CHAPTER 19 PETER JASKO SERVES NOTICE

After the old man had gone, Penny spoke apologetically to Mrs. Downey.

“Oh, I’m so sorry! I ruined everything, coming in just when I did.”

Mrs. Downey sat with her hands folded in her lap, staring out the window after the retreating figure of Peter Jasko.

“No, it wasn’t your fault, Penny.”

“He was angry at me because I’ve been helping Sara get in and out of the cabin. I never should have done it.”

“Perhaps not,” agreed Mrs. Downey, “but it would have made no difference in regard to the lease. I’ve been expecting Jasko’s decision. Even so, it comes as a blow. This last week I had been turning ideas over in my mind, trying to think of a way I could keep on here. Now everything is settled.”

Penny crossed the room and slipped an arm about the woman’s shoulders.

“I’m as sorry as I can be.”

With a sudden change of mood, Mrs. Downey arose and gave Penny’s hand an affectionate squeeze.

“Losing the lodge won’t mean the end of the world,” she said lightly. “While I may not be able to sell the place for a very good price now that the ski slopes are gone, I’ll at least get something from Mr. Maxwell. And I have a small income derived from my husband’s insurance policy.”

“Where will you go if you leave here?”

“I haven’t given that part any thought,” admitted Mrs. Downey. “I may do a little traveling. I have a sister in Texas I might visit.”

“You’ll be lonesome for Pine Top.”

“Yes,” admitted Mrs. Downey, “this place will always seem like home to me. And I’ve lived a busy, useful life for so many years it will be hard to let go.”

“Possibly Peter Jasko will reconsider his decision.”

Mrs. Downey smiled and shook her head. “Not Peter. I’ve known him for many years, although I can’t say I ever became acquainted with him. Once he makes a stand nothing can sway him.”

“Is he entirely right in his mind?” Penny asked dubiously.

“Oh, yes. He’s peculiar, that’s all. And he’s getting old.”

Despite Mrs. Downey’s avowal that no one was responsible for Peter Jasko’s decision, Penny considered herself at fault. She could not blame the old man for being provoked because she had helped his granddaughter escape from the cabin.

“If I went down there and apologized it might do some good,” she thought. “At least, nothing will be lost by trying.”

Penny turned the plan over in her mind, saying nothing about it to Mrs. Downey. It seemed to her that the best way would be to wait for a few hours until Peter Jasko had been given an opportunity to get over his anger.

The afternoon dragged on slowly. Toward nightfall, finding confinement intolerable, Penny ventured out-of-doors to try her skis. She was thrilled to discover that she could use them without too much discomfort.

Going to the kitchen window, she called to Mrs. Downey that she intended to do a little skiing and might be late for dinner.

“Oh, Penny, you’re not able,” the woman protested, raising the sash. “It’s only your determination which drives you on.”

“I’m feeling much better,” insisted Penny. “I want to go down the mountain and see Sara.”

“It will be a hard climb back,” warned Mrs. Downey. “And the radio reported another bad storm coming.”

“That’s why I want to go now,” answered Penny. “We may be snowbound by tomorrow.”

“Well, if you must go, don’t overtax your strength,” cautioned Mrs. Downey.

Penny wrapped a woolen scarf tightly about her neck as a protection against the biting wind. Cautiously, she skied down the trail, finding its frozen surface treacherous, and scarcely familiar. In the rapidly gathering dusk nothing looked exactly the same as by daylight. Trees towered like unfriendly giants, obscuring the path.

Before Penny had covered half the distance to Jasko’s cabin, snowflakes, soft and damp, began to fall. They came faster and faster, the wind whirling them directly into her face. She kept her head down and wished that she had remained by the crackling log fire at the Downey lodge.

Swinging out of the forest, Penny was hard pressed to remember the trail. As she hesitated, trying to decide which way to go, she felt her skis slipping along a downgrade where none should have been. Too late, she realized that she was heading down into a deep ravine which terminated in an ice-sheeted river below.

Throwing herself flat, Penny sought to save herself, but she kept sliding, sliding. A stubby evergreen at last stayed her fall. She clung helplessly to it for a moment, recovering her breath. Then she tried to pull herself up the steep incline. She slipped and barely caught hold of the bush to save herself from another bad fall. Sharp pains shot through her side.

“Now I’ve fixed myself for sure,” she thought. “How will I ever get out of this hole?”

The ravine offered protection from the chill wind, but the snow was sifting down steadily. Penny could feel her clothing becoming thoroughly soaked. If she should lie still she soon would freeze.

Again Penny tried to struggle up the bank, and again she slid backwards. From sheer desperation rather than because she cherished a hope that anyone would hear, Penny shouted for help.

An answering halloo echoed to her through the trees.

Penny dared not hope that the voice was other than her own. “Help! Help!” she called once more.

Her heart leaped. The cry which came back definitely belonged to a man! And as she marveled at the miracle of a rescue, a dark figure loomed up at the rim of the ravine.

A gruff voice called to her: “Hold on! Don’t try to move! I’ll get a rope and be back!”

The man faded back into the darkness. Penny clung to the bush until it seemed her arms would break. Snow fell steadily, caking her hood and penetrating the woolen suit.

Then as the girl lost all awareness of time, she caught the flash of a lighted lantern. Her rescuer appeared again at the top of the ravine and lowered a rope. She grasped it, wrapping it tightly about her wrist, and climbed as best she could while the man pulled from above.

At last Penny reached the top, falling in an exhausted heap on the snow. Raising her head she stared into the face of her rescuer. The man was Peter Jasko.

He recognized her at the same instant.

“You!” he exclaimed.

For one disturbing moment Penny thought the old man meant to push her back down into the yawning ravine. In the yellow glow of the lantern, the expression of his face was terrifying.

Gaining control of himself, Peter Jasko demanded gruffly: “Hurt?”

“I’ve twisted my ankle.” Penny pulled herself up from the ground, took a step, and recoiled with pain.

“Let me have a look at it.”

Jasko bent down and examined the ankle.

“No bones broken,” he said. “You’re luckier than you deserve. Any fool who doesn’t know enough to keep off skis ought to be crippled for life!”

“Such a cheerful philosophy,” observed Penny ironically. “Well, thanks anyhow for saving me. Even if you are sorry you did it.”

The old man made no immediate reply. He stood gazing down at Penny.

“Reckon I owe you something,” he said grudgingly. “Sara told me how you kept the bob-sled from going off the track. Injured yourself, too, didn’t you?”

“Yes.”

“You had no business helping Sara go against my will,” the old man said, his anger rising again. “I told you to stay away, didn’t I?”

“You did. I was sorry to disobey your orders, Mr. Jasko, but I think you are unjust to your granddaughter.”

“You do, eh?”

“And you’re not being fair to Mrs. Downey either,” Penny went on courageously. “She’s struggled for years to make her lodge profitable, fought against overwhelming odds while the Fergus interests have done everything they can to put her out of business. Unless you renew her lease, she’ll be forced to leave Pine Top.”

“So?” inquired the old man, unmoved.

“She’s fighting with her back to the wall. And now you’ve dealt her the final blow.”

“No one asked Mrs. Downey to come here in the first place,” replied Peter Jasko. “Or them other hotel people either. Pine Top can get along without the lot of ’em. The sooner they all clear out the better I’ll like it.”

“I’m sure of that,” said Penny. “You don’t care how much trouble you cause other folks. Because of your own son’s death you have taken an unnatural attitude toward skiing. You hate everything remotely connected with the sport. But it isn’t fair. Your granddaughter has a right to a certain amount of freedom.”

Peter Jasko listened to the girl’s words in silence. When she had finished he said in a strangely shaken voice:

“My son met his death going on ten years ago. It was on this trail—”

“I’m sorry,” Penny said contritely. “I shouldn’t have spoken the way I did. Actually, I was on my way down the mountain to tell you I deeply regret helping Sara to go against your will.”

“My granddaughter is headstrong,” the old man replied slowly. “I want what’s best for her. That’s why I’ve tried to protect her.”

“I’m sure you’ve done what you thought was right,” Penny returned. “Why don’t you see Mrs. Downey again and—”

“No!” said the old man stubbornly. “You can’t say anything which will make me change my mind. Take my arm and see if you can walk!”

Penny struggled forward, supported by Jasko’s strong arm. Although each step sent a wracking pain through her leg she made no sound of protest.

“You can’t make it that way,” the old man declared, pausing. “I’ll have to fix up a sled and pull you.”

Going back for Penny’s skis which had been left at the top of the ravine, he lashed them together. She lay full length on the runners, and he towed her until they came within view of the cabin. A light glowed in the window.

On level ground, Penny tried walking again, and managed to reach the cabin door.

“You go on inside,” the old man directed. “I’ll hitch up the bob-sled and take you home.”

Penny pushed open the door only to hesitate on the threshold. The room was filled with tobacco smoke. Two men sat at the table, and directly behind them stood Sara Jasko.

The girl came swiftly to the door. She gave Penny a warm smile of welcome, not noticing that she had been hurt, and said anxiously to Mr. Jasko:

“Grandfather, you have visitors. Mr. Fergus and Mr. Maxwell are waiting to see you. I think it’s about the lease.”

“I’ve nothing to say to them,” returned the old man grimly.

Nevertheless, he followed the two girls into the room, closing the door against the wind and snow.

The situation was an awkward one for Penny. Ralph Fergus and Harvey Maxwell both stared at her with undisguised dislike and suspicion. Then, the former arose, and ignoring her entirely, stepped forward to meet the old man, his hand extended.

“Good evening, sir,” he said affably. “Mr. Maxwell and I have a little business to discuss with you, if you can spare us a moment.”

Peter Jasko ignored the offered hand.

“I haven’t changed my mind since the last time we talked,” he said. “I’m not signing any lease!”

Penny scarcely heard the words for she was staring beyond Ralph Fergus at his overcoat which hung over the vacated chair. The garment was light brown and the top button, a large one of the same color, had been torn from the cloth.

Shifting her gaze, Penny glanced at Sara. The girl nodded her head slowly up and down. She, too, had made the important observation, and was thinking the same thought. There could be little doubt of it—Ralph Fergus was the man who had weakened the brake rod of their bob-sled!