Читать книгу Storm King Banner - H. A. Cody - Страница 6

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The musical click of Midnight's steel-shod hoofs upon the Storm King Valley road harmonized well with the clear August afternoon. It was a fitting accompaniment to nature's symphony of bird, insect, and lisping leaves. Midnight was a noble animal, black and glossy, with great chest, proudly-arching neck, full eye, swift as a grey hound and nimble as a mountain goat. He had given his fair mistress a thrilling ride from the river road. He had sped like the wind up hill and down, with ears laid back, flowing mane and loose rein. Now, however, at the entrance to the Valley he had been checked in his headlong speed, and he well knew the hand that restrained him. His strong body quivered with the excitement of the run, and he champed somewhat impatiently at his bit, for he was longing to overtake Lad, the thoroughbred collie, speeding on ahead.

Jacynth Dean noticed this, and smiled. Her face was flushed, and her dark hair was tossed by the wild ride. She knew how Midnight enjoyed such a run, with Lad just far enough ahead to keep clear of those lightning-like hoofs. But she was satisfied now, so the horse had to obey her imperious will. Grace, confidence, and repose marked every movement of her slightly-swaying body as Midnight strode forward. She was perfectly at home in the saddle, not the kind generally used by women, but a man's saddle where she could ride astride, free and unrestrained by long flowing skirts which she despised when on horseback. She had ridden thus from girlhood, at first bareback, on horses as strong and noble as Midnight. She had scandalized her neighbors then. But when they came to know and understand her, they merely smiled, and decided that she was different from other girls. But Jacynth never minded what people said or thought. She enjoyed life too much to give a moment's worry about the opinions of others.

For several hundred yards the road wound its way through thick trees, then suddenly opened upon a large newly-cleared piece of ground from which the grain had been recently gathered. It was enclosed by a rough snake-fence, the poles of which were charred by the fire they had undergone during the spring burning ere the sowing of the grain had taken place. The whole clearing was dotted with numerous stumps, and a serious expression came into Jacynth's eyes as she thought of the man who had toiled there, the strong, reserved Jim Weston. She looked over to where the house had stood. No one was to be seen about the place, and she knew why. Jim had gone to the river to meet his wife who was coming on the afternoon boat. She had been away from home for two weeks, so Jim had burnt down the house to spite her, so people said. Yes, that was one of the things she had heard that afternoon. But she knew it was untrue. Jim Weston was not the man to do such a deed. She had too much confidence in him to believe such a report.

And she had heard something else which had inflamed her heart. Several had even suggested that Jim had burnt his house to get the insurance. A man who would scuttle his ship for money, would not hesitate to burn his house for the same reason. It was nothing more than could be expected from a jail-bird. She had spiritedly defended Jim, although she was well aware that it made no difference to what people thought. So the wild ride from the shore had been necessary to relieve her excited feelings, and it had accomplished its purpose. She was quite calm now, and as Midnight clipped on his way she was in a most thoughtful mood. She paid no attention as formerly to the beauty of the scenery, the great wooded hills surrounding the Valley, the soft foliage of the sun-kissed trees, the twitter of birds, and hum of insects. Even Lad, racing and doubling after squirrel or rabbit, did not arouse her from the reverie into which she had sunk. For a time she was lost to the world, and thought only of the two upon whom the gossip of the community had centred.

She was at length aroused as Midnight turned suddenly from the main road upon a path among the thick trees on the left. This led to the brook, and in another minute the horse was knee-deep in the water. He was about to drink, when he threw up his head and started back with a snort of fright. Something on the opposite bank had attracted his attention, and as Jacynth looked in that direction, she saw a young man seated upon the ground with his back against a great pine tree. Astonished at the sudden appearance of the horse and its rider, he rose to his feet, and leaning upon a stick, limped slowly towards the brook. At his side hung a flat knapsack, suspended by a strap across his right shoulder. This Jacynth noticed at a glance, for the brook was narrow here, and she was almost in midstream. Midnight, having recovered from his fright, had his nose buried into the flowing water, and was slaking his burning thirst. A jerk at the rein, and a sharp word of command, caused him reluctantly to lift his head and move forward, splash his way across the stream and leap with a bound up the bank.

With kindling eyes the young man watched the horse and rider. Never had he beheld such a scene. It thrilled his soul, and at once his right hand moved towards his knapsack. He was about to unfasten the strap, when he hesitated and a smile overspread his face. He limped forward a few steps and then stopped.

"Pardon me," he began, "but may I sketch you and that great horse? I was tempted to do so without your permission."

Jacynth smiled as she looked into the clear eyes upraised to hers. They were fearless, honest eyes, and she felt that she could trust this stranger.

"And I should like to sketch you, too, sir, if I had the ability. My, what a picture you would make! What has happened to you, anyway?"

"Nothing much. Just a sprained ankle. I hurt it back there in the woods, and had a hard time getting here. I became separated from my companion, and he is searching for me, most likely. But no one will worry much over me. Some might even be glad if Kent Rayson never came back."

Jacynth was surprised at this note of bitterness. What was this young man doing in the woods? Where had he come from? Perhaps he would explain later. Now, however, he needed assistance.

All at once a peculiar fancy came into her mind. She was suddenly transported back to the days of ancient chivalry of which she had read so much in her father's wonderful books. This young man was a knight of fair renown who had gone forth against a cruel enemy. He had been wounded and unhorsed in a fierce encounter, and now needed her help. A smile flitted across her face as this vision passed, and a slight flush mantled her cheeks. What if this stranger surmised what she was thinking about? Did he notice her momentary confusion?

Kent Rayson, however, was not looking at her just then. He was gazing at the brook, and in his eyes was a dreamy expression. The scene he had beheld of the girl mounted upon the horse was stirring his imagination. What a picture that would make, with the trees as a verdant background. Again his hand fumbled at the strap of the knapsack, and he looked at the girl.

"Do you mind if I sketch you, Miss—?"

"Jacynth Dean. That is my name, with no 'Miss' attached to it. But suppose you wait and make your sketch later. You are tired and suffering, so I want you to come with me."

"Do you live near here, Miss—Jacynth, I mean? What a pretty name. It is another form of hyacinth, a flower I love, and which I have often painted. Or it might be the sapphire, as some think, worthy to adorn a queen's hand or a monarch's crown. But to me it is now both a flower and a jewel when it is the name of a woodland princess who has so unexpectedly rescued me in my sad plight."

A sunny smile overspread the girl's face, and her heart quickened at these words. She had never heard a man speak like this before. He was different from any she had ever met. And she admired his courage, too.

"This is no time or place for poetry, sir," she reminded. "How can you talk in such a way when you are suffering?"

"Suffering means little to me in surroundings such as these. 'It is the mind that makes the body rich', as Master Shakespeare says. And it is true, for though I suffer in body, I am still in the bliss of heaven, and think little of bodily pains."

During this outburst Jacynth's right hand had been stroking Midnight's glossy neck. She was thinking of her father. How he would enjoy talking to this stranger who quoted Shakespeare so readily. What a bond of friendship it would be between them, and what a pleasure it would be for her to listen. Her father had often told her that there was no one near to whom he could talk about the master minds of the ages, and he was forced to keep his great thoughts to himself. Now, perhaps, his wish would be satisfied in this young man.

Slipping lightly from her horse, she motioned Rayson to the saddle.

"You take my place, sir."

"No, no," the young man protested. "I can walk quite well."

"Perhaps you think so. But from your words I judge you need a guardian. Your mind may be what you say it is, but if it makes you forget your suffering, your injured foot, for instance, it is necessary that some one more earthly should look after your body. Midnight and I must do that now, and Martha will attend to you later. So do as I say, and take my place."

"And let you walk! No, I cannot. That would not be right."

"Very well, I shall have to leave you here alone with your surroundings and the master minds. Perhaps they will care for you. But, come, be sensible."

"I suppose I must," Kent reluctantly agreed. "If you leave me here I shall be helpless. And, besides, I do not want to be separated from my woodland princess. Is it far to your home?"

"Not far when one is well, but a long way when every step is an agony. Mount, sir, and I shall take you there."

Seeing that further resistance was useless, Kent was soon in the saddle, and Midnight was moving along the winter lumber road which led to the main highway. Nature was at her best on this bright August afternoon. The air was laden with the invigorating scent of balsam-dripping trees, leaves, damp moss, and woodland flowers. Bees buzzed, birds chirped, and squirrels chattered from over-hanging branches. The brook murmured gently over tiny bars and around smooth stones on its placid way to the river. Little wonder, then, that the hearts of the young man and maiden should be deeply affected by these mystic influences. Wise old nature was doing her part, and doing it wonderfully well, in weaving about these two young people her web of subtle enchantment.

So on they moved along the woodland road, Jacynth with her right hand upon the bridle rein restraining Midnight's impatient haste, and guiding his steps over the rough places. To Kent Rayson it all seemed like a marvellous dream from which he was afraid he would suddenly awaken. He could not keep his eyes off the girl on his left. The proud poise of her head, her animated face, her strong self-reliance, and the ease with which she controlled the high-spirited horse, impressed him deeply. Who was she, anyway? And what was such a girl doing in a wilderness like this?

They came at length out upon the main highway, which was merely a rough road leading to the settlement farther inland. To the right a wooden bridge spanned the brook, and as they entered upon this Kent uttered an exclamation of surprise.

"What a scene for an artist! Let us stop here for a few minutes. I must make a sketch of that rippling water down among those stones and through such an entrancing setting of dark green trees. Oh, it is wonderful!"

"You can get that again," Jacynth smilingly replied. "You are forgetting yourself in your enthusiasm. See," and she motioned to the left, "I live there, quite near."

Kent looked and caught a glimpse of a house among the trees. This was another surprise to him, although he said nothing more as they passed from the bridge, and a few rods beyond turned aside and entered upon a well-made, slightly-ascending gravel road. This led to the house beyond, a neat, fair-sized building, of artistic design, its soft, light-greenish color harmonizing well with the various shades of the trees surrounding the place. And around it was a garden filled with a profusion of old-fashioned flowers, now at their best. They were not arranged in a stiff formal manner, but seemed as if they had sprung from seeds sown at random. At a glance, however, Kent knew that such was not the case, for what appeared like confusion was really the outcome of an artistic arrangement. He turned inquiringly to the girl.

"This is fairy-land! Who did it?"

"Prospero, of course, with some help from Miranda, Ariel and Caliban."

"Prospero! Miranda!"

Jacynth laughed outright at the bewildered expression upon the young man's face. She was in a teasing mood, and it pleased her to see this stranger's astonishment.

"Yes," she continued, "Prospero has the magic art and is able to do wonderful things, even to producing flowers from this poor soil. Just wait until you see him and learn of his great wisdom."

"But who is Prospero?"

"My father, and I am Miranda. Ariel is the spirit of the air, and Caliban is—but, perhaps, it is just as well that you do not know. Allow me to help you from the saddle, sir."

But Kent did not seem to hear this invitation. He was staring up into the air, for his attention had been arrested by something above the trees on a hill, eastward of the house. There he beheld a flag floating from a pole attached to the top of a tall pine. It was the flag of no nation, so far as he could tell, but a piece of cloth in the shape of a pointed banner containing three colors, red, white and blue.

"What is that for?" he asked. "It's a strange place for a flag."

"It's Prospero's idea, so you will have to ask him. He can explain its meaning better than I can. But, come, let me assist you down."

They were now in front of the verandah steps, and Kent alighted, his mind filled with wonder at the girl's strange words, the meaning of this beautiful place in the forest, and the flag floating from the tall pine.