Part Four The Faery Night

There came a night in June when the moon rose a great, yellow ball of light over the fir trees that crowned the hill. It was a night for adventure, for magic and mystery. And I, wide awake on the camp cot in the front yard of the cabin, listened to the faint lapping of the water upon the beach not a single stone’s-throw away, and to the wordless song of the pine trees as the night wind swept drowsy fingers across their branches—harps that woke to melody only when the daylight had gone and the stars stole out to listen to their song. The puffy maple tree which guarded the little log cabin was murmuring softly to itself, its leaves nodding to each other as if confiding 68some wonderful secret, and the giant fir tree on the other side of the porch stood erect and motionless as if it were a sentinel and thus disdained to gossip.

From far out in the bay came faint splashes which told of salmon leaping, and now and then the distant cry of a night bird, so faint as to be only the shadow of a sound. In the air was the smell of grass freshly wet with dew, of pine trees drenched and glistening, of wild syringa on the hillside, and, more pronounced, the scent of the tiny Mother of God roses that clambered over the cabin in a white and fragrant wreath.

The stars were bright as the tears of angels, from which the Chinook Indians say they were made, and the moon in their midst flooded hill and bay with a silvery light made more intense by the blackness of the forest.

Somehow there was a hint of expectancy 69in the air, as if the summer had looked forward to this one night and was a-thrill with the joy of its coming. I could not sleep, for I was attuned to the things of the out-of-doors, and I, too, was a-thrill with the expectation of something—I knew not what.

I watched Altair rise over the “Happy Family” pines with his two attendant stars that are like the outspread wings of an eagle, and I kissed my hand to him in greeting.

A star fell, leaving a trailing line of light in its wake, and suddenly I felt a little sad, for a Siwash Indian chief had told us that when a star fell, it was a flower tossed by the hand of a good spirit from Paradise to ease the pain of a soul passing out into the Great Darkness.

Then Amarillo, the big yellow cat, padded across the grass with little throaty mewings of greeting, and I 70felt the light thud of his body as he leaped on the bed and settled himself at my feet. He, too, was restless, for he would raise and lower his tawny head and would sometimes turn his golden eyes upon me as if seeking an explanation for the thrill that was in the night.

So I was not surprised when I heard a faint, familiar scraping which told me that Brother had climbed from his bedroom window and was sliding down the roof to the fence.

Since we had only one camp cot, Brother and I must needs take turns sleeping out of doors. And although this night was mine, I knew that he, too, had felt its magic and could not abide the stuffy darkness of the cabin when the world outside was bathed in moonlight. He came tiptoeing around the corner of the house very quietly so as not to waken the grown-ups, and Amarillo purred loudly as he saw him 71come, and dug his claws into the bedclothes with contented, prickling sounds.

Brother was fully dressed, and he put his lips close to my ear as he whispered: “Do you know what kind of a night this is?”

“No,” I answered breathlessly.

“A fairy night!” he breathed with awe. “The old fisherman told me that on moonlight nights the fairies dance in the moss ring on the Hill Trail. Come quick, let’s go!”

I needed no second bidding. Even as he spoke, I was drawing over my head the knee-length dress I had worn during the day, and was feeling for my moccasins tucked away from the dew under the rubber covering of the bed.

Hand in hand we slipped out of the yard and up the trail, moving as silently as wraiths. Amarillo followed to the edge of the woods and then slipped away on business of his own.

72Up the hill we hurried, up the narrow trail patched with moonlight and shadows. The wet branches of the pines brushed across our faces; our bare legs were swished by fern fronds as we passed. Sometimes a twig crackled underfoot, and now and then we heard a slight rustling in the underbrush where a little animal was moving.

We passed by the spring which gurgled dreamily into the pool shadowed by ferns and alders. A mother deer and her baby were drinking there, and although they turned their great eyes upon us, luminous in the moonlight that sifted through the branches, they did not start or run as we stole by.

The top of the hill was gained at last, and the Hill Trail which we called ours. Well we knew the fairy ring, a circle of moss in a clearing, ringed around with pink twin-flowers 73and wild strawberry vines, a fitting place for elfin feet to dance on a moonlight night. And as we neared the clearing flooded by the bright moonlight, we trembled with ecstasy and anticipation. That the fairies did dance there we never doubted, but would they reveal themselves to the eyes of mortals, even such friendly mortals as ourselves?

Crouched behind a cedar log and screened by salal bushes, we watched and waited, our eyes glued to the moss ring in the patch of moon silver—but no fairies came.

Just the same it was a fairy night, as you shall see. For presently a little brown bear came out into the clearing, making considerably more noise than his size warranted, sat up on his haunches, and sniffed the breeze questioningly. He nibbled daintily at the leaves of a red huckleberry bush, and 74having finished his nocturnal repast, walked pigeon-toed over to a cedar tree, scratched his back against it, making rumbling noises of content, and finally raised himself to his full height—which was not so high after all—and marked how tall he was on the shaggy bark of the tree by scratching it deeply with his claws. Then he waddled away in his bow-legged fashion, and we heard the faint crashing of the underbrush as he passed through.

There came a wakeful brown rabbit, who hopped into the very center of the fairy ring, wiggled his ears and nose, and then began to make an elaborate toilet—in honor, we thought, of the elfin ball. He washed his paws with care and gave each tapering ear a thorough massage. Last, he twisted like a contortionist to assure himself that his white knob of a tail was in perfect order, and finally being satisfied 75with his inspection, he loped leisurely away without so much as the crackle of a twig.

The next two visitors to the moonlit clearing were two baby skunks striped with brown and white and with graceful tufts of white for tails. Strangely enough, Brother and I were not afraid of what might happen should they suddenly be aware of our presence and become frightened, for it seemed to us that we too belonged to the fairy night and that nothing could happen to mar the perfect beauty of it. The little animals played like kittens, dashing out at each other from the shadows and rolling about in mock ferocity, but presently they, too, stole away, silently, as wood creatures move, and we were left alone with the moonlit night and the empty fairy ring.

Then from the direction of the trail came a cry of pain—like a human cry. 76The spell of the night was shattered, and we gripped each other’s hands and thought of flight. But again came the sound, a whimpering cry like a child in distress, and the fear which had clutched at our hearts vanished as suddenly, for we knew it must be an animal—some woods friend sorely hurt. So without further pause we left the shelter of the log and hurried across the clearing to the trail. The sound came from beyond the “Happy Family” pines, and we hastened toward it.

In the lumber clearing just off the trail we found what we had half expected—a young fox caught in a steel trap by his front paws, and he was whimpering with the pain of it. The dark eyes which he turned toward us showed a frenzied, greenish light, and as we came nearer, he yelped sharply, tugging frantically at the sharp teeth which never relaxed their grip.

77The pity in our hearts made us forgetful of his fear, but as we started toward him, he wrenched backward, dragging the heavy trap to the full length of the chain, his small, gray-brown body a-quiver with terror and pain. So then we waited, approaching very quietly and slowly. Finally his struggles ceased from sheer fatigue, and the eyes which he turned upon us were dull and lifeless. Brother tried to hold me back, but I would not have it so, and coming very close to the little fox, I put my hand on his soft, furry head. He did not bite or even cringe. Perhaps his pain was so great that he could suffer no more and so could not be afraid, or perhaps it was because he sensed that my touch was a friendly one and that help was near at hand.

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Together Brother and I pried the steel jaws apart, and the little fox, set free, limped away for a few feet and then fell exhausted. So I picked him up, and walking quietly so as not to hurt or alarm him, we sought again the forest pool, mottled now with deep shadows and pale lights. The mother deer and her baby had gone, and in the cool, gurgling water of the little stream we bathed the wounded feet of our friend and named him “Reginald.” We made sure that the paws were not broken, only lacerated by the sharp teeth of the trap, and when he began to stir and move his head in quick jerks from side to side, we set him down on the cool moss. After a little while he commenced to lick the hurt paws, very gently at first and then with increasing confidence, and he did not go away at once. He feared us no more than he would have feared a brother and sister fox. So for an hour, until the moonlight gleams became fainter and the shadows deeper, the 79three of us lingered by the forest pool. Brother and I pretended that Reginald talked to us and that he could understand what we said to him. And when finally he finished licking his paws and slipped away into the darkness, we regained once more the moonlit Hill Trail and started for home.

But there was one thing we must do, and we turned back to “Reginald’s clearing,” as we called it. In the waning light we found the trap which had so cruelly hurt our little friend, and we unwound the chain from the tree. Into the blackness of the underbrush we flung it and laughed defiantly as we heard it crash in the thicket. Then, as if some avenging power were hard on our heels, we fled down the trail out of the wood and stole into the yard without even the creaking of a gate to betray us.

Thrilled to the very core of my 80being, I huddled into bed. And Amarillo, who had long since returned, arched his back and yawned widely as if to imply that such a nocturnal excursion was not respectable.

Brother started to tiptoe around to the fence and thus gain the roof and his bedroom, but I stopped him with a sharp hiss, and he tiptoed back to me.

“What shall we say if some hunter asks us about the trap?” I breathed into his ear, and he doubled up and laughed noiselessly.

“We will tell him that anything can happen on a fairy night,” he whispered back and stole away to the fence, while I watched the moon settle behind the distant blue hills, and with the ensuing darkness came the breath of the morning breeze. The fairy night was over.

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Part Five| The Friendship That Failed

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