hand, for a moment, touched her trembling hand on the bridle rein, and
she thrilled with the answering touch.
"Sylvia," he said, with grave sweetness, "I mean to win you."
"You must not talk so," she said, and a sudden pallor replaced the
color in her face. "You know that I cannot in honor hear it. I am
promised, and of my own accord, to another, and to one to whom every
sacred obligation commands me to keep my promise."
"I do not forget your promise--Mr. Plummer was in my mind when I was
speaking--nor do I urge you to break it."
"Why, then, do you speak? Why do you say that you mean to win me?"
"Because Mr. Plummer must break this bargain himself. He, of his own
accord, must give your promise back to you. I mean to make him do so. I
do not yet know how, but I shall find a way. Oh, I tell you, Sylvia,
this marriage of his and yours is not right. It's against nature. You do
not love him; you cannot--do not protest--not in a way that a woman
should love the man whom she is going to marry. You love me instead, and
I mean to make you keep on loving me, just as I mean to make Mr. Plummer
give you back your promise."
"Have you not undertaken two large tasks?" she said, smiling faintly.
But Harley, usually so short and terse, had made this long speech with
fire and heat, as the "still waters" were now running very deep, and he
went on:
"I have given you fair warning, Sylvia. Neither you nor Mr. Plummer can
say that I have begun any secret campaign. I have told you that I mean
to make you marry me."
She thought that she ought to stop him, to tell him that he must never
speak of such a thing again. Before her rose the figure of the man whom
she had promised to marry, square, massive, and iron-gray, but, solid as
the figure was, it quickly faded in the light of the real and earnest
young face beside her. Youth spoke to youth, and she did not stop him,
because what he was saying to her was very pleasant, though it might be
wrong.
The morning was brilliant and vivid on the mountains. Far away the white
peaks melted dimly into the blue sky, and below them lay the valleys,
cup after cup, white with snow. The others rode on ahead, not noticing,
and Harley was not one to let time slip through his fingers.
"You must not speak in this way to me again," she said, at last,
although her tone was not sad, only firm, "because it is not right. I
knew that it was wrong, even while you were saying it, but I could not
stop you. You know you cannot change what is fixed, and I must marry Mr.
Plummer."
Harley laughed joyously. Later he did not know why he was so confident
then, but the air of the mountains and a new fire, too, were sparkling
in his veins, and at that moment he had no doubts.
"You will not marry Mr. Plummer," he repeated, with energy, "and it is
not you that will break the promise. It is he that shall give it back to
you."
For the time she felt his faith, and her face glowed, but her courage
left her when the "King," who had been ahead with the candidate, dropped
back towards the rear and joined them.
"King" Plummer, too, had begun that return journey with feelings of
exhilaration. Everything in the trip from Crow's Wing appealed to him,
because it was so thoroughly in consonance with his early life in the
mountains. The adventure in Queen City had stirred his blood, and around
him were familiar things. He, too, wished that an organized band of
bandits would come, because in his younger days he had helped to hunt
down some of the worst men in the mountains, and the old fighting blood
mounted as high as ever in his veins.
He had seen that Sylvia was entirely recovered from the alarms of the
night at Queen City, and then, because he felt that it was his duty, and
because there was a keen zest in it, too, he rode on ahead with the
candidate, to whom he pointed out dim blue peaks that he knew, and to
whom he laid down the proposition that those mountains were full of
minerals, and would one day prove a source of illimitable wealth to the
nation.
The crispness of the morning, the vast expanse of mountain, and the
feeling of deep, full life made the "King's" blood tingle. His years of
hardship, danger, and joy--and he had enjoyed his life greatly--swept
before him, and he laughed under his breath; life was still very good.
After a while the thought of Sylvia came to him, and he smiled again,
because Sylvia was truly good to look upon. He rode back towards her,
and then he received a blow--a blow square in the face, and dealt
heavily.
"King" Plummer's was not a mind trained to look upon the more delicate
shades of life--he dealt rather with the obvious; but when he saw Harley
and Sylvia he knew. Mrs. Grayson's warning, which at first he had only
half accepted, had come true, and it had come quickly. His instant
impulse was that of the primitive man to raise his fist and strike down
this foolish, this presumptuous youth who had dared to cross the path of
him, the King of the Mountains; but he did not raise it, because "King"
Plummer was a gentleman; instead, he strove to conceal the fact that he
was breathing hard and deep, and he spoke to them in a tone that he
sought to render careless, but which really had an unnatural sound.
Sylvia gave him a glance that was half fear, and had the "King" taken
notice it would have filled him with deep pain, but Harley, who alone of
the three retained his self-possession, spoke lightly of passing things.
The feeling of exulting strength was not yet gone from him; in the
presence of this man of great achievement he was not afraid, and,
moreover, the desire to protect Sylvia, to turn attention from her, was
strong within him.
For these reasons Harley carried the whole burden of the talk, and
carried it well. Neither of the others wished to interrupt him; Sylvia
being full of these new emotions, half joy and half fear, that agitated
her, and Mr. Plummer trying to evolve from chaos a way to act.
Although the "King" had suppressed the muscular manifestation, he was
none the less burned by internal fire. Sylvia was his: it was he who had
found her in the mountains; it was he who had given her the years of
care and tenderness, and by every right, including that of promise, she
belonged to him. Nor was he one to give her up for a fancy. He had seen
the look of love on her face when she spoke to Harley, but she was only
a girl--from the crest of his years the "King" thought that he saw the
truth, and knew it--and as soon as this campaign was over, and the
Eastern youth had disappeared, she would forget him.
Mr. Plummer regarded this youth out of the corner of his eye, and while
he pitied him for his ignorance of life, he was bound to admit that
Harley was a handsome fellow, tall, well knit, and with an air of
self-reliance. Evidently there was good stuff in him, and he would
amount to something when he was trained and mature, although the "King"
concluded that he needed a great deal of training. But he could not fail
to feel respect for Harley's presence of mind, his calm, and his ease.
The youth showed no fear of him, no sign of apprehension, and the
mountaineer gave him credit for it.
Sylvia was glad when they stopped in one of the lower glades to rest and
eat of the food which had been so amply provided for them. But she was
proud of Harley and the manner in which he had taken upon himself all
the burden. His conduct went far to justify in her eyes his confident
prediction, and, secretly approving, she watched the ease with which he
bore himself among the blunt mountaineers and the handsome manner in
which he affiliated. She noticed that they seemed to think of Harley as
one like Jimmy Grayson--that is, one of themselves--and they never
considered him raw or green in any respect.
Her confidence in Harley and the momentary elation returned as they
stood there in this cup in the mountain-side and looked out upon the
expanse of peak and plain. She ate, too, with an appetite that the
mountain air sharpened, and she thrilled with strength and hope.
Mr. Plummer, from some motive that she did not understand, kept himself
in the background during the stop; nor did she know how his big heart
was filled with wrath and gloom. But as he stood silently at the
farthest rim of the circle, he resolved to push his fortunes, which was
in accordance with his nature.
"Will you walk to the edge of the cove with me?" he said to the
candidate, when he saw that the latter had finished his luncheon, and
Mr. Grayson, without a word, complied with his request.
Jimmy Grayson must have had some premonition of what was to come,
because he obeyed his first impulse, and glanced at Harley and Sylvia,
who were standing together. He was confirmed in his thought when he saw
the look of gloom and resolve upon the face of his friend.
"I want to speak to you of Sylvia," said "King" Plummer, in tones of
hurry, as if it cost him an effort. "It's about our marriage. I think I
ought to hurry it up a little. You see--well, you can't help seeing,
that, compared with Sylvia, I'm old. I'm not really old, but I'm old
enough to be her father, an' youth has a way that's pretty hard to break
of turnin' to youth."
"Yes," said Jimmy Grayson.
"Sylvia's just a girl; she don't seem much more 'n a child to me, an'
lately she's been travellin' about a heap, an' she's met new people.
Now, I don't blame her, don't think that, because it's natural, but here
is this young writin' chap."
"Harley, you mean?"
"Yes. An' I'm not sayin' anythin' against him, either, though writin'
has never been much in my line, but he an' Sylvia seem to have taken a
sort of shine to each other--I don't know whether it amounts to any more
than that, though I suppose it could if it was give a chance; but down
there in Queen City he did more for her than I did, or anybody else, and
I suppose that tells with a girl. Well, you saw 'em together as we
walked out here, an' I'm bound to admit that they make a powerful likely
couple."
He hesitated, as if he were waiting for the candidate to speak, but Mr.
Grayson was silent. He glanced once at the strong face of Plummer,
drawn as if in pain, and then he looked into the valley a thousand feet
below. Jimmy Grayson did not care to speak.
"I ain't a blind man," continued the "King." "I may not be too smart,
but still things don't have to be driven into me with a wedge. If Sylvia
and Harley were left to themselves, they would fall deep in love, I can
see that; but I tell you, Mr. Grayson, she's mine, she belongs to me,
because I've earned her, and because she's promised herself to me, too,
an' I can't give her up. Still, if it's wrong, if I ought to let her
have her promise back, I'll do it anyhow. An' that's why I've asked you
to walk out here. I don't like much to speak to another man of a thing
right next to my heart, but I want to ask you, Mr. Grayson--you are her
uncle an' my best friend--what do you think I ought to do?"
It was hard to embarrass Jimmy Grayson, but he was embarrassed now. He
would rather any other man in the world had asked him any other
question. Sylvia was his niece, and her happiness was dear to him.
Harley, too, had found a place in his heart. And when he glanced at them
again and saw them still together, it seemed fit and right that they
should continue so through life. But there was "King" Plummer, an honest
man, and his claim could not be denied. And his mind could not help
asking this insidious little question, "If Sylvia is allowed to throw
over 'King' Plummer, will he not sulk and allow the Mountain States,
passing from her uncle, to go into the other column?" Jimmy Grayson
would not have been human if he had not heard this little question
demanding an answer, but he resolutely resisted it.
"What do you say?" asked Mr. Plummer. "I'd risk much on your advice."
"I was studying your question, because in a case like this a man has to
think of so many things, and then may miss the right one. But, Mr.
Plummer, I don't know what to say; I think, however, I'd wait. Sylvia is
a good girl, and I know you can trust her. But they are beckoning to us;
they are ready to start."
He was glad of that start, because it saved him from further discussion
of the problem, and Mr. Plummer went back with him moodily.
Yet the resolve in the "King's" mind had only been strengthened by his
talk with the candidate. The danger of Sylvia slipping through his
fingers because of his own want of precaution made her all the more dear
to him, and he was determined to take that precaution now. So he was
watchful throughout the remainder of the journey, seeking his
opportunity, and it came towards the twilight, as they saw the first
houses of the railroad station rise upon the horizon.
Mrs. Grayson, Hobart, Blaisdell, the state politicians, and, all the
others came out to meet them, and for a while there was a turmoil of
voices asking questions and answering them. Presently Sylvia slipped
from the group, and Mr. Plummer followed her towards the hotel.
"Sylvia," he said, "wait for me. I have some thing to say."
She recognized an unusual tone in his voice and she was frightened. She
felt an almost irresistible impulse to run and to hide herself in some
dim room of the hotel. But she did not do it; instead, she waited and
walked by his side.
"Sylvia," he said, "the perils and hardships of the trip we are just
finishin' have set me to thinkin' hard."
She trembled again. She felt as if he were going to say something that
she would not like to hear.
"That trip was full of dangers for you, and, as we go through all this
Western country, there may be more to come. I want the right, Sylvia, to
look after you, to look after you more closely than I've ever done
before, and to do that, Sylvia, I've got to be your husband."
"I have promised."
"I know you have, an' I know you'll keep your promise. But I want you to
keep it now. Why couldn't we get married, say next week, and make this
campaign one big weddin' tour. I think it would be grand, Sylvia, an'
it's right easy to arrange."
He paused, awaiting her answer, but she had suddenly lost all her color,
and, despite herself, she trembled violently.
"Oh no!" she cried, "not now! It would be better to wait. Why break up
this pleasant--Oh, I don't mean that! I mean, why not go on as we are
through the campaign, and afterwards we could talk of--of--what you
propose? Anything else now would be so unusual. I think we'd better
wait!"
She spoke almost breathlessly under impulse, and then she stopped
suddenly as if afraid. The color poured back into her face, and she
waited timidly.
The King of the Mountains, who had never known fear, was gripped by a
cold chill. He had delivered his master-stroke and it had failed.
"We'll wait, Sylvia," he said, gloomily. "Of course a woman's wish in
such a matter as this is law, and more than law."
"Oh, daddy, don't you see how it is?" she cried, moved by his tone. "I'm
but twenty-two. I don't want to marry just yet. I haven't seen enough of
this big world. Why can't we wait a little?"
"Don't be afraid, child; no one shall make you marry when you don't want
to," he said, soothingly and protectingly, and this role became him
superbly. "The subject sha'n't be mentioned to you again while the
campaign lasts."
"You are the best man in the world, daddy!" she exclaimed. Suddenly she
rose on tiptoe, kissed him lightly on the cheek, and then ran away.
"King" Plummer walked gravely back to the lobby of the hotel, where a
crowd was gathered.
Harley was one of this crowd, and on entering the room he had been met
at once by Churchill, upon whose face was a look of consternation.
"Harley," he asked, "is the report true that Grayson was in danger of
being kidnapped by bandits on this trip to Crow's Wing?"
"It is true, every word of it."
"My God! what will Europe say?" exclaimed Churchill, aghast.
Harley laughed, but he did not attempt to reason with Churchill. He knew
that the correspondent of the _Monitor_ was too far gone to be reached
by argument.
Churchill sent a lurid despatch to the _Monitor_, describing in detail
the folly and recklessness of the candidate, and the manner in which he
neglected the great issues of the campaign for the sake of impulses,
which always terminated in frivolous or dangerous adventures. And the
_Monitor_ fully backed up its correspondent, because, when the issue of
the paper that published the despatch reached them, it also contained
an editorial, in which the editor wrote in anguish of heart:
"We have supported Mr. Grayson in this campaign with as much zeal
and energy as our moral sense would permit. We have given him full
credit for all the virtues that he may possess, and we have been
willing at all times for him to profit by our experience and
advice. But our readers will bear witness that we have never failed
in courage to denounce the wrong, even if it should be in our own
house. Our easy, and on the whole superficial, American temperament
condones too many things. Never was it more noticeable than in the
vital issues of this Presidential campaign. The yellow journals are
making a great noise over Mr. Grayson; they shout about his
oratory, his generosity, and his noble impulses until the really
serious minority of us can scarcely hear; but the grave, thoughtful
people, those who are recognized in Europe as the real leaders of
American opinion, will not be put down. Despite the turmoil of the
childish, we have never lost our heads. The _Monitor_, from the
very first, has perceived the truth, and it has the courage to tell
it. We contribute this advice willingly and without charge to those
who are conducting the campaign.
"The youthful and flamboyant qualities must be eradicated from Mr.
Grayson. Our young republic cannot afford to be discredited in the
eyes of Europe by the sensational or frivolous actions of one who
is nominated by a great party for the high office of President.
This last adventure with brigands in the mountains is really more
than our patience will bear, and our readers know that our patience
is great. We have suggested, we have advised, and we have even
threatened by indirection, but thus far it has all been futile.
"Now we mean to speak with the bluntness and decision demanded by
the circumstances. A committee of men, mature in years and solid in
judgment, some of whom we can name, must be put in control of the
campaign. Mr. Grayson must be kept within strict limits; he must
take advice before delivering his speeches, and he must not be
permitted to turn aside for irrelevant issues. And since the
_Monitor_ speaks reluctantly, and in the utmost kindness, we
suggest that he become a faithful reader of our columns. A word to
the wise is sufficient."
The day this issue of the _Monitor_ arrived Sylvia said to Churchill:
"Mr. Churchill, I want to thank you in behalf of my uncle for that
beautiful editorial in the _Monitor_. It was put in the very way that
would appeal to him most."
"Do you really think so, Miss Morgan?" said Churchill, blushing with
borrowed pride.
"Oh yes, but it was so typical, it had so much of a certain personal
quality in it, that I am sure you must have telegraphed it to the
_Monitor_ yourself."
"King" Plummer, who stood by and who had very little to say these days,
smiled sourly.
XVI
BY THE FIRELIGHT
The special train now entered one of the most mountainous portions of
Utah, and, as the strenuous nature of the campaign continued, its
exigencies permitted little time for other things. Personal feelings,
fears, and hopes had to be buried, or at least hidden for the time, and
Harley, like all the rest, was absorbed in work. Nevertheless, his
feeling of confidence, even exhilaration, remained. He believed that he
would yet discover a way.
He found this part of the campaign pleasant, physically as well as
mentally. The alternation of huge mountain and fertile valley was
grateful to the eye, and, however severe the day's journey might be,
they knew there would be good rest at the end.
It had been nearly a week since the episode of the dead city, when
Hobart bustled back to Harley and said:
"Harley, we shall have the noble red man to hear us to-night. We stop
just at the edge of the Indian reservation, and a lot of the braves,
with their squaws, too, I suppose, will attend. Of course they will be
duly impressed by Jimmy Grayson's oratory."
Sylvia Morgan was present when this news was announced, and Hobart
suddenly stopped short and glanced at her. She had turned pale, and
then, remembering that old tragedy in her life when she was a little
child, he ascribed her pallor to her horror at the mention of Indians.
But Hobart did not know that they were approaching the scene of the
memorable massacre.
The train now curved southward and entered a fertile valley lying like a
bowl among the high mountains. They saw here fields that had been golden
with wheat, ripe fruit yet hung from the trees, and the touch of green
was still visible, although autumn had come. By the railway track a
clear mountain stream flowed, sparkling in the thin, pure air, and there
was more than one full-grown man in the candidate's party who, with
memories of his youth before him, longed to pull off shoes and socks and
wade in it with bare feet.
The sight was most refreshing after so much mountain and arid expanse,
and the tired travellers brightened up visibly.
"One of the states has the motto, 'Here we rest'--I've forgotten which
it is--but it ought to be Utah," said Hobart, "and now's the time."
He was not disappointed. They came before noon to Belleville, the
metropolis of the valley, the place where the candidate was going to
speak, one of the prettiest little towns that ever built its nest in the
Rocky Mountains. They were all enthusiastic over it, with its trim
houses, its well-paved streets, the clear water flowing beside the
curbs, and its air of completion. The people, too, had all the Western
courage and energy, without its roughness and undue expression, and so
the candidate and his party luxuriated.
"You wouldn't think that this gem of a town was harried more by Indians
in its infancy than perhaps any other place in the West, would you?"
said Hobart to Harley.
"Hobart, what a nuisance you are!" replied Harley; "you are always
prowling around in search of useless facts. Now, I don't want to hear
anything about bloodshed and massacre, when Belleville is the picture of
neatness and comfort that it is to-day. Look at that little opera-house
over there! You couldn't find anything handsomer in a city of fifty
thousand in the East."
"Harley," said Hobart, with emphasis, "I wouldn't have your lack of
curiosity for anything in the world," and he wandered away in disgust to
pour his ancient history into the ears of a more willing listener.
At twilight they ate an admirable dinner, and then Harley, Hobart, who
had returned from his explorations, Blaisdell, and two or three others,
after their custom, filled in the interval between supper and the
speeches with a stroll through the village, Mr. Plummer going along as a
sort of mentor. The keeper of the hotel informed them that many of the
Indians already were in town and were "tanking up." Harley found this to
be true, and the red men failed to arouse in him either respect or
admiration. If they had ever had any nobility of the wilderness, it was
gone now, and they seemed to him a sodden, depressed, and repellent
race. A half-dozen or so, in various stages of drunkenness, through
whiskey surreptitiously obtained, increased the feeling of aversion.
In the dusk they stumbled over a figure lying squarely across the path,
and Harley drew back with a word of disgust. An old Indian, dilapidated
and in the last stages of intoxication, was stretched out on his face. A
local resident named Walker, who had joined them, laughed.
"That," said he, "is a chief, a great man, or at least he was once. It's
old Flying Cloud--poetical name, though he don't look poetical now by a
long shot. Here, get out of this; you're blocking up the road!"
With true Western directness he administered a kick to the prostrate
form, but the old chief, buried in a sodden dream, only stirred and
muttered; then the resident opened up a battery of kicks, and presently
the Indian rose to his feet and slunk off, muttering, in the darkness.
"They're no good at all," said Walker. "Only a lot of sots, whenever
they get the chance."
But Harley was thinking of the contrast between what he had just seen
and what he had imagined might be the freedom and nobility of the
wilderness.