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The Firing Line, a novel by Robert W. Chambers |
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Chapter 12. The Allied Forces |
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_ CHAPTER XII. THE ALLIED FORCES Through the glades the sun poured like a red searchlight, and they advanced in the wake of their own enormous shadows lengthening grotesquely with every stride. Tree trunks and underbrush seemed afire in the kindling glory; the stream ran molten. Then of a sudden the red radiance died out; the forest turned ashy; the sun had set; and on the wings of silence already the swift southern dusk was settling over lake and forest. A far and pallid star came out in the west; a cat-owl howled. At the edge of an evil-looking cypress "branch" they dismounted, drew gun from saddle-boot, and loaded in silence while the Indian tethered the horses. Then through the thickening twilight they followed the Seminole in file, Hamil bringing up the rear. Little Tiger had left turban, plume, and leggings in camp; the scalp-lock bobbed on his head, bronzed feet and legs were bare; and, noiseless as a cypress shadow in the moonlight, he seemed part of it all, harmonious as a wild thing in its protective tints. A narrow tongue of dry land scarcely three inches above the swamp level was the trail they followed. All around tall cypress trees, strangely buttressed at the base, rose pillar-like into obscurity as though supporting the canopy of dusk. The goblin howling of the big cat-owl pulsated through the silence; strange gleams and flashes stirred the surface of the bog. Once, close ahead, a great white bird, winged like an angel, rose in spectral silence through the twilight. "Did you see!" she breathed, partly turning her head. "Good heavens, yes! What was it; the archangel Michael?" "Only a snowy heron." The Seminole had halted and laid his hand flat on the dead leaves under a gigantic water-oak. "A-po-kes-chay," he whispered; and Shiela translated close to Hamil's ear: "He says that we must all sit down here--" A sudden crackle in the darkness stilled her voice. "Im-po-kit-chkaw?" she asked. "Did you hear that? No-ka-tee; what is it?" "Deer walk," nodded the Seminole; "sun gone down; moon come. Bimeby roost um turkey. Li-kus-chay! No sound." Shiela settled quietly on the poncho among the dead leaves, resting her back against the huge tree trunk. Hamil warily sank into position beside her; the Indian stood for a while, head raised, apparently gazing at the tree-tops, then, walking noiselessly forward a dozen yards, squatted. Shiela opened the conversation presently by whispering that they must not speak. And the conversation continued, fitfully in ghostly whispers, lips scarcely stirring close to one another's ears. As for the swamp, it was less reticent, and began to wake up all around them in the darkness. Strange creaks and quacks and croaks broke out, sudden snappings of twigs, a scurry among dead leaves, a splash in the water, the far whir of wings. There were no insect noises, no resonant voices of bull-frogs; weird squeaks arose at intervals, the murmuring complaint of water-fowl, guttural quack of duck and bittern--a vague stirring everywhere of wild things settling to rest or awaking. There were things moving in the unseen ooze, too, leaving sudden sinuous trails in the dim but growing lustre that whitened above the trees--probably turtles, perhaps snakes. She leaned almost imperceptibly toward him, and he moved his shoulder close to hers. "You are not nervous, Shiela?" "Indeed I am." "Why on earth did you come?" "I don't know. The idea of snakes in darkness always worries me.... Once, waking in camp, reaching out through the darkness for the water-bottle, I laid my hand on an exceedingly chilly snake. It was a harmless one, but I nearly died.... And here I am back again. Believe me, _no_ burnt child ever dreaded the fire enough to keep away from it. I'm a coward, but not enough of a one to practise prudence." He laughed silently. "You brave little thing! Every moment I am learning more and more how adorable you are--" "Do men adore folly?" "Your kind of folly. Are you cold?" "No; only foolish. There's some sort of live creature moving rather close to me--hush! Don't you hear it?" But whatever it was it went its uncanny way in darkness and left them listening, her small hand remaining loosely in his. "What on earth is the matter now, Shiela?" he whispered, feeling her trembling. "Nothing. They say a snake won't strike you if you hold your breath. Its nonsense, but I was trying it.... What is that ring I feel on your hand?" "A signet; my father's." He removed it from his little finger, tried it on all of hers. "Is it too large?" "It's a little loose.... You don't wish me to wear it, do you?... Your _father's_? I'd rather not.... Do you really wish it? Well, then--for a day--if you ask me." Her ringed hand settled unconsciously into his again; she leaned back against the tree, and he rested his head beside hers. "Are you afraid of wood-ticks, Mr. Hamil? I am, horribly. We're inviting all kinds of disaster--but isn't it delicious! Look at that whitish light above the trees. When the moon outlines the roosting-tree we'll know whether our labour is lost. But I wouldn't have missed it for all the mallard on Ruffle Lake. Would you? Are you contented?" "Where you are is contentment, Shiela." "How nice of you! But there is always that sweet, old-fashioned, boyish streak in you which shows true colour when I test you. Do you know, at times, you seem absurdly young to me." "That's a pleasant thing to say." Their shoulders were in contact; she was laughing without a sound. "At times," she said, "you are almost what young girls call cunning!" "By heavens!" he began indignantly, but she stilled his jerk of resentment with a quick pressure. "Lie still! For goodness' sake don't make the leaves rustle, silly! If there's a flock of turkeys in any of those cypress tops, you may be sure that every separate bird is now looking straight in our direction.... I won't torment you any more; I dare not. Little Tiger turned around; did you notice? He'd probably like to scalp us both." But the Indian had resumed his motionless study of the darkness, squatted on his haunches as immobile as a dead stump. Hamil whispered: "Such a chance to make love to you! You dare not move. And you deserve it for tormenting me." "If you did such a thing--" "Yes?" "Such a thing as that--" "Yes?" "But you wouldn't." "Why, Shiela, I'm doing it every minute of my life!" "Now?" "Of course. It goes on always. I couldn't prevent it any more than I could stop my pulses. It just continues with every heart-beat, every breath, every word, every silence--" "Mr. Hamil!" "Yes?" "That _does_ sound like it--a little; and you must stop!" "Of course I'll stop saying things, but _that_ doesn't stop with my silence. It simply goes on and on increasing every--" "Try silence," she said. Motionless, shoulder to shoulder, the pulsing moments passed. Every muscle tense, she sat there for a while, fearful that he could hear her heart beating. Her palm, doubled in his, seemed to burn. Then little by little a subtle relaxation stole over her; dreamy-eyed she sank back and looked into the darkness. A sense of delicious well-being possessed her, enmeshing thought in hazy lethargy, quieting pulse and mind. Through it she heard his voice faintly; her own seemed unreal when she answered. He said: "Speaking of love; there is only one thing possible for me, Shiela--to go on loving you. I can't kill hope, though there seems to be none. But there's no use in saying so to myself for it is one of those things no man believes. He may grow tired of hoping, and, saying there is none, live on. But neither he nor Fate can destroy hope any more than he can annihilate his soul. He may change in his heart. That he cannot control. When love goes no man can stay its going." "Do you think yours will go?" "No. That is a lover's answer." "What is a sane man's answer?" "Ask some sane man, Shiela." "I would rather believe you." "Does it make you happy?" "Yes." "You wish me to love you?" "Yes." "You would love me--a little--if you could?" She closed her eyes. "Would you?" he asked again. "Yes." "But you cannot." She said, dreamily: "I don't know. That is a dreadful answer to make. But I don't know what is in me. I don't know what I am capable of doing. I wish I knew; I wish I could tell you." "Do you know what I think, Shiela?" "What?" "It's curious--but since I have known you--and about your birth--the idea took shape and persisted--that--that--" "What?" she asked. "That, partly perhaps because of your physical beauty, and because of your mind and its intelligence and generosity, you embodied something of that type which this nation is developing." "That is curious," she said softly. "Yes; but you give me that impression, as though in you were the lovely justification of these generations of welding together alien and native to make a national type, spiritual, intelligent, wholesome, beautiful.... And I've fallen into the habit of thinking of you in that way--as thoroughly human, thoroughly feminine, heir to the best that is human, and to its temptations too; yet, somehow, instinctively finding the right way in life, the true way through doubt and stress.... Like the Land itself--with perhaps the blood of many nations in your veins.... I don't know exactly what I'm trying to say--" "_I_ know." "Yes," he whispered, "you do know that all I have said is only a longer way of saying that I love you." "Through stress and doubt," she murmured, "you think I will find the way?--with perhaps the blood of many nations in my veins, with all their transmitted emotions, desires, passions for my inheritance?... It is my only heritage. They did not even leave me a name; only a capacity for every human error, with no knowledge of what particular inherited failing I am to contend with when temptation comes. Do you wonder I am sometimes lonely and afraid?" "You darling!" he said under his breath. "Hush; that is forbidden. You know perfectly well it is. _Are_ you laughing? That is very horrid of you when I'm trying _so_ hard not to listen when you use forbidden words to me. But I heard you once when I should not have heard you. Does that seem centuries ago? Alas for us both, Ulysses, when I heard your voice calling me under the Southern stars! Would you ever have spoken if you knew what you know now?" "I would have told you the truth sooner." "Told me what truth?" "That I love you, Calypso." "You always answer like a boy! Ah, well I--if you knew how easily a girl believes such answers!" He bent his head, raising her bare fingers to his lips. A tiny shock passed through them both; she released her hand and buried it in the folds of her kilt. There was a pale flare of moonlight behind the forest; trunks and branches were becoming more distinct. A few moments later the Indian, bending low, came creeping back without a sound, and straightened up in the fathomless shadow of the oak, motioning Shiela and Hamil to rise. "Choo-lee," he motioned with his lips; "Ko-la-pa-kin!" Lips close to Hamil's ear she whispered: "He says that there are seven in that pine. Can you see them?" He strained his eyes in vain; she had already found them and now stood close to his shoulder, whispering the direction. "I can't make them out," he said. "Don't wait for me, but take your chance at once." "Do you think I would do that?" "You _must_! You have never shot a turkey--" "Hush, silly. What pleasure would there be in it without you? Try to see them; look carefully. All those dark furry blotches against the sky are pine leaves, but the round shadowy lumps are turkeys; one is quite clearly silhouetted, now; even to his tail--" "I believe I _do_ see!" murmured Hamil. "By Jove, yes! Shiela, you're an angel to be so patient." "I'll take the top bird," she whispered. "Are you ready? We must be quick." "Ready," he motioned. Then in the dim light one of the shadowy bunches rose abruptly, standing motionless on the branch, craning a long neck into the moonlight. "Fire!" she whispered; and four red flashes in pairs split the gloom wide open for a second. Then roaring darkness closed about them. Instantly the forest resounded with the thunderous racket of heavy wings as the flock burst into flight, clattering away through leafy obscurity; but under the uproar of shot and clapping wings sounded the thud and splash of something heavy crashing earthward; and the Indian, springing from root to tussock, vanished into the shadows. "Two down!" said the girl, unsteadily. "Oh, I am so thankful that you got yours!" They exchanged excited handclasps of mutual congratulation. Then he said: "Shiela, you dear generous girl, I don't believe I hit anything, but I'll bet that you got a turkey with each barrel!" "Foolish boy! Of course you grassed your bird! It wasn't a wing shot, but we took what fate sent us. Nobody can choose conditions on the firing line. We did our best, I think." "Wise little Shiela! Her philosophy is as fascinating as it is sound!" He looked at her half smiling, partly serious. "You and I are on life's firing line, you know." "Are we?" "And under the lively fusillade of circumstances." "Are we?" He said: "It will show us up as we are.... I am afraid for us both." "If you are--don't tell me." "It is best to know the truth. We've got to stay on the firing line anyway. We might as well know that we are not very sure of ourselves. If the fear of God doesn't help us it will end us. But--" He walked up to her and took both her hands frankly. "We'll try to be good soldiers; won't we?" "Yes." "And good comrades--even if we can't be more?" "Yes." "And help each other under fire?" "Yes." "You make me very happy," he said simply; and turned to the Seminole who was emerging from obscurity, shoulders buried under a mass of bronzed feathers from which dangled two grotesque heads. One was a gobbler--a magnificent patriarch; and Shiela with a little cry of delight turned to Hamil: "That's yours! I congratulate you with all my heart!" "No, no!" he protested, "the gobbler fell to you--" "It is _yours_!" she repeated firmly; "mine is this handsome, plump hen--" "I _won't_ claim that magnificent gobbler! Little Tiger, didn't Miss Cardross shoot this bird?" "Gobbler top bird," nodded the Seminole proudly. "You fired at the top bird, Shiela! That settles it! I'm perfectly delighted over this. Little Tiger, you stalked them beautifully; but how on earth you ever managed to roost them in the dark I can't make out!" "See um same like tiger," nodded the pleased Seminole. And, to Shiela: "Pen-na-waw-suc-chai! I-hoo-es-chai." And he lighted his lantern. "He says that the turkeys are all gone and that we had better go too, Mr. Hamil. What a perfect beauty that gobbler is! I'd much rather have him mounted than eat him. Perhaps we can do both. Eudo skins very skilfully and there's plenty of salt in camp. Look at that mist!" And so, chattering away in highest spirits they fell into file behind the Seminole and his lantern, who, in the thickening fog, looked like some slim luminous forest-phantom with great misty wings atrail from either shoulder. Treading the narrow way in each other's footsteps they heard, far in the darkness, the gruesome tumult of owls. Once the Indian's lantern flashed on a snake which rose quickly from compact coils, hissing and distending its neck; but for all its formidable appearance and loud, defiant hissing the Indian picked up a palmetto fan and contemptuously tossed the reptile aside into the bog. "It's only a noisy puff-adder," said Shiela, who had retreated very close against Hamil, "but, oh, I don't love them even when they are harmless." And rather thoughtfully she disengaged herself from the sheltering arm of that all too sympathetic young man, and went forward, shivering a little as the hiss of the enraged adder broke out from the uncongenial mud where he had unwillingly landed. And so they came to their horses through a white mist which had thickened so rapidly that the Indian's lantern was now only an iridescent star ringed with rainbows. And when they had been riding for twenty minutes Little Tiger halted them with lifted lantern and said quietly: "Chi-ho-ches-chee!" "Wh-at!" exclaimed the girl, incredulous. "What did he say?" asked Hamil. "He says that he is lost!" Hamil stared around in dismay; a dense white wall shut out everything; the Indian's lantern at ten paces was invisible; he could scarcely see Shiela unless she rode close enough to touch his elbow. "Catch um camp," observed Little Tiger calmly. "Loose bridle! Bimeby catch um camp. One horse lead. No be scared." So Hamil dismounted and handed his bridle to the Indian; then Shiela cast her own bridle loose across the pommel, and touching her horse with both heels, rode forward, hands in her jacket pockets. And Hamil walked beside her, one arm on the cantle. Into blank obscurity the horse moved, bearing to the left--a direction which seemed entirely wrong. "Catch um camp," came the Indian's amused voice through the mist from somewhere close behind. "It doesn't seem to me that this is the right direction," ventured Shiela doubtfully. "Isn't it absurd? Where are you, Mr. Hamil? Come closer and keep in touch with my stirrup. I found you in a fog and I really don't want to lose you in one." She dropped one arm so that her hand rested lightly on his shoulder. "This is not the first mist we've been through together," he said, laughing. "I was thinking of that, too. They say the gods arrive and go in a mist. Don't go." They moved on in silence, the horse stepping confidently into the crowding fog. Once Hamil stumbled over a root and Shiela's hand slipped around his neck, tightening a moment. He straightened up; but her hand slid back to his coat sleeve, resting so lightly that he could scarce feel the touch. Then the horse stumbled, this time over the tongue of the camp wagon. Little Tiger was right; the horse had brought them back. Hamil turned; Shiela swung one leg across the pommel and slipped from her saddle into his arms. "Have you been happy, Shiela?" "You know I have.... But--you must release me." "Perfectly happy?" "Ah, yes. Don't you know I have?" ... And in a low voice: "Release me now--for both our sakes." She did not struggle nor did he retain her by perceptible force. "Won't you release me?" "Must I?" "I thought you promised to help me--on the firing line?" She forced a little laugh, resting both her hands on his wrists against her waist. "You said," she added with an effort at lightness, "that we are under heavy fire now." "The fire of circumstances?" "The cross-fire--of temptation.... Help me." His arms fell; neither moved. Then a pale spark grew in the mist, brighter, redder, and, side by side, they walked toward it. "What luck!" cried Gray, lifting a blazing palmetto fan above his head. "We got ten mallard and a sprig! Where's your game? We heard you shoot four times!" Shiela laughed as the Seminole loomed up in the incandescent haze of the camp fire, buried in plumage. "Dad! Dad! Where are you? Mr. Hamil has shot a magnificent wild turkey!" "Well, upon my word!" exclaimed Cardross, emerging from his section; "the luck of the dub is proverbial! Hamil, what the deuce do you mean by it? That's what' I want to know! O Lord! _Look_ at that gobbler! Shiela, did you let this young man wipe both your eyes?" "Mine? Oh, I almost forgot. You see I shot one of them." "Which?" "It happened to be the gobbler," she said. "It was a mere chance in the dark.... And--if my section is ready, dad--I'm a little tired, I think. Good night, everybody; good night, Mr. Hamil--and thank you for taking care of me." * * * * * Cardross, enveloped in blankets, glanced at Hamil. "Did you ever know anybody so quick to give credit to others? It's worth something to hear anybody speak in that fashion." "That is why I did not interrupt," said Hamil. Cardross looked down at the dying coals, then directly at the silent young fellow--a long, keen glance; then his gaze fell again on the Seminole fire. "Good night, sir," said Hamil at last. "Good night, my boy," replied the older man very quietly. _ |
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