第21章 III(7)

Then, little by little, they disappeared like a rapidly fading negative. The woods were filled with Norway pines, hemlocks, spruce, and tamaracks-great, somber trees that must have shut out the light even on the brightest days. To-night the heavens held no lamps aloft to guide us, and soon the darkness folded around us like a garment. I could see neither the driver nor his horses. I could hear only the sibilant whisper of the trees and the creak of our slow wheels in the rough forest road.

Suddenly the driver began to talk, and at first I was glad to hear the reassuring human tones, for the experience had begun to seem like a bad dream.

I replied readily, and at once regretted that I had done so, for the man's choice of topics was most unpleasant. He began to tell me stories of the stockades--grim stories with horrible details, re- p eated so fully and with such gusto that I soon realized he was deliberately affronting my ears.

I checked him and told him I could not listen to such talk.

He replied with a series of oaths and shocking vulgarities, stopping his horses that he might turn and fling the words into my face. He ended by snarling that I must think him a fool to imagine he did not know the kind of woman I was. What was I doing in that rough country, he demanded, and why was I alone with him in those black woods at night?

Though my heart missed a beat just then, I tried to answer him calmly.

``You know perfectly well who I am,'' I reminded him. ``And you understand that I am making this journey to-night because I am to preach to-morrow morning and there is no other way to keep my appointment.''

He uttered a laugh which was a most unpleasant sound.

``Well,'' he said, coolly, ``I'm damned if I'll take you. I've got you here, and I'm going to keep you here!''

I slipped my hand into the satchel in my lap, and it touched my revolver. No touch of human fingers ever brought such comfort. With a deep breath of thanksgiving I drew it out and cocked it, and as I did so he recognized the sudden click.

``Here! What have you got there?'' he snapped.

``I have a revolver,'' I replied, as steadily as I c ould. ``And it is cocked and aimed straight at your back. Now drive on. If you stop again, or speak, I'll shoot you.''

For an instant or two he blustered.

``By God,'' he cried, ``you wouldn't dare.''

``Wouldn't I?'' I asked. ``Try me by speaking just once more.''

Even as I spoke I felt my hair rise on my scalp with the horror of the moment, which seemed worse than any nightmare a woman could experience.

But the man was conquered by the knowledge of the waiting, willing weapon just behind him. He laid his whip savagely on the backs of his horses and they responded with a leap that almost knocked me out of the wagon.

The rest of the night was a black terror I shall never forget. He did not speak again, nor stop, but I dared not relax my caution for an instant.

Hour after hour crawled toward day, and still I s at in the unpierced darkness, the revolver ready.

I knew he was inwardly raging, and that at any instant he might make a sudden jump and try to get the revolver away from me. I decided that at his slightest movement I must shoot. But dawn came at last, and just as its bluish light touched the dark tips of the pines we drove up to the log hotel in the settlement that was our destination.

Here my driver spoke.

``Get down,'' he said, gruffly. ``This is the place.''

I sat still. Even yet I dared not trust him.

Moreover, I was so stiff after my vigil that I was not sure I could move.

``You get down,'' I directed, ``and wake up the landlord. Bring him out here.''

He sullenly obeyed and aroused the hotel-owner, and when the latter appeared I climbed out of the wagon with some effort but without explanation.

That morning I preached in my friend's pulpit as I h ad promised to do, and the rough building was packed to its doors with lumbermen who had come in from the neighboring camp. Their appearance caused great surprise, as they had never attended a service before. They formed a most picturesque congregation, for they all wore brilliant lumber-camp clothing--blue or red shirts with yellow scarfs twisted around their waists, and gay-colored jackets and logging-caps. There were forty or fifty of them, and when we took up our collection they responded with much liberality and cheerful shouts to one another.

``Put in fifty cents!'' they yelled across the church.

``Give her a dollar!''

The collection was the largest that had been taken up in the history of the settlement, but I soon learned that it was not the spiritual comfort I o ffered which had appealed to the lumber-men.

My driver of the night before, who was one of their number, had told his pals of his experience, and the whole camp had poured into town to see the woman minister who carried a revolver.

``Her sermon?'' said one of them to my landlord, after the meeting. ``Huh! I dunno what she preached. But, say, don't make no mistake about one thing: the little preacher has sure got grit!''