, 1886-10-07
A MOUNTAIN ROMANCE.

tulOhs a. 49,
the interest that extended rambles and
stream, in which one could wade or
battle to hearts content. kept up its
ceaseless conversation like the hum of
near and far voices. How beautiful in
the early morning was the light falling
on the ranks of giant redwoods; and
surely there never was a bluer,
purer sky than that bent above it ALT
Amy Desart, book in hand, sauntered
down a leafy path, on which faint rays
of light from the far sky sifted down
through the redwoods' odorous branches,
glinted on their SCARED trunks, and fell
like silver arrows into the rich shade of
the forest. The book she carried was a
pretext. The day was for dreaming, and
what printed page could charm the eye,
when there were a thousand distractions
tempting the curiosity and challenging
the admiration OF a healthy nature? If
q bumbling bee, a vagrant bird, a clump
of yellow ~violets, or a broad golden
back" were enough to speak to a poetic
soul, or charm Al artists eye, who could
tire of watching the grander beauties of
a redwood forest, or weary of the sud
den glimpses through opened boughs of
the sublime blue mountains? So a book
was quite a useless thing to Miss Amy
Desart. but at the same time her
habitual companion.
She was aroused from her lazy dream
ing by a loud halloo. Indeed. she was
not Immediately aroused, for the hal
looing had been going on for quite q
respectable length of time before her
drowsy consciousness stirred to the eff
feet of something unusual; for halloo-
ing. W. for owls. was by no means
common in those silent depths. Once
aroused from her summary stupor, she
listened with growing interest.
The calls continued at intervals,
ing, seemingly in expectation or hope
of some reply. Miss Desart concluded,
as she heard no responsive halloo from
any other part of the forest, that the
call was from some N lost in the will
derness. AS soon as her half somnolent
brain had formed this conclusion, her
voice took up the idea, and when an
other desperate and far away shout came
to her ear, she answered with a musical
call from her vigorous young lungs, at
the same time going in the evident di-
rection of the sound.
She was heard, for a responsive call
came in slightly louder tones, so she
knew that, whoever it was, he was APP
preaching her voice. Making a trumpet
of her hands, she cried, LOST"
The answer came quite distinctly, evil
IDENTIFY trumpeted in the same manner,
Yes
She lost all her languor. Here was
something Of lively interest to occupy
her time. "Who are your" she called.
John Westwood," came the answer.
"Of San Francisco" he continued.
U~nhesitatingly she plunged into the I'M
dergrowth and trackless wayof the woods,
her guide the voice, which kept up a
rather one-sided conversational that
can be called a conversation-as she only
answered occasionally to show him that
she was coming. She had no fear of
being lost herself, for she had, time and
again, roamed in the deepest and widest
parts of the forest, which was full Of
landmarks for her.
"Out hunting-and- lost-my-way, came
slowly and detachedly to her ears.
She stopped and said to herself I've
a mind to leave him to his fate. The
idea of desecrating this sacred place
with a shot-gunlr
However, she proceeded TO the rescue,
determining to give Mr.. John Westwood
a caustic piece of her mind. when once
she had discovered him. ut is safe to
say here. in p~arenthesis. hat she forgot
her cruel intention long before she came
up to him. She picked and crashed her
way through the bushes for a mile, it
seemed to her, but distances are decep-
tive when you have to work your way.
At last, he, waiting, gave a halloo
which sounded absurdly loud, when
right on the heels of it the bushes parted,
and a radiant wood-nymph, to be sure,
in a becoming costume of buff lawn,
the soft, loose draperies of which she
had caught up to protect them from the
brambles, revealing thereby the stiff en-
broidered ruffies of an immaculate skirt,
and faultless feet shod in neat French
walking boots. But her cheeks were
flushed, her eyes were dazzling, and a
cloud of shining hair rested lightly on
her white forehead. Her wide hat,
pushed far back on her head by some
saucy branch, served as a frame to a be-
witching face.
She beheld a tall young man in
hunters buckskin, leaning on a rifle.
His brown eyes were a shade softer than
usual, from their WEAKNESS, perhaps.
His face was clearly cut, and a dark
moustache adorned his firm lip.
For more han a moment they gazed
into each others eyes, her laughed and
bowed. After thanking her en-
Enthusiastically. he said: II had
no idea of compelling a young
10 my rescue. thought it was a boy
who answered me. and fully expected to
see a barefoot boy, with cheeks of TAM
instead OF -" he hesitated.
You will see no barefoot boys around
here, she said. hastily. There is too
great a fear of rattlesnakes.r
Il have not seen any
Maybe not, for they are not fearfully
prevalent, or should not be here. But
once in a while you come across an Ugly
fellow. always go armed myself she
said saucily, producing a tiny, silver
mounted flask from the depths of a ca
pacious pocket.
1t was but a glimpse of the flask he
caught, for she plunged it back impa-
tiently, as If she resented the impulse of
familiarity.
IF you will follow me-" she said
shortly.
with all my heart. Hove the woods,
but began to feel | should never get out
Of this. have been wandering about,
seeking a path which l could follow any.
where for six mortal hours.
Its easy enough when you know the
way