_Hope Deferred_
Time in six months brought the year to the early spring, that time when
even the mountain desert forgets its sternness for a month or two. Six
months had not made Bill Gregg rich from his mine, but it had convinced
him, on the contrary, that a man with a wife must have a sure income,
even if it be a small one.
He squatted on a small piece of land, gathered a little herd, and,
having thrown up a four-room shack, he and Caroline lived as happily as
king and queen. Not that domains were very large, but, from their hut on
the hill, they could look over a fine sweep of country, which did not
all belong to them, to be sure, but which they constantly promised
themselves should one day be theirs.
It was the dull period of the afternoon, the quiet, waiting period which
comes between three or four o'clock and the sunset, and Bill and his
wife sat in the shadow of the mighty silver spruce before their door.
The great tree was really more of a home for them than the roof they had
built to sleep under.
Presently Caroline stood up and pointed. "She's coming," she said, and,
looking down the hillside, she smiled in anticipation.
The rider below them, winding up the trail, looked up and waved, then
urged her horse to a full gallop for the short remnant of the distance
before her. It was Ruth Tolliver who swung down from the saddle,
laughing and joyous from the ride.
A strangely changed Ruth she was. She had turned to a brown beauty in
the wind and the sun of the West, a more buoyant and more graceful
beauty. She had accepted none of the offers of John Mark, but, leaving
her old life entirely behind her, as Ronicky Doone had suggested, she
went West to make her own living. With Caroline and Bill Gregg she had
found a home, and her work was teaching the valley school, half a dozen
miles away.
"Any mail?" asked Bill, for she passed the distant group of mail boxes
on her way to the school.
At that the face of the girl darkened. "One letter," she said, "and I
want you to read it aloud, Caroline. Then we'll all put our heads
together and see if we can make out what it means." She handed the
letter to Caroline, who shook it out. "It's from Ronicky," she
exclaimed.
"It's from Ronicky," said Ruth Tolliver gravely, so gravely that the
other two raised their heads and cast silent glances at her.
Caroline read aloud: "Dear Ruth, I figure that I'm overdue back at
Bill's place by about a month--"
"By two months," corrected Ruth soberly.
"And I've got to apologize to them and you for being so late. Matter of
fact I started right pronto to get back on time, but something turned
up. You see, I went broke."
Caroline dropped the letter with an exclamation. "Do you think he's gone
back to gambling, Ruth?"
"No," said the girl. "He gave me his promise never to play for money
again, and a promise from Ronicky Doone is as good as minted gold."
"It sure is," agreed Bill Gregg.
Caroline went on with the letter: "I went broke because Pete Darnely was
in a terrible hole, having fallen out with his old man, and Pete needed
a lift. Which of course I gave him pronto, Pete being a fine gent."
There was an exclamation of impatience from Ruth Tolliver.
"Isn't that like Ronicky? Isn't that typical?"
"I'm afraid it is," said the other girl with a touch of sadness. "Dear
old Ronicky, but such a wild man!"
She continued in the reading: "But I've got a scheme on now by which
I'll sure get a stake and come back, and then you and me can get
married, as soon as you feel like saying the word. The scheme is to find
a lost mine--"
"A lost mine!" shouted Bill Gregg, his practical miner's mind revolting
at this idea. "My guns, is Ronicky plumb nutty? That's all he's got to
do--just find a 'lost mine?' Well, if that ain't plenty, may I never see
a yearling ag'in!"
"Find a lost mine," went on Caroline, her voice trembling between tears
and laughter, "and sink a new shaft, a couple of hundred feet to find
where the old vein--"
"Sink a shaft a couple of hundred feet!" said Bill Gregg. "And him
broke! Where'll he get the money to sink the shaft?"
"When we begin to take out the pay dirt," went on Caroline, "I'll either
come or send for you and--"
"Hush up!" said Bill Gregg softly.
Caroline looked up and saw the tears streaming down the face of Ruth
Tolliver. "I'm so sorry, poor dear!" she whispered, going to the other
girl. But Ruth Tolliver shook her head.
"I'm only crying," she said, "because it's so delightfully and
beautifully and terribly like Ronicky to write such a letter and tell of
such plans. He's given away a lot of money to help some spendthrift, and
now he's gone to get more money by finding a lost mine!' But do you see
what it means, Caroline? It means that he doesn't love me--really!"
"Don't love you?" asked Bill Gregg. "Then he's a plumb fool. Why--"
"Hush, Bill," put in Caroline. "You mustn't say that," she added to
Ruth. "Of course you have reason to be sad about it and angry, too."
"Sad, perhaps, but not angry," said Ruth Tolliver. "How could I ever be
really angry with Ronicky? Hasn't he given me a chance to live a clean
life? Hasn't he given me this big free open West to live in? And what
would I be without Ronicky? What would have happened to me in New York?
Oh, no, not angry. But I've simply waked up, Caroline. I see now that
Ronicky never cared particularly about me. He was simply in love with
the danger of my position. As a matter of fact I don't think he ever
told me in so many words that he loved me. I simply took it for granted
because he did such things for me as even a man in love would not have
done. After the danger and uniqueness were gone Ronicky simply lost
interest."
"Don't say such things!" exclaimed Caroline.
"It's true," said Ruth steadily. "If he really wanted to come
here--well, did you ever hear of anything Ronicky wanted that he didn't
get?"
"Except money," suggested Bill Gregg. "Well, he even gets that, but most
generally he gives it away pretty pronto."
"He'd come like a bullet from a gun if he really wanted me," said Ruth.
"No, the only way I can bring Ronicky is to surround myself with new
dangers, terrible dangers, make myself a lost cause again. Then Ronicky
would come laughing and singing, eager as ever. Oh, I think I know him!"
"And what are you going to do?" asked Caroline.
"The only thing I can do," said the other girl. "I'm going to wait."
* * * * *
Far, far north two horsemen came at that same moment to a splitting of
the trail they rode. The elder, bearded man, pointed ahead.
"That's the roundabout way," he said, "but it's sure the only safe way.
We'll travel there, Ronicky, eh?"
Ronicky Doone lifted his head, and his bay mare lifted her head at the
same instant. The two were strangely in touch with one another.
"I dunno," he said, "I ain't heard of anybody taking the short cut for
years--not since the big slide in the canyon. But I got a feeling I'd
sort of like to try it. Save a lot of time and give us a lot of fun."
"Unless it breaks our necks."
"Sure," said Ronicky, "but you don't enjoy having your neck safe and
sound, unless you take a chance of breaking it, once in a while."