We're Still Reading The Girl From Montana!

[lions_wings]

And it is still awesome!

She felt sure he would not wait until the night. It might be he would return even yet. She cast another reassuring look down the darkening road, and strained her ear; but she could no longer hear hoof-beats. Nevertheless, it behooved her to hasten. He had blanched at her suggestion of walking spirits; but, after all, his courage might arise. She shuddered to think of his returning later, in the night. She must fly somewhere at once.

Instantly her dormant senses seemed to be on the alert. Fully fledged plans flashed through her brain. She went into the cabin, and barred the door. She made every movement swiftly, as if she had not an instant to spare. Who could tell? He might return even before dark. He had been hard to baffle, and she did not feel at all secure. It was her one chance of safety to get away speedily, whither it mattered little, only so she was away and hidden.

I love her "fully fledged plans," especially since we're going to see one put into motion. When? Imminently. Hells yeah.

Her first act inside the cottage was to get the belt from the cupboard and buckle it around her waist. She examined and loaded the pistols. Her throat seemed seized with sudden constriction when she discovered that the barrels had been empty and the weapons would have done her no good even if she could have reached them.

Cool. Of course, it's pretty odd that a semi-successful family in a time of hunting and fishing for survival would have nary a shotgun or rifle in sight. Still, a romance heroine just loaded a pair of pistols. Woohoo!

She put into her belt the sharp little knife her brother used to carry, and then began to gather together everything eatable that she could carry with her. There was not much that could be easily carried-some dried beef, a piece of cheese, some corn-meal, a piece of pork, a handful of cheap coffee-berries, and some pieces of hard corn bread. She hesitated over a pan half full of baked beans, and finally added them to the store. They were bulky, but she ought to take them if she could. There was nothing else in the house that seemed advisable to take in the way of eatables. Their stores had been running low, and the trouble of the last day or two had put housekeeping entirely out of her mind. She had not cared to eat, and now it occurred to her that food had not passed her lips that day. With strong self-control she forced herself to eat a few of the dry pieces of corn bread, and to drink some cold coffee that stood in the little coffee-pot. This she did while she worked, wasting not one minute.

Astute readers of GLH will also recognise this as a Work Montage. GLH is a big, big fan of a girl getting ahead by the sweat of her brow. Her heroines do not often just laze about; they are busy women. Not many of them pack for flight, but by gum this girl is not so unusual.

There were some old flour-sacks in the house. She put the eatables into two of them, with the pan of beans on the top, adding a tin cup, and tied them securely together. Then she went into her little shed room, and put on the few extra garments in her wardrobe. They were not many, and that was the easiest way to carry them. Her mother's wedding-ring, sacredly kept in a box since the mother's death, she slipped upon her finger.

In my imagination she is wearing a dress and a pinafore over her guns, a pair of slippers under her boots, a nightcap, a bonnet, and a little foodsack in which the baked beans have spilled all over everything else.

There were a few papers and an old letter or two yellow with years, which the mother had always guarded sacredly. One was the certificate of her mother's marriage. The girl did not know what the others were. She had never looked into them closely, but she knew that her mother had counted them precious. These she pinned into the bosom of her calico gown. Then she was ready.

Oh, and she crackles when she moves and will get a nasty surprise right in the arm if she crosses 'em. Also: those papers! What are they???? Probably relevant, but we cannot waste time reading when we have a flight to catch!

gathered up the two flour-sacks and an old coat of her father's that hung on the wall, remembering at the last minute to put into its pocket the few matches and the single candle left in the house,

She will be dead of dehydration or heatstroke in about seven hours.

She laid the old coat over the horse's back, swung her brother's saddle into place,-she had none of her own, and could ride his, or without any; it made no difference, for she was perfectly at home on horseback,-and strapped the girths with trembling fingers that were icy cold with excitement. Across the saddle-bows she hung the two flour-sacks containing her provisions

Aaand there go the baked beans, all over everything.

Then with added caution she tied some old burlap about each of the horse's feet. She must make no sound and leave no track as she stole forth into the great world.

Admit it, you love this girl. Right. Let's follow them.

the girl mounted the horse and urged him down into the valley. He stepped cautiously into the sandy plain, as if he were going into a river and must try its depth... The growth of sage-brush was dense now, and trees were ahead. After that the way seemed steep... They entered a forest growth where weird branches let the pale moon through in splashes and patches... but the forest did not last forever, and the moon was not yet gone when they emerged presently upon the rough mountain-side. . Once she had to cross a wild little stream, rocky and uncertain in its bed, with slippery, precipitous banks; and twice in climbing a steep incline she came sharp upon sheer precipices down into a rocky gorge, where the moonlight seemed repelled by dark, bristling evergreen trees growing half-way up the sides. She could hear the rush and clamor of a tumbling mountain stream in the depths below. Once she fancied she heard a distant shot, and the horse pricked up his ears, and went forward excitedly.

That was one night's moonlit travel. Neither has had any sleep. Dawn comes along:

As the day grew clearer, she began to study the surroundings. All seemed utter desolation. There was no sign that any one had ever passed that way before; and yet, just as she had thought that, the horse stopped and snorted, and there in the rocks before them lay a man's hat riddled with shot. Peering fearfully around, the girl saw a sight which made her turn icy cold and begin to tremble; for there, below them, as if he had fallen from his horse and rolled down the incline, lay a man on his face.

For the instant fear held her riveted, with the horse, one figure like a statue, girl and beast; the next, sudden panic took hold upon her. Whether the man were dead or not, she must make haste. It might be he would come to himself and pursue her, though there was that in the rigid attitude of the figure down below that made her sure he had been dead some time. But how had he died? Scarcely by his own hand. Who had killed him? Were there fiends lurking in the fastnesses of the mountain growth above her?

With guarded motion she urged her horse forward, and for miles beyond the horse scrambled breathlessly, the girl holding on with shut eyes, not daring to look ahead for fear of seeing more terrible sights, not daring to look behind for fear of-what she did not know.

At last the way sloped downward, and they reached more level ground, with wide stretches of open plain, dotted here and there with sage-brush and greasewood.

Take a nap, lady! Your horse just carried you through four different ecosystems and you're exhausted! Also: A MURDER. Are you confused? I'm confused! Wow, murders! I hope all these plothooks are going somewhere, because between Mystery Documents and Man Shot Dead in the Middle of a Space-Time Warp I am so agog.

But the horse had decided that it was time for breakfast. He had had one or two drinks of water on the mountain, but there had been no time for him to eat. He was decidedly hungry, and the plain offered nothing in the shape of breakfast. He halted, lingered, and came to a neighing stop, looking around at his mistress. She roused from her lethargy of trouble, and realized that his wants-if not her own-must be attended to.

She must sacrifice some of her own store of eatables, for by and by they would come to a good grazing-place perhaps, but now there was nothing.

I don't know if corn-meal is good for horses, but I like that she's taking care of her animal.

As the ground rose again, it was stony and overgrown with cactus

A-are we still in Montana?

It was high noon by the glaring sun when she suddenly saw another human being. At first she was not quite sure whether he were human. It was only a distant view of a moving speck; but it was coming toward her, though separated by a wide valley that had stretched already for miles. He was moving along against the sky-line on a high bench on one side of the valley, and she mounting as fast as her weary beast would go to the top of another, hoping to find a grassy stretch and a chance to rest.

Don't worry, he's miles away!

At last! They were at the top! Ten feet more and they would be on a level, where they might disappear from view. She turned to look across the valley, and the man was directly opposite. He must have ridden hard to get there so soon. Oh, horror! He was waving his hands and calling. She could distinctly hear a cry! It chilled her senses, and brought a frantic, unreasoning fear. Somehow she felt he was connected with the one from whom she fled. Some emissary of his sent out to foil her in her attempt for safety, perhaps.

"HEY! HAVE YOU SEEN MY BROTHER? HE WAS RUNNING AWAY FROM A MURDERER-"

She flung herself into the saddle, giving the horse the signal to run; and, as the animal obeyed and broke into his prairie run, she cast one fearful glance behind her. The man was pursuing her at a gallop! He was crossing the valley. There was a stream to cross, but he would cross it. He had determination in every line of his flying figure. His voice was pursuing her, too. It seemed as if the sound reached out and clutched her heart, and tried to draw her back as she fled. And now her pursuers were three: her enemy, the dead man upon the mountain, and the voice.

Well, she's had no sleep, neither has her poor cantering or galloping horse, and now she's riding hellbent for leather away from some dude who was on the other side of the valley a minute ago? Will spacetime ever settle down? FIND OUT NEXT UPDATE.

No wait, this is pretty short, let's just hop right into:

THE PURSUIT

Straight across the prairie she galloped, not daring to stop for an instant, with the voice pursuing her. For hours it seemed to ring in her ears, and even after she was far beyond any possibility of hearing it she could not be sure but there was now and then a faint echo of it ringing yet, "Hello!"-ringing like some strange bird amid the silence of the world.

What was this, a plateau? How did we get from a mountaintop right smack into the prairie? Was it a bizarre canyon that looked like a valley on the inside? Can this geography make LESS sense?

There were cattle and sheep grazing on the bench, and the horse would fain have stopped to dine with them;

Never mind.

It was hours before she dared stop for the much-needed rest. Her brain had grown confused with the fright and weariness. She felt that she could not much longer stay in the saddle. She might fall asleep. The afternoon sun would soon be slipping down behind the mountains.

This woman and her horse both go in an Iron Man competition somewhere!

The sun went away; the horse ate his supper; and the girl slept. By and by the horse drowsed off too, and the bleating sheep in the distance, the lowing of the cattle, the sound of night-birds, came now and again from the distance; but still the girl slept on. The moon rose full and round, shining with flickering light through the cottonwoods; and the girl stirred in a dream and thought some one was pursuing her, but slept on again. Then out through the night rang a vivid human voice, "Hello! Hello!"

This poor ninny, roaming around day and night yelling "HELLO!" at the wilderness and the cows and the sheep on the bench.

She could not stir nor breathe, and for a moment even thought was paralyzed. There before her but a few feet away stood a man! Beyond him, a few feet from her own horse, stood his horse. She could not see it without turning her head, and that she dared not do; but she knew it was there, felt it even before she noticed the double stamping and breathing of the animals. Her keen senses seemed to make the whole surrounding landscape visible to her without the moving of a muscle. She knew to a nicety exactly how her weapons lay, and what movement would bring her hand to the trigger of her pistol; yet she stirred not.

A GLH heroine pondering blowing anyone away is a rarity. I love this girl.

Gradually she grew calm enough to study the man before her. He stood almost with his back turned toward her, his face just half turned so that one cheek and a part of his brow were visible. He was broad-shouldered and well built. There was strength in every line of his body. She felt how powerless she would be in his grasp. Her only hope would be in taking him unaware. Yet she moved not one atom.

How is that possible? Is she even existing in the already unreliable local space-time continuum anymore?

He wore a brown flannel shirt, open at the throat, brown leather belt and boots; in short, his whole costume was in harmonious shades of brown, and looked new as if it had been worn but a few days. His soft felt sombrero was rolled back from his face, and the young red sun tinged the short brown curls to a ruddy gold. He was looking toward the rising sun. The gleam of it shot across his brace of pistols in his belt, and flashed twin rays into her eyes. Then all at once the man turned and looked at her.

He is brown, his clothes are brown, his hair is brown, probably his pistols are brown too.

Instantly the girl sprang to her feet, her hands upon her pistol, her eyes meeting with calm, desperate defiance the blue ones that were turned to her. She was braced against a tree, and her senses were measuring the distance between her horse and herself, and deciding whether escape were possible.

"Good morning," said the man politely. "I hope I haven't disturbed your nap."

Yes, dude, she is thinking about killing you! Still, it beats "HELLO!" again. How shall this conversation fare?

"You see," went on the man with an apologetic smile, which lit up his eyes in a wonderfully winning way, "you led me such a desperate race nearly all day yesterday that I was obliged to keep you in sight when I finally caught you."

"HELLO!" Not well.

He looked for an answering smile, but there was none. Instead, the girl's dark eyes grew wide and purple with fear. He was the same one, then, that she had seen in the afternoon, the voice who had cried to her; and he had been pursuing her. He was an enemy, perhaps, sent by the man from whom she fled. She grasped her pistol with trembling fingers, and tried to think what to say or do.

The young man wondered at the formalities of the plains. Were all these Western maidens so reticent?

"I followed you for a day and then I wanted to sit and watch you sleep. Friendses? Damn, why doesn't that ever work?"

"Why did you follow me? Who did you think I was?" she asked breathlessly at last.

"Well, I thought you were a man," he said;

And POW that one definitely doesn't happen to GLH romance heroines very often, especially since she is wearing every piece of clothing she owns.

"What right had you to follow me?" she demanded fiercely.

"Well, now that you put it in that light, I'm not sure that I had any right at all, unless it may be the claim that every human being has upon all creation."

"HELLO!" he cried, following a nearby group of buffalo off a cliff.

"What do you want?" She had never heard of the divine claims of all the human family. Her one instinct at present was fear.

An expression that was almost bitter flitted over the young man's face, as of an unpleasant memory forgotten for the instant. "It really wasn't of much consequence when you think of it," he said with a shrug of his fine shoulders. "I was merely lost, and was wanting to inquire where I was-and possibly the way to somewhere. But I don't know as 'twas worth the trouble."

The girl was puzzled. She had never seen a man like this before. He was not like her wild, reckless brother, nor any of his associates.

He seems to have a touch of sunstroke, being bitter at forgetting things and expecting her to have read his mind. Maybe he is also wearing everything that had been in his closet the night before.

"This is Montana," she said, "or was, when I started," she added with sudden thought.

"Yes? Well, it was Montana when I started, too; but it's as likely to be the Desert of Sahara as anything else. I'm sure I've come far enough, and found it barren enough."

"I never heard of that place," said the girl seriously; "is it in Canada?"

"I believe not," said the man with sudden gravity; "at least, not that I know of. When I went to school, it was generally located somewhere in Africa."

"I never went to school," said the girl wistfully; "but-" with a sudden resolve-"I'll go now."

Oh, come on. Do you think for a moment she's never had a lick of schooling? I don't. Admittedly her knowledge of geography is crap and she's about as much help to his being lost as a passing leaf. On the other hand, I don't think this is Montana either. It seems more like Wonderland. Perhaps he is actually a brown parrot in a clever disguise.

So they discuss where to find water (she suggests the stream they rode through yesterday, which could be a stone's throw or forty million miles) and then:

"I insist upon knowing why you looked-" he paused and eyed her-"why you look at me in that way. I'm not a wolf if I am hungry, and I'm not going to eat you up."

The look of displeasure deepened on the girl's brow. In spite of his hunger the man was compelled to watch her. She seemed to be looking at a flock of birds in the sky. Her hand rested lightly at her belt. The birds were coming towards them, flying almost over their heads.

Suddenly the girl's hand was raised with a quick motion, and something gleamed in the sun across his sight. There was a loud report, and one of the birds fell almost at his feet, dead. It was a sage-hen. Then the girl turned and walked towards him with as haughty a carriage as ever a society belle could boast.

"You were laughing at me," she said quietly.

WOAH! A whut? A hey? Don't you think you're overreacting shooting things down at him?

"I beg your pardon," he said. "I never will do it again. I couldn't have shot that bird to save my life," and he touched it with the tip of his tan leather boot as if to make sure it was a real bird.

The girl was sitting on the ground, indifferently eating some of the cooked pork. She did not answer. Somehow the young man felt uncomfortable. He sat down, and took up his tin cup, and went at his breakfast again; but his appetite seemed in abeyance.

Uh, guys, you can clean and pluck that bird. It doesn't have any baked beans on it at all. (Yet.)

So he admires her pluck and face and finally she is scared by motion in the distance:

"It's a herd of antelope," she said with relief; "but it's time we hit the trail." She turned, and put her things together with incredible swiftness, giving him very little opportunity to help, and mounted her pony without more words.

Oh, that poor horse, she rode it down to nubbins! Also I still hope they plucked the bird she shot. Oh wait! GLH understands I will ask! After some needless talk of the callous society beauty who broke his heart:

The sky was exceedingly bright and wide. Why had he never noticed this wideness in skies at home? There was another flock of birds... Why had that girl shot that bird, anyway? Was it entirely because she might need it for food? She had picked it up significantly with the other things, and fastened it to her saddle-bow without a word. He was too ignorant to know whether it was an edible bird or not, or she was merely carrying it to remind him of her skill.

Clean it, people, it's going to get gamey and gross.

So they chitchat a little, she finds another stream in another valley ahead, or possibly they looped back to a higher stretch of the same waters given this geography, and with a:

She looked at him keenly.

"Who are you, and where do you belong?"

We run smack into the chapter end. Lord, this landscape has me so turned around I don't know what's coming next.