jessamy selden finished washing and drying the supper dishes. then she hurried to her room and slipped into a red-silk dress, by no means out of date, silk stockings, and high-heeled pumps with large shell buckles. a few deft pats and her rich hair suited her, and the red rose glowed against the black distractingly. she spun round and round before the mirror of her plain little dresser, one set of knuckles at her waist, like a spanish dancer, her face trained over her shoulder at her reflection in the glass. there was a mischievous gleam in her jetty eyes as she reached the conclusion that she was all right. just a hint of heightened colour showed in her cheeks when she started for the living room.
old man selden had not yet returned with the guest of the house. the trace of a pucker of disappointment came between her eyes, then she was serene again as she lighted coal-oil lamps and sat down with a book. she was alone in the great rough-walled room, like a gorgeous flower in a weather-beaten box. her mother was dressing—one dressed after dinner instead of for dinner in the house of selden. bolar and moffat presumably had gone to sit and look at their saddles while daylight lasted, since coming night forbade them to mount and ride.
minutes passed. jessamy stared at the open book in her hands, but had not read a word. why was old man selden keeping their guest out there in the night? a girlish pout which might have surprised oliver drew, had he seen it, puckered her lips. the girl looked down at her red-silk dress and the natty buckles on her french-heel pumps, and the pout grew more pronounced.
she went out doors, but no sound came to her save the intimate night sounds of the wilderness.
"darn the luck!" she cried in exasperation, her serenity for once completely unavailing.
five minutes later she stepped from the gorgeous dress with a sigh of resignation. she kicked off the pumps and pulled on her morocco-top riding boots. she donned shirt and riding skirt, and slipped out by her own door into the young night.
cautiously she approached the stables and corrals, but found nobody. lights gleamed in the windows of hurlock's and winthrop's cabins, and from the latter came the doleful strains of bolar's accordion. she doubted if selden and oliver were in either of these houses.
she walked up the hill toward the spring, and presently heard the bass boom of old man selden's voice.
a little later, flat on the ground, she was wriggling her way through tall ferns toward two indistinct figures seated on a fallen pine. like an indian she crept on silently, till by and by she lay quite still, close enough to hear every word that passed between the men who sat in front of her. and her conscience seemed not to trouble her at all.
it had been practicable to come to a pause at some little distance from the two, for their voices carried a long way through the tranquil wilderness night. behind her and up the hill the frogs were croaking at the spring. their horse-fiddling ceased abruptly, as if they had been suddenly disturbed, and it was not immediately continued. trained to read a meaning in nature's signs, she wondered at this; then presently she heard a stealthy step between her and the spring.
lifting her head and shoulders above the fronded plants, she saw a dark, crouched shape approaching warily. some one had walked past the spring and disturbed the croaking choir. she ducked low and waited breathlessly, hoping that this second would-be eavesdropper, whoever he might be, would not come upon her engaged in a like pursuit. at the same time she was trying to hear what selden was saying to oliver drew.
it seemed from old adam's slightly hesitating manner that he was as yet not well launched on the subject that had caused him to pilot oliver to this lonely spot. he said:
"i reckon they told ye ye wouldn't be welcome down on the old ivison place. didn't some of 'em say, now, that a gang called the poison oakers might try to drive ye out?—if i'm not too bold in askin'."
"yes," said the voice of oliver drew.
"uh-huh! i thought as much. well, mr. drew, ye got to make allowances for ol'-timers in the hills. we get set in our ways, as the fella says; and i reckon we don't like outsiders to come in any too well.
"but anybody with any savvy oughta know its different in a case like yours. why, what little feed we'd get offen your little piece, if you wasn't there, wouldn't amount to the price of a saddle string. it was plumb loco for any one to tell ye we'd raise a rumpus 'bout ye bein' down there."
"i thought about the same," observed oliver drew quietly.
there came a distinct pause in the dialogue. once more jessamy straightened her arms and pushed head and shoulders above the ferns. the person who had disturbed the frogs was nowhere to be seen. he too, perhaps, had taken up a lizardlike progress through the ferns, and was now listening to all that was being said by oliver and selden.
she flattened herself again, and held one hand behind her ear to catch every word.
"yes, sir, plumb loco," old man selden reiterated. "and they ain't no reason on earth why you and us can't be the best o' friends. that's what we oughta be, seein' we're pretty near neighbours."
"i'm sure i'm perfectly willing to be friendly, mr. selden."
"course ye are. just so! an' so are we. and listen here, mr. drew: don't ye put too much stock in that there poison oaker racket."
"i don't know that i understand that."
"well," drawled selden, "they ain't any such thing as a poison oaker gang. that there's all hot air. it's true that obed pence and jay muenster and buchanan and allegan and foss run what cows they got with ourn, and they're pretty good friends o' my boys an' me. but as fer us bein' a gang—why, they's nothin' to it. nothin' to it a-tall! just because we use a poison-oak leaf for our brand—why, that's what got 'em to callin' us the poison oakers. and when anything mean is done in this country, why, they gotta hang it onto somebody—and as a lot of 'em don't like me and my friends, why, they hang it onto us and call us the poison oakers. now that there ain't right and just, is it, mr. drew?"
"when you put it that way," oliver evaded, "i should say that it is not."
"no, sir, it ain't—not a-tall! an' i'm glad ye understand and ain't got no hard feelin's."
there was another long pause. fragrant tobacco smoke floated to jessamy's nostrils.
"if i ain't too bold in askin', mr. drew—what was ol' damon tamroy fillin' yer ear with about me today?"
"he was telling me how old dad sloan had spoken of your having once danced the fire dance."
"uh-huh! just so! some o' my friends overheard old dad spoutin' about it after i'd hit the feathers. well, i don't reckon i care any. it's nothin' to try to hide. was that all tamroy had to say?"
jessamy could imagine on oliver drew's lips the grave, half-whimsical smile that she had seen twitching them so often. she waited eagerly for his reply.
"i think that the subject you mention is all that he talked to me about," it came at last.
"just so! just so!" muttered selden. "but didn't he say as how others had danced the fire dance besides me and you?"
"yes, he mentioned others."
"just so! and who, now—if i ain't too bold in askin'."
"let me see," said oliver after a pause. "some other man's name was mentioned. a short name, if i remember correctly."
"uh-huh! plumb forget her, eh?"
"it seems to me it was smeed, or something like that. yes—dan smeed."
silence. again tobacco smoke was wafted over the ferns.
"dan smeed, eh?" ruminated selden finally. "mr. drew, did ye ever hear that name before damon tamroy said it to ye?"
another thoughtful intermission; then—
"yes, i had heard it before."
"just so! just so! and if i ain't too bold in askin'—just where, mr. drew?"
"why, i heard it first from old dad sloan himself. miss selden and i rode over to his cabin one morning, and we got him to talking of the days of 'forty-nine. he can be quite interesting when he doesn't wander."
"uh-huh! and ye say ye heard the name dan smeed over to old dad sloan's fer the first time?"
"yes, sir."
"the first time in yer life, mr. drew?"
"yes. i had never heard of it until then."
a short, low snort from selden. jessamy knew it well. it signified: "i don't believe you!"
said selden presently: "well, then, i'm gonta put another question to ye, mr. drew. i don't want ye to think i'm tryin' to butt in, as the fella says. but s'long's tamroy was talkin' about me, i reckon it's right an' just that i should be interested. now, what did tamroy tell ye old dad sloan had to say 'bout this here dan smeed and me?"
"he said that you and dan smeed were one time partners."
"oh! uh-huh! just so! partners, eh? and was that the first time ye ever heard that, mr. drew?"
"yes, the first time," said oliver patiently.
again that peculiar little snort of selden.
"how ye gettin' along down to the old ivison place, mr. drew?" was selden's abrupt shift of the conversation.
"oh, my garden is fine. and i have two colonies of bees storing up honey for me. besides, i've located another colony up in the hills, and will get them as soon as i can get around to it."
"but ye can't live on garden truck an' honey!"
"i suppose i should have some locusts to go along with them," laughed oliver; but his flight was lost on old man selden. "you forget, though," the speaker added, "that i am writing for farm journals. i've sold three little articles since i settled down there. i'll get along, if my luck holds out."
"oh, yes—ye'll get along. i ain't worryin' 'bout that. i'll bet ye could draw a check right this minute that'd pay fer every acre o' land 'tween here an' calamity gap."
"i'll bet i couldn't!" oliver positively denied.
old man selden chuckled craftily. "ye're pretty foxy, mr. drew—pretty foxy!" he had lowered his deep tones until jessamy could barely distinguish words. "yes, sir—mighty foxy! a garden an' bees an' writin' for a story paper, eh? oh, ye'll get along. i'll tell a man ye'll get along!"
"i really have no other source of revenue, mr. selden."
"just so! i understand. well, mr. drew, maybe i been a mite too bold; but i'll step in another inch or two and say this: when ye need any help down there on the old ivison place, just send word to dan smeed's partner. d'ye understand?"
"i thank you, i'm sure," oliver told him dryly. "but really i don't think i'll need any help. my garden is so small that—"
"just so! still, ye never can tell when a foxy fella like you'll need help. and dan smeed's partner'll be always ready to help. just remember that."
"help with what?" asked oliver testingly.
"in watchin' the dead," was selden's surprising answer, spoken in a crafty half-whisper.
"in watching the dead!" cried his listener. "why, i—"
"le's go in to the womenfolks now," interrupted selden. "and keep thinkin' over this, mr. drew. always ready to help—d'ye savvy? and don't ye pay no attention to that there supposed gang that they call the poison oakers. they ain't no such gang. but if anybody does try to bother ye, tell me. get me? tell dan smeed's partner. he'll help ye watch the dead."
"you're talking in riddles," oliver snorted. "i don't understand—"
"oh, yes, ye do! ye savvy, all right. ye're foxy, mr. drew. i'll say no more just now. but when ye need my help...."
their voices trailed off.
once again the girl's supple body rose from the hips, and she searched the ferns on every side. for several minutes she lay quite still in the same position. then, perhaps fifty feet on her left, a head rose above the tall fronds, and then a body followed it. next instant a dark figure was hurrying back toward the spring.
jessamy waited until sight and sound of it were no more, then rose and ran with all her might toward the house.
she slipped in at her private door, hustled out of her clothes, and began donning her gorgeous red dress again.
"so old man selden always shoots straight from the shoulder, eh?" she muttered. "piffle! when he wants to be he's a regular barkis-is-willin'!"
in the midst of her dressing her mother tapped.
"jessamy, where have you been?" she asked. "mr. selden and mr. drew are in the living room now. i've knocked twice, but you didn't answer."
"i was outdoors," jessamy replied. "i'm dressing now. i'll be right out."
and a minute or two later oliver drew gasped and his blue eyes grew wide as a silk-garbed figure, with a red rose in her raven hair, glided toward him.
yea, even as the girl in red had planned that he should gasp!
