find them or at least to follow upon their traces before the snow fell
and hid the trail. He was an old frontiersman, and with a favorable soil
he might do it. But long before he reached the swell the snow flew, and
the brown clouds and the whirling flakes together blotted out all the
plain, save the little circle in which he stood.
He raised his powerful voice and called in tones that carried far,
"Sylvia! Sylvia!" But no sound came back save the lonely cry of the wind
and the soft, whirring rush of the snow, like the soft beat of wings.
The "King" was a brave and sanguine man, physically and mentally
disposed to hope, but his heart dropped like lead in water. He saw the
slim little girl, with flying brown hair, dead and cold in the snow.
Then his courage came back, and with it all his mental coolness. He did
not seek to rush after them, floundering here and there in the
semi-darkness and calling vainly, but hurried back to the town.
The people had just returned from the candidate's speech, and were
crowding into the lobby of the hotel to shake Mr. Grayson's hand and to
tell him that he would win by a "million majority." The candidate was
enduring this ordeal with his usual good-nature and grace, although the
crowded room was hot and close, and the odor of steaming boots arose.
Into this packed mass of human beings "King" Plummer burst like a bomb.
"Help! All of you!" he cried, and his voice cracked like a rifle. "They
are lost out on the plain in the storm, and they were wandering away
from the town! Miss Morgan! Sylvia! My child! And the young man,
Harley!"
There was no mistaking the "King's" meaning. Here was a mountain man,
one who knew of what he was talking, one who would raise no false alarm.
Both grief and command were in his voice, and the Dakotans responded
upon the instant; they knew Sylvia, too--her fresh, young beauty, coming
into so small a town, was noticed at once. To the last man they went out
into the storm to the rescue; and there were many women who were
willing, too.
The candidate seized Mr. Plummer's arm in a fierce grasp.
"Do you mean to say that Sylvia and Harley are lost in that?" he cried,
and he pointed into the mass of driving snow.
"Ay, they are there," said the "King," "but we will find them."
"We will find them," echoed Jimmy Grayson, and, though they strove to
make him stay at the hotel, he drew his overcoat about his ears and was
by his side as "King" Plummer led the way. Hobart, Blaisdell, even old
Tremaine, and Churchill as well, were there, too.
They knew that Sylvia and Harley were somewhere north of the town, and,
dividing into groups, five or six to a group, they spread out to a
great distance. They carried whiskey for warmth, and lanterns with
which to signal to each other, and for guidance in the night that might
come before they returned. In the twilight of the storm these lanterns
twinkled dimly.
The "King" himself carried a lantern, and Jimmy Grayson, by his side,
could read his face. Mr. Plummer had not told him a word, but he could
guess the story. He had come upon them, there was a violent scene of
some kind, and now the "King," with death threatening "his little girl,"
was stricken with remorse. All the candidate's anger against Mr. Plummer
was gone, melted away suddenly--and he saw that the "King's" wrath
against himself was gone the same way. Now he felt only pity for the
stricken man.
The great line of men moved across the plain towards the north, calling
to each other now and then and waving the dim lanterns. Jimmy Grayson
listened for the welcome cry that the lost had been found, but it did
not come. The "King" did not speak save to give orders--he had naturally
assumed command of the relief party, and his position was not disputed.
They advanced far northward, and they noticed with increased alarm the
thickening of the storm. Whirlwinds of snow beat in their faces. Jimmy
Grayson once heard the big, burly man by his side say, in a kind of
sobbing whisper, "Oh, my little girl!" and he felt a catch in his own
throat.
Then he repeated the "King's" own words, "We will find them."
"And alive!" said the "King," in fierce defiance.
He did not speak again for a long time. He seemed to become unconscious
of the presence by his side of Jimmy Grayson, the man whom in his hot
wrath he had threatened to betray. At last he turned his head and said,
as if it were an impulse:
"Mr. Grayson, they said I was going to knife you, and I meant to do it!
They tempted me, and I was willing to be tempted by them; but, by God! I
gave them no promise and I won't. I was your friend, and I'm your friend
again!"
"A better I never hope to have," said Jimmy Grayson, and in the storm
the hands of the two men met in a grasp as true as it was strong.
"We will not speak of this again," said Mr. Grayson and they never did.
A resident of Grafton, Mr. Harrison, came up to them, fighting his way
through the snow.
"Mr. Plummer," he said, "there are some rocky hills three or four miles
north of here, with hollows and sort of half-way caves here and there in
their sides. It's barely possible that Mr. Harley and Miss Morgan have
got to one of those places. I think we ought to go there at once,
because, because--"
The man's voice failed.
"Speak out," said the "King," "I can stand it."
"Well, it's just this, though I hate to say it. It's a sure thing that
they've gone a long distance, an' if they've hit on one of the hollows
we're likely to find 'em alive if we get there pretty soon, but if they
ain't in a hollow they'll be--they'll be--"
"They'll be dead when we do find them. Take us to the hills, Mr.
Harrison."
The man, lantern in hand, strode on, and with him were Mr. Grayson and
Mr. Plummer. Hobart was at the candidate's elbow. Twilight was at hand
and the darkness was increasing, although the snow was thinning. Hobart,
peering out on the plain, saw only the swells of snow rising and
falling like a white sea, and overhead the sky of sullen clouds. He
marked the agony on the faces of the candidate and the "King," and his
own heart was heavy. There was no thrill over a mystery now; the lost
were too dear to him.
"It's night," said Mr. Plummer. In his heart was the fear that the two,
overpowered, had fallen down and slowly frozen to death under the snow,
but he did not dare to whisper it to others.
It was heavy work going through the drifts and keeping the right way
over a plain that had the similarity of the sea, but the men did not
falter. Jimmy Grayson was always looking into the darkness, striving to
see the darker line or blur that would mark the hills, but he asked no
questions. The snow ceased, and after a while low, black slopes appeared
against the dusky horizon.
"The hills!" said the candidate, and the Grafton man nodded. They
increased their pace until they were almost running. Neither Mr. Grayson
nor Mr. Plummer knew it, but the Grafton man had little hope; he had
merely suggested the place as a last chance.
It took them much longer than they thought or hoped to reach the hills,
but when they came to them they began a rapid search. The "King" and the
candidate were still together, and the former had taken a lantern from
one of the men. They had been looking among the hills for about a
quarter of an hour, and they drew somewhat away from the others. The
"King" raised his lantern at intervals and threw ribbons of light along
the white slopes. They came to a hill a little higher than the rest, and
he raised the lantern again. It was not a white reflection that came,
but something misty and brown.
"Dead leaves!" cried the "King." "It's a cave or a hollow."
He raised the lantern higher, and the light shone directly in at the
opening; it shone, too, upon Sylvia's face as she lay asleep in Harley's
arms.
"Babes in the wood!" muttered Hobart, who had come up behind them.
The "King" paused a moment. The picture appealed to him, too, and he saw
then in Harley only the rescuer of "his little girl." His heart yearned
over Harley also. Then he uttered a joyous shout, dropped his lantern,
and seized Sylvia. "Daddy," she said, awakening and putting her arms
around his neck, "I've come back."
"God bless you, my child, my daughter!" he said.
To Harley it was all a dream; there was something the matter with
him--there was a sort of dull, unreal feeling, and these men that he
knew seemed to be very far away. Nor did he understand why they pulled
him out so roughly, rubbed snow on his face and ears, and chafed his
hands violently. Afterwards he remembered hearing dimly some one say,
"We're just in time; he was freezing to death," and then he wished they
would be gentler. Fiery stuff was poured down his throat, and he coughed
and struggled, but they had no mercy. Then they committed the crowning
outrage--they took him by the arms, held him up and made him run back
and forth in the snow. After that the pain came; there were strong
needle-pricks all through him, and he heard some one say in a foolish
tone of satisfaction, "He's coming around all right." Then they poured
more fiery stuff down his throat.
After a while the needle pains ceased, and Harley understood that they
had saved him from freezing to death. He thought at once of Sylvia;
there she stood wrapped from chin to heel in a great fur coat, and she
smiled at him.
It was a slow but happy walk back to Grafton. The "King's" joyful shout
had been repeated and passed on to all the searchers, and all the
lanterns had been whirled aloft in rejoicing signal. Messengers were
already hurrying on to Grafton with the news.
Harley walked by the side of Mr. Grayson, who had given his hand one
strong clasp and who had said, "Harley, it was like finding a brother."
Sylvia leaned on Mr. Plummer's arm because the whole of her strength had
not yet come back. "Daddy," she whispered, "where did you come from?
We've been waiting for you a long time."
"Something up there must have called me," he replied, reverently,
pointing to the heavens, in which the new stars twinkled. "Sylvia," he
continued, "I'm not a fool any more. Forgive your old daddy and you can
love the boy."
"Not unless you are really, truly, and wholly willing, daddy."
"Really, truly, and wholly, my little girl."
"Now you must tell him so, daddy."
"I'll tell him so."
They were startled by Sylvia suddenly stopping, throwing her arms around
Mr. Plummer's neck, and kissing him. But they ascribed it to the
hysteria natural in a woman under such circumstances.
The world was still unreal to Harley. Now and then the people with whom
he was walking seemed very far away, merely vague black shadows on the
white plain of snow; all but Sylvia, who smiled again at him, and who
he thought had drawn him back to earth.
As they approached the town the "King" gave Sylvia to her uncle and fell
back a little, until he was by the side of Harley.
"Lad," he said, and he used the word because he felt that Harley was
very much younger than he, "you've won her and she's yours; I'll give
her to you. I've played the part of father to her, and it's what I ought
to keep on playing. I see it now. I guess I keep a daughter and gain a
son."
Harley looked squarely into his eyes--the world was real now--and he saw
the utmost sincerity there.
"Mr. Plummer," he said, "you are one of God's noblemen."
The "King's" hand and Harley's met in a strong and true grip, and those
who noticed thought it was another incident due wholly to the stress of
the night and the storm.
When they reached the town Mrs. Grayson took Sylvia in her arms and the
others left her. Jimmy Grayson was to speak the next day at Freeport, a
village a little farther on, but that speech was never delivered, and
when the Freeport people heard the reason they made no complaint.
It was announced the next morning that Mrs. Grayson and Sylvia would
leave at once for the candidate's home, as their part of the campaign
was finished, but Harley found Sylvia alone in the little parlor of the
hotel. She was sitting by the window looking out at the vast snowy
plains and the dim blue mountains afar, and apparently she did not hear
him as he entered, although he closed the door behind him with a slight
noise. He leaned over her and took one of her hands in both of his.
"Sylvia," he said, "won't you come away from the window a moment?"
He did not wait for her answer, but drew her away.
"I do not want any one in the street to see me kiss you," he said, and
he kissed her.
Her cheeks, already red, grew redder.
"You mustn't do that," she said.
"I can't help myself," he said, humbly, and did it again.
"I have the right," he added, "because you are mine now. Last night Mr.
Plummer, of his own free will and volition, gave you to me."
"Good old daddy!" she murmured.
XXIII
ELECTION NIGHT
At last came the great day which was to tell whether their efforts were
a brilliant success or a dire failure--there was no middle ground--and
the special train took them to the small city in which the candidate
lived. All the correspondents were yet with him, as on the eventful
night following the eventful day they must tell the world how Jimmy
Grayson looked and what he said when the wires brought the news, good or
bad. A few faithful political friends had been invited also to stay with
him to the end, and they completed the group which would share the
hospitality of the candidate, who must smile and be the good host while
the nation was returning his sentence. Harley thought it a bitter
ordeal, but it could not be helped.
After his recognition of the great fact that Sylvia and Harley loved
each other and belonged to each other, "King" Plummer had gone to Idaho
for a while, but he rejoined them on the homeward journey, and his
spirits seemed fully recovered. He drifted easily in conversation about
her into the old paternal relationship with Sylvia which became him so
well, and he never again alluded to that vain dream of his that he might
be something else. Moreover, after his temporary alienation he had
become a more ardent Graysonite than ever, and would not hear of
anything except his triumphant election, despite the immense power of
the forces allied against him.
While they changed cars often in the West, the one that bore them to the
candidate's town had been their home for several weeks, and even the
engine was the same; thus the train attendants fell under the spell of
Jimmy Grayson, and when he walked down their car-steps for the last time
they came around him in their soiled working clothes and wished him
success. It was scarcely dawn then, the east was not yet white, but
Harley could see sincerity written all over their honest faces, and
Jimmy Grayson, who had listened to ten thousand words of the same kind,
some true and some false, was much moved.
"Sir," said the engineer, "at midnight, when the tale is told, I shall
be three hundred miles from here, but if you are not the man, then it is
a tale that I shall not care to hear."
"Friends," said Jimmy Grayson, gravely, "I am glad to have your good
wishes; the good wish is the father of the good act, and whatever tale
the coming night has to tell let us endure it without vaunting or
complaint."
As Mr. Grayson and his friends walked away in the growing dawn, the
railroad men raised a cheer. A little later Harley heard the puff, puff
of a locomotive followed by the grinding of wheels, and the train which
had been their home whirled away into that West where they had seen and
done so many strange things. Harley tried to follow it awhile with his
eyes, because this was like a parting with a human being, an old and
faithful friend; he felt, too, that the most vivid chapter yet in his
life was closing. Unconsciously he raised his hand and waved good-bye;
the others, noticing the act, understood and were silent.
All were under the influence of the morning, which was dawning slowly
and ill. There are fine days in November, yet we cannot depend upon it,
and now the month was in one of its bad humors. An overcast sun was
struggling through brown, ominous clouds, and its light was pale and
cold. A sharp wind whistled against the houses, yet shuttered and silent
in these early morning hours. The city was still asleep, and did not
know that the candidate had come home to hear his fate.
"Is this ugly sky an omen of ill?" asked Churchill, who, despite his
supercilious nature and the fact that he represented an opposition
newspaper, had come at last under the spell of Jimmy Grayson and was in
a way one of the band.
"If it is a gray sky for Mr. Grayson, it is a gray sky for the other
man, too, and I draw no inference from the circumstance," replied
Harley.
Nevertheless there was an oppression over the whole group--perhaps it
was because they were so near the end; and scarcely another word was
said as they walked along the silent street, each thinking of the day at
hand and the night to follow.
The candidate had offered all the hospitality of his house, but none
would accept, not wishing to intrude upon the first freshness of his
family reunion; they intended to register at the hotels and come to his
home later on for the news of the day. So they stopped at a street
corner, bade him a short farewell, and allowed him to go on alone.
But Harley could not resist the temptation of looking back. They had
arrived in the town two hours ahead of time, and he knew that the
candidate's family were not yet expecting him, but he could see the
house behind its shield of trees, now swept of foliage, and already
there were signs of life about it. He saw the candidate's wife run down
the steps and meet her husband, and then he looked away.
"This is one part of a Presidential campaign that we must not watch," he
said to the group about him, and without a word they walked to their
hotel, not glancing back again, although more than one in the group was
secretly envious of Harley, because of the welcome that they knew
awaited him a little later.
It was a good hotel that received them, and it was an abounding
breakfast that awaited them there. Harley sat near a window of the
dining-room, where he could look out upon the street and see the city
coming to life, a process that began but slowly, because it is always a
holiday when the people cast their votes for a President. Yet the city
awoke at last, men began to appear in the streets, a polling-booth
opposite the hotel was opened, and the Presidential election had begun.
The dining-room was now filling up, and all around Harley and his
friends rose the hum of interested talk. People were beginning to
speculate on the result, and to point out the strangers whom Jimmy
Grayson had brought among them.
Harley presently went into the lobby and found it crowded. All there
were touched by a keen, eager interest, and were balancing the chances.
The correspondent, alert, watchful, saw that the bulk of opinion was
against Jimmy Grayson. He saw, too, that while there was much local
pride in the candidate, it was tinctured by envy, and here and there by
malice. He realized to the full the truth of the old adage that a
prophet is never without honor save in his own country.
In that crowded lobby were men who had been conspicuous in local public
life when Jimmy Grayson was a mere boy, and they could not understand
how he had passed them; it was a chance, they said and believed--mere
luck, not merit. Others, in a tone of patronage, told stories of the
days when he was a threadbare and penniless young attorney, and they
named at least five other men of his age who had been more promising.
Then they depreciated his gifts, and in the same breath disclaimed all
intention of doing so, believing, too, that the disclaimer was genuine.
Yet Harley had no great blame for these men; he understood how bitter it
was for them to see the hero march by while they stood still, and it was
not the first instance of the kind that he had noticed.
But the crowd, on the whole, was loyal, and sincerely wished Jimmy
Grayson success. Yet they could not keep down gloomy forebodings. There
had been a defection of a minority within the party, led by Mr.
Goodnight, Mr. Crayon, and their associates, who had gone bodily into
the enemy's camp, a procedure which had made much noise in the American
world, and none could tell how much it would cost. The story of the
Philipsburg conference and Jimmy Grayson's great speech at Waterville
was known to everybody, and now, while the old politicians applauded his
courage and honesty, they began to fear its effects. Harley felt the
same thrill of apprehension, the momentary timidity, that even the
bravest experience when about to go into battle.
Those in the lobby soon knew Harley and his friends, and the nature of
their business, and many questions which they could not answer were
asked them. "You have been with Jimmy Grayson all along; will he win?"
and whether it was Harley or another he was forced to reply that he did
not know.
Harley now looked at his watch, something he had been eager to do for a
time that seemed interminable to him; it was yet early, so the watch
told him, but he looked out next at the heavens and the day was
unfolding. "I will go now; I refuse to wait any longer," he said to
himself, and he slipped away from the crowd.
He went rapidly down the street, and the Presidential campaign was not
in his mind at all; the only thought there was Sylvia! Sylvia! He stood
presently before the Grayson door and rang the bell. He remembered how
he had rung that same bell five months ago, never dreaming that his fate
would answer his ring. And now that same happy fate was answering it
again, because, when the door swung back, there was Sylvia, her hand
upon the bolt and the smile of young love that has found its own upon
her face.
"I knew it was you--I knew your ring," she said, unconscious of the fact
that one ring is like another.
"And you came to meet me," said Harley. "It is fitting; you opened it
first to me and you let my happiness in."
"And you brought mine with you when you came."
They were young and much in love.
Harley stepped inside, and she closed the door.
"I think I shall kiss you," he said.
"Uncle James and Aunt Anna are in the next room."
"I don't want to kiss either Uncle James or Aunt Anna."
"They might come."
"I defy them--yes, I bid defiance even to a Presidential nominee."
He put his arm around her waist and kissed her.
"You know that he hasn't had time to come."
"Then I give him another chance. I defy that terrible man again. Yes, I
defy him twice, thrice, and more times."
She struggled a little, and her cheeks flamed, but she thought how fine,
tall, and masterful he was, and how long it was since she had seen
him--it had not really been long.
"Sylvia," he said, "this is the next best day."
"The next best day?" wonderingly.
"The next best day to the one on which we shall be married. I think I
shall defy your terrible uncle again."
And she blushed redder than ever. As a matter of fact the "terrible
uncle," hearing a step in the hall, came to the door of his room and saw
this defiance issued to him not only once, but twice. Whereupon he
promptly went back into his own room, shut the door, and said to his
wife, "Anna, you must not go into the hall for at least ten minutes." He
remembered some meetings of his own, and Mrs. Grayson, although she had
not looked into the hall, understood perfectly.
Presently Sylvia, keeping herself well into the background, showed
Harley into the parlor, and he paid his respects to Mrs. Grayson, who
was sincerely glad to see him again. She looked upon him now as one of
the family. "King" Plummer came before long, and by-and-by he and Harley
went into the town to seek political news. "But I'll be back soon," he
said to Sylvia.
"And I'll be at the door when you come," she said to him.
They did not spend more than an hour in the town, and when they returned
the other correspondents were with them. The day had not improved, the
lowering clouds still stalked across the horizon, and the wind came cold
and sharp out of the northwest.
"I've had a telegram from New York saying that a great vote is being
polled," said Hobart, "and I've no doubt it's the case throughout the
East. Yet Jimmy Grayson is bound to sit at home helpless while all this
great battle is going on."
"He has done his work already," said Harley; "and now it is the rank and
file who count."