University of Santa Clara - Redwood Yearbook (Santa Clara, CA)

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14 THE REDWOOD hind that brush if it hasn ' t rotted away. Shielding his face the sailor pushed his way through the dense under- growth. A twig snapped in his eyes and blinded him for a moment. When he could see again, he stood in full view of the cabin. But no birds had builded their nests in the rafters, nor did a sagging door reveal a floor littered with leaves. In- stead, a thin trail of smoke glided into the air, and there was a whisper of a burning fire. The man stood aghast, his breath escaping in rasping jerks. He stood thus for a full minute. Then the door opened slowly and silently. A middle aged woman, with hair that was turning gray, looked hopeless- ly out over the mountain; past the sailor, past the trees and out .... out to the ocean. It was his wife. No, Maria, that rustlin ' warn ' t anything, she said, turning to someone within. Ain ' t even a ship in sight. The door was half closed when the man found his voice. Johanna! he cried. And in a mo- ment he was sobbing upon his wife ' s shoulder in the clearing before the cab- in. Not a tear moistened her cheek, but Foster knew that grief had long since exhausted the last tear; only her heart was weeping. Soon they entered the cabin. At a sign from Johanna, Maria, the old ser- vant, glided out, and husband and wife were left alone. Johanna seated her- self at the window, through which she had watched a year of desolate days. Her husband sat upon a stool with his downcast head resting upon his hands. Johan ' , said the man after a long silence, I wasn ' t meanin ' fer you to wait fer me. His wife did not answer. He looked up and when he saw her still gazing out over the wilderness, he again fell to sobbing. The sorrow that had weighed upon Johanna through a long year was dawning slowly upon her hus- band. She had been able to undergo the pangs because they came one by one; legion in number, it is true; but one steeling her heart against the next. But he who had caused her sorrow was beginning to feel its edge and the ac- cumulated griefs of a long year were all torturning his soul at once. He was overwhelmed. I ' d no idee you ' d be set on stayin ' in the cabin fer all that stretch, the man almost whined. Warn ' t climbin ' the mountain fer nothin ' Ben — were you? The woman smiled — a mere trace of a smile. Well, no-o ... I s ' pose not. I — I was jest a mite cur ' us ez to how things were lookin ' yerabouts since I — left. Foster rose nervously and opened the door. Besides, he said when he re- turned, I ben movin ' pretty muchly this last month. Them damnation gov ' - ment hounds hez ben on my trail pret- ty steady, and I figgered the only way to leave ' em was over this yer ridge. That ' s how I happened to come — mostly. What you done? asked Johanna. You recall that sheriff who was a-hangin ' round my heels ' count o ' smugglin ' ? Well — I shot him in the heart. He seemed to doubt whether his wife had grasped the full significance of the situation. He died. She saw her husband ' s shoulders heaving despite him, and she rose and put her hand on his shoulder. Don ' t

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On Purissima Ridge A. J. Steiss, Jr. [GUSTY blackness turned a cold grey; and a Jan- uary dawn of the year 1881 showed a pallid face to the west- ern slope of the Coast Range. A piercing wind had driven the fog up the mountain, and like a rising sea the mist had swallowed the gnarled, twisted tree-tops, and poured its flood into the valley. At intervals the dull booming of the surf rolled upward ; and the sad cry of the sea mews, blown eastward by the wind and lost in the fog, sounded weirdly over the torn, bleak solitude. A man stumbled upward among the boulders and the undergrowth and the manzanita. Often he glanced about him furtively, his bronzed face seamed and drawn, his gleam- ing eyes sunken, their darkness accentuated by the heavy eyebrows above them. His shock head and beard were wet with the clinging silver mist. His attire denoted him a seaman : a heavy jacket was buttoned to his throat and he wore loose trousers, torn and frayed by the brush. One would have fancied a monastery in the vicinity, it was so coldly still ; the effect was heightened by the im- prisoning walls of mist that formed a lone meditation cell for the hollow-eyed man of the mountain. Too lo nely and far too conducive to meditation the sailor thought ; and as unescapable as a prison! He was within the great clois- ter of nature. The tolling of the surf was indistinct now as the pulse beat of a distant bell. An hour later he was nearing the summit. The fog had thinned a little and far below him he saw the ocean, grey, furrowed, and flecked with white along the shore ; there was not a vessel upon all that dun, dismal expanse. The dull drone of the waves washing among the rocks was no longer audible to the sailor; only the rustling of the brush as he made his way among the red- woods, disturbed the sepulchral still- ness of the mountain. He lay down to rest once but a cope of leaden silence crushed him and he continued his weary climb. When he had topped a small ri se he saw a tall redwood upon the ridge, not half a mile distant, with a halo of mist fast dis- solving. Wet beads that were not fog stood out upon his forehead and his mouth moved convulsively. When he climbed again he seemed to be strug- gling against himself. Perhaps it was the demoniacal Imp of the Perverse who goaded him onward; or it may have been Fate (an idea we might credit were we followers of Mahomet). Howbeit, before the tattered shreds of the mist had disappeared the man lay at the foot of the great redwood, gasp- ing for breath. Soon he rose. The cabin , he thought. It must be somewhere be- 13

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THE REDWOOD 15 take on so, Ben, she almost whis- pered. He stroked her hand gently, but he could not speak. Oh I ain ' t bawlin ' ' count o ' the sheriff ' s dyin ' , he burst out sudden- ly. I ' d kill him a dozen times if he ' d come to life. Johanna was stroking his head much as one would to quiet an angry dog. Anyhow, that ' s the reason I went, Johan ' , he said. ' ' I f iggered you ' d— be glad— if I did it. He looked ap- pealingly toward her, but her eyes were turned away. He ran his fingers through his thick hair. I reckoned you ' d be glad to be free of a — murderer. You warn ' t deservin ' o ' my disgrace .... were you? He seemed uncertain. Oh Ben, it warn ' t disgrace to kill a sheriff, said Johanna. You got a right to do that. Foster was obstinate. Reckoned I ' d be hanged if I waited around, Johan ' , he persisted, feeling his neck ruminatively. ' Twarn ' t no use to stay. But something in his voice showed that he knew he was wrong. His wife ' s face was turned toward him, every line traced in shadow. Why, Johan ' ! tears hev jest gouged out them hollows under yer eyes. You oughtn ' t ever have done it! Noon came with cold sunlight, the afternoon drifted down in the west and the day waned into grey again. An overwhelming peace slept in the two reunited hearts and sorrow was only a memory. The vigil and the anxiety were over. Johanna, watching the darkness creep up the mountain, saw dark fig- ures on horseback half a mile down the slope. Men coming, Ben, she said, falling dejectedly into her chair. He sprang to the window in time to see a head disappear behind a rise. With a clouded brow he stood for a long while biting his lips. Johan ' , I — I guess I got to leave you again, he at last said slowly with his gaze still upon the mountain side. He buttoned his coat around him. But you ' ll wait, won ' t you? Johanna smiled ; they embraced. She stood in the doorway with the light streaming through her hair, while Ben, indistinct against the gloom, turned for a last farewell. I ' ll be back — soon, he called soft- ly. Then the shadow of the man melt- ed into a forest of shadows, and the door of the cabin closed softly. The light went out and Johanna sat by the window, weeping for the first time that day. Old Maria appeared from somewhere and entered the cabin. But she did not try to comfort Johanna for Maria was wise. Foster ' s foot trod many strands in the ensuing half a year. He eluded the posse that Johanna had so lucidly espied from the cabin window, and escaped on a coaster sailing for Mexico and South America. In a fight aboard ship, he was thrown overboard, and was rescued by a Spanish fisherman, half dead. He was delirious for a week afterwards; and the fisherman ' s child- ren, in mimicry of the raving man, went about the beach crying, Johan- na! Johanna! and laughing. One day, when he had recovered, his fisherman host accosted him. You wish to go back to California, eh?