Tish Marches On (24 page)

At daybreak Tish and Aggie found me, having had no difficulty in tracing my progress. Tish said that the rope was over the creature’s horns before she realized that it was a large buffalo, probably male, and that it was then too late to do anything.

She examined the car, and found that, except for losing its lamps and mudguards, it was still intact.

“They are certainly powerful animals,” she said thoughtfully. “And how the Indians ever killed them with bows and arrows I cannot understand. However—”

She then inspected our location, and declared that if we had chosen it it could not have been better. With which cryptic remark we set to work to make camp, asking no questions. Tish herself had disappeared, taking with her the beans and marshmallows. When she returned we were astounded to find that she had brought with her a number of camp delicacies in cans and bottles, but she offered no explanations.

Indeed, almost her sole remark, I recall, during the evening was when she asked if we had any idea of where Mr. Armstrong was to be located. When we said we had not, she frowned slightly.

“He must be found,” she said. “Not necessarily at once, but soon. If only the idiot hasn’t left the park! It would be like a man,” she continued, with that clear vision of the other sex which never fails her, “to let somebody else do the work and take the risks, and then run off.”

It was the next morning that Aggie, whose day it was to police the camp, came to me with an agonized look on her face. Tish was again absent on one of her mysterious errands.

“She was out last night, Lizzie,” she said. “I saw her go. And she took Susie with her, on a rope.”

“If you
will
spy on her,” I began, but she interrupted me by holding out a piece of cloth with two small holes cut in it.

“Do you know what that is?” she demanded. “It’s a mask, and Tish had it on last night. Where did she go? Where did she get six cans of caviar, three bottles of olives, and all that deviled ham? She didn’t win it in a raffle.”

And just then Tish came into camp and heard her. If she was indignant she concealed it, and her voice was kindly, even tolerant, when she spoke.

“The question is an ethical one, Aggie,” she said, “and probably beyond your comprehension. But it is this: when I find a problem with a possible honorable and happy solution I feel that I am satisfied in going to any lengths to work it out.”

“What lengths?” Aggie demanded in a terrible voice.

“I have removed Suzanne from an environment obviously unsuited to her, and certainly unsettling. She is safe at the cabin; she has a roof over her head, beans to eat and coffee to drink, and a bunk to sleep in. If she knows enough to fill it with leaves she will have a good bed. All she lacks is men to do the work for her and show her the Dipper.”

“And you think she’ll stay?” Aggie asked scornfully. “She’s got a car, hasn’t she?”

I shall never forget the forbearance in Tish’s voice as she replied.

“She has indeed a car, Aggie. Unfortunately, it has no gasoline in it.”

“She’s got two legs. If everybody doesn’t know that, it’s not
her
fault.”

“But Susie has four,” said Tish kindly. “It is strange how she dislikes Susie, for Susie likes the cabin. All I have done has been to throw a few marshmallows on the roof at night, and it is really surprising how much time that bear spends on it.”

Well, it appeared that she considered Suzanne really a nice girl, only temporarily gone wrong, and that she felt that a brief lesson, with Mr. Armstrong later effecting a rescue, was the only thing needed.

Later on, she told us further details. Of the kidnaping she said little, save that it had been necessary only to threaten Suzanne with a revolver, and that the girl had showed considerable courage. She had indeed thought that Tish was a man and had tried a number of small coquetries on her, but naturally without effect.

But Tish felt that Mr. Armstrong ought to play a part in all this and that the first thing, naturally, was to find him. Her plan was to leave Aggie and myself on guard, so to speak, and herself take the car and locate him if possible. She had found a vantage spot on the hill over the cabin, and there we were to watch, unseen. To prevent a chance intruder from driving into the cabin lane, she had already set up a sign, “Keep out. Danger.” And she felt that all was well.

Early the next morning, therefore, she took her departure, and Aggie and I began our vigil. Only a day or so ago I found my notes, as I had kept them.

“Monday, Aug. 3rd: S. waited inside the cabin until Susie got off the roof and departed. Then she gathered firewood, but it was green and would not burn. Cried a bit. Made fire at last. Put coffee on and opened can of beans. Coffeepot upset and coffee spilled. Got more water for coffee from creek. Beans burned while doing so. Gave up, kicked coffeepot and upset it. Has had nothing so far all day. On Susie appearing again, ran into cabin.

“Tuesday: Tried to wash some clothes in creek. Lost soap, as it floated away. Followed it for a time, then gave up in despair. Imagine it is only soap she has. Large moose around cabin today. Wonder if Tish thought of this possibility? She has given up trying to build fire and is eating cold beans out of tin cans. Evidently loathes them, but needs nourishment.

“Wednesday: She has been trying to gather firewood for cabin, as nights are cold. Dropped a piece on her foot and sat down and cried. More beans. In intervals between Susie has been carrying leaves into cabin. Looks pretty dreadful. Hair all out of curl and face black with smoke. Stopped gathering leaves today to shake her fist at mountains.

“Later: In desperation, at 3
P. M.
made attempt to escape. Filled pockets with cans of beans, looking at them with hatred, and got hat and coat. I was obliged to rouse Susie from sleep and send her down. Think she is out of cigarettes, as Aggie saw her powdering dried leaves and rolling them in paper.”

W
HEN WE GOT BACK
that evening Tish was in camp. She stated that Mr. Armstrong was on the way, and that he had wanted to come in the car, but she had persuaded him otherwise.

“If he is to rescue her,” she said, “it should be done gallantly. And this is his one chance to assert his superiority. He should dash in and, more or less, throw her over his saddle and gallop away.”

I regret to say that here Aggie laughed. Tish looked at her coldly.

“You think it funny?” she inquired. “With two young lives to make or break, you can laugh?”

Aggie sobered at once, and we made our reports. Tish seemed satisfied, and in the glow of her approval we sat about preparing the evening meal. It was after we had eaten that an incident occurred which had an important bearing on the next event. Susie had come in and was looking for scraps, and as she got in the way Aggie struck her sharply on the nose.
But it was not Susie.
It reared up to an enormous height, and we then saw that it was a silvertip, or grizzly, the most dangerous of all bears.

However, our dear Tish is always reliable in an emergency. While it was still standing, waving its paws and growling, she hurriedly took the top off the pepperbox and flung several handfuls of pepper toward it. It at once began to sneeze and soon beat a retreat, but our poor Aggie also inhaled some and was in great distress for several hours.

It was late that night when Mr. Armstrong got in, and I don’t know when I’ve seen a man look so unhappy. The way he glared at his horse when he had crawled off it was simply poisonous.

“Aren’t you going to unsaddle him?” Tish asked.

“No,” he said bitterly. “Let him sleep in his clothes. I do.”

“Sit down and you’ll feel better.”

“Sit?” he said. “Sit! I don’t wish to be indelicate, ladies, but to the best of my knowledge and belief my sitting days are over.” He then looked about him, and sighed. “But if you have a nice hollow somewhere handy for my right hipbone, I’ll lie down.”

Well, he looked terrible. I don’t know when he had shaved, and the orange fur of his chaps was simply filled with burrs. Also, he said that he felt itchy all over and that he was liable to poison ivy.

“But it may only be hives again,” he observed gloomily. “I’ve had them off and on, or rather in and out, for a week.”

He was more cheerful after we’d made him some coffee. He said that if he had the luck to get home with his sanity intact the only horse he would ride hereafter would plug into a lamp socket, and at last he asked about Suzanne. He listened intently while we told him.

“And no rangers?” he asked wonderingly. “No ukulele and no Dipper? Are you sure you got the right girl?”

When we reassured him he drew a long breath. “Ladies,” he said, “you have worked a miracle. And beans? You said beans? She hates ’em. She always did. And they’re starchy too. She doesn’t eat starches.”

And then at last he lay back and laughed, for the first time since we had known him. He was quite nice when he laughed. He had good teeth and he really looked very boyish.

“Now let me get this,” he said. “All I have to do is to ride in, throw her over the pommel of the saddle—or the cantle, I never can remember which it is—and carry her off. Is that it?”

“You’ll have to carry her off
from
something,” Tish observed.

“You bet your sweet life I will,” he said heartily. “From rangers and cowboys and all the male sons of guns who have turned her pretty little head out here.”

“You’ll have to rescue her.”

“Rescue’s my middle name.” He lay still and looked up at the sky. “You see,” he said, “she’s all right, back home. She’s more than that; she’s wonderful. And I had her, all right. No Dipper business either. I never could find the damned thing in the sky. It’s only this summer—”

His voice trailed off, and Aggie, who always loves a lover, put a blanket over him as he slept.

While I worked over his chaps that night, combing them and removing the dead leaves, small twigs, burrs, and certain insects which he had picked up, Tish at last told us of her plan. On the following night, from the hillside, we were to fire a number of shots, being careful to shoot into the air. Then, in the midst of what must appear to be a deadly attack, Mr. Armstrong was to ride to the rescue.

“He ought to be able to do that,” she said. “Even a man in the bond business should be able to ride a hundred yards. But he must shave and have a haircut. I can cut his hair; I used to do Charlie Sands’ when he was small.”

Naturally, she emphasized the need of haste. Nobody could tell when some ranger would ride in, or a tourist disregard the sign and discover Suzanne. We retired at last, although I have reason to believe that Tish made a final excursion that night, scattering marshmallows around the cabin as well as on the roof, and that to this may be laid certain of our later difficulties.

Unfortunately, when Mr. Armstrong wakened the next morning it was evident that the attack would have to be delayed. Poison ivy or hives, both his eyes were swollen almost shut; after retiring into the woods, he returned to say that his entire body was in a similar condition. He had even lost interest in Suzanne, and as he felt better in water, he spent a part of the day immersed in the creek.

Tish carried his lunch there, and placed it on a boulder at a distance. She said he was quite pathetic, and that even if Suzanne wandered so far—which was unlikely—she would never recognize him. Also, that he was almost frozen as the water came from a glacier above.

The delay was trying, but by the next day, Aggie having made him starch poultices for the worst spots, he was much better.

We made a reconnaissance that day, and my notes are as follows:

“Friday: She has apparently taken a dislike to the cabin, and has spent most of the day in her car, with doors and windows closed. So far as observable has eaten nothing all day, nor built a fire. Through glasses her expression is desperate. Advise immediate action.”

As a result, the attack was set for that night, and we spent the remainder of the day in grooming Mr. Armstrong. Fortunately, Tish found a pair of clippers in her odds-and-ends box and was able to give him an excellent western haircut, running the clippers well up the back of his head and over his ears and leaving a heavy thatch above. This so changed his appearance that when she gave him the mirror he almost dropped it.

He did not seem very pleased, observing that his hair grew slowly and that it was all right to be thorough, but not too damned thorough. And when he found that his hat was now slightly too large for him he seemed even more upset.

“Well,” he said, “thank God I’ve got ears. If I hadn’t I’d have to wear it around my neck and cut eyeholes in the crown. However—”

By nightfall everything was ready, and we moved in single file to the brow of the hill. All was still below, and a young moon bathed the landscape in faint beauty. But all was not well with us. As we approached the edge Mr. Armstrong’s horse gave undeniable signs of being nervous, and Mr. Armstrong himself was undoubtedly uneasy.

“See here,” he said, “why can’t I simply run down after the shooting and save her? What do I need a horse for? I’ve about as much chance of carrying her off on the cantle—”

“Pommel,” Tish corrected him.

“On the pommel, as I have of growing an extra pair of legs. Not that I couldn’t use ’em if I had them. It would take a fellow with four legs to sit this beast.”

But Tish was insistent, and he was finally able to mount. None of us, I fear, had the faintest idea of what was to come, but we had no more than fired the first volley when the horse bolted at a terrific rate. Luckily, if there can be any luck in such a situation, it headed directly down the hillside and toward the cabin, and Tish directed us to hold our fire and to listen. So far as we could tell, however, it did not pause at the cabin, or even hesitate, and we were left to face a dire and ignominious failure.

It was not until we had waited for some hours, and neither Mr. Armstrong nor the horse had returned, that our brave Tish decided to make an investigation, creeping down the hillside, she disappeared from our sight.

We did not see her again for many hours!