Zane Grey - The Day of the Beast

“Er—yes—you see—once in a while, very seldom, just for fun,” he replied.

“How about your old weakness? Hope you've conquered that,” went on Lane, mercilessly.

The Colonel was thrown into utter confusion. And when Miss Hill turned terrible eyes upon him, poor Pepper looked as if he wanted to sink through the porch.

Lane took pity on him and carried him off to the garden and the river bank, where he became himself again.

They talked for a while, but neither mentioned the subject that had once drawn them together. For both of them a different life had begun.

A little while afterward Mel and Lane watched the bright figure and the slight dark one go up the hillside cityward.

“What do you know about that!” ejaculated Lane for the tenth time.

“Hush!” said Mel, and she touched his lips with a soft exquisite gesture.

At three o'clock one June afternoon Mel and Daren were lounging on a mossy bank that lined the shady side of a clear rapid-running brook. A canoe was pulled up on the grass below them. With an expression of utter content, Lane was leaning over the brook absorbed in the contemplation of a piece of thread which was tied to a crooked stick he held in his hand. He had gone back to his boyhood days. Just then the greatest happiness on earth was the outwitting of bright-sided minnows and golden flecked sunfish. Mel sat nearby with her lap full of flowers which she had gathered in the long grass and was now arranging. She was dressed in blue; a sunbonnet slipped back from her head; her glossy hair waved in the breeze. She looked as fresh as a violet.

“Well, Daren, we have spent four delightful, happy hours. How time flies! But it's growing late and we must go,” said Mel.

“Wait a minute or two,” replied Lane. “I'll catch this fellow. See him bite! He's cunning. He's taken my bait time and again, but I'll get him. There! See him run with the line. It's a big sunfish!”

“How do you know? You haven't seen him.”

“I can tell by the way he bites. Ha! I've got him now,” cried Lane, giving a quick jerk. There was a splash and he pulled out a squirming eel.

“Ugh! The nasty thing!” cried Mel, jumping up. Lane had flung the eel back on the bank and it just missed falling into Mel's lap. She screamed, and then when safely out of the way she laughed at the disgust in his face.

“So it was a big sunfish? My! What a disillusion! So much for a man's boastful knowledge.”

“Well, if it isn't a slimy old eel. There! be off with you; go back into the water,” said Lane, as he shook the eel free from the hook.

“Come, we must be starting.”

He pushed the canoe into the brook, helped Mel to a seat in the bow and shoved off. In some places the stream was only a few feet wide, but there was enough room and water for the light craft and it went skimming along. The brook turned through the woods and twisted through the meadows, sometimes lying cool and dark in the shade and again shining in the sunlight. Often Lane would have to duck his head to get under the alders and willows. Here in an overshadowed bend of the stream a heron rose lumbering from his weedy retreat and winged his slow flight away out of sight; a water wagtail, that cunning sentinel of the brooks, gave a startled tweet! tweet! and went flitting like a gray streak of light round the bend.

“Daren, please don't be so energetic,” said Mel, nervously.

“I'm strong as a horse now. I'm—hello! What's that?”

“I didn't hear anything.”

“I imagined I heard a laugh or shout.”

The stream was widening now as it neared its mouth. Lane was sending the canoe along swiftly with vigorous strokes. It passed under a water-gate, round a quick turn in the stream, where a bridge spanned it, and before Lane had a suspicion of anything unusual he was right upon a merry picnic party. There were young men and girls resting on the banks and several sitting on the bridge. Automobiles were parked back on the bank.

Lane swore under his breath. He recognized Margaret, Dick Swann and several other old-time acquaintances and friends of Mel's.

“Who is it?” asked Mel. Her back was turned. She did not look round, though she heard voices.

“It doesn't matter,” said Lane, calmly.

He would have given the world to spare Mel the ordeal before her, but that was impossible. He put more power into his stroke and the canoe shot ahead.

It passed under the bridge, not twenty feet from Margaret Swann. There was a strange, eager, wondering look in Margaret's clear eyes as she recognized Mel. Then she seemed to be swallowed up by the green willows.

“That was damned annoying,” muttered Lane to himself. He could have met them all face to face without being affected, but he realized how painful this meeting must be to Mel. These were Mel's old friends. He had caught Margaret's glance. Old memories came surging back. His gaze returned to Mel. Her face was grave and sad; her eyes had darkened, and there was a shadow in them. His glance sought the green-lined channel ahead. The canoe cut the placid water, turned the last bend, and glided into the swift river. Soon Lane saw the little cottage shining white in the light of the setting sun.

One afternoon, as Lane was returning from the woods, he met a car coming out of the grassy road that led down to his cottage. As he was about to step aside, a gay voice hailed him. He waited. The car came on. It contained Holt Dalrymple and Bessy Bell.

“Say, don't you dodge us,” called Holt.

“Daren Lane!” screamed Bessy.

Then the car halted, and with two strides Lane found himself face to face with the young friends he had not seen for months. Holt appeared a man now. And Bessy—no longer with bobbed hair—older, taller, changed incalculably, struck him as having fulfilled her girlish promise of character and beauty. “Well, it's good to see you youngsters", said Lane, as he shook hands with them.

Holt seemed trying to hide emotion. But Bessy, after that first scream, sat staring at Lane with a growing comprehending light in her purple eyes.

Suddenly she burst out. “Daren—you're well !... Oh, how glad I am! Holt, just look at him.”

“I'm looking, Bess. And if he's really Daren Lane, I'll eat him,” responded Holt.

“This is all I needed to make to-day the happiest day of my life,” said Bessy, with serious sweetness.

“This? Do you mean meeting me? I'm greatly flattered, Bessy,” said Lane, with a smile.

Then both a blush and a glow made her radiant.

“Daren, I'm sixteen to-day. Holt and I are—we're engaged I told mother, and expected a row. She was really pleased.... And then seeing you well again. Why, Daren, you've actually got color. Then Holt has been given a splendid business opportunity.... And—Oh! it's all too good to be true.”

“Well, of all things!” cried Lane, when he had a chance to speak. “You two engaged! I—I could never tell you how glad I am.” Lane felt that he could have hugged them both. “I congratulate you with all my heart. Now Holt—Bessy, make a go of it. You're the luckiest kids in the world.”

“Daren, we've both had our fling and we've both been hurt,” said Bessy, seriously. “And you bet we know how lucky we are—and what we owe Daren Lane for our happiness to-day.”

“Bessy, that means a great deal to me,” replied Lane, earnestly. “I know you'll be happy. You have everything to live for. Just be true to yourself.”

So the moment of feeling passed.

“We went down to your place,” said Holt, “and stayed a while waiting for you.”

“Daren, I think Mel is lovely. May I not come often to see you both?” added Bessy.

“You know how pleased we'll be.... Bessy, do you ever see my sister Lorna?” asked Lane, hesitantly.