, rising to his feet, "winter or (: no winter, I go." Robert .Maitland had ofhees in the 1 same building. Having once come to a f determination, there was no more un- i E certainty or hesitation about Arm- j strong's course. In another moment i a he was standing in the private room ofj r his friend. The two men were not j alone there. Stephen Maitland sat. in i t a low chair before another window ! f removed from the desk somewhat.' staring out at the range. The old fnan was huddled down in his seat, very line of his figure spoke of grief ind despair. Of all the places in Den'er, he liked best his brother's office ronting the rampart of the mounains, and hour after hour he sat there juietly looking at the summits, soraeimes softly shrouded in white, someimes swept bare by the fierce winter tales that blew across them, someimes shining and sparkling so that j he eye scarce sustain their reflection j if the dazzling sun of Colorado; and j it other times seen dimly through 1 nists of whirling snow. Oh, yes, the mountains challenged lint also to the other side of the i range. His heart yearned for his liild, but ho was too old to make he attempt. He could only sit and iray and wait with such faint and fadng hope as he could still cherish unit the break up of the spring came. ?or the rest he troubled nobody; no)ody noticed him, nobody marked him, tobody minded him. Robert Maitland ransacted his business a little more softly, a little more gently, that was ill. Yet the presence of his brother ,vns a living grief and a living reiroach to hi.n. Although he was quite ilnmeless he blamed himself. He had tot known how he had grown to love lis niece until ho had lost her. His onscience accused him hourly, and ret he knew not where he was at ault or how he could have done diferently. It was a helpless and hopeess situation. To him, therefore, enered Armstrong. "Maitland," he began, "I can't stand t any longer. I'm going Into the mounalns." "You are mad!" "I can't help it. I can't sit here ind face them, damn them, and renaln quiet." "You will never come out alive." "Oh, yes, I will; but if I don't, I iwear to God I don't care." Old Stephen Maitland rose unsteadly to his feet and gripped the back of lis chair. "Did I hear aright, sir?" he asked, ' vith all the polished and graceful couresy of birth and breeding which never leserted him in any emergency whatioever. "Do you say?" "I said I was going into the mounalns to search for her." "It is madnesB," urged Robert Maitand. But the old man did not hear him. "Thank God!" he exclaig^d^^L^ fe mmrnM ll^^^uinana st^Sigth ' ! would not wait." "You are right," returned Armitrong, equally moved, and Indeed it vould have been hard to have heard ind seen that father unresponslvely; 'and I am not going to wait, either." "I understand your feelings, Jim, tnd yours, too, Steve," began Robert daltland, arguing against his jwn emolons, "even if she escaped the flood, ihe must be dead by this time." "You needn't go over the old argunent, Bob. I'm going Into the mounains,? and I'm going now. No," he :ontlnued swiftly, as the other opened lis mouth to interpose further objecions, "you needn't say another word, 'm a free agent, and I'm old enough o decide what I can do. There is no irgument, there is no force, there is 10 appeal, there is nothing that will estrain me. I can't sit here and eat ny heart out when she may be there." "But it's impossible!" "It is impossible. How do I know hat there may not have been some>ody in the mountains; she may have vandered to some settlement, some uinfpr's rahin. some nrosnector's hut." I "But we were there for weeks and J ;aw nothing, no evidence of human-, t y." "I don't care. The mountains are : illed with secret nooks you could pass >y within a stone's throw, and never ;ee into; she may be in one of them. suppose she is dead, and it's all foolsh, this hope; but I'll never believe it intil I have examined every square od within a radius of 50 miles from j our camp. I'll take the long chance, he longest, even." "Well, that's all right," said Rob rt Maitland. "Of course, I Intend to lo that as soon as the spring opens; J >ut what's the use of trying to do It low?" "It's use to mo. I'll either go mad lero in Denver, or I must go to seek ' or her there." "But you will never come back if 'ou once get in thos6 mountains alone." j "I don't care whether I do or not. t's no use, old man, I am going, and hat's all thero is about it." Robert Maitland knew men. He reciguized finality when he heard it, or } vhen he saw it, and it was quite evl- ' lent that he was in the presence of it hen. It was 110 use to say more. "Very well." ho said. "I honor you | or your feeling, even If I don't think : nuch of your common sense." "Damn common sense," cried Arm- j itrong, triumphantly. "It's love that uoves mo now." At that moment there was a tap on he door. A clerk from the outer ofice bidden to enter, announced that' old Klrkby was in the ante room. "Bring him In," directed Maltland, eager to welcome him. *'? that the newcomer would undoubtedly assist him In dissuading Armstrong from his foolhardy, useless enterprise. "Mornin', old man," drawled Kirkby. "Howdy, Armstrong, my respects to you, sir," he said, sinking his voice a little as he bowed respectfully toward Mr. Stephen Maltland, a very sympathetic look in the old frontiersman's eyes at the sight of the bereaved father. "Kirkby, you've come in the very nick of time," at once began Robert Maitland. "Alius glad to be Johnny-on-thespot," smiled the older man. "Armstrong here," continued the other, intent upon hjs purpose, "says he can't wait until the spring and the snow melt, he is gbing into the mountains now to look for Enid." Kirkby didn't love Armstrong. He didn't care for him a little bit, but there was something In the bold hard!-, hood of the man, something in the way which he met the reckless challenge of the mountains that the old man and all the others felt that movei the inmost soul of the hardy frontiersman. He threw an approving glance at him. "I tell him that it is absurd, impossible, that he risks his life for nothing, and I want you to tell him the same thing. You know more about the mountains than either of us." "Mr. Kirkby," quavered Stephen Maltland, "allow me. I don't want to Influence you against your better Judgment, but If you could sit here as I have done, and think that maybe she is there, and perhaps alive still, and in need, you would not say a wortf to deter him." "Why, Steve," expostulated Robert Maitland, "surely you know I would risk anything for Enid. Somehow, it seems as if I were being put in the selfish position by my opposition." "No, no," said his brother. "It isn't that. You have your wife and children, but this young man?" "Well, what do you say, Kirkby? Not that it makes any difference to me what anybody says. Come, we are wasting time," interposed Armstrong, who, now that he had made up his mind, was anxious to be off. "Jim Armstrong," answered Kirkby, decidedly. "I never thought much o' you in the past, an' I think senee it out this last projick of at I'm entitled to call you a 1, 'ieb- yen are, and I'm anI'm goin' into the mountains lank God!" cried Stephen Maitland fervently. "I know you don't like me," answered Armstrong. "That's neither here nor there. Perhaps you have cause to dislike me, perhaps you have not. I don't like you any too well myself, but there's no man on earth I'd rather have go with me on a quest of this kind than you, and there's my hand on it." Kirby shook it vigorously. "This ain't committin' myself," he said cautiously. "So far's I'm concerned, you ain't good enough for Miss Maitland, but I admires your spirit, Armstrong, an' I'm goin* with you. 'Tain't no good, 'twon't produce nothin', most likely we'll never come back agin; but jest the same, I'm goin' along. Nobody's goin' to show me the trail. My nerve and grit, w'en it comes to helpin' a young female like that girl, is as good as anybody's, I guess. You're her father," he drawled, on turning to Stephen Maitland, "an' I ain't 110 kin to her, but, by gosh, I believe I can understand better than any one else yere what you are feelin'." "Kirkby," said Robert Maitland, smiling at the other two, "you have gone clean back on me. I thought you had more sense. But somehow I guess it's contagious, for I am going along with you two myself." "And I, cannot I accompany you?" | pleaded Stephen Maitland. eagerly 1 drawing noar to tlie other three. "Not much," said old Kirkby promptP' I "I'm Coin' Into the Mountains With You." tren'th, ol' man. You don't know them mountains,, nuther. You'd be helpless on a pair o" snow shoes; there ain't anything your, could do, you'd jest be a drag on us. f Without sayln' anything about myself,, w'lch I'm too modest for that, thereain't three better men In Colorado totackle this job than Jim Armstrong an' Bob Maltland an'? Well, as I said, I won't mention no other names." "God bless you all, gentlemen," faltered Stephen Maltland. "I think, perhaps, I may have been wrong, a little prejudiced against the west. You are men that would do honor to any family, to any society In Philadelphia or anywhere else." "Lord love ye," drawled Klrkby, his eyes twinkling. "There ain't no three men on the Atlantic seaboard that kin match up with two of us yere, to say nothin' of the third." "Well." said Robert Maltland. "the thing now is to decide on what's to be done." "My plan," said Armstrong, "is to go , to the old camp. "Yep," said Kirkby, "that's a good point of deeparture, as my seafarin' father down Cape Cod way used to say; an' wot's next?" "I am going up the canon instead of down," said the man, with a flash of inspiration. "That ain't no bad idea, nuther,"' assented the old man. "We looked theground over pretty thoroughly down, the canon. Mebbe we can find something up it." "And what do you propose to takowith you?" asked Maltland. N'What we can carry on the backs of men. We will make a camp somewhere about where you did. We can get enough husky men up at Morrison who will pack in what we want, and with that as a basis we will explore the upper reaches of the range." "And when do we start?" "There is a train for Morrison in. two hours," answered Armstrong. "We can get what we want in the way of sleeping bags and equipment between, now and then, if we hurry about it." "Ef we are goin' to do it, we mightas well git a move on us," assented Kirkby, making ready to go. "Right," answered Robert Maitland grimly. "When three men set out to make fools of themselves, the sooner they get at it and get over with it the better. I've got some business matters to settle. You two? get what's needed, and I'll bear my share." A week later a little band of men on snow shoes, wrapped fur* * ?a eyes, every one heavily burdened wltk / . a pack, staggered into the clearing: where once had been pitched the Malt, land camp. The place was covered with snow, of course, but on a shelf of rock half way up the hogback, they found a comparatively level clearing,, and there, all working like beavers,, they built a rude hut which they covered with canvas and then with tightly packed snow, and which would keep the three who remained from.' freezing to death. Fortunately they were favored with a brief period of pleasant weather, and a few days served to make a sufficiently habitablecamp. Maitland, Kirkby and Armstrong worked with the rest. Therewas no thought of search at first; their lives depended upon the erection of a suitable shelter, and it was not untiL the helpers, leaving their burdens behind them, had departed, that the three men even considered what was. to be done next. "We must begin a systematic search: tomorrow," said Armstrong decisively, as the three men sat around the cheerful fire in the hut. "Yes," assented Maitland. "Shall we em toe-ether or separately?" "Separately, of course. We are alL hardy and experienced men. Nothingis apt to happen, to us. We will meet here every night and plan the next day's wdrk. What do you say, Kirkby?"' The old man had been quietly smoking while the others talked. He smiled at them in a way which aroused their curiosity and made them feel thai he had news for them. "While you was puttin' the flnishin'' touches on this yere camp, I come aerost a heap o' stuns that somehow the wind had swept bare, there was a big rift in front of it which kep' us from seem' it afore; it was built up in the open w'ere there was no trees, an* in our lumberin' operations we wasn't lookin' that a-way. I came acrost it by any chance an?" for Hod's sake, old man," rricd Armstrong, impatiently, "what did yon find, anything?" "This." answered Kirkby, carefully producing a folded scrap of paper from his leather vest. Armstrong fell on it ravenously, and as Maitland bent to him, they both rend these words by the firelight. "Miss Enid Maitland, whose foot Is so badly crushed as to prevent her traveling, is safe in a cabin at the head of this canon. I put this notice here to reassure any one who may be seeking her as to her welfare. Follow the stream up to its source. "\VM. BERKELY NEWBOLD." "Thank God!" exclaimed Robert.