In the Shadow of the Hills by George C. Shedd (the best ebook reader for android txt) 📕

from the scoundrel's grasp.

Weir might ask anything of him, even to the laying down of his life in his defense.


CHAPTER XIX

A QUEER PAPER

When Mary Johnson next opened her eyes it was at a little shake by her father. She had slept heavily despite the jolting of the wagon; and now looked about drowsy-eyed and at a loss to know where she was. Her clothes and face were damp, her hands cold. She wasn't sure yet but this was still a dream--the team and wagon, the cabin before which they stood, the trees and rocks scattered about the grassy park-like basin, and the soaring mountain peaks on every hand that were just touched by the first early sun-rays.

The rain and mists were gone, leaving the dawn clear, gray, sharp, scented with the pungent odor of balsam and pine. From a distance came the subdued murmur of Terry Creek, which here high in the mountain range had its source in springs and brooks flowing from pools. All was peaceful.

Mary's look came to rest on the cabin. Over it reared the great pines that grew in a clump behind. Its door was ajar, but the log house for any sign of occupancy might have been untenanted. Immediately the girl glanced back along the road they had come and beheld there in the dim shadow at the foot of the lofty granite ledge a shapeless black lump. She shivered.

"You awake?" her father asked.

"Yes." And she began to climb down over the wagon wheel.

"Wait here. I'll go in first. He might be----" But though the rancher did not complete his sentence the words spoken carried their own grave implication.

He came out again presently. Mary gazed at his face to read from it the news it might carry, and it was with a breath of relief she perceived that the injured man was still alive, for her father himself appeared easier of mind. Neither would by choice have a dead man for a passenger on the ride home, even Ed Sorenson.

"He's breathing, but is still unconscious," Johnson declared. "Must have got a crack in the head along with the rest. Face is covered with dried blood. From the stuff inside the house he must have been fixing for quite a stay--blankets, grub, whiskey, candles, and so on. We'll eat a bite ourselves before starting back; get the pail out of the wagon and bring some water and I'll make a pot of coffee. There's a fireplace and wood inside."

"I'll get the water, but I'll stay out while you're boiling it," the girl said. "I don't want to see him until I have to go in and help carry him out."

She went off for the water, on her return setting the bucket by the door. Then curious to see the place of Ed Sorenson's accident, she wandered back along the trail to the ledge. There she beheld the crumpled, fire-blackened remains of his automobile in a heap near the stone wall. Apparently the car had first struck a small boulder, which had flung Sorenson out on one side and forward, then leaping this hit the ledge full force.

At the instant he must have been off the road and headed wrong, she guessed. The rapid daybreak of the mountains had by now dispersed the last dimness and indeed the crags far above were bright with sunshine. She could plainly see the ruin that the machine was, fire having completed what the smash had left undamaged, and the part of the rock that was smoked by the flames, and was able to smell yet the reek of burnt oil, varnish and rubber.

With the eyes of the curious she stared at the wreck, at the ledge, at the ground, absorbed with simple speculations and filled with a sense of awe. The machine must have made a big sound when it struck. It was a lot of money gone quickly, that car. Not enough of it left to make it worth hauling away. And so on and so on.

Then all at once her wandering regard detected something white in a crevice between two stones. At first she thought it the gleam of a bird or a chipmunk. The thing was some yards off from the spot where she stood, but the flutter persisted. So she approached it to learn its nature.

The thing was a paper. One corner of a sheet stuck up from the crack in which it lay and was waved gently by the rising dawn breeze. She drew it out and perceived it was fastened to other sheets that were folded, all damp from the rain though not soaked because the cranny had admitted little moisture. It was the last sheet which had come partly unfolded, apparently as it fell, so was left in sight or she would never have noticed the white flutter. This last sheet was blank, but the others, neatly folded though wrinkled, were covered with writing she saw on spreading them open. However, she could not read the pages; the matter was typewritten, but it was not English. Some foreign language, maybe.

If Mary could not read the document, she could at least logically deduce how it had happened to be in its present resting-place. The paper was here because the wrecked automobile was here, so when Ed Sorenson was pitched out the folded sheets of paper must have been propelled from his pocket by the same force and at the same instant. It hit a rock after flying through the air and slid down into the crack.

Perhaps it was only a business document; it looked like one. Again perhaps it told something about his crooked private affairs--about his schemes for ruining girls, possibly. Very likely, indeed. That seemed to be about all he engaged himself at. When she found some one who could read it, she would know for certain. She would just take it along with her and say nothing about her find until she could have somebody who understood the writing read it over for her.

In places the typing had stained from dampness, but not seriously. She could dry out the pages over the kitchen stove at home. So folding the sheets again, she doubled the document, tied it in her handkerchief and placed it inside her waist, where it could not be lost. Perhaps there were other papers. But a further search disclosed none, whereupon as her father was shouting to her from the cabin to come she retraced her steps.

When they had drunk their coffee and eaten some of Sorenson's food, making their meal before the door, they carried the unconscious man out to the wagon, bearing him in the blanket on which he lay. Other blankets they spread over him. Johnson also placed at the prostrate figure's feet the rest of the eatables in the cabin.

"No need to leave this stuff to the pack-rats," said he. "We'll just consider it a little pay towards fetching him out."

"He ought to be willing to pay you a whole lot more when he learns the trouble you've been to."

"I wouldn't touch his money if he offered me a thousand dollars; I'd throw it back in his face. I'm not doing this for pay, or friendship, or charity; I'm doing it to help Janet Hosmer and because Weir asked me. If the Sorensons had all the money on earth, they couldn't give me a penny as between man and man. If they owed it to me, that would be another matter. They'd pay it if I had to stick a gun down their throats to make them come across."

"We don't need any of their money, I guess," Mary said.

"Nope. We're poor but we're straight. So we're better off than they are--richer, if we just look at it that way."

Once during the long drive, as they neared the ranch house, a low moan came from the form on the straw in the wagonbed. Both Johnson and Mary looked around quickly, then regarded each other.

"Beginning to suffer," said the parent. "It's a wonder there's a whole bone in his body. I hope the doctor is down below waiting for us."

This proved to be the case when about ten o'clock Johnson drove his worn-out team into his dooryard. Weir's car was there and with it the engineer himself and a young medical practitioner. Climbing up into the wagon, the doctor made a hasty examination of the patient.

"Hips broken. Slight concussion of the skull, but not dangerous," was his opinion. "I shall not be able to tell the full seriousness of his injuries until I have him stripped on a table or bed. Probably there are other broken bones,--ribs or something. We must get him down to Bowenville as quickly as possible, for his is a bad case. But I guess if he has pulled through so far he'll recover. If you'll drive your wagon down to the mouth of the canyon, we'll transfer him to my car, which is double seated, and then you can accompany me to town; Mr. Weir says you are willing to go along and help. I'll send you back from Bowenville."

"Yes, I'll go along. Mary will ride down with us and bring back the team and wagon."

"Strange what he was doing up there in the mountains with an automobile alone," the doctor remarked.

"Oh, he might have wanted a day's fishing, or was taking a look at cattle or range, something like that," Johnson stated.

"Mr. Weir said a sheepherder found him. Wasn't that it, sir?"

The engineer turned to the rancher.

"Wasn't that the way of it?"

"Yes. Showed up here late and said he had found the man and carried him into the cabin. Said his wrecked car was still burning, so the accident couldn't have occurred very long previous. Said we ought to bring him down immediately as he was badly hurt. So I sent word to Dr. Hosmer, and my girl and I set off at once, the sheepherder going back with us. Said he just happened to be looking for a stray sheep or he would never have come on this man, as he was heading his band for a pass to get over on the west side of the range. S'pose we'll never see him again."

"Do you know who this man is?"

"His face seems sort of familiar," Johnson replied, scratching his chin. "But he looks like a city chap, by his clothes, what's left of them. No papers or anything on him to tell his name. Might have come over the pass himself from the other side; men go everywhere in these hill-climbing cars they make nowadays."

"Somebody will be seeking information soon and then we'll know," the physician said. "He'll probably give his name and address himself when he comes round. But if I'm not mistaken he'll need another sort of car if he does any moving about when he's out of bed."

"Why's that?"

"Speaking off-hand, I'll say he'll never walk again. That's the way broken hips usually turn out; and if his spine is injured, as I suspect, he will probably be paralyzed from the waist down. Hard luck for a young man like him. He'll wish at times he was killed outright."

Unobserved by the speaker Weir and Johnson exchanged a meaningful look. In the minds of both moved the same thought, that Providence had punished Ed Sorenson according to his sins and more adequately than could man. Dreadful years were before him. He would, in truth, wish a thousand times that