[Illustration: 9283]
HEN Miller's train reached Darley and he alighted in the car-shed, he
was met by a blinding snow-storm. He could see the dim lantern of the
hotel porter as he came towards him through the slanting feathery sheet
and the yet dimmer lights of the hotel.
“Heer! Marse Miller!” shouted the darky; “look out fer dat plank er
you 'll fall in er ditch. Marse Alan Bishop is at de hotel, an' he say
tell you ter stop dar--dat you couldn't git home in dis sto'm no how.”
“Oh, he's in town,” said Miller. “Well, I was thinking of spending the
night at the hotel, anyway.”
In the office of the hotel, almost the only occupant of the room besides
the clerk, sat Abner Daniel, at the red-hot coal stove.
“Why,” exclaimed Miller, in surprise, “I didn't know you were in town.”
“The fact is, we're all heer,” smiled the old man, standing up and
stretching himself. He looked as if he had been napping. “We fetched the
women in to do some tradin', an' this storm blowed up. We could 'a' made
it home all right,” he laughed out impulsively, “but the last one of 'em
wanted a excuse to stay over. They are et up with curiosity to know how
yore trip come out. They are all up in Betsy an' Alf's room. Go up?”
“Yes, I reckon I'd better relieve their minds.”
Abner offered to pilot him to the room in question, and when it was
reached the old man opened the door without knocking. “Heer's the
man you've been hankerin' to see all day,” he announced, jovially. “I
fetched 'im straight up.”
They all rose from their seats around the big grate-fire and shook hands
with the lawyer.
“He looks like he has news of some kind,” said Adele, who was studying
his face attentively. “Now, sir, sit down and tell us are we to be rich
or poor, bankrupt or robber.”
“Don't put the most likely word last,” said Abner, dryly.
“Well,” began Miller, as he sat down in the semicircle. “As it
now stands, we've got a chance to gain our point. I have a signed
agreement--and a good one--that your price will be paid if we can get
the citizens through whose property the road passes to donate a right of
way. That's the only thing that now stands between you and a cash sale.”
“They 'll do it, I think,” declared Alan, elatedly.
“I dunno about that,” said Abner. “It's owin' to whose land is to be
donated. Thar's some skunks over in them mountains that wouldn't let
the gates o' heaven swing over the'r property except to let themselves
through.”
No one laughed at this remark save Abner himself. Mrs. Bishop was
staring straight into the fire. Her husband leaned forward and twirled
his stiff fingers slowly in front of him.
“Huh! So it depends on _that_,” he said. “Well, it _does_ look like
mighty nigh anybody ud ruther see a railroad run out thar than not, but
I'm no judge.”
“Well, it is to be tested two weeks from now,” Miller said. And then he
went into a detailed and amusing account of how he had brought Wilson to
terms.
“Well, that beats the Dutch!” laughed Abner. “I'd ruther 'a' been thar
'an to a circus. You worked 'im to a queen's taste--as fine as split
silk. You 'n' Pole Baker'd make a good team--you to look after the
bon-tons an' him to rake in the scum o' mankind. I don't know but Pole
could dress up an' look after both ends, once in a while, ef you wanted
to take a rest.”
“I'm always sorry when I heer of it bein' necessary to resort to
trickery,” ventured Mrs. Bishop, in her mild way. “It don't look exactly
right to me.”
“I don't like it, nuther,” said Bishop. “Ef the land's wuth the money,
an'--”
“The trouble with Alf,” broke in Abner, “is that with all his Bible
readin' he never seems to git any practical benefit out'n it. Now, when
I'm in doubt about whether a thing's right or wrong, I generally find
some Scriptural sanction fer the side I want to win. Some'rs in the
Bible thar was a big, rich king that sent a pore feller off to git 'im
kilt in battle so he could add his woman to his collection. Now, no harm
ever come to the king that I know of, an', fer my part, I don't think
what you did to yank Wilson into line was nigh as bad, beca'se you was
work-in' fer friends. Then Wilson was loaded fer bear his-se'f. War's
over, I reckon, but when Wilson's sort comes down heer expectin' to ride
rough-shod over us agin, I feel like givin' a war-whoop an' rammin' home
a Minié ball.”
“I sha 'n't worry about the morality of the thing,” said Miller. “Wilson
was dead set on crushing you to powder. I saw that. Besides, if he takes
the property and builds the road, he 'll make a lot of money out of it.”
After this the conversation languished, and, thinking that the old
people might wish to retire, Miller bade them good-night and went to his
own room.
A snow of sufficient thickness for sleighing in that locality was a rare
occurrence, and the next morning an odd scene presented itself in front
of the hotel. The young men of the near-by stores had hastily improvised
sleds by taking the wheels from buggies and fastening the axles to rough
wooden runners, and were making engagements to take the young ladies of
the town sleighing.
“Have you ever ridden in a sleigh?” Miller asked Adele, as they stood at
a window in the parlor witnessing these preparations.
“Never in my life,” she said.
“Well, you shall,” he said. “I 'll set a carpenter at work on my buggy,
and be after you in an hour. Get your wraps. My pair of horses will make
one of those sleds fairly spin.”
About eleven o' clock that morning Alan saw them returning from their
ride, and, much to his surprise, he noted that Dolly Barclay was with
them. As they drew up at the entrance of the hotel, Alan doffed his hat
and stepped forward to assist the ladies out of the sled.
“Miss Dolly won't stop,” said Miller. “Get in and drive her around.
She's hardly had a taste of it; we only picked her up as we passed her
house.”
Alan's heart bounded and then it sank. Miller was smiling at him
knowingly. “Go ahead,” he said, pushing him gently towards the sled.
“It's all right.”
Hardly knowing if he were acting wisely, Alan took the reins and sat
down by Dolly.
Adele stepped up behind to say good-bye to Dolly, and they kissed each
other. It was barely audible, and yet it reached the ears of the restive
horses and they bounded away like the wind.
“A peculiar way to start horses,” Alan laughed.
“A pleasant way,” she said. “Your sister is a dear, dear girl.”
Then he told her his fears in regard to what her father would think of
his driving with her.
“He's out of town to-day,” she answered, with a frank upward glance,
“and mother wouldn't care.”
“Then I'm going to enjoy it fully,” he said. “I've been dying to see
you, Dolly.”
“And do you suppose I haven't wanted to see you? When Mr. Miller
proposed this just now it fairly took my breath away. I was afraid you
might happen not to be around the hotel. Oh, there is so much I want to
say--and so little time.”
“When I'm with you I can' t talk,” he said. “It seems, in some way,
to take up time like the ticking of a clock. I simply want to close my
eyes, and--be with you, Dolly--_YOU_.”
“I know, but we must be practical, and think of the future. Mr. Miller
tells me there is a chance for your big scheme to succeed. Oh, if it
only would!”
“Yes, a pretty good chance,” he told her; “but even then your father--”
“He'd not hold out against you then,” said Dolly, just for an impulsive
moment clasping his arm as they shot through a snow-drift and turned a
corner of the street leading into the country.
“Then it must succeed,” he said, looking at her tenderly. “It _must_,
Dolly.”
“I shall pray for it--that and nothing else.”
Feeling the slack reins on their backs, the horses slowed up till they
were plodding along lazily. Suddenly the sled began to drag on the clay
road where the wind had bared it of snow, and the horses stopped of
their own accord, looking back at their increased burden inquiringly.
Alan made no effort to start them on again. It was a sequestered spot,
well hidden from the rest of the road by an old hedge of Osage orange
bushes.
“We must not stop, _dear_,” Dolly said, laying her hand again on his
arm. “You know driving is--is different from this. As long as we are
moving in any direction, I have no scruples, but to stop here in the
road--no, it won't do.”
“I was just wondering if we can start them,” he said, a mischievous look
in his laughing eye.
“Start them?” She extended her hand for the reins, but he held them out
of her reach. “Why, what do you mean?”
“Why, you saw the way they were started at the hotel,” he answered, in
quite a serious tone. “Ray has trained them-that way. They won't budge
an inch unless--”
“Oh, you silly boy!” Dolly was flushing charmingly.
“It's true,” he said. “I'm sorry if you object, for it's absolutely the
only available way.”
She raised her full, trusting eyes to his.
“You make me want to kiss you, Alan, but--”
He did not let her finish. Putting his arm around her, he drew her close
to him and kissed her on the lips. “Now, darling,” he said, “you are
mine.”
“Yes, I am yours, Alan.”
As they were nearing her house he told her that Wilson had agents out
secretly buying land, and that she must not allow her father to dispose
of his timbered interests until it was decided whether the railroad
would be built.
She promised to keep an eye on the Colonel's transactions and do all she
could to prevent him from taking a false step. “You may not know it,”
she said, “but I'm his chief adviser. He 'll be apt to mention any offer
he gets to me.”
“Well, don't tell him about the railroad unless you have to,” he said,
in parting with her at the gate. “But it would be glorious to have him
profit by our scheme, and I think he will.”
“We are going to hope for success, anyway, aren't we?” she said, leaning
over the gate. “I have believed in you so much that I feel almost sure
you are to be rewarded.”
“Miller thinks the chances are good,” he told her, “but father is afraid
those men over there will do their best to ruin the whole thing.”
Dolly waved her handkerchief to some one at a window of the house. “It's
mother,” she said. “She's shaking her finger at me.”
“I reckon she's mad at me,” said Alan, disconsolately.
“Not much,” Dolly laughed. “She's simply crazy to come out and gossip
with us. She would, too, if she wasn't afraid of father. Oh, young
man, you 'll have a mother-in-law that will reverse the order of things!
Instead of her keeping you straight, you 'll have to help us manage her.
Father says she's 'as wild as a buck.'”
They both laughed from the fulness of their happiness. A buggy on
runners dashed by. It contained a pair of lovers, who shouted and waved
their hands. The sun was shining broadly. The snow would not last long.
The crudest sled of all passed in the wake of the other. It was simply
a plank about twelve inches wide and ten feet long to which a gaunt,
limping horse was hitched. On the plank stood a triumphant lad balancing
himself with the skill of a bareback rider. His face was flushed; he
had never been so full of joy and ozone. From the other direction came
a gigantic concern looking like a snow-plough or a metropolitan
street-sweeper. It was a sliding road-wagon to which Frank Hillhouse had
hitched four sturdy mules. The wagon was full of girls. Frank sat on the
front seat cracking a whip and smoking. A little negro boy sat astride
of the leading mule, digging his rag-clothed heels into the animal's
side. Frank bowed as he passed, but his face was rigid.
“He didn't intend to ask me,” said Dolly. “He hardly speaks to me
since--”
“Since what?” Alan questioned.
“Since I asked him not to come to see me so often. I had to do it. He
was making a fool of himself. It had to stop.”
“You refused him?”
“Yes; but you must go now.” Dolly was laughing again. “Mother will be
out here in a minute; she can't curb her curiosity any longer. She'd
make you take her riding, and I wouldn't have you do it for the world.
Good-bye.”
“Well, good-bye.”
“Now, you must hope for the best, Alan.”
“I'm going to. Good-bye.”