Canadian fiction -- 20th century; Detective and mystery stories
"That bunchy black shadow away off to the left is the grove of tall
trees that surrounds our house. We have circled round it you see. The
long line on the right is the main woods which fills the whole Neck for
miles above. All our fields lie on this side. The woods are gradually
taking them back."
"If you put me in those woods will I ever see you again?" he asked
apprehensively.
"Oh, it's not much more than a mile from the house. That's nothing."
They came to another fence with a barred opening, and climbing over
found themselves in a road.
"What road is this?" asked Don.
"There's only the one road," Pen said. "It runs back from the house
between the fields and on through the woods up the Neck." She
hesitated painfully. "What time is it?"
The question brought back everything painful that they had put out of
mind for awhile. Their hearts went down together. He threw the light
on his watch.
"Half-past three," he said.
"Ah!" said Pen with a catch in her breath, "I dare not go any farther
with you. It will be light in half an hour. Do you think you could
carry everything the rest of the way?"
"Sure, as far as that goes. But ... but must you go?"
"I must! ... Listen! You are to keep along the road until it enters
the woods. It dips into a hollow there and fords a small stream. You
are to turn to the left there--to the left, remember, and ascend the
stream, walking in the water. It has a firm sandy bottom, at least for
a certain distance. As soon as you are out of sight of the road,
better stop on the bank until it is light, so you won't mire yourself
or step in a hole."
He put out his hand to her. "When will I see you again?"
"You are not listening! ... You must keep on up the stream until you
come to a clearing on the right-hand side. Up at the top of the rise
there used to be a negro cabin. But it burned down. Only the chimney
is standing. Don't pitch your tent in the clearing. It would be too
conspicuous. Conceal it in the brush across the stream. I can reach
you there direct from the fields. If I can't find you I'll whistle
like a whip-poor-will. And you answer."
"When will you come?"
"To-morrow night. Unless I am prevented."
"Oh! ... if you are prevented...!"
Pen laughed shakily. "Not much danger! They'll have to be very clever
to keep me in!"
He clung to her hand. "Well ... I'm not going to complain," he
muttered.
Pen clasped his hand in both of hers. "Oh, I know how hard it is! How
hard!" she cried. "Try to be patient. It may not be for long!"
"It can not be for long," he muttered. "A man has his limits!"
"The search may drift away from Broome's Point," she said eagerly.
"Anything may happen.... To-morrow night when I come I'll bring you
some books."
"Books!" he exclaimed scornfully.
"Well, anyway at night we can wander around where we please."
"If you work all day you've got to have your sleep at night," he said
doggedly.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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