The Right Thing
The girl stood quiet in the cabin doorway looking out at thebrilliant, frosty night. Over Sugar Loaf the cold, glittering moonshone full; the big fir on its summit stood stark and black againstthe vivid blue of the star-studded sky behind, like a giant sentinelwatching over the silent valley.
Below her, at the bottom of the little pass, the winding trail withits single strand of telephone wire beside it, showed plainly in themoonlight. Up the mountain a wolf began howling. The girl turned backinto the cabin abruptly and closed the door behind her.
The supper she had been preparing was almost ready. The little boardtable near the fireplace was set for one; over in a corner from alarge, wood-burning stove came the odor of steaming coffee.
The girl put a lighted kerosene lamp upon the table and served herselfwith a single plateful of food from the frying-pan. Once she stoodstill, listening, but only the muffled noise of the brook and the lonewolf baying broke the silence. For a brief instant her glance restedon the telephone instrument fastened to the wall beside the fireplace;then, as though reassured, she sat down and began her solitary meal.
A knock upon the door made her leap to her feet and stand for aninstant trembling. She put her hand into the pocket of her ginghamapron, her fingers gripping a little revolver that lay there. Theknock was repeated. The girl withdrew her hand—empty—and with atrembling smile that seemed to belittle her fear, she crossed the roomswiftly and flung open the door.
A man stood on the threshold—a slim young man in a short heavy coat,blue flannel shirt, corduroy trousers, and neat, incongruous leatherputtees. He was bareheaded. He stood wavering with a hand against thedoorway to steady himself, all his weight on one foot and the toe ofthe other just touching the ground.
“You!” cried the girl. Her tone held amazement, but it was tender,too, with love. Then as she saw the pallor of his face in thelamplight, and his lips pressed together in a thin straight line ofpain, she cried again:
“Tom, you’re hurt!”
Her arms went around him, and leaning heavily on her, he hobbledacross the room. The pain made him moan, and he sank back in the chairand closed his eyes. The girl knelt on the floor beside him, and begangently to unstrap one of his puttees. After a moment he seemed torecover a little. He sat up and wiped the sweat of weakness from hisforehead with his coat sleeve.
“I know I shouldn’t have stopped, Beth, but I—I knew you were alonetonight.” For an instant the drawn lines of pain left his face; hiseyes looked into the girl’s tenderly.
Beth looked up into his face, brushing back a wisp of hair that hadfallen forward over her eyes. That he had come here frightened her.But she was glad that he had come, and the sight of his pale face withthe look of pain on it made her eyes fill with tears of love andsympathy.
“What happened, Tom?” she asked.
The boy shook himself together. “I wouldn’t have stopped, honest,Beth—only my horse threw me—a mile back toward Rocky Gulch.” He wincedas the girl withdrew the puttee and began unlacing his shoe.
“Only sprained, I guess,” he added. “But it hurts like the devil—andI’m bruised all over from the fall.” He laughed a little in boyishapology for showing his pain to a girl.
“It was about an hour ago. I wasn’t going to stop—I wanted to get toVailstown tonight. The