The House of the Black Ring: A Romance of the Seven Mountains

Chapter IX: The Fire on Cherry Creek

chapter iX the fire on cherry creek the “saplin’-bender” was followed by a week of perfect weather. It was unseasonably warm. The yellow mud, half-spoke-deep on the back roads, began to harden into brick-like welts and ragged pits and ruts; the wheat fields had emerged from the snow a livid green, most intense as viewed against the dun corn lands,and the usual spring fires, the bane of the Seven Mountains, were beginning to creep here and there on the ridges and to throw over the landscape a gauze of smoke that blurred all outlines. It was Sunday afternoon, and a silence like that of the Indian summer lay on the valley. The sun, a rim of old brass, hung lustreless over the smudge that was Roaring Run, and a cozy twilight was creeping on, even with the sun full in sight. Whether it was the spring day, or whether it was the memory of the Sabbath before when he had tried his best to propose and had been managed out of it, something, it was evident, had stirred Karl Keichline mightily. As he had ridden up the Run that morning there had been desperation in his heart. He would settle it before he ever went back again. He had tried the gradual approach long enough; he would be abrupt now and stormy. He would make a sudden dash, and demand yes or no without alternative. the house of the black ring { 100 } The day,however,had passed without progress.She had not evaded him; on the contrary, she had been with him even more than usual; but somehow there had been no chance. It had not seemed her fault. There had been sudden accidents and interruptions and intrusions until it had seemed as if Fate itself were against him. And all day the fever in his heart had burned higher. He had never seen her so joyous and irresistible , and sweetly feminine; she had awed him, and thrilled him, and captivated him until he was intoxicated and helpless. But every man has his chance. Suddenly he saw Rose make a dash across the garden toward the cherry trees. Her cat had caught a robin. “Here, Dick! Here, here, here!” she was calling excitedly. He leaped from the porch and together they succeeded in cornering the cat in a nook beyond the trees. It made an attempt to get through the chickenwire fence, then dropped the bird, and dashed by them. The robin lay still a moment, but as they approached, it fluttered into a shrub. “Oh, do you think it’s hurt?” she asked eagerly. “Not a bit. It’s only scared,” he responded with conviction. “But just see how the poor little thing shakes. Just see how he’s rumpled up.” There was a pathetic quiver in her voice. “He’s only frightened, that’s all. He’s all right. But, Rose,”—he changed his tone abruptly,—“I want you to marry me. Will you, Rose?” She gave him a swift, startled look, then sidled hastily toward the shrub. “Oh, see, his wing must be broken. Just see how it hangs down. Oh, see!” “No, it isn’t. See him fly? But will you marry me, Rose? Say, will you?” He came close to her. There was a tragic, do-or-die look in his face. “Oh, my dishes ’ll get stone-cold. I must go right back.” She started off decisively, but he kept close to her almost desperately. “But your answer,—will you marry me?” “Why, what a question!” “Yes or no, will you marry me?” he repeated doggedly. “No.” “You don’t mean it, Rose. You can’t. Say, will you, Rose? You will, won’t you?” He came nearer. Somehow she had no desire to laugh now: the affair was becoming dangerous. “But why? Why should I want to marry anybody?” She looked him full in the eyes. the fire on cherry creek { 101 } In the Dutch belt of Pennsylvania maidens are taught that their hearts are shaped very much like a purse, and that love awakes in its true ecstasy only at the sight of the substantial things readily convertible at the county bank. The rural swain, therefore, seldom advances the flimsy logic,“I love you, and therefore you should wed me,” but he advances boldly with the more convincing argument,“I have fifty acres and a...