California -- Fiction; Western stories; Women pioneers -- Fiction
Now, accustomed as was the Girl to the strange comings and goings of the
men at the camp, it did not occur to her to question him further when he
told her that he should have been away before now. Moreover, she trusted
and loved him. And so it was without the slightest feeling of misgiving
that she watched her lover quickly take down his coat and hat from the
peg on the wall and start for the door. On the other hand, it must have
required not a little courage on the man’s part to have torn himself
away from this lovely, if unconventional, creature, just as he was
beginning to love truly and appreciate her. But, then, Johnson was a man
of no mean determination!
Not daring to trust himself to words, Johnson paused to look back over
his shoulder at the Girl before plunging forth into the night. But on
opening the door all the multitudinous wild noises of the forests
reached his ears: Sounds of whispering and rocking storm-tossed pines,
sounds of the wind making the rounds of the deep canyon below them,
sounds that would have made the blood run cold of a man more daring,
even, than himself. Like one petrified he stood blinded, almost, by the
great drifts of snow that were being driven into the room, while the
cabin rocked and shook and the roof cracked and snapped, the lights
flickered, smoked, or sent their tongues of fire upward towards the
ceiling, the curtains swayed like pendants in the air, and while
baskets, boxes, and other small furnishings of the cabin were blown in
every direction.
But it was the Girl’s quick presence of mind that saved them from being
buried, literally, under the snow. In an instant she had rushed past him
and closed both the outer and inner doors of the cabin; then, going
over to the window, she tried to look through the heavily frosted panes;
but the falling of the sleet and snow, striking the window like fine
shot, made it impossible for her to see more than a few inches away.
“Why, it’s the first time I knew that it--” She cut her sentence short
and ended with: “That’s the way we git it up here! Look! Look!”
Whereupon, Johnson went over to the window and put his face close to
hers on the frosted panes; a great sea of white snow met his gaze!
“This means--” he said, turning away from the window and meeting her
glance--“surely it doesn’t mean that I can’t leave Cloudy to-night?”
“It means you can’t get off the mountain to-night,” calmly answered the
Girl.
“Good Lord!” fell from the man’s lips.
“You can’t leave this room to-night,” went on the Girl, decidedly. “Why,
you couldn’t find your way three feet from this door--you a stranger!
You don’t know the trail anyway unless you can see it.”
“But I can’t stay here?” incredulously.
“Why not? Why, that’s all right! The boys’ll come up an’ dig us out
to-morrow or day after. There’s plenty o’ wood an’ you can have my bed.”
And with no more ado than that, the Girl went over to the bed to remove
the covers and make it ready for his occupancy.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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