CHAPTER VI.
THE HIDDEN HOME.
Away through the dark wood and down the mountain defile, the ranger dashed with his precious burden.
Silvia uttered no word of fear, no cry of pain. She had caught a glimpse of the ranger’s noble, handsome face as he lifted her from the ground in the Indian encampment, and, as if by magic, her heart became inspired with confidence in him.
“Fear not, Miss Sanford,” the stranger breathed in her ear when they had fairly cleared the Indian encampment; “you are safe with a friend.”
“A friend—a noble, daring friend, yet a stranger that knows my name,” replied Silvia, in a voice slightly agitated.
“That’s true, Miss Sanford; but I learned your name from your father.”
“Father!” exclaimed the maiden. “Oh, where and when did you see my father?”
“I saw him less than twenty-fours ago, but many miles from here. He was in search of you.”
“Thank Heaven!” breathed the maiden; “but who am I indebted to for my rescue and the information?”
“My name is Rodger Rainbolt; I am a ranger, a rude, rough man of the plains.”
“Your bravery and unselfishness, Mr. Rainbolt, are nobler virtues than the cultivated politeness of refinement.”
“You flatter me, Miss Sanford, and I hope it is rightfully bestowed,” was the reply, and then both became silent for a time.
Presently they emerged from the dark forest into an open and level plain, through which wound a little stream like a silver thread. All around it arose a dark belt of wooded hills like a beautiful landscape set in a rusty frame.
Away to the north could be heard the roar of falling water.
The blue mist that hung over the mountain at the beginning of night had cleared away from the face of the sky, and the great round moon looked out in all its queenly splendor, lighting up the little valley with a soft, dreamy light.
Halting on the summit of a little knoll overlooking the plain, the ranger lifted Silvia to the ground, and then, dismounting himself, stood by her side.
“We rest here,” he said. “Look yonder, and tell me what you see.”
“I can see a broad, silvery surface, resembling a tiny lake, sleeping there, just where the black wood begins.”
“It is not a lake, Miss Sanford, but a broad sheet of water falling over a high, jutting rock, in which is my cavern home—my castle.”
Silvia felt a chill creep over her frame as she thought: “What if he is a robber, or an escaped criminal—a base villain, leading me into his lair; but no; it can not be possible that an evil heart lies concealed behind that noble, handsome face. He has saved me from the tortures of Indian captivity, or perhaps a worse fate, and I will not entertain, for a moment, one disrespectful thought of him.
“I should think you would get lonesome here, Mr. Rainbolt,” she finally said.
“That may all be,” he replied, gravely. “But I can do no better, and I offer you the hospitality of my secluded home—that is, if you have no scruples of going there alone with me.”
“Why should I, Mr. Rainbolt, when to you I owe my life? I feel perfectly free—yes, proud, to trust your honesty, manhood and protection.”
“I sincerely hope you will never have cause to feel other wise, though, were there any settlements or residences within forty miles, I would take you there at once. But there is none nearer than those on Laramie plains, fifty miles distant.”
“But should you take me there, I would not, in all probability, meet father for a long time.”
“That’s true, Miss Sanford; but would you prefer riding to walking across this plain to the creek?”
“No, I had rather walk, as I am much fatigued with riding, already.”
“Then I will turn my horse to pasture here,” said the ranger, removing the saddle and bridle from the animal, which at once began cropping the rich, succulent grass.
Having removed the capacious saddle-bags from the saddle, he concealed the caparisons in a small cavity in the knoll on which they were standing, and then, slinging the saddle-bags across his shoulder, he took Silvia’s hand and set off across the little valley.
It was only a few moments’ walk, and when the stream was reached the ranger drew a small canoe from under some drooping willows, and launched it. In a moment he was seated therein, with his fair companion, and taking up the paddle, drove the little craft out into the middle of the stream; then turned and moved up its course.
So swift, so easily did the canoe glide over the rippling waters, that Silvia, for a moment, forgot the surrounding danger, and conversed with her handsome rescuer with a real sense of joy and admiration.
Presently the sullen roar of falling waters reached their ears.
“It is the Crystal Falls, Miss Sanford, that you hear,” said the ranger; “we will soon be there.”
In a few moments more the falls burst upon their view like a great silver curtain suspended against a black wall.
In the rock, over which the waters fell like a great apron, was the ranger’s secret home, the water concealing from view the entrance, which could only be reached by passing through the descending torrent.
“Behind that wall of water, Miss Sanford, is my home, and to reach it we must pass through the descending sheet; and as it will be pitchy dark beyond, and the windings of the cavern are difficult to follow, I had better go in alone, light a torch, and return to you. You can wait there upon that rock, can you not?”
“Oh, certainly,” replied Silvia, springing to her feet.
Alongside the canoe was a rock, some three feet across, and projecting several inches above the surface of the stream. Upon this Silvia stepped to await the ranger’s return. He took up the paddle and drove the canoe forward, and when he had disappeared in the mist and spray, a feeling akin to terror crept over the maiden. But she could only wait—listen to the roar of the falls and the black waters chafing the rock on which she stood. And as she lifted her eyes and followed the dark summit of the ridge that rose up before her, what dark objects were those she saw moving athwart the clear sky?
They were savages, though Silvia did not know it.
Presently a light streamed through the mist and falling water, and looking, Silvia saw that the latter had been parted near the middle, and about ten feet above the stream by some contrivance of the ranger, and that the light was burning in the mouth of the cavern, several feet beyond.
In a moment the canoe with the ranger shot out through the opening and came alongside the rock where Silvia stood. Assisting her in as though she had been a child, the kind-hearted ranger took a gum blanket that he had brought from the cavern, and wrapped it, hood-like, over her head and shoulders, that the spray and dropping water might not drench her. He then took up the paddle and drove the canoe through the mist and vapor, between the parted waters of the falls, and as far beyond as the water had backed beneath the jutting rock.
“Here we are, Miss Sanford,” said Rainbolt, removing the blanket from Silvia’s head and shoulders.
She glanced around and above. A glaring pine torch, fixed in a niche in the wall, lit up the place. From the rim of the canoe a spiral row of stone steps led up into the great rock. Overhead the rocky ceiling was studded with countless numbers of stalactites, on the sharp points of which hung drops of water that flashed like so many diamonds. Here and there a little jet of water poured down in ribbons of foam.
“This,” said the ranger, pointing to a kind of sweep fixed upon a pivot, and reaching out like a great arm, “is what I divide the waters of the falls with, while I am passing in and out of the cavern. By allowing that end to hang down as it does, it reaches through the descending sheet of water and divides it as it now is; and then by simply lowering this end and hoisting that, thus, the waters close and flow on just as they did before.”
He took her hand and assisted her from the boat, and then, lifting the glowing torch from the wall, they began ascending the rude stone steps. The ascent required much care and time, for the stones were easily displaced and a single misstep might prove fatal; but, finally, the top was reached and a dark, capacious chamber was spread out before them. The ranger stopped and held the torch above his head.
Silvia started back with a low cry of terror, for the light flashed upon the form of a huge panther crouched at her feet.
“Fear not, Miss Sanford,” said the ranger; “he will not harm you. It is Purle, my pet panther. I should have spoken of him before and saved you this sudden affright. Ay, Purle, my pet.”
The panther sprung up and capered around its master with apparent joy.
“Oh!” suddenly exclaimed Rainbolt, while caressing the beautiful creature, “I had forgotten that my other pet, Echo, my eagle, is still out. I will conduct you to your room, Miss Sanford, and then call him in.”
They moved along the rocky chamber that resounded sepulchral with their footfalls, the panther skipping playfully before them. Presently they came to where a curtain or partition of skins was stretched from one wall to the other. Lifting one corner of it they passed beyond.
“Now,” said the ranger, with a smile of embarrassment, “you are in the kitchen of Rodger Rainbolt, your humble servant. You will not find things here, even as you would in a bachelor’s kitchen in Omaha, but men are poor housekeepers, you know.”
Silvia was surprised with the neatness of the apartment, and the order and variety of its furniture; but she said nothing, fearing that the ranger might construe her language of praise as that of unmeaning and polite compliment.
Another partition of skins hanging at right-angles with the first, separated the kitchen from another apartment into which the ranger conducted the maiden.
“This,” he said, “is my sitting-room, parlor, bedroom and library all combined. And now, pray be seated, Miss Sanford, and make yourself at home while I go and bring my eagle up. You see I think a great deal of my pets,” and, lighting a lamp that sat near, he turned and went out.
The apartment in which the young girl now found herself was far more comfortable than could have been expected under the circumstances, and was well lighted by a large lamp of stone filled with bear’s oil. In a short time the ranger returned, bringing in the eagle, and then announced his intention of preparing supper, asking Silvia to be seated until his return.
In the course of an hour he again entered, bearing in his hands a rude but ample repast, and with appetite sharpened by the long ride, they partook of, and thoroughly enjoyed the meal.
After supper was over the ranger made known to his guest the programme he had adopted for her restoration to her father, which met her hearty approval. She was to remain there until he could find her father and bring him there, or take her to where he was.
By this time the night was near, and the ranger seeing that the eyes of his guest were growing heavy for want of sleep, he arose and turning to leave the room said:
“As you are doubtless sleepy and fatigued, Miss Sanford, you can appropriate this room and that pallet of furs, such as it is, for your own sleeping apartment and retire whenever you feel so disposed.”
He bid her good night and went into the other apartment, where he constructed him a couch and laid down, his panther curled down at his feet and his eagle perched in a niche in the rocky wall.
Having offered up a fervent prayer to her Heavenly Father, Silvia sought her couch and soon she was wrapt in a sound, refreshing slumber.