TEN days before the departure from San Francisco telegrams had been sent
in all directions giving forth the glad tidings that General Holden and
Gail, Roderick and Buell Hampton, were safe and would soon be on their
homeward way to Wyoming. Among those thus notified had been the Shields
family at Los Angeles and Allen Miller at Keokuk. But it was a great
surprise to find Whitley Adams waiting the arrival of the morning train
at Rawlins with his big Sixty Horse Power automobile, and bearing the
news that Mrs. Shields, Barbara and Dorothy had returned, while also
Uncle Allen and Aunt Lois had come to Encampment so that appropriate
welcome might be given to those who had recently come through such
terrible and harrowing experiences. Jim Rankin and Tom Sun were also on
the platform to exchange hand-grips with Roderick and the Major.
After the first glad salutations Whitley pointed to his car, and
announced that he was going to drive the party over to Encampment.
“Sorry to be starting in opposition to the regular stage,” he said
with a sly little wink in Roderick’s direction. “But you see Mr.
Rankin’s horses are hardly good enough for the occasion.”
Jim drew himself up and pointed to his old Concord stage coach standing
by, all ready for the road.
“The dangnationest finest pair uv roan leaders and span uv blacks at
the wheel that ever had lines over ‘em in this part of the country,”
he declared sturdily. “Just wait a bit, young man. ‘Fore we’re
many miles on the road I make free to prognosticate you’ll be under
the bed-springs uv that new fangled wagon uv yours and my hosses will
be whizzing past you like a streak uv greased lightnin’. How would a
little bet uv ten or twenty dollars suit you?”
“Oh, bankers never gamble,” replied Whitley with undisturbed
gravity. “Well, you’ll follow with the luggage, Mr. Rankin, and no
doubt we’ll have the pleasure of seeing you again sometime tomorrow.
Come away, Miss Holden. Luncheon is to be waiting at my hotel in
Encampment in a couple of hours.”
“Blame his skin,” muttered Jim when the big automobile had whirled
away. But Tom Sun was convulsed with laughter.
“He got your dander fairly riz, Jim,” he chuckled.
Jim’s visage expanded into a broad grin.
“Guess that’s just what he was arter. But ain’t he the most sassy
cock-a-whoop little cuss anyhow?”
“Shall I help you with the luggage?” laughed Tom Sun.
“Oh, you just quit the foolin’ game, Tom. Don’t come nachural from
you. Besides I might be gettin’ a heap peevish and kind o’ awkward
with my artillery. Suppose we lubricate?”
So the old cronies crossed over to the Wren saloon, where a brace of
cocktails soon restored Jim’s ruffled dignity.
Meanwhile the automobile was speeding along.
Roderick was on the driver’s seat beside Whitley, and absorbing the
news.
“Oh, I just insisted on your Uncle Allen coming along,” Whitley was
telling him. “And Aunt Lois, too. My old folks will arrive at the end
of the week. Meantime Aunt Lois is helping me with my trousseau.”
“Your trousseau!”
“Yes—socks and things. You see it’s all fixed up between me and
dear Dorothy. Oh, she’s the best girl ever—you’ll remember I said
that from the first, Rod, my boy.” His face became grave, and his
voice took a humble tone. “Of course I know I can never, fill the
place of Grant Jones, and I told her that. But I’ll do my best to make
her happy, and I think she cares enough for me to let me try.”
Roderick pressed the hand next him resting on the steering wheel.
“I’m sure you’ll be very happy, both of you,” he said; “and I
congratulate you, Whitley, old fellow, from the bottom of my heart.”
Whitley looked round and was his gay, light-hearted self once again.
“Thanks, old chap. Well, Barbara and Ben Bragdon are also ready.
We’re only waiting for you and Gail.”
Roderick’s face reddened.
“You’re mighty kind but rather premature, I’m afraid.”
“Oh, fudge and nonsense! We’re all agreed the thing’s settled, or
as good as settled. Great guns anyone with half an eye could have told
it, to see you handing her out of the train a little while ago.”
“Really, Whitley.”
“There now, just forget all that. So when talking matters over with
Bragdon and our dear twins I suggested that we might as well ring the
wedding bells for six as for two at a time—may come cheaper with the
Reverend Grannon, you know, if we hand it to him wholesale.”
Roderick no longer attempted to protest, and Whitley rambled on: “But,
say, old fellow, your Uncle Allen has one on you. He declares that
Gail Holden is just the very girl he intended for you right from the
beginning—the young lady about whom you kicked when you had that row
in the banker’s room a year and a half ago—Great Scott, how time
does fly!”
“Impossible,” exclaimed Roderick in profound amazement
“The very same,” replied Whitley. “The little tot of a girl with
whom you had that desperate love affair down the river years and years
ago—oh, quite a pretty story; your uncle told it to me with no end of
charming details. And now he is mighty proud, I can tell you, over his
own foresight and sagacity in picking just the right girl for you at the
very start.”
“He said that, did he?” queried Roderick with a grim smile.
“Yes, and that if you had followed his advice you could have had her
then, without running away from home and facing all sorts of hardships
and dangers.”
“No, sir,” exclaimed Roderick firmly. “Gail Holden is not that
sort of girl. Uncle Allen forgets that she had to be won—or rather has
to be won,” he added, correcting himself when he caught the smile on
Whitley’s countenance.
“Well, you won’t forget,” laughed Whitley, “that I stood out
of the contest and left the way clear for you. Lucky, though, that the
College Widow took the bit between her teeth and bolted, eh, old man?”
“Hush!” whispered Roderick, throwing a warning glance over his
shoulder.
“What are you two boys talking about?” asked Gail, with a bright
smile from her seat at the back of the tonneau.
“Old college days,” laughed Whitley, as he changed the clutch for a
stiff up-grade.
Arriving at Encampment, they found Allen Miller walking nervously up and
down the platform in front of the hotel. The red blood in Roderick’s
veins surged like fierce hammer strokes, with eagerness to once more
grasp the hand of his old guardian.
He hastily excused himself, jumped from the auto and grasped the
extended hand of his old guardian. He was soon led away by his uncle
Allen, to the parlors of the hotel, to meet his Aunt Lois.
“Oh, I am so glad you brought Roderick here, Allen; for I just knew
that I would get all fussed up and cry.
“There, there, Aunt Lois,” said Roderick cheerily, after embracing
her warmly, “we are not going to be separated any more,—or, if we
are, it will not be for long at any one time. I know the way back to old
Keokuk,” said Roderick, laughing and hugging his dear aunt Lois
again, “and you and Uncle Allen now know the road out to the Wyoming
hills.”
“I declare, Lois,” said Uncle Allen, “you and Roderick act like a
couple of school children.” He laughed rather loudly as he said this,
to hide his own agitation; but it was noticed that his eyes were filled
with tears, which he hastily brushed away.
It was a happy luncheon party at the Bonhomme Hotel, Whitley playing
the host to perfection, his guests, besides the new arrivals, being the
whole Shields family, Banker Allen Miller and his wife, and the young
state senator, Ben Bragdon. And early in the proceedings Gail to her
surprise learned that Roderick was no other than her little boy lover
on the river steamer Diamond Joe some fifteen years ago, and blushed
in sweet confusion when Allen Miller in radiant good humor joked about
coming events casting their shadows before. Roderick went to her rescue
and promptly switched the topic of conversation.
Toward the close of the meal Buell Hampton was expounding to the banker
a great irrigation scheme he had in view—to bring into Encampment
Valley the waters of French Creek and Bear Creek, the former by a tunnel
through the Hunter Range, the latter by a siphon under the Great Platte
River, whereby a hundred thousand acres of rich valley lands, now
wilderness because waterless, could be brought into profitable
agricultural bearing.
“So you are going to drive us cattle men off the face of the
country,” laughed Mr. Shields.
“Better happy homes than roaming herds,” replied Buell Hampton.
“What nobler work could we take in hand?” he asked. “The smelter
and the mine are running themselves now. Let us then see what we can
do to make the desert blossom like the rose. Mr. Miller, Mr. Shields,
myself—we can all help with capital. Mr. Bragdon, there is a life’s
work for you in this enterprise.”
“Lawyers always come in for fat pickings,” laughed Whitley Adams.
“General Holden,” continued the Major, “I am sure will want to
join in too. Then Roderick—”
He paused and glanced in his young friend’s direction.
“Oh, I’m prepared to turn in all the gold from my mine,” exclaimed
Roderick enthusiastically.
Indeed Buell Hampton had kindled the spirit of enthusiasm all round. The
project was as good as launched—the dream of a generation of pioneers
within sight of realization.
When coffee was being served on the veranda, the Major drew Roderick
aside. They were seated alone at a little table.
“Roderick, my boy,” Buell Hampton began, “I want to see you
tonight at my home—all alone. Come about eight o’clock. I have
several matters of importance to communicate. During the afternoon
I’ll be busy—I have some banking business to transact, besides I
wish an hour or two with your uncle before my talk with you tonight. I
am sorry to leave such a happy gathering, but am sure”—this with
a gentle glance in Gail’s direction—“that the time will not hang
heavily on your hands. Until eight o’clock then,” and with a tap on
Roderick’s shoulder the Major crossed over and spoke a few words to
Allen Miller, the two taking their departure a few moments later.
Roderick was mystified—less by Buell Hampton’s actual words than by
his grave look and manner.
Meanwhile Gail had risen and entered the drawing room that opened by
French windows off the veranda, and the sound of her voice at the piano
broke him from his momentary reverie. He rose and joined her.