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Updated: May 19, 2025
"And she's been driving only a month," was his softly whistled comment. "Reckless little devil!" Then, in his turn cocking a speculative eye at the sun in the west, he rode on, following in the track made by the spinning automobile tires. When Packard came to a forking of the roads he stopped and hesitated. The automobile tracks led to the left; he was tempted to follow them.
To-morrow, in the natural sun, the skies will be bright; those who glared like devils in the forking flames, the morn will show in far other, at least gentler, relief; the glorious, golden, glad sun, the only true lamp all others but liars!
He had snatched the woman he loved from its very jaws, and he had no idea of yielding. There was no comfort for him in the thought of their dying together. Living, yes. Life was more sweet to him just then than ever it had been before. And he meant that they two should live on, and on. They passed the bend and the forking trail loomed up amidst the shadows. The crisis had come.
When he had spun the twenty-third dollar to the bartender, Billy meant to quit drinking for the present; after that, he was not quite clear as to his intentions, farther than "forking his hoss and pulling out" when there was no more to be done.
The grass, too, near the wide roadway that stretched in a feeble and indeterminate fashion across the veldt, forking, branching, and reuniting like the veins on a lady's arm, was completely coated over with a thick layer of red dust. But the hot wind was going down now, as it always does towards sunset.
And his body, from the crown of his head, round his back and waist as far as the belly, was wondrously like that of the blessed ones in form; but below his sides the tail of a sea monster lengthened far, forking to this side and that; and he smote the surface of the waves with the spines, which below parted into curving fins, like the horns of the new moon.
In much of his life self was still ruling. He came to this forking of the road, and the battle was a fierce one, for self dies hard. But finally "by the Spirit," he got the victory, as every one may, and calmly stepped off to the right. He has vividly described that battle of the forks in language, the accuracy of which will be recognized by others who have been in action on that field.
It is the crowded trees that show their almost human craft, their instinct of will to live cork-screwing sidewise for light, forking into two branches where one branch is broken or shaded, twisting and bending, ever seeking the light, and spreading out only when they reach room for shoulder swing at the top, with such a mechanism of pumping machinery to hoist barrels of water up from secret springs in the earth as man has not devised for his own use.
The sergeant certainly did not know this, and it struck me that while his party searched the two forking trails Fletcher's sleigh might well have lain hidden in the blind one, and I turned the horse's head toward Tetley's dwelling. When I neared it my suspicions were confirmed, for a rough voice hailed me from under the trees: "What are you wanting, stranger? Stop there!"
The vegetation and foliage were so intricate that, instead of taking the shorter distance, the native loped back over the trail to the forking, and then went down the other to the river's edge. As he expected, he found the tug lying against the shore. In a country where wood is superabundant and coal almost unknown, the former was used exclusively on the craft.
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