"Kingsley, Florence Morse - At the End Of His Rope" - читать интересную книгу автора (Kingsley Florence Morse)

"I hung that empty spool there merely as a tag at the end of my string,"
remarked John Gearing meditatively. "I certainly—"
"Say anything you like to me," interrupted Miss Terrill solemnly; "I deserve it.
We shall never get home alive— never!"
John Gearing stared at the speaker for a full minute, then he threw back his
head and laughed long and loud. "I— I beg your pardon, Miss Terrill," he said at
length; "but really—"
"Oh, yes, you may laugh!" said the young lady with an indignant shrug. "I
laughed too at first. But it hasn't seemed a bit funny for at least six hours. I
tell you we can't get back! We shall starve to death; and it's— it's getting
dark!"
The bug-hunter was sobered in an instant by the pitiful quiver in the tired
voice.
"You don't mean to say that you have been wandering about since morning with
nothing to eat?" he asked anxiously.
"Nothing but huckleberries— and I loathe huckleberries!"
John Gearing hastily swung his pack-basket to the ground. "These sandwiches"—
producing a parcel of dubious aspect— "have suffered somewhat, I fear, knocking
about all day among my traps; but if you will accept them—"
"They look perfectly delicious!" declared the young lady with unconcealed
delight. "But I shall eat only one— it is just possible, you know, that we
might— in time—"
"I beg that you will give yourself no further anxiety on that score!" cried John
Gearing confidently. "We are only a trifle over a mile from camp; we'll be there
inside of an hour."
The girl shook her head mournfully. "That we are so near is just the most
dreadful part of it," she said, winking rapidly to keep back two big tears which
were trying hard to pass the barrier of her long lashes. "But if you really
think you can find the way, do let us start at once. Of course we can reach the
second spool," she added. "I— I was frightened when I saw how late it was
growing, so I came to meet you. I thought it was my duty to— to tell you—"
John Gearing surveyed the speaker in puzzled silence. "Do you— er mind telling
me," he burst out after a long pause, during which the stealthy twilight made
perceptible advances, "what— that is— why you were so sure that I was somebody
else— at first, you know?"
"What must you think of me!" exclaimed Miss Terrill irrelevantly, stopping short
in the midst of a vicious tangle of blackberry bushes for no other purpose, it
appeared, than to wring her small hands. "It has all been so dreadful that I
haven't realized that! You must think me bold and meddlesome and— and generally
horrid!"
"I have thought nothing of the kind!" retorted the bug-hunter with unnecessary
warmth. "It was all the fault of those infernal spools! I wouldn't mind this"—
with a comprehensive wave of the hand which seemed to include all the hostile
forces of nature— "if it were not for you. I should get into camp all right,
some time; but—"
"You may think so, but you couldn't," said the girl with a pitying glance at the
stalwart figure. "It will be all the harder for you to bear; and when I think
that I did it— that it is all my fault! But of course I didn't think— I could
never have imagined— what a fatal thing I was doing when I touched that spool.
No, wait till I have told you all." With that she poured forth the tale of the