The Heart of Thunder Mountain Part 51

His voice, perhaps, served to break the spell. Claire leaped to her feet. And the next instant there was a voice from the doorway.

"h.e.l.lo!" said Marion cheerily, in a "good evening" kind of tone, as if she had returned from the post-office.

Huntington bounded from his chair, and whirled around with an oath,--one oath surely that was forgiven him. But past him, with a scream dashed Claire.

"Marion!" she shrieked.

"Marion!" bellowed Seth.

And then the two women were in each other's arms, and Seth grabbed one of Marion's hands, and the air was filled with hysterical cries and mighty, spluttered expletives. Then silence fell, while Claire and Marion wept without restraint, and Huntington searched for his handkerchief without finding it, and strode across the room and back, pounding one clenched hand into the palm of the other. But Marion presently tore herself out of Claire's embrace, and turned to grab an arm of Pete, who stood just outside the doorway, through which the wind unheeded was flinging snow and leaves into the room.

"Here he is!" cried Marion. "He did it!"

Claire promptly threw her arms around the Indian's neck, or as nearly around as she could reach, and stood on tiptoe to plant a kiss on his leathery cheek. Huntington too leaped on him, seizing his shoulder and hand, and dragging him farther into the room. Then he broke away, and ran for a bottle; and the two men clicked gla.s.ses and drank in silence. And two big chairs were drawn close to the fire for Pete and Marion; and while Claire sat crying softly, and Huntington, between "d.a.m.ns" and "h.e.l.ls," wiped his eyes with the back of his hand, and Pete sat impressive, Marion quickly narrated the chief incidents of her pursuit of Haig, their long imprisonment, and the rescue.

"But Haig! Where's he?" asked Huntington.

"He left us at the junction," answered Marion.

On that a moment of silence fell. Something in Marion's face told even Huntington to keep still. But Claire, seeing it, was secretly, wickedly, triumphantly glad. A very practical thought, however, came to her in time to prevent embarra.s.sment, and Seth was sent bustling into the kitchen to relight the fire in the range. The cook had gone to bed, but Claire would get supper for them; for Pete must stay, she insisted. But at this the Indian rose, and said he must go to Haig, who had told him to hurry back for supper with him in the cottage.

"Well, then, Pete," said Huntington from the door of the kitchen, "you'll have another drink, anyhow. And you'll come up to-morrow to tell us how you found them, won't you?"

Pete promised; the whisky was solemnly drunk again; and the three others followed him to the door.

"But you must have a horse!" said Huntington.

So he jumped past him, and ran to the stable, bellowing for Williams.

"Now take off your coat, Marion!" cried Claire.

"No. Not here," said Marion. "You'll see why."

They waited before the blazing log for Huntington to return, whereupon he was sent to build a fire in Marion's room. When it was crackling finely, Marion, removed her deerskin coat and skirt. Claire stared at her, gasping; and then sank down on the bed in another fit of weeping.

For Marion stood before her in rags and dirt.

"Oh, but you should have seen me the day Pete came!" cried Marion, with a pathetic little laugh. "I've actually got some flesh on my bones now."

Indescribable luxuries followed: a hot bath, wonderful clean garments, and Claire's happy fingers combing the tangles out of the tawny hair.

"But I'll never be really and truly clean again, Claire!" cried Marion ruefully, holding out her hands.

Claire clasped them tenderly, while Marion, on a sudden thought, related to her Haig's speech about baths; and they laughed together.

"You've so many things to tell me," said Claire, with a curiosity she could not quite repress.

"Yes," answered Marion, blus.h.i.+ng.

It was nearly midnight when they sat down to supper, but none of them cared for time. Marion was not sleepy. She and Haig and Pete had slept well in a deserted cabin the last night of their journey, before a huge fire, in circ.u.mstances positively pleasant in comparison with what they had pa.s.sed through. But she was hungry. As she never expected to be really and truly clean again, she doubted that she should ever get enough to eat. Claire did the best she could on that score, and that was something. There was chicken with cream gravy; and potatoes, baked in their skins, and seasoned with b.u.t.ter and salt and paprika; and three kinds of jelly to be spread on b.u.t.tered toast; and angel cake. In the midst of the feast there were steps on the veranda, and a knock on the door; and Curly appeared, bearing two bottles of champagne.

"Mr. Haig says you're all to drink Pete's health, an' he ought to live to be a hundred," said Curly, grinning, and gazing in wonderment at Marion, whose exploit had caused her to a.s.sume somewhat the nature of a G.o.ddess in his simple mind.

When the door had closed on Curly, Huntington stood for a moment awkwardly holding the bottles, an expression almost of consternation on his face. He had once made some remarks about Haig's champagne. But he had the sense not to act the part of a skeleton at the feast.

Pete's health was drunk by all; and might he live to be a hundred!

In another hour Marion was in bed, in a real bed, in her own pink room, between sweet, clean sheets, and warm again at last, but s.h.i.+vering in sheer excess of comfort, and crying a little perhaps from overwhelming joy. For she knew in her heart--something she could not yet tell even Claire.

Bill Craven was mending a bridle by the light of a smoky lantern in the stable, when he saw a ghost. It just opened the door, and walked in, and said, "How are you, Bill?" Craven fell backward off his stool, then leaped to his feet with a yell that caused a commotion among the barn swallows under the eaves, and brought Farrish and Curly tumbling down the ladder from the loft. Thereupon discipline, for which Haig had always been rather a stickler, suffered a bad half hour. They had given him up for lost; and had found on comparing experiences that each of them had many reasons for counting that loss his own. In the days following the attempts to rescue Miss g.a.y.l.o.r.d, these three had gone about the Park with chips on their shoulders, inviting any outspoken citizen to say to them anything that was not strictly proper and complimentary about Haig. So now, though the words were few after the first noisy demonstration, they were the kind of words that are worth hearing, from man to man.

Haig and Bill Craven presently compared notes in the matter of "busted" legs. Bill's had mended much sooner than Haig's, which was quite easily understood, considering the great difference in their circ.u.mstances. Curly had "nigh killed" the sorrels, getting the doctor for Craven, but they were all right now. "Fat and sa.s.sy," Curly added.

"I'll take some of that out of them, to-morrow," said Haig. "I'll want the sleigh, Farrish. Please look after it in the morning."

Then, seeing their impatience, he told them of Sunnysides' final escape, and of all the events that followed--as much as was good for them to know.

"But where's Pete?" asked Craven.

"He went to Huntington's with Miss g.a.y.l.o.r.d. He'll be along soon."

"Well, jest wait till we git our hands on that d.a.m.ned Indian!" cried Bill. "Eh, men?"

It was evident that there would be a considerable disturbance in the barn on Pete's arrival.

A few minutes later Haig had his surprise. On entering the cottage he first encountered Slim Jim in the outer room. Perhaps Jim's face turned a trifle yellower, perhaps his thin legs trembled a little under the sky-blue trousers; but that was about all, except the light that flickered an instant in his eyes.

"Glad you back!" he said simply. "Want supper?"

"Want supper! Why, you scrawny, evil-eyed heathen! Want supper! I want everything you've got to eat, and everything you haven't got, and don't you tell me there's 'vellee lil' either, or I'll break every bone in your body. And be quick about it too!"

Jim hurried into the kitchen with so much of a departure from his oriental poise that the first pan he picked up fell to the floor with a clatter. That was the most eloquent testimonial he could have given, unless it was the supper that was ready for Haig in an hour--and no "velle lil" supper at that--to his partic.i.p.ation in the general rejoicing.

Haig, meanwhile, opened the inner door, stepped into the library-bedroom, and halted dead still on the threshold. At his entrance, a tall, thin young man, with a very pale face, rose like an automaton and stared at him. It was a question which of the two was the more amazed.

"Thursby!" cried Haig, recovering the more quickly.

"Haig!"

"Where did you come from?"

"From the other side of the world. And you?"

"From the very bowels of the earth, man!"

They walked slowly toward each other until they met, and clasped hands.

"You found him?" asked Haig, searching the other's face.