task occupied him a little while--the replacing of the lock on the
door--but after that the hours passed heavily and in silence. The flush
of dawn appeared in the east at last, and then they heard a faint step
in the hall outside and the gentle turning of a key in a lock. Jimmy
Grayson and Harley looked at each other and smiled grimly, but they said
nothing. A half-hour later there was a loud knock on their door, and old
Daniel Simpson bade them rise and get ready for breakfast.
"It is chiefly in your hands now," said Harley, in a low tone to Jimmy
Grayson.
"We'll be down in a few minutes, and we have had a good night's sleep,
for which we thank you," he called to the old man.
"You're welcome to it," replied Simpson. "You'll find water and towels
on the porch down-stairs, and then you can come straight in to
breakfast."
They heard his step passing down the hall to the stairway, where it died
away, and then they dressed deliberately. On the porch they found the
water and towels as Simpson had said, and bathed and rubbed their faces.
A golden sun was just rising from the prairie, and beads of water from
the night's rain sparkled on the trees and grass. The wind came out of
the southwest, fresh and glorious.
They entered the dining-room, where the breakfast smoked on the table,
and the old man and his wife were waiting. Harley could not see that
they had changed in appearance in the morning glow. Simpson was still
rugged and grim, while the woman yet cowered and now and then raised
terrified and appealing eyes.
"Whar's your driver?" asked Simpson.
"He has gone down to the stable to feed and care for his horses,"
replied the candidate, easily. "He's a very careful man, always looks
after his horses before he looks after himself. He told us not to wait
for him, as he'll be along directly."
"Then be seated," said the old man, hospitably. "We've got corn-bread
and ham-and-eggs and coffee, an' I guess you kin make out."
"I should think so," said Jimmy Grayson. "Why, if I had not been as
hungry as a wolf already, it would make me hungry just to look at it."
The three sat down at the table, while Mrs. Simpson served them, going
back and forth to the little kitchen adjoining for fresh supplies of hot
food. Mr. Grayson did most of the talking, and it was addressed in an
easy, confidential manner to old Daniel Simpson. The candidate's gift of
conversational talk was equal to his gift of platform oratory, but never
before had Harley known him to be so interesting and so attractive. He
fairly radiated with the quality called personal magnetism, and soon the
old man ate mechanically, while his attention was riveted on Jimmy
Grayson. But by-and-by he seemed to remember something.
"That driver of yourn is tarnal slow," he said; "he ought to be comin'
in to breakfast."
"You have diagnosed his chief fault," said Jimmy Grayson, with an easy
laugh. "He is slow, extremely slow, but he will be along directly, and
he doesn't mind cold victuals."
Then he turned back to the easy flow of anecdote, chiefly about his
political campaign, and Harley saw that the interest of the old man was
centred upon him. The woman, without a word, brought in hot biscuits
from the kitchen, but she did not lose her frightened look, glancing
from one to another of the three with furtive, lowered eyes. But Jimmy
Grayson, the golden-mouthed, talked gracefully, and the note of his
discourse that morning was the sweetness and kindness of life; he saw
only the sunny side of things; people were good and true, and peace was
better than strife. His smiling, benevolent face and the mellow flow of
his words enforced the lesson.
The old man's face softened a little, and even Harley, though a prey to
anxieties, felt the influence of Jimmy Grayson's spell. The little
dining-room where they sat was at the rear of the house. Harley saw the
golden sunshine of a perfect October day, and the wind that sang across
the plain had the soft strain of a girl's voice. He felt that it was
good to live that morning, and his spirits rose as he saw the old man
fall further and further under the spell of Jimmy Grayson's eloquence.
But Simpson raised himself presently and glanced at the door.
"That driver of yourn is tarnal slow," he repeated. "Seems to me he'll
never finish feedin' an' curryin' them horses!"
"He is slow, extremely slow," laughed Jimmy Grayson. "If he were not so
we should not have got lost last night, and we should not be here now,
Mr. Simpson, trespassing on your hospitality. Perhaps the man does not
want any breakfast; it's not the first time since he's been with us that
he's gone without it."
Then he launched again into the stream of a very pretty story that he
had been telling, and the wavering attention of the old man returned.
Harley gave all assistance. Despite his anxiety and his listening for
sounds without, he kept his eyes fixed upon Jimmy Grayson's face as if
he would not miss a word.
The breakfast went on to an unusual length. The candidate and Harley
called again and again for hot biscuits and more coffee, and always the
old woman served them silently, almost furtively.
The story was finished, and just as it came to its end Simpson said,
with a grim inflection:
"It 'pears to me, Mr. Grayson, all you said about that driver of yourn
is true. He hasn't come from the stable yet."
There was the sound of a step in the hall, and the candidate said,
quickly:
"He's coming now; he'll be in presently, as soon as he washes his hands
and face on the porch. No, sit down, Mr. Simpson; he needs no
directions. We were speaking of the sacrifices that people make for one
another, and it reminds me of a very pretty story that I must tell you."
The old man sank into his chair, but his look wandered to the door. It
seemed to Harley that light sounds came from the other part of the
house, and the old man, too, seemed for a moment to be listening, but
Jimmy Grayson at once began his story, and Simpson's attention came
back.
"This is a story of the mountains of eastern Kentucky," began the
candidate, "and it is a love story--a very pretty one, I think."
Simpson moved in his chair, and a sudden wondering look appeared in his
eyes at the words "eastern Kentucky." The old woman, too, slightly
raised her bent form and gazed eagerly at the candidate. But Jimmy
Grayson took no notice, and continued.
"This," he said, "is the love story of two people who were young then,
but who are old now. Yet I am sure there is much affection and
tenderness in their hearts, and often they must think fondly of those
old days. The youth lived on the side of a mountain, and the girl lived
on the side of another mountain not far away. He was tall, strong, and
brave; she, too, was tall, as slender as one of the mountain saplings,
with glorious brown hair and eyes, and a voice as musical as a mountain
echo. Well, they met and they loved, loved truly and deeply. It might
seem that the way was easy now for them to marry and go to a house of
their own, but it was not. There was a bar."
"A feud!" breathed the old man. The old woman put her hands to her eyes.
"Yes, a feud; they seem strange things to us here, but to those distant
people in the mountains they seem the most natural thing in the world.
The youth and the girl belonged to families that were at war with each
other, and marriage between them would have been considered by all their
relatives a mortal sin."
The old man's eyes were fastened upon Jimmy Grayson's, but his look for
the moment was distant, as if it were held by old memories. The woman
was crying softly. Again the soft shuffle of feet in the other part of
the house came to Harley's ears, but the old couple did not hear; the
driver was forgotten; for all Simpson and his wife remembered, he might
still be finishing his morning toilet on the porch.
"They were compelled to meet in secret," continued Jimmy Grayson, "but
the girl was frightened for him because she loved him. She told him that
he must go away, that if her father and brothers heard of their meetings
they would kill him; it was impossible for them to marry, but she loved
him, she would never deny that. He listened to her gently and tenderly;
he was a brave youth, as I have said, and he would not go away. He said
that God had made them for each other, and she should be his wife; he
would not go away; he was not afraid."
"No, I was not afraid," breathed the old man, softly. The old woman had
straightened herself up until she stood erect. There was a delicate
flush on her face, and her eyes were luminous.
"This youth was a hero, a gallant and chivalrous gentleman," continued
Jimmy Grayson; "he loved the girl, and she loved him; there was no real
reason in the world why they should not marry, and he was resolved that
there should be none."
The candidate's head was bent forward over his plate. His face was
slightly flushed, and his burning eyes held Simpson's. Harley saw that
he thrilled with his own story and the crisis for which it was told.
Elsewhere in the building the faint noises went on, but Harley alone
heard.
"The youth did what I would have done and what you would have done, Mr.
Simpson," continued Jimmy Grayson. "He did what nature and sense
dictated. He overbore all resistance on the part of the girl, who in her
heart was willing to be overborne. One dark night he stole her from her
father's house and carried her away on his horse."
"How well I remember it!" exclaimed the old man, with eyes a-gleam. "I
had Marthy on the horse behind me, and my rifle on the pommel of the
saddle before me."
The old woman cried softly, but it seemed to Harley that the note of her
weeping was not grief.
"He stole her away," continued Jimmy Grayson, "and before morning they
were married. Then he took her to a house of his own, and he sent word
that if any man came to do them harm he would meet a rifle bullet. They
knew that he was the best shot in the mountains, and that he was without
fear, so they did not come. And that youth and that girl are still
living, though both are old now, but neither has ever for a moment
regretted that night."
"You speak the truth," exclaimed the old man, striking his fist upon the
table, while his eyes flashed with exultant fire. "We've never been
sorry for a moment for what we did, hev we Marthy?"
Harley had risen to his feet, and a signal look passed between him and
the candidate.
"And then," said Jimmy Grayson, "why do you deny to Henry Eversley the
right to do what you did, and what you still glory in after all these
years? Mr. Simpson, shake hands with your new son-in-law. He and his
bride are waiting in the doorway."
The old man sprang to his feet. His daughter and a youth, a handsome
couple, stood at the entrance. Behind them were three or four men, one
the driver, and another in clerical garb, evidently a minister.
"They were married in your front parlor while we sat at breakfast," said
Jimmy Grayson. "Mr. Simpson, your son-in-law is still offering you his
hand."
The bewildered look left the old man's eyes, and he took the
outstretched hand in a hearty grasp.
"Henry," he said, "you've won."
X
THE "KING'S" REQUEST
An hour later the candidate, Harley, and the driver were on the way to
the town at which they had intended to pass the preceding night. With
ample instructions and a brilliant morning sunlight there was no further
trouble about the direction, and they pursued their way in peace.
The air was crisp and blowy, and the earth, new-washed by the rain, took
on some of the tints of spring green, despite the lateness of the
season. Harley, relaxed from the tension of the night before, leaned
back in his seat and enjoyed the tonic breeze. No one of the three had
much to say; all were in meditation, and the quiet and loneliness of the
morning seemed to promote musing. They drove some miles across the
rolling prairie without seeing a single house, but at last the driver
pointed to a flickering patch of gold on the western horizon.
"That," said he, "is the weather-vane on the cupola of the new
court-house, and in another hour we'll be in town. I guess your people
will be glad to see you, Mr. Grayson."
"And I shall be glad to see them," said the candidate. A few minutes
later he turned to the correspondent.
"Harley," he asked, "will you send anything to your paper about last
night?"
"I have to do so," replied Harley, with a slight note of apology in his
tone--this had not been his personal doing. "For a presidential
candidate to get lost on the prairie in the dark and the storm, and then
spend the night in a house in which only his presence of mind and
eloquence prevent a murder, that is news--news of the first importance
and the deepest interest. I am bound not only to send a despatch about
it, but the despatch must be very long and full. And I suppose, too,
that I shall have to tell it to the other fellows when we reach the
town."
The candidate sighed.
"I know you are right," he said, "but I wish you did not have to do it.
The story puts me in a sensational light. It seems as if I were turning
aside from the great issues of a campaign for personal adventure."
"It was forced upon you."
"So it was, but that fact does not take from it the sensational look."
Harley was silent. He knew that Mr. Grayson's point was well made, but
he knew also that he must send the despatch.
The candidate made no further reference to the subject, and five minutes
later they saw horsemen rise out of the plain and gallop towards them.
As Harley had said, a presidential nominee was not lost in the dark and
the storm every night, and this little Western town was mightily
perturbed when Mr. Grayson failed to arrive. The others had come in
safely, but already all the morning newspapers of the country had
published the fact that the candidate was lost, swallowed up somewhere
on the dark prairie. And Mr. Grayson's instinct was correct, too,
because mingled with the wonder and speculation was much criticism. It
was boldly said in certain supercilious circles that he had probably
turned aside on an impulse to look after some minor matter, perhaps
something that was purely personal that had nothing to do with the
campaign. Churchill, late the night before, had sent to the _Monitor_ a
despatch written in his most censorious manner, in that vein of
reluctant condemnation that so well suited his sense of superiority. He
was loath to admit that the candidate was proving inadequate to his high
position, but the circumstances indicated it, and the proof was becoming
cumulative. He also sent a telegram to the Honorable Mr. Goodnight, in
New York, and the burden of it was the need of a restraining force, a
force near at hand, and able to meet every evil with instant cure.
But the Western horsemen who met Jimmy Grayson--they clung to their
affectionate "Jimmy"--were swayed by no such emotions. They repeated a
shout of welcome, and wanted to know how and where he had passed the
night, to all of which questions the candidate, with easy humor,
returned ready and truthful replies, although he did not say anything
for the present about the adventure of the old man and of the young one
who was now the old one's son-in-law.
The driver took them straight towards a large and attractive hotel, and
it seemed to Harley that half the population of the town was out to see
the triumphant entry of the candidate. With all the attention of the
crowd centred upon one man, Harley was able to slip quietly through the
dense ranks and enter the hotel, where he fell at once into the hands of
Sylvia Morgan. She came forward to meet him, impulsively holding out
her hands, the light of welcome sparkling in her eyes.
"We did not know what had become of you," she exclaimed. "We feared that
you had got lost in the quicksands of the river." And then, with a
sudden flush, she added, somewhat lamely, "We are all so glad that Uncle
James has got back safely."
Harley had read undeniable relief and welcome in her eyes, and it gave
him a peculiar thrill, a thrill at first of absolute and unthinking joy,
followed at once by a little catch. Before him rose the square and
massive vision of "King" Plummer, and he had an undefined sense of doing
wrong.
"We've brought him back safely," he said, after slight hesitation. "We
spent the night very comfortably in a farm-house on the prairie."
She noticed his hesitation, and her eyes became eager.
"I do believe that you have had an adventure," she exclaimed. "I know
that you have; I know by your look. You must tell it to me at once."
"We have had an adventure," admitted Harley, "and there is no reason why
I shouldn't tell you of it, as in a few hours a long account of it
written by me will be going eastward."
"I am waiting."
Harley began at once with his narrative, and they became absorbed in it,
he in the telling and she in the hearing. While he talked and she
listened "King" Plummer approached. Now the "King" in these later few
days had begun to study the ways of women, in so far as his limited
experience enabled him to do so, a task to which he had never turned his
attention before in his life. But the words of Mrs. Grayson rankled;
they kept him unhappy, they disturbed his self-satisfaction, and made
him apprehensive for the future. He had been in the crowd that welcomed
Jimmy Grayson, he had shaken the candidate's hand effusively, and now,
when he entered the hotel, he found Sylvia Morgan welcoming John Harley.
"King" Plummer did not like what he saw; it gave him his second shock,
and he paused to examine the two with a yellow eye, and a mind reluctant
to admit certain facts, among them the most obvious one, that they were
a handsome couple, and of an age. And this was a fact that did not give
the "King" pleasure. He did not dislike Harley; instead, he appreciated
his good qualities, but just then he regarded him with an unfriendly
glance; that reality of youth annoyed him. There was a glass on the
other side of the room, and the "King" looked at his own reflection. He
saw a large, powerful head and broad, strong features, the whole
expressing a man at the height of his powers, at the very flood-tide of
his strength. But it was not young. The hair was iron-gray, and there
were many deep lines in the face--not unhandsome lines, yet they were
lines.
"With all his shameless youth," were the "King's" unuttered thoughts, "I
could beat him at anything, except, perhaps, scribbling. I could live
and prosper where he would starve to death." And surging upon the "King"
came the memories of his long, triumphant, and joyous struggle with wild
nature. Then he approached the couple, and greeted Harley with the
good-nature that was really a part of him. Sylvia, with shining eyes,
told at second hand, though not with diminished effect, the story of the
night, and "King" Plummer was loud in his applause. He did not care
what criticism the supercilious might make, the act was to him
spontaneous and natural.
"But I don't see why you should have been with Jimmy Grayson then," he
said, frankly, to Harley. "You are an Easterner, new to these parts, and
it isn't right that just you should be along when the interestin' things
happen."
Harley could not help laughing at the naive remark, but he liked "King"
Plummer all the better for it. The "King," however, gave him no more
chance to talk alone that day with Sylvia. Mr. Plummer showed the
greatest regard for Miss Morgan's health and comfort, and did not try to
hide his solicitude; he was continually about her, arranging little
conveniences for the journey, and introducing Idaho topics, familiar to
them, but to which Harley was necessarily a stranger. The "King," with
his wide sense of Western hospitality, would not have done this at
another time, but in view of the close relationship between himself and
Sylvia he regarded it as pardonable.
The watchful Mrs. Grayson saw it all, and at first she regarded the
"King" with an approving eye, but by-and-by the approval changed to a
frown. There was something forced in his manner; it was just the least
bit unconvincing. It was clear to her that he was overdoing it, and in
her opinion that was as bad as not doing it at all. Nor did she like the
spectacle of a middle-aged man of affairs trying to play the gallant;
there was another manner, one just as good, that would become him more.
She was impelled to admonish him again, but she restrained herself,
reflecting that she had not improved matters by her first warning, and
she might make them worse by her second. Nevertheless, she summoned the
nominee of a great party to the American Presidency to a conference, and
he came with more alacrity than he would have obeyed the call of a
conference of governors.
"Sylvia is doing what it is natural for her to do," she said, abruptly.
"Then, my dear, why find fault with me because of it?" replied the
mystified candidate.
"I don't find fault with you; I merely want your advice, although I know
that you can have none to give."
The candidate wisely kept silent, and waited for the speaker of the
house to proceed.
"Sylvia is your niece, and Mr. Plummer is your most powerful political
supporter in the West," she said. "If she jilts him because of any fancy
or impulse--well, you know such things can make men, especially elderly
men, do very strange deeds. I speak of it because I am sure it must have
been in your thoughts."
The candidate stirred uneasily.
"It is a thing that I do not like to take into consideration," he said.
"Nor do I, but it forces itself upon us."
"It is right that Harley should pay her attention. They are members of
this party, and they are of an age likely to make them congenial."
"That is where the danger lies. It may not amount at present to anything
more than a fancy, but a fancy can make a very good beginning."
They talked on at length and with much earnestness, but they could come
to no other conclusion than to use that last refuge, silence and
waiting.
Meanwhile Sylvia was enjoying herself. She was young and vigorous, and
she had a keen zest in life. She was surrounded by men, some young,
too, who had seen much of the world, and they interested her; neither
would she have been human, nor of her sex, if their attentions had not
pleased her; and there, too, was the great campaign throwing its glow
over everything. She was gracious even to the "King," whom she had been
treating rather worse than he deserved for several days. She seemed to
appreciate his increased gallantry, and it was "dear old daddy" very
often now, whether in the comparative privacy of the Grayson family
circle or in the larger group of the young correspondents and
politicians. The "King" was delighted with the change, and his own
manner became easy and happy. He looked once or twice at the lady whom
he considered his mentor, Mrs. Grayson, and expected to see approval and
satisfaction on her face, too, but she was stern and impenetrable, and
the "King" said to himself that after all she was not so startlingly
acute.
Sylvia was telling some anecdote of the West to her new friends, and, as
the incident was rather remarkable, she thought it necessary to have
confirmation.
"It happened before I was born, but you were there then, and you know
all about it, don't you, daddy?"
"King" Plummer quickly nodded confirmation and smiled at the memory. The
event had interested him greatly, and he was glad to vouch for its
truth. He was pleased all the more when he saw the others looking at him
with the respect and deference due to--his thoughts halted suddenly in
their course and turned into another channel. Then he found himself
frowning. He did not like the conjunction of "dear old daddy" and of a
thing that had happened many years ago.
The "King" quietly slipped away from the party, and he noticed with
intense gloom that his departure did not seem to make as much difference
as it should. For a whole afternoon he was silent, and many corrugations
formed temporarily in his brow, indicating resolved thought. Nor were
appearances wrong, because the "King" was laboriously dragging himself
up to the edge of a mighty resolution. He was physically as brave a man
as ever walked; in early and rougher days he had borne a ready
Winchester, but this emergency was something new in his experience, and
naturally he hesitated at the venture. However, just after supper, when
Sylvia was alone in the drawing-room of the car, he approached her. She
looked up at him and smiled, but the "King's" face was set with the
power of his resolve.
"Come in, daddy," she said.
The "King" did not smile, nor did he sit down.
"Sylvia," he said, "I have a favor to ask of you."