"Will you guide us?" I asked. "I will pay you," I added, naming a liberal sum.

Peterson said he would when he had cooked and eaten his supper. It was then after seven o'clock, and the thought occurred to us that we were hungry. Peterson agreed to do the best he could for us in the way of a meal, and he did very well.

We were lamentably shy on dishes and knives and forks. We had bacon and eggs, fried potatoes, bread and b.u.t.ter and some really excellent coffee.

There was only a single room in the hut, but it was clean and fairly tidy. Peterson explained that he never had company, and apologised for his lack of tableware.

Miss Harding was given the only regulation knife and fork, and I had the pleasure of beholding her eating from my plate. There was only one plate, Peterson using the frying pan and a carving knife.

What fun we had over that humble but wholesome meal! Miss Harding praised our host's cooking, and his honest blue eyes glistened at the compliment. Miss Harding and I sat on a board which rested on two nail kegs, while Peterson, against his protest, had the one chair in the house.

It was growing dark ere the meal was ended. I ran the touring car into the little yard and sheltered it as best I could under the projecting ledge of a rock. Peterson produced a big strip of heavy canvas which I put to good service by protecting the vital parts of the mechanism.

Peterson a.s.sured us that the car would be safe, and with a parting look at it we entered the forest.

It was a long, tortuous and in places dangerous journey. While we were not in the track of the tornado, the storm had been severe over a wide territory. Fallen trees lay across our rocky trail and at times we had to make wide detours, forcing our way through thick underbrush and scaling slippery rocks.

Miss Harding proved a good woodswoman.

"If I did not know that papa is worried I would enjoy every moment of this," she declared, as we paused to rest after a climb of fully five hundred feet out of the valley.

The lightning was again flickering in the west and we pressed on. There were intervals of cleared s.p.a.ces now and then. We climbed fences, jumped ditches and seemingly walked scores of miles, but still the flickering yellow light of that lantern led us remorselessly on. At last when it appeared as if our quest were interminable we surmounted a rail fence and found ourselves in a road.

"Pine Top half a mile," was the cheering announcement made by Peterson as he held the lantern so that Miss Harding could examine the extent of a rent just made in her gown.

Ten minutes later we stood on the platform of the little red station in Pine Top, and the spasmodic clatter of a telegraph instrument was music in our ears.

Down came the rain, but what cared we! The steel rails which gleamed and glistened in the signal lights led to Woodvale. We entered the room and waited patiently until the operator looked up from the jabbering receiver.

"When is the next train to Woodvale?" was my ungrammatical query.

"I wish I could tell you," he answered, rather sullenly. He had been on duty hours over time. "They've nearly cleared the track between here and Woodvale, but the Lord only knows when a train can get through from Oak Cliff."

"No train from Oak Cliff since the storm?" I asked.

"Well, I should guess not!" he gruffly laughed. "Oak Cliff's wiped off the map."

Miss Harding clutched my arm. There was startled agony in her eyes, her lips trembled but she bore the shock bravely.

"Did you get a message to that effect?" I demanded in a voice which must have surprised him.

"No, the wires are down between here and Oak Cliff, but a man came by here an hour ago who said it went through the village."

"Did it strike the Oak Cliff club house?" I asked.

"He didn't say," replied the operator, and then the instrument demanded his attention.

"These reports are always exaggerated," I a.s.sured Miss Harding. "Besides the club house is of stone, and it is protected by a hill to the west.

Do not be in the least alarmed."

"We can only hope and wait," she softly said.

We heartily thanked Peterson and watched him as he disappeared in the darkness, tramping stolidly in the face of a driving rain.

Despite the rain it was warm and we sat on a bench under the broad roof of the platform. I did my best to take her mind away from the dread which possessed her, but it was a wretched hour for both of us. Then we saw the flicker of lights down the track, and toward us came a small army of labourers who had been clearing the roadbed between us and Woodvale.

They stopped a minute in front of the station. These hardy Italians stood in the drenching rain, axes in their hands or over their shoulders, their clothes smeared with mud, water running in streams from the rims of their broad hats; there they stood and laughed, chattered, jested and indulged in rough play while their foreman received his instructions from the telegraph operator. And then with a cheer and a song they started on their way to Oak Cliff. Happiness and contentment are gifts; they cannot be purchased.

Something to the south burned a widening circle in the mist and rain, and from its centre we made out the headlight of a locomotive. It was a pa.s.senger train, and as it crawled cautiously to the platform two men leaped from it and came toward us.

I recognised Carter and Chilvers.

They had heard of the tornado and had const.i.tuted themselves a searching party.

"Naturally your mother is alarmed," said Carter "but I a.s.sured her that it was nothing more serious than delayed trains. She knows nothing of the tornado."

We were informed that the up train would be held on a sidetrack until the one from Oak Cliff got through. There was nothing to do but wait. It was past midnight when we heard the blast of a whistle to the north, and when the train from Oak Cliff pulled in Mr. Harding was the first one to swing to the station platform.

"Well, well, well!" he exclaimed, releasing his daughter's arms from his neck, holding her at arm's length and then kissing her again. "Is this the way you call for me at four o'clock? Where's Smith? h.e.l.lo, Smith!

Where's the red buzz wagon?"

"Over there," I said.

And then we all talked at once. Chilvers danced a clog-step to the delight of the grinning trainmen, Carter removed his monocle and polished it innumerable times, Miss Harding laughed and cried by turns, Mr. Harding dug cigars from pockets which seemed inexhaustible, and gave them to the railroad men, and I furiously smoked a pipe and put in a word whenever I had a chance. It was an informal and glorious reunion.

The wires were working to Woodvale, communication having been made while we stood there, and the conductor was honoured that he had the privilege to hold the train while the famous Robert L. Harding sent a rea.s.suring telegram to his wife.

It was nearly two o'clock when we arrived in Woodvale. I asked Mr.

Harding how near the tornado came to the Oak Cliff club house.

"Smith," he said, laying his hand on my arm, "it pa.s.sed so close that I could have driven a golf ball into it, and I was tempted to try. That's the best chance I'll have to get a long carry."

ENTRY NO. XX

FAT EWES AND SHARP KNIVES

At last I have the spare time in which to bring this diary up to date, but where shall I begin?

One romance is ended. It was very pretty and interesting while it lasted, but all things must have an end, especially flirtations.

Miss Olive Lawrence has left Woodvale. The season has only started, but she confided to Miss Dangerfield that she was wearied with golf and Woodvale. So with a smile to all, and having settled in full with Wallace for a dozen or more lessons she left for the south with an a.s.sortment of trunks which tested the capacity of the baggage car.

I feel rather sorry for Wallace, though I give him credit for enough sense to have realised that her interest in him could amount to nothing more than a desire to amuse herself. It does not speak well for fascinating qualities for our Woodvale gallants that Miss Lawrence selected this unknown outsider even as a target on which to practise flirtation archery, but, in common with most men, it is beyond my ken to fathom the caprices of a pretty woman.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "She left for the South"]

Wallace says nothing, but I can see that he takes it to heart. He spends most of his spare time at Bishop's, but attends strictly to his business. He is the best professional we have ever had, and it is fortunate for the club that he did not gain the fair prize which many of us thought was within his grasp.