Jasper County Democrat, Volume 9, Number 17, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 28 July 1906 — On a Pontoon [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

On a Pontoon

By NORA BRYANT

For the first time In five years Whitcomb admitted to himself that he was tired, that he had at last wearied of throwing impossible trestles across impossible canyons, of climbing the uncllmbable and accomplishing that which neither nature nor man ever had meant to be accomplished. He leaned against the rope which served for a railing on the old pontoon bridge and looked up the canyon, where the massive iron structure that Was the work of his brain was silhouetted against the sky. It was an April afternoon in the mountains, a Sunday afternoon, so that the ring of steel, the puffing of engines; the shouts of workmen, were stilled. The gulch was 1 as peaceful as it would be six months hence, when the army of laborers would depart, leaving only the great, ■llent bridge to mark their occupancy. Whitcomb was frank with himself. He did not deny in these meetings with himself face to face that this restlessness had appeared because-of the presence of the camping party at the Bide-a-Wee hunting lodge up In Smith's peak. Not that he had actually met the party as a whole. The men had wandered down to the bridge, had asked many “fool” questions! and wandered back to the camp. At a distance be had seen women in well made riding habits and outing gowns who had given him u horseback thrill. Suddenly he wanted to get back to the land of swallowtailed coats and shimmery frocks. Whitcomb sighed and looked down at his corduroys and hunting boots discontentedly. The pontoons rocked, and a horse’s hoofs sounded suddenly at the end of the bridge. Coming toward him was a girl leading a sturdy little mountain pony—a girl with a bare head, where the sun glanced and glim-

mered ou masses of copper colored hair, a girl with flawless skiu aud eyes like sand hill violets, a girl whose every slender liny breathed health and vigor. The girl In her turn saw a broad ahouldeml man. dark with tau, above which his blond hajr shone curiously. The corduroy hunting suit was strangely becoming to him. The girl stopped before him. “Can you tell me," she asked, "if there is a quicker way for me to get back to the Blde-a-Wee lodge than by the long Smith rmid?” “Yes,” he answered, "there Is. and if you would not mind waiting for me to get my jamy I'll sot you on ItC 1 never could direct you from here?’ To his surprise and delight the girl acquiesced readily, but as he turned to fetch his broncho, which lie had left grazing on the shore, he gave a gasp. “Great heavens!” And, throwing his arm about the amazed girl, he leaned as far out with her as the rope rail would permit. Entering the bridge at a mad pace, the white bell male leading, was the herd of mules used In building the trestle, There was a bombardment of hoofs that drowned the girl's frightened cry. The pontoon sank a foot into the water. There was*a roar of trampling feet aud a rending crash of the floor as the herd passed ko close that both their faces were stung by the lushing tails; then silence again in the valley, except for the pounds of retreating hoofs up the mountain road. “Careful, careful!” cried Whitcomb ns the girl drew herself from his arm. “We tire afloat!” The strain on the old bridge had been too great. The worn flooring had parted, nmt still clinging to a bit of the rope rail, the man and girl were floating rapidly downstream on one of the pontoons. This little raft rode well out of the water, and the river, swollen by tho spring freshets In the mountains, towed them along at a smart pace. The two looked at each other and suddenly smiled. “There Is really not much danger," said Whitcomb. “It's flvd miles down to the rapids, and two miles below here the river narrows so that I shall have no trouble in lassoing a ‘land mark’ With these bits of rope. In the mean-

time/’ spreading bis coat on the damp floor of the pontoon, “do be seated and be comfortable.” “Don’t you suppose sdme one saw us and win come to the rescued’ asked the girl. < Whitcomb shook his head dubiously.' “I’m afraid not. The mule boy was not in sight when the thing happened, and he’ll probably spend the remainder of the day hunting for his mules.” ' The girl did not appear as anxious as might have been expected, and Whitcomb sat down beside her. “It will take some time to float down ■there,” he said, “and in the meantime I’ll tie these ropes together.” She watched his clever fingers in silence, and Whitcomb was moved with a strange desire to talk of himself. “ot> you know, you are the first eastern girl I’ve spoken to in five years'?” Surprise on the rose tinted face beside him. “I haven't been back east since I finished college. At first I wrote often, especially to—to, well, I wrote often, but”— “But,” smiled the girl, “you l»oth began to lose enthusiasm?” WhltcQinb looked at her gratefully. “Yes. something like that at least. I’m afraid she did. She was a pale little girl, not eighteen, when I saw her last. She had hair something like yours, but without those rich, dark shades. I was mighty fond of the little girl, but I’m afraid I’ve grown away from the clinging vine type.” The violet eyes were noncommittal. “A little hard on her if she really cares.” Whitcomb sighed, with firm lines showing around his lips. “I know it. and I*m going back there this summer to find her.” “But, then', perhaps she has forgotten long ago. Seventeen is very young.” A dull red showed under Whitcomb’s tan. "Perhaps she has. I—l—l’ve been hoping since this afternoon that she has.” The eyes were scornful now. “Do you think you’ve any right to say that to me?” “No,” meekly, “but—but you are everything I’ve grown to admire in a woman, so fine and strong, and”— “Look! Look!” she Interrupted. The pontoon was nearing a sudden bend in the river, and they were being swept nearer to the shore. But a fewfeet Ahead of them a great tree leaned far out over the water, its branches almost touching tire surface. There was no time for deliberation, no time to stop the pontoon, for the force of the current here was terrific. Before the girl could spring to her feet Whitcomb had lifted her with one arm, while with the other he clung desperately to a great branch. The pontoon was swept away, and for one awful moment It seemed that they must be drawn into the swirling depths beneath. - But somehow, with the aid of the little strength of the girl and the powerful shoulders of the man, they found themselves up on the trunk of the tree. A moment later they were safe ashore. The girl looked at him and spoke with lips and voice that trembled. “That’s twice that you have saved me.” Whitcomb was holding both bands in his, but neither of them seemed conscious of the fact. There was a do or die expression in his gray eyes. “I’m going to say something. You needn’t mind, as this will be the last time that you will ever see me.” The girl seamed about to interrupt, but Whitcomb gave her no opportunity, “If—if I were free I’d do my best to make yQU love me. You are my ldeal of what a girl should be. That knowledge can do you no harm, can It? And as I can’t help feeling It, I am no more disloyal to that other girl in telling than in feeling it. Come, we must set out for your canjp.’’ But the girl stood still. The lowering sun glinted on her beauty until Whitcomb turned away with firm pressed lips. “Perhaps—if only she has forgotten?” Whitcomb turned to her curiously. “Would there be— no, I’ve no right to ask now.” 7'be sweet mouth dimpled. “If that little girl had lived out of doors for five years would you recognize her, Johu Whitcomb?’.’ —— Whitcomb put out a trembling hand and turned her face full into the sun. A groat conviction lighted his face. "Margaret!" he cried. “Margaret, do you love me still?" “Yes." said Margaret And there was no sound on the river, bank but the rippling of the water.

WHITCOMB HAD LIFTED HER WITH ONE ARM.