Joan of Arc of the North Woods, Holman Day [accelerated reader books txt] 📗

she was, she was on the train. But there were stations between the junction and Adonia--not villages, but the mouths of roads which led far into remote regions where a green toque could not be traced readily. He acutely desired to inform himself regarding the face under that hat. But he had made possession the full ten points of his law, sitting on that load of dynamite. What if he should allow that train crew an opening and give Echford Flagg complete confirmation of the report that his drive master was a sapgag with women?
After the intenseness of the thrill died out of him he smiled at the idea that a chance meeting in New York could be followed up in this fashion in the north country. At any rate, he had something with which to busy his thoughts during the slow drag of the train up to Adonia, and he was able to forget in some measure that he was sitting on dynamite and would face even more menacing explosives of another kind when the drive was on its way.
He posted himself in the side door of the car when the train rolled along beside the platform at Adonia. He had ordered men of the Flagg outfit to be at the station with sleds, waiting for the train; they were on hand, and he shouted to them, commanding them to load the boxes and start north.
There was a man displaying a badge on the platform--a deputy sheriff who had his eye out for bootleggers headed toward the driving crews; the conductor ran to the officer and reported that Latisan had broken the law relating to the transportation of explosives; the trainman proposed to shift the responsibility, anticipating that the sheriff might give official attention to the cargo.
Just then Latisan spied the green toque; the face was concealed because the head was bowed to enable the toque's wearer to pick her way down the steps of the coach.
The drive master leaped from the door of the car and his men scrambled past him to enter.
"About that dynamite----"
Latisan elbowed aside the questioning sheriff, and looked straight past the officer. "If you go after me on that point you'll have to go after Craig and the Three C's, too--and I'll put the thing up to the county attorney myself. Right now I'm busy."
The men were lugging out the boxes. "If anybody gets in your way, boys, drop a box on his toes," he shouted, starting up the platform.
"Leave it to us, Mr. Latisan," bawled one of the crew.
The drive master had his eyes on the girl who was walking ahead of him. He could hardly believe that the voicing of his name attracted her attention. She did not know his name! But she stopped and whirled about and stared at him.
It was surely the girl of the cafeteria!
She plainly shared Latisan's amazement, but there was in her demeanor something more than the frank astonishment which was actuating him.
He pulled off his cap and hurried to her and put out his hand. "I saw you--I mean I saw your hat. I thought it might be you--but I looked for you in New York--for that hat----" He knew he was making a fool of himself by his excitement and incoherence. "I have been thinking about you----" He was able to check himself, for her eyes were showing surprise of another sort. Her manner suggested to Latisan that she, at any rate, had not been thinking especially about him during the months. She had recovered her composure.
"It is not surprising about the hat, Mr.--I believe I heard somebody call your name--Mr. Latisan?" There was an inflection of polite query, and he bowed. "My sarcastic friends are very explicit about this hat serving as my identifier."
"I didn't mean it that way. I don't know anything about girls' hats. But to see you away up here----"
She forced a flicker of a smile.
"It seems quite natural to find you here in the woods, though I believe you did tell me that your home is over Tomah way."
He was not able to understand the strange expression on her countenance. And she, on her part, was not able to look at him with complete composure; she remembered the character given to this man by Craig, and she had ventured to give him something else in her report--the swagger of a _roue_ and a black mustache!
There was an awkward moment and he put his cap back on his head. He looked about as if wondering if she expected friends. He had treasured every word of hers in the cafeteria. She had spoken of the woods as if her home had been there at one time.
"I'm not expecting anybody to meet me--here--to-day," she informed him, understanding his side glances. She was showing incertitude, uneasiness--as if she were slipping back into a former mood after the prick of her surprise. "There's a hotel here, I suppose."
He took her traveling case from her hand, muttering a proffer to assist her. They walked away together. For the second time the loafers at Adonia saw Latisan escorting a strange woman along the street, and this one, also, was patently from the city, in spite of her modest attire.
"Seems to be doing quite a wholesale business, importing dynamite and wimmen," observed a cynic.
"According to the stories in Tomah, he has put in quite a lot of time looking over the market in regard to that last-named," agreed another detractor.
"And when Eck Flagg gets the news I'd rather take my chances with the dynamite than with the wimmen," stated the cynic.
"I guess I talked to you like an idiot at first," said Latisan, when he and his companion were apart from the persons on the station platform. "I'm getting control of my surprise. I remember you told me you were homesick for the woods. That's why you're up here, I suppose."
"It's one reason, Mr. Latisan."
"I'm sorry it isn't a better time of year. I'd like to--to--If you aren't going to be tied up too much with friends, I could show you around a little. But right now I'm tied up, myself. I'm drive master for Echford Flagg--you remember about speaking of him."
"Yes; but I shall not trouble Mr. Flagg," she hastened to say. "He will not be interested in me simply on account of my friends. You are very busy on the drive, are you?" she questioned, earnestly.
"Oh yes. I've got to start for headwaters in the morning." There was doleful regret in his tones.
He was rather surprised to find so much pleased animation in her face; truly, this girl from the city acted as if she were delighted by the news of his going away; she even seemed to be confessing it. "I'm glad!" she cried. Then she smoothed matters after a glance at his grieved and puzzled face. "I'm glad to hear a man say that he's devoted to his work. So many these days don't seem to take any interest in what they're doing--they only talk wages. Yours must be a wonderful work--on the river--the excitement and all!"
"Yes," he admitted, without enthusiasm.
The street was muddy and they went slowly; he hung back as if he wanted to drag out the moments of their new companionship.
He cast about for a topic; he did not feel like expatiating on the prospects ahead of him in his work. "If you're going to make much of a stop here----"
She did not take advantage of his pause; he hoped she would indicate the proposed length of her stay, and he was worrying himself into a panic for fear she would not be in Adonia on his next visit to report to Flagg.
"I wish we had a better hotel here, so that you'd stay all contented for a time--and--and enjoy the country hereabouts."
"Isn't the hotel a fit place for a woman who is unaccompanied?"
"Oh, that isn't it! It's the slack way Brophy runs it. The help question! Martin does the best he knows how, but he finds it hard to keep table girls here in the woods. Has to keep falling back on his nephew, and the nephew isn't interested in the waiter job. Wants to follow his regular line."
"And what's that?" she asked, holding to a safe topic.
"Running Dave's stable. Nephew says the horses can't talk back."
She stopped and faced him. "Do you think the landlord would hire me as a waitress?" She had come to Adonia in haste, leaving her plans to hazard. Now she was obeying sudden inspiration.
If she had slapped him across the face she could not have provoked more astonishment and dismay than his countenance showed.
"I have done much waiting at tables." She grimly reflected on the cafes where she had sought the most for her money. "I'm not ashamed to confess it."
He stammered before he was able to control his voice. "It isn't that. You ought to be proud to work. I mean I'm glad--no, what I mean is I don't understand why--why----"
"Why I have come away up here for such a job?"
"I haven't the grit to ask any questions of you!" he confessed, plaintively, his memory poignant on that point.
The stout "drummer" had been trailing them from the station. When they halted he passed them slowly, staring wide-eyed at the girl, asking her amazed questions with his gaze. She flung the Vose-Mern operative a look of real fury; she had come north in a fighting mood.
"I have left the city to escape just such men as that--men who aren't willing to let a girl have a square chance. I lost my last position because I slapped a cheap insulter's face in a hotel dining hall." She looked over Latisan's head when she twisted the truth. "I came north, to the woods, just as far as that railroad would take me. I hate a city!" Then she looked straight at him, and there was a ring of sincerity in her tone. "I'm glad to be where those are!" She pointed to the trees which thatched the slopes of the hills.
"You're speaking of friends of mine!"
They had stopped, facing each other. Crowley, lashed by looks from the girl and Latisan, had hurried on toward the tavern.
Lida knew that the drive master was having hard work to digest the information she had given him.
"They are standing up straight and are honest old chaps," he went on. He was looking into her eyes and his calm voice had a musing tone. "I like to call them my friends."
He was trying hard to down the queer notions that were popping up. He would not admit that he was suspecting this girl of deceit. But she was so manifestly not what she claimed that she was! Still, there were reverses that might----
"I am alone in a strange land--nobody to back my word about myself. I must call on a reliable witness. You know the witness." She put up her hand and touched her hat. Then came laughter--first from her and then from Latisan--to relieve the situation. "You saw me wearing it more than six months ago. What better proof of my humble position in life do you want?"
"I don't dare to tell you what you ought to be, Miss----"
"Patsy Jones," she returned, glibly; his quest for her name could not be disregarded.
"But what you are right now is good enough because it's honest work."
"Do you think I can get the job?"
"I am a witness of Martin Brophy's standing offer to give one thousand dollars for a table girl who won't get homesick or get married."
"Take me in and collect the reward, Mr. Latisan. I'm a safe proposition, both ways."
"I hope