them while he readjusted his hat with one hand and pointed with the other: "You see that hangin' rock? There where it sticks over? Well, sir, two cayuses tryin' to unload their packs bounced off there and----" A shriek in his ear interrupted McGonnigle at this juncture. He turned, startled, to see Aunt Lizzie with her fingers in her ears screaming that she was going to have hysterics. To prove that she was a woman of her word, she had them, while Mr. McGonnigle, utterly unconscious that he was the cause, regarded her in astonishment. "She's got a fit," he said to Wallie, who hurried forward. "He's scared her out of her wits," declared Miss Mercy, glaring at him. "Me?" "You! You're a careless driver. I don't believe you understand horses, and I shan't ride any further with you." "Red" jammed the whip in its socket and wrapped the lines around it. Springing over the wheel he stood by the roadside and declared defiantly: "I'm quittin'. Hate to leave you in a pinch, Wallie, but I take sass from no female. I'd ruther herd sheep than wrangle dudes, anyhow. I tried to be entertainin', and this is the thanks I git fer it." "Nobody asked you to talk," Miss Mercy snapped at him. Wallie succeeded in pacifying "Red" finally and suggested that he and Pinkey exchange places. Pinkey consented reluctantly, and "Red" climbed upon the seat of the bed-wagon with a dark look at the "female" who had questioned his knowledge of horses, while he mumbled something about "fixin' her." By ten-thirty food was the chief topic of conversation, and everyone was keeping an eye out for Hicks and the "grub-wagon." At eleven the hilarity had simmered to monosyllables, and old Mr. Penrose, who always became incredibly cross when he was hungry, rode along with his face screwed up like a bad youngster that is being carried out of church for a spanking in the vestibule. "I'm so weak I can scarcely sit in the saddle!" Mrs. J. Harry Stott snapped at Wallie as if she held him responsible. "I'm simply ravenous--starving!" declared Mrs. Budlong. She also looked at him accusingly. By eleven-thirty they were all complaining bitterly that the cook had been allowed to get so far ahead that they should all perish of hunger before they could overtake him. Mr. Stott galloped ahead as if he were pursued by hostile Indians to see if he could see Hicks, and galloped back again to say that he could not. At twelve the animals in a zoo just before feeding time had "nothing on" The Happy Family when it came to ferocity, but they brightened immediately as they finally caught a glimpse of Hicks' camp-fire, and grew almost cheerful when they saw him cutting bread on the lowered tail-board of the wagon, where the lunch was waiting for them. The spot he had selected could not truthfully be called ideal, viewed from any angle, since there was no shade and the sand, sizzling hot, reflected the glare of the mid-day sun as painfully as a mirror. None, however, had the temerity to offer any criticism to Mr. Hicks personally, for his vitriolic tongue had long since properly subjugated even the rambunctious attorney. The "dudes" dismounted stiffly and stood at a respectful distance, sniffing the bubbling coffee and watching the cook slice ham with a knife that had a blade like the sword of a Crusader. Mr. Hicks had an alert, suspicious manner as if he feared that someone would jump forward and snatch something before he had given the signal. When the operation of bread-slicing was completed, Mr. Hicks stuck the point of the knife in the tail-board and, gripping the handle, struck a pose like that of the elder Salvini, while in a sonorous voice he enumerated the delicacies he had to offer. It sounded like a roll-call, and his tone was so imperative that almost one expected the pickles and cheese to answer--"present." "Come and get it!" he finished, abruptly, and retired to sit down under sagebrush as if he were disgusted with food and people who ate it. There Wallie joined him and from the vantage point watched his guests eat their first meal in the open. If there was one thing upon which The Happy Family at The Colonial had prided itself more than another it was upon its punctilious observance of the amenities. There were those among the "newcomers" who averred that they carried their elaborate politeness to a point which made them ridiculous. For example, when two or more met at the door of the elevator they had been known to stand for a full minute urging precedence upon the other, and no gentleman, however bald or susceptible to draughts, would converse with a lady with his head covered. Now Wallie felt that his eyes must have deceived him when Mr. Budlong prodded Miss Eyester in the ribs with his elbow in his eagerness to get in ahead of her, while old Mr. Penrose reached a long arm over Aunt Lizzie Philbrick's shoulder and took away a piece of apple pie upon which she already had closed her fingers. When Miss Gaskett and Mr. Appel chanced to select the same slice of ham neither seemed disposed to relinquish it but displayed considerable spirit as they pulled until it gave way in its weakest sector, leaving Mr. Appel with only an inch of fat between his thumb and finger. He regarded his portion with chagrin while Miss Gaskett went off triumphantly to make a sandwich. Mr. Stott with his usual enterprise and shrewdness had gotten next to the tail-board, where he stood munching and reviewing the food with an eye to his next selection. He was astonished to see Miss Mercy's alpine hat rising, as it were, from the earth at his feet to crowd him from his desirable position. As she stood up she jabbed him in the nostril with the quill, and Mr. Stott gave ground before he realized it. Miss Mercy snickered in appreciation of the cleverness of her manoeuvre. As Wallie observed them while waiting his opportunity to get a dill pickle or whatever crumb they might leave him, he thought grimly that if they had been without food for twenty-four hours instead of less than half a dozen, they would have been close to cannibalism. He, for one, would not care to be adrift in an open boat with Mrs. Budlong--hungry and armed with a hatchet--while Stott, he was sure would murder him for a frankfurter in those circumstances. Aunt Lizzie, to whom accidents of an unusual nature seemed always to be happening, wandered off with a wedge of pie and a cup of coffee and sat down on an ant-hill. While she sipped her coffee and drank in the scenery simultaneously, the inhabitants of the hill came out in swarms to investigate the monster who was destroying their home. They attacked her with the ferocity for which red ants are noted, and she dropped her pie and coffee and ran screaming to the wagon. Fearful that she would be pursued by them, she got into the surrey, where she became involved in a quarrel with Miss Mercy, who was eating her lunch there. Miss Mercy caught a butterfly that lighted on a seat-cover and pulled off first one wing and then the other in spite of Aunt Lizzie's entreaties. She dropped it on the bottom of the surrey and put her astonishingly large foot upon it. "There," she snickered, "I squashed it." Aunt Lizzie, to whom anything alive was as if it were human, wrung her hands in anguish. "I think you are horrid!" "What good is it?" "What good are you, either? I shan't ride with you." Aunt Lizzie climbed into the third seat of the surrey, where she refused to answer Miss Mercy when she spoke to her. The rest and food freshened the party considerably but by four o'clock they were again hungry and drooping in their saddles. Only Mr. Stott, endowed, as it seemed, with the infinite wisdom of the Almighty, retained his spirits and kept up an unending flow of instructive conversation upon topics of which he had the barest smattering of knowledge. Constantly dashing off on his part to investigate gulches and side trails caused Wallie's smouldering wrath to burn brighter, as the buckskin hourly grew more jaded. Complaints increased that their horses were hard-gaited, and the voices of the ladies held plaintive notes as they declared their intention of riding in the surrey when they overtook it. Pinkey was stopped finally, and his passengers augmented by the addition of Mrs. Stott, Miss Gaskett, and Mrs. Budlong, who carefully folded their jackets to sit on. At five o'clock Mr. Stott raced forward and returned to announce that Hicks had camped just around the bend of the river. "You're wearing that horse out, Stott," said Wallie, coldly. "He's feeling good--watch him!" cried the lawyer, gaily, putting spurs to the horse and disappearing. It was a beautiful camping spot that Hicks had selected, though "Red" McGonnigle grumbled that it was not level enough for the teepees. Old Mr. Penrose, who had fallen off his horse rather than dismounted, declared he was so tired that he could sleep on the teeth of a harrow, like a babe in its cradle. "We'll be all right when we get seasoned," said Mr. Appel, cheerfully, hunting in his wife's handbag for the vaseline. "You couldn't have a better place to start in at," "Red" commented, grimly. On the whole, the day might be regarded as a pleasant one, and if the remainder of the trip equalled it, there was no doubt but that the party would return satisfied, which meant that they would advertise it and the next season would be even more successful. Everyone carried wood to build a camp-fire after supper, but by the time they had it going they were too sleepy to sit up and enjoy it. They stumbled away to their several teepees with their eyes half closed and for the first time since they had known each other failed to say "pleasant dreams!" when separating for the night. Mr. Stott lingered to regale Pinkey and Wallie for the fourteenth time with the story of the hoot-owl which had frightened him while hunting in Florida, but since it was received without much enthusiasm and he was not encouraged to tell another, he, too, retired to crawl between his blankets and "sleep on Nature's bosom" with most of his clothes on. "I wouldn't wonder but that we'll have to hit him between the horns before the trip is over," Pinkey remarked, looking after Stott. Wallie said nothing, but his face spoke for him. Pinkey continued in a tone of satisfaction: "Outside of him, everything's goin' splendid. The Yellowstone Park is the fightin'est place anybody ever heard of. I've seen life-time friends go in there campin' and come out enemies--each one sittin' on his own grub-box and not speakin'. But it don't look as if we was goin' to have any serious trouble--they're nice people." "And they think the world of me," Wallie reiterated. "I've been thinkin' I could lose the horses for two or three days and that would count up considerable. Ten dudes at $5.00 a day for three days, say---- Oh, we're sittin' pretty! We'll come out of this with a roll as big as a gambler's." "It _looks_ encouraging," Wallie replied more guardedly, though in his heart he was sharing Pinkey's optimism. They kicked out the camp-fire and rolled up in their respective blankets, Pinkey to die temporarily, and Wallie to lie awake listening to the roar of the river and speculating as to whether Helene Spenceley had any special prejudice against the dude business. Of course, he admitted, had he a choice in the matter, he would have preferred to have been an ambassador, a lawyer of international reputation, even a great artist; but for a start, as the foundation of a fortune, dudes were at least as good as _herring_. With this consoling thought, Wallie turned over on a pillow which would have engaged the earnest attention of the most lax health officer, and fell into a contented slumber. CHAPTER XXIII RIFTS Before the birds had taken their heads from under their wings Miss Mercy Lane was up and crashing through the brambles on a hunt for "Red" McGonnigle. It was a morning to thrill the soul of a taxi-cab driver, but it had no interest for Miss Mercy. The dew on the petals of the wild-rose, the opaline tints of a sweet-scented dawn meant nothing to that lady as, without a collar, her shirt-waist wrongly buttoned, her hair twisted into a hard "Psyche" knot, she searched for her enemy. In her earnest desire to get in touch with Mr. McGonnigle as soon as possible, she clumped about, peering into the faces of the helpers, who had thrown their tarps down upon whatever spot looked a likely place for sleeping. Pinkey she found without difficulty; also Mr. Hicks, who, awakened by the feeling that someone was looking at him, sat up and in a scandalized tone told her to go right away, from him. "Red" McGonnigle, however, whether by accident or premeditation, had repaired with his blankets to a bed-ground where the Almighty could not have found him with a spy-glass. In consequence, Wallie was awakened suddenly by the booming voice of Miss Mercy demanding to know Red's whereabouts. Her lids were puffed as if she had not closed them, and through the slits her eyes gleamed at him. She looked so altogether formidable as she stood over him that his first impulse was to duck his head under the covers. Since it was manifestly impossible for Wallie to get to his feet as politeness demanded, and it seemed ridiculous to sit up in bed and converse with a lady he knew so slightly, it appeared that the best thing to do in the circumstances was to remain as he was, prostrate and helpless, and this he did--to take such a dressing down as made him tingle. Aiming her finger at him, Miss Mercy declared that deliberately, wilfully, maliciously, "Red" McGonnigle had set her tent on a _hump_. More than that, he had cut down an alder, leaving some three or four sharp prongs over which he had spread her blankets. She would have been as comfortable on the teeth of a hay-rake, and had not even dozed in consequence. With her own ears she had heard "Red" McGonnigle threaten to "fix" her, and he had done it. If he was not discharged she would return to Prouty at the first opportunity. This was final. Wallie argued vainly that it was an accident, that "Red" was altogether too chivalrous to take such a low-down revenge upon a lady, and explained that in any event it would be impossible to dispense with his services at this juncture. He declared that he regretted the matter deeply and promised to prevent a recurrence. But Miss Mercy was adamant, and intimated that Wallie was in sympathy with his hireling if not in actual "cahoots" with him. Wallie realized that it would be impossible to resent the implication with proper dignity while lying on the flat of his back looking up at his accuser, so he said nothing, whereupon Miss Mercy flung at him as she departed: "I intend to ask a ride back to Prouty from the first passerby, and I shall _knock_ you and your ranch at every opportunity!" She returned to her teepee to complete her toilette while Wallie took his boots from under his pillow and drew them on glumly, feeling that much of the joy had been taken from what promised to be a perfect morning. Mr. Hicks, too, started breakfast in a mood that was clearly melancholy, for as he rattled the pots and pans Wallie heard him reciting: "And when my time comes, let me go--not like the galley slave at night scourged to his dungeon--but like one sustained and soothed by an unfaltering trust----" He stopped suddenly, and then in a voice that chilled Wallie's blood he shouted: "Jumping Je-hoshaphat! Git out o' that grub-box!" He had caught Mrs. Budlong in the act of spreading jam on a cracker. "How dare you speak so to me?" she demanded, indignantly. For answer, Mr. Hicks replied autocratically: "You ought to know by this time that I don't allow dudes snooping around when I'm cooking." "You are insulting--I shall report you." Mr. Hicks laughed mockingly: "You do that and see what it gets you." The cook quite evidently knew his power, for when Mrs. Budlong carried out her threat Wallie could only reply that he dared not antagonize Hicks, since to replace him would cause delay, inconvenience, and additional expense to everybody. Mrs. Budlong rested all her chins upon her cameo breastpin and received the explanation coldly. "Verra well," she said, incisively, "verra, verra well! I shall buy jam and crackers at the first station, Mr. Macpherson, and carry them with me." Wallie had no heart to say more than: "Indeed, Mrs. Budlong, I am so sorry----" But she was already on the way to report the controversy to her husband. When they had bathed their faces and hands in the river the evening before someone had referred to it poetically as "Nature's wash-basin." Wallie, seeing Mrs. Appel with her soap and towel on the way to "Nature's wash-basin," was inspired by some evil spirit to inquire how she had rested. "Rested!" she hissed at him. "Who could rest, to say nothing of sleeping, within six blocks of Mr. Penrose? A man who snores as he does should not be permitted to have his tent among human beings. If it is ever placed near mine again, Wallie, I shall insist upon having it removed if it is midnight. Knowing the trouble he has had everywhere, I am surprised at your not being more considerate." "To-night I will attend to it. I regret very much----" Wallie mumbled. Mrs. J. Harry Stott beckoned him aside as breakfast was being placed on the table. Mrs. Stott had a carefully cultivated mispronunciation of great elegance when she wished to be impressive, and as soon as she began Wallie realized that something portentous was about to be imparted to him. Even the way she raised her eyebrows made him warm all over with a sense of guilt of something of which he was ignorant. "You will excuse me if I speak frankly?" Wallie gulped, wondering fearfully what she knew and how much. She went on in a voice which seemed to have hoarfrost on it: "But the fact is, I am not in the habit of eating with the _help_." Wallie felt relief surge over him. His face cleared and he laughed light-heartedly. "I know that, of course, Mrs. Stott, but out here it is different. Camping is particularly democratic. It has never occurred to 'Red' or Hicks that they are not welcome at the table, and I fear that they would be greatly offended if I should suggest----" Mrs. Stott drew herself up haughtily. "That is no concern of mine, Wallie. It is a matter of principle with me to keep servants in their places. I am not a snob, but----" "Sh-ss-sh!" Wallie looked over his shoulder in Hicks' direction. In clarion tones she continued: "I cannot consent to letting down the barriers even in these unconventional surroundings. You can adjust the matter to suit yourself, but I ab-so-lute-ly refuse to sit cheek by jowl with the cook and McGonnigle!" Wallie grew solemn, as well he might, for along with the tact of a diplomat to a Balkan state it required the courage of a lion to convey the information to one of Hicks' violent disposition that he was not fit to sit at table with the wife of the rising young attorney. It weighed on his mind through breakfast, and he was not made more comfortable by the fact that "Red," stimulated to effervescence by so large an audience, tossed off his _bon-mots_ in a steady stream, unconscious that his wit was not a treat to all who heard him and that his presence was regarded as anything but highly desirable, while Mr. Hicks brought his tin-plate and, by chance purely, elbowed himself a place beside Mrs. Stott with the greatest assurance. Wallie decided to postpone the delicate talk of dropping a hint to Mr. Hicks until later in the day, as he had plenty to engage his attention with Miss Mercy's departure confronting him. "Red" denied the crime with which he was charged with a face of preternatural innocence, declaring that he was shocked that any one should attribute to him such a heinous offence as purposely leaving four sharp alder prongs under a lady's blankets. Nobody--bar none--had a greater respect for the sex than "Red" McGonnigle! But Miss Mercy was not to be pacified by apologies however abject, or explanations however convincing. Implacable, and maintaining a haughty silence, she packed her suitcase and put an outing flannel nightgown--with a nap so long that it looked like a fur garment--in a fishnet bag. Having made stiff adieux to the party, she went and sat down on a rock by the roadside to await some passerby who would take her to Prouty. She quite enjoyed herself for a time, thinking what a strong character she was, and how independent. A weaker woman would have allowed herself to be persuaded to overlook the incident, but she was of different metal. For nearly an hour this thought gave her great satisfaction, but, gradually, the monotony began to pall and she had a growing feeling of resentment that nobody missed her. It seemed deceitful, after making such an ado over her decision to leave them, to resign themselves so quickly to her absence. Mattie Gaskett might come and renew her entreaties for her to return, or, at least, keep her company! The occasional bursts of laughter that reached her were like personal affronts and, finally, she included everybody in her indignation at "Red" McGonnigle. But, as the time dragged, her mood changed perceptibly. Though she would not admit it in her secret heart, she wished that someone would come and coax her to reconsider. From this stage, while the tents were being dismantled and packed into the bed-wagon accompanied by much merriment, she came to a point where she tried to think of some excuse that would enable her to return without seeming to make any concession. As it happened, the only person who gave Miss Mercy any thought as she waited forlornly by the roadside was Aunt Lizzie Philbrick. Although she and Miss Mercy had not been speaking since the episode of the butterfly, her tender conscience was troubled that she had not said good-bye to her. The more she thought about it the more strongly it urged her to be forgiving and magnanimous to the extent of wishing Miss Mercy a pleasant journey. With this purpose in view Aunt Lizzie left the others and started for the roadside. If she had not been otherwise engaged at the moment, Miss Mercy might have seen Aunt Lizzie's white sailor hat bobbing above the intervening bushes, but she was intent on learning the cause of a rustling she had heard in the leaves behind her. It was a snake, undoubtedly, and it flashed through Miss Mercy's mind that here was her opportunity not only to return to camp but to go back a heroine. She set her fishnet bag on the stump she vacated and provided herself with a cudgel before starting to investigate. Advancing cautiously, she saw a bunch of tall grass wave in a suspicious manner. She smote the clump with her cudgel, and a large, warty toad jumped out into the open. It was stunned, and stood blinking as if trying to locate the danger. "Nasty thing!" exclaimed Miss Mercy, viciously, and raised her club to finish it. The blow landed, and Miss Mercy and the toad saw stars simultaneously, for Aunt Lizzie brought down a four-foot stick and crushed in the crown of Miss Mercy's alpine hat. "You dread-ful woman!" Aunt Lizzie shrieked at her, and it was her purpose to strike again but the stick was rotten, and since only some six inches remained in her hand, she had to content herself with crying: "You horrible creature! You unnatural woman! 'Shady' Lane--you belong in an asylum!" Since Miss Mercy had been told this before, she resented it doubly, and no one can say what else might have happened if Wallie, hearing the disturbance, had not hurried forward to discover what was occurring. "She was killing a hop-toad!" Aunt Lizzie screamed, hysterically. Then her legs collapsed, while Miss Mercy boomed that if she did, it was none of Aunt Lizzie's business--it was not her hop-toad. The astounding news passed from mouth to mouth that Aunt Lizzie and Miss Mercy had been fighting in the brush with clubs, like Amazons, and everyone rushed forward to view the combatants and to learn the details, but the chugging of a motor sent Miss Mercy into the middle of the road to flag it before they could hear her side of the story. It proved to be no less a person than Rufus Reed, who was transporting provisions on a truck between Prouty and a road-camp in the Park. Rufus welcomed company and intimated that his only wonder was that they were not all leaving. So Miss Mercy clambered up beside Rufus and without looking back started on her return journey to Zanesville, Ohio, to soothe the brow of the suffering and minister to the wants of the dying in her professional capacity. Pinkey sombrely looked after the cloud of dust in which Rufus and the Angel of Mercy vanished. "That's one chicken we counted before it was hatched," he observed, regretfully, to Wallie. The scenery was sublime that morning and the party were in ecstasies, but mere mountains, waterfalls, and gorges could not divert Wallie's mind from the disquieting fact that he must somehow convey the information to Mr. Hicks that his presence at table with the guests was undesirable. As he rode, he framed tactful sentences in which to break the news to that formidable person, and he had finally a complete and carefully prepared speech which he meant to deliver in a friendly but firm manner. The result he could only guess at. Hicks might quit, or he might resent the affront to his dignity with any convenient weapon, or after a savage outburst of sarcasm he might make the best of the situation. The only thing that Wallie could not imagine was a calm acquiescence. It would be easier to replace Mr. Hicks, however, than to acquire a new party of dudes at this late season, so Wallie nerved himself to the ordeal. The passengers who preferred to ride in the surrey had now increased to a number which made it necessary for them to sit in each other's laps, and it devolved upon Wallie to drive their horses. Herding loose horses is sometimes a task to strain the temper, and these were that kind of horses, so that by the time the party reached the noon-day camp Wallie was in a more fitting mood to confront Mr. Hicks than when they had started. The cook was busy over the camp-fire when Wallie determined to speak and have it over. "Don't let him tree you or run you into the river." Pinkey, who knew Wallie's purpose, warned him jocosely. "I'm glad it ain't me has the job of tellin' that hyena that he ain't as welcome as the President." Wallie could not share Pinkey's amusement. On the contrary, it annoyed him. That was the worst of his partner nowadays, he was so happy that nothing troubled him. Perhaps envy was at the bottom of this irritation; at any rate, Wallie frowned and told himself that he never would have believed that love could make such a simpleton of anybody. As Wallie drew nearer, through the smoke and steam rising from various cooking utensils he noted that Mr. Hicks' expression was particularly melancholy and his colour indicated that a large amount of bile had accumulated in his system. There was something tragic in the very way he stirred the frying potatoes, and as Wallie hesitated Hicks set his fists on his hips and recited in a voice vibrating with feeling: "Into this Universe, and why not knowing, Nor whence, like water will-nilly flowing, And out of it, as Wind along the Waste, I know not whither willy-nilly blowing." It did not seem a propitious moment to "put Mr. Hicks in his place," as Mrs. Stott had phrased it, but Wallie had no desire to nerve himself twice for the same ordeal; therefore, with something of the desperate courage which comes to high-strung persons about to have a tooth extracted, Wallie advanced and inquired cordially: "Well, Mr. Hicks, how are things coming?" "I am not complaining," replied Mr. Hicks, in a tone which intimated that once he star