VERNONIA EAGLE. VERNONIA, OREGON
FLAME IN THE FOREST h o J t . u .
© By Harold Titus
CHAPTER IX
—9—
week Kerry Young made
sitting in the office with
Nan Downer for hours each day.
Sometimes long Intervals would
pass without a word being ex­
changed. Again, she would go to
him abruptly with some question and
her manner would betray her pro­
found respect for Ills Judgment. He
had said that he could do many
things In and about the woods; she
learned the truth of his statement.
Intelligent as she was, well as she
had been trained by her far-sighted
father, flaws had developed in her
procedure, errors in Judgment had
gone undetected.
Young did not force Ills opinions,
did not offer advice. But when she
brought matters to bls attention
In which he discovered flaws he
pointed these out.
Daily he assumed stature, and Im­
portance to her undertaking.
‘‘You’re right again!” she cried
once. “You’re always right. It’s
you who should be running this
job.”
“Me, take root?” he laughed. “Me,
settled down In one place?”
“Why not?” she challenged and,
curiously, lie asked that of himself.
Tip rose then from his place be­
neath the drawing-board and muz­
zled Nan’s knee, which made it un­
necessary to pursue that question
further.
“I must run down to the mill for
a half hour,” she said.
The dog watched her prepare to
depart.
“Want to go. Tip?” Young asked.
The dog wagged an affirmative. "All
right, then; go along."
Nan stood in the doorway, watch­
ing. The retriever apparently could
not believe this order to follow an­
other. “Go on!” Kerry said. “Go
with Nan!" And doggislily dum-
founded with Nan he went, close to
other heels for the first time since
puppyhood.
It became a little game between
the three. Whenever Nan went
out Tip gave evidence of wanting
to go, but always he awaited
Young’s order before following. And
once, when the girl had crossed to
the Landing to send a telegram and
was urgently wanted by telephone.
Kerry scrawled a note, gave It to
the dog and told him to find Nan.
... He did, after much running here
and there and snuffling at the
ground, and It would have been diffi­
cult to determine which was the
more pleased, girl or dog.
“You’ll finish tomorrow,” Nan
said, looking over Kerry’s shoulder.
“Can I get you to make next a
new cruise of the stuff northwest
of Townline lake?"
“You can get me,” he said with
odd soberness, “to try to do about
anything you want done.”
The words gave him a strange
giddy feeling.
“We’ll go tomorrow morning,
then,” she replied, overlooking his
inference.
With a canoe on a trailer behind
her car, they drove to the end of
the road which gave access to Town
line lake. Then they set off on that
body of water to spend the day
making a swift reconnaissance of
the country In which Young was
to work.
A family of ducks swam before
them, ruffling the placid surface.
The mother's bead was raised high,
she uttered low quacks of warning
and the brood clustered close about
her. As the canoe drew closer, the
old one took wing and the young­
sters, doing their best, skittered
along the water, half flying, half
swimming, making a great to-do.
A little breeze arose and the lake,
which had lain like a burnished
plate of steel, was touched to life.
Lobes of light blue appeared, turned
to indigo, and ran together until the
body of water lay like a great sap­
a
F OR
maps,
Illustrations by IRWIN MYERS
phire, flecked with emerald Islands.
An eagle soared majestically above
and as they rounded a point a
deer, having late breakfast In the
shallows, lifted its head In quick
alarm and loped nojslly for cover.
“Water’s cold,” Young remarked,
trailing a hand.
“Like Ice! This lake Is terribly
deep In the channels. The Indians
say it never gives up Its dead, and
Father said that was probably so.”
Young's eyes held on Nan's com­
petent shoulders, watching their
rhythmic swing. Her voice came
back to him talking of the Job, but
he caught only the music of It.
Why, he told himself, the thing that
had made of him a wanderer was
gone! He had at last found an an­
swer to his doubt of responsibility
for ruining old Jack Snow. Know­
ing that, why wander farther? Why
not take root . . . and here? Surely
Nan Downer was the most lovely,
the most . . .
“We’ll land here,” she was say­
ing, breaking off this wild train
of thought. “I can see the corner
stake. Father had a survey made
three years ago.”
They landed. Nan produced a
map, and spread it on a log.
“Here we are. Right here. This
creek—Otter—Is alive with trout,
and beaver ponds make it splendid
fly-fishing, which Is what the sort
of folks who might buy will want.
There are bass and other fish ga­
lore in the lake. One of the best
yarding areas for deer In the coun­
try runs down Into Section Twelve,
here. There are some moose too,
and plenty of grouse.
“This happens,” she continued,
“to be the northwestern corner of
our holdings. The road we used
today is the only one that comes
close. There's no one at all In the
country beyond. Tod West knows
it like a book and I guess he’s the
only white man alive who does.”
Tod West. The name struck tem­
per within Young. Tod West, who
had ruined one he loved In boy­
hood ; who now sought to ruin one
he perhaps was to love In ma­
turity.
Little did Kerry reckon in that
moment that Nan's Idle remark
connecting West and that vast lone­
ly country beyond them would one
day come back to him, would pound
in his ears with the rush of fe­
vered blood, that he would fight
a fog of sickness and pain to re­
member It ... to remember that
none but Tod West knew those
vast swamps and untracked up­
lands 1
They went on. A covey of half­
grown grouse fluttered out of the
way, not particularly alarmed. A
spotted fawn ran before them and
a spruce hen stared stupidly from
a low limb. Bear sign showed In
the game trail and a wolf bad
passed that way last night. Off
to the right sounded a sudden tre­
mendous crashing which could only
have been a moose, making away
from man, his worst enemy.
Here was an old burning where
lightning had started fire. Wild
grasses and firewood abounded and
Young stopped, watching bees work
In the brilliant blossoms.
He was about to go on when a
small movement on the ground at­
tracted him; he stooped and gently
put down one hand, palm cupped,
and rising showed Nan a bee craw­
ling upon his fingers.
“Pig!” he chided. “He’s loaded
up so heavily that he can't fly 1 Go
on! Try it from here!” He waved
his hand and the bee took wing,
going slowly and grogglly, but with
that aid finally making a successful
attempt at flight
He stooped over again, watching
another busy worker.
“Pretty fair Italians,” ¿e said.
“Not pure; hybrids, but they look
like right good honey-makers."
“Are you among other things, a
bee expert?” Nan laughed.
WNU Service.
“No, but >>nce I had to live for
a while with an old codger who
kept ’em. That was about the best
time I had when I was a kid. I
got real clubby with bees . . .
liked 'em. When I get so old I
can’t ramble any more maybe I’ll
settle down and keep ’em and let
’em keep me!”
“Is that the only plan you have?"
He straightened and looked at
her so Intently that she flushed.
“Maybe not,” he said gravely.
“I’ll know before long.”
Later they stood shoulder to
shoulder, waiting for the compass
to come to rest that they might be
certain of precise directions, eyes
of each on the swinging dial. Nan's
breath was a caress for Kerry's
cheek and his hands began to trem­
ble.
A few days earlier he would have
laughed at this reaction but now
he simply moved without explana­
tion and placed the compass on a
boulder where It would have sta
blllty.
“That hemlock stub Is due
north—"
"Sb I”
Young cut off her words with the
low warning, making no move­
ment.
“Walt!" he whispered. “Some­
thing coming. Hear it?”
The girl did not, at first, but
after a moment of strained listen
Ing nodded her hend silently.
Something was coming their way,
slowly, perhaps hesitantly. Then,
as a breath of breeze stirred the
foliage, blowing from them to the
direction from which the sounds
came, that approach became more
rapid.
Hoof beats and scrapings of
brush and finally a queer, Inquiring
grunt or two.
“Oh!” Nan whispered as it came
Into view. “Moose calf! . . . Why
. . . he's coming up to us!”
Indeed, it seemed as If the crea­
ture would run them down.
It
came on. head up, ears stiff, emit­
ting a series of low sounds, picking
up its feet awkwardly with the
long, gangling legs; great, dark
eyes fast on those two humans.
“Why! He’ll . . .” Nan caught
at Kerry's elbow as the calf kept
on, never slackening its pace anil
so close that in another stride or
two they might have touched it.
But on the movement the animal
swerved, half turned away, swung
off to the right and stopped fac­
ing them, standing there all rigid
attention and wonder.
The short tall twitched, the nos­
trils quirked.
Young’s elbow
pressed Nan’s hand warningly to
his side. They stood motionless as
the moose continued to stare at
them, making those plaintive, in
quiring sounds.
Kerry could feel the girl tremble
and that sent a tremor through his
own body.
He began to Imitate the sound
the calf made and on that the
creature backed off a few steps,
seeming frightened. But when the
man did not move it resumed its
own grunts, as if doing its best to
bridge the barrier between species
and talk.
“What the dickens are you?” he
seemed to be trying to say. “Where
do you come from? Why are you
here?
“I never smelled or saw anything
like you two in all my born days!
I’m kind of afraid of you, but I
want to give you a good once over
before I hit for yonder! There’s
so much for a young feller like me
to run across for the first time!”
For over a minute the calf stood
there, using all its sense to size up
that man and that woman. And
then, probably as an instinctive
mistrust of anything so widely at
variance with all Its other young
experience asserted Ifself, began to
back. The retreat at first was or­
derly, a slow, backward stepping.
Then It turned sideways and broke
into a trot, went faster. Once it
stopped and cast an apprehensive
glance over Its shoulder and after
that, dropped its ears and disap­
peared at a lumbering but flowing
trot.
“Why 1 Why, of all things!”
breathed Nan, withdrawing her
hand from Young’s arm.
The man laughed.
“Never saw it before!” he said.
“But In the woods. If you use your
eyes, you see plenty for the first
time.” He laughed lowly.
“His first encounter with man
scent, you see. He winded us from
wherever he was and curiosity
made him come our way. Like­
ly, he’s never been molested in all
bls couple of months on earth and
so he doesn’t know much aboui
fear.
“Tough, isn't it, that every spe­
cies has its predator enemies and
has to start learning how to de­
fend itself by the law of claw and
fang before It has a good chance
to enjoy such a swell world?”
“Yes. It’s tough,” she replied
and looked with a peculiar inti
macy into his face. “There's so
much to enjoy if only all of us
would 1”
They started on and after a time
Kerry spoke bluntly the thing that
her last words had left In his mind.
“The moose did me a favor. He
frightened you a little and made
There’s No One at All In the
Country Beyond.
you touch me. . . . That was a
downright enjoyable experience.”
“Please I”
“But you understand, don’t you
that I mean that? It's not just a
string of words?”
"Yes. And, because of that . .
Please!”
. “Right! . . . This Is ths best stand
of maple I’ve seen in this coun
try. Look at the bird’s-eye tree,
there. Two good veneer logs In
It"
It was late afternoon when they
beached the canoe on their return.
"We’ve time to look at the cabin
now,” Nan told him, nodding to­
ward the log structure on the high
bank; and she led the way.
Beside the door was a rack of
implements for use In fighting fires
The door Itself was unlocked.
“My father didn’t like locks. In
the bush,” she explained. "Our
men use this camp some but they
always leave It open so anyone In
need of shelter can get In.”
The place was amply furnished,
blankets on the bunks, Insect nets
hanging above them; cooking uten­
sils and a goodly supply of unper
ishable staples on shelves above the
stove.
“It’s a snug camp,” Nan said.
‘•You’ll be comfortable here, Kerry."
He scratched a temple thought
fully.
“D'you mind If I use my own
outfit?"
“Why, no I Don't you fancy thia
camp?”
“Oh, It's got shingles and glass in
It I’d rather set up myself on one
of those Islands.”
“Certainly, if you want it that
way. I used to come here with
my father, but now the place has
been a little spoiled for me. . . .
You see. Holt stayed here alone
the night Father was killed and If
It hadn't been for wise old Ezra
he’d have been carted In to Jail and
held there for a while.”
“You think a lot of Holt, don’t
you?”
“Of course! Why shouldn't I?
He's the most loyal boy in the
world. He's worked his head off
for me."
“Anybody would." he said . . .
Other cars were there when they
drove up to headquarters. One was
Ezra Adams’ battered roadster and
the old doctor looked up from tink­
ering with the motor in a way
which commanded Kerry's Interest.
But Nan, with a wave to Ezra,
was more Intent on the group
about the other.
“Oh, there's Mr. Dexter, up from
Chicago!’’ she said excitedly. “That
means he’s ready to close!" Her
face clouded. “And day before
yesterday I mailed Tod West a for­
mal request for permission to deed
that section. It's our first chance
at a real sale. Oh, I hope it won’t
be blocked1"
“Who’s sick, Ezra?" Young asked,
as Nan walked rapidly on to greet
the others.
“Nobody much, except this 'tar-
nal motor!" he said loudly. Then,
with caution: "Come close. Kerry!
Stick your head down here with
me, like you were trying to help
me tinker at somethin’."
“The bullet that killed Cash," he
whispered, “was fired from Tod
West’s pistol!"
For a moment Young did not re­
ply; a savage triumph swept him,
followed by a sinking sensation.
Tod West, the slayer of Nan's fa­
ther and, perhaps, the slayer of
her hopes as well! He knew that
even despite her misgivings, the
girl was hoping that West would
he generous enough to permit her
to close the deal which this eve­
ning seemed to be In prospect. And
it was such a forlorn hope.
“Well," he said, “that gives us
a course to steer, Ezra!”
“What’s the first move?"
“To watch him. What else can
we do? If lie's started using that
money, he’ll keep on; anyhow,
that’s a good bet. We've got to
locate it before we tip our hand."
"But suppose he suspects and
lights out?"
Kerry twisted his head doubt­
fully.
“He won't light out so long as
there’s a hope left. All he has
worked and schemed and killed for
is iu this country. A man of his
age doesn’t run away from It so
long as there's a chance of hang­
ing on.
“Now, I can get Jim Hinkle o
trail him. He won’t suspect Jim.
That can be fixed tip. With me out
of the picture for a few days,
maybe he'll feel more free to act.
I’ll see to it that plenty of folks
know I’m to be gone for a while.”
“I swenr It’s going to be up to
you, son 1” the old man said. “I
get all fluttery Inside, now, think
Ing about what might happen . .
and about what you and I’ve got to
make happen!”
Nan Downer sat disconsolately
at her desk that evening. The man
Dexter and his companions hail
gone from the dinner-table down
to the river. Soon they would re
turn and want to talk business . .
and as yet she was not able to talk
in conclusive terms.
She had been conscious for a
moment of another’s presence, but
did not look up at once. When
she did. it was Into the flushed
face of Tod West.
“Oh I” she cried, and rose quick
ly from her chair,
“Surprised, eh?" he asked and
stepped closer. “Why surprised? I
got a letter from you yesterday.”
Now, she caught the reek of
whisky on his breath.
“Well, you want my answer
now?" he taunted.
(TO BE CONTINUED)