When one has spent six years prospecting and mining in Colorado and the
Southwest one has usually ceased to be capable of surprise at any tricks
Fate may spring. Nevertheless Wade was forced to wonder at the chain of
events which had deposited him here in a green rep rocking chair in Eden
Village. That the Western Slope Limited, two hours late and trying to
make up time, should have had a hot-box and, perhaps for the first time
in months, stopped at the top of Saddle Pass and presented Evelyn Walton
to him was one of Fate's simpler vagaries; but that now, after five
years, he should find himself beside her nearly two thousand miles from
their first place of meeting was something to think about. First event
and last were links in a closely-welded chain of circumstance. Looking
back, he saw that one had followed the other as logically as night
follows day. By a set of quite natural, unforced incidents Fate had
achieved the amazing.
Wade no longer had any doubt as to the identity of the person who had
looked in upon him through the window yesterday. The marvellous
resemblance to the face he remembered so well, the dropped lilac spray
were in themselves inconclusive, but the evidence of her name made the
case clear and left but one verdict possible. Chance, Fate, Providence,
what you will, had brought them together again.
It would, I realize, add interest to a dull narrative to say that Wade's
heart beat suffocatingly with passionate longing, and that a wild desire
to go to her possessed him. As a matter of fact his heart behaved itself
quite normally and he showed no disposition to leave his chair. He was
chiefly concerned with wondering whether she had recognized him, whether
she even remembered him at all, and, if she did, what she thought of him
for the idiotic way in which he had acted. Oh, he had been sincere
enough at the moment, but, looked at calmly with the austere eyes of
twenty-eight, his behavior on that occasion had been something--well,
_fierce_! He groaned at the thought of it and almost wished that Fate
had let things alone and spared him a second meeting. Of course there
had been extenuating circumstances. She had stepped suddenly into his
vision out of the twilight, a veritable vision of love and romance, and
his heart, a boy's heart, starved and hungry for those things, had taken
fire on the instant. He had--well, he had lost his head, to put it
charitably. And after a fashion he had lost his heart as well. For a
week he had dreamed of her at night and thought of her by day, had
wondered and longed and built air castles. Doubtless, had he seen her
again within the next year, the romance would have grown and flourished.
But at the end of that first week they had found gold. The intoxication
of success succeeded the intoxication of love, and in the busy months
that followed the vision of Evelyn Walton's face visited him less and
less frequently. At the end of a year she had become a pleasant memory,
a memory that never failed to bring a half-sad, half-joyous little
throb. That he had never actually forgotten her meant little, when you
think how very tiny and unimportant a thing must be to utterly escape
memory. He didn't want to forget her, for she represented the only
sentimental episode that had come to him since school days. He had been
much too busy to seek love affairs, and up in the mountains they don't
lie in wait for one. Therefore at twenty-eight Wade Herrick was
heart-whole. He wondered with a smile how long he was destined to remain
so unless that same meddling Fate removed either him or Evelyn Walton
from Eden Village.
Zephania went through the hall singing, on her way upstairs to
inaugurate her war of extermination against dirt. Wade roused himself
and lighted his pipe. After all, he had done nothing criminal and there
were ninety-nine chances in a hundred that the girl wouldn't connect him
for a moment with the astounding youth who had made violent love to her
for an ecstatic five minutes on the top of Saddle Pass so many years
ago. He got up and looked at himself in the old gold-framed mirror above
the table.
"My boy," he muttered, "you're quite safe. You used to be fairly good
looking then, if I do say it myself. But now look at you! You have
day-laborer written all over you! Your hair--I wonder when and why you
ever began to part it away down near your left ear. But that's easily
changed. Your nose--well, you couldn't alter that much, and it's still
fairly straight and respectable. But that scar on the cheek-bone doesn't
help your looks a bit, my boy. Still, you mustn't kick about that, I
reckon, for if that slice of rock had come along an inch or so farther
to the right you'd have been _tuerto_ now. Not that your eyes are
anything to be stuck up about, though; they're neither brown nor green,
nor any other recognized color; just a sort of mixture--like Pedro's
_estofados_. Your mouth, now--you always had a homely sort of mouth, too
big by far. And you were an idiot to shave off your mustache. You might
let it grow again, now that you're where you could have it trimmed once
in awhile, but I suppose it would take a month and look like a
nail-brush in the meanwhile! And then there's your complexion, you poor
ugly _hombre_. I remember when it was like anybody else's and there was
pink in the cheeks. Look at it now! It's like a saddle-flap. And your
hands!"
He viewed them disdainfully. They were immaculately clean and the nails
were well tended, but two years of pick and shovel had broadened them,
and at the base of each finger a calloused spot still remained. On the
left hand the tip of one finger was missing and another was bent and
disfigured. They were honorable scars, these, like the one on his cheek,
but he looked at them disgustedly and finally shoved them out of sight
in his pockets.
"No, don't you worry about her recognizing you," he said to the
reflection in the mirror. "Even if she did she'd be ashamed to own it!"
Wade, however, was over-critical. Whatever might be said of the
features individually, collectively they were distinctly pleasing. The
impression one received was of a clean, straight-limbed, clear-eyed
fellow, who, if he had worked with his hands, had won with his brain. He
looked a little older than his twenty-eight years warranted, and a
little taller than his scant five-feet-eleven proved. Above all, he
appeared healthful, alert, capable, and kindly. He made friends at sight
with men, children, and dogs and wore his friendships as easily as he
wore his clothes. The West puts an indefinable stamp on a man, and Wade
had it. When presently he donned a cloth cap, torn from the confused
depths of his valise, and passed out of doors he walked like a man who
was used to covering long distances afoot, and with a certain swing of
his broad shoulders that suggested a jovial egotism. And as he made his
way through the orchard and into the meadow beyond his mind was still
busy with Evelyn Walton.
Of course he would meet her sooner or later; he was bound to unless he
pulled up stakes and hiked out at once. And he didn't want to do that.
He was enjoying a totally new sensation, that of householder. And he
liked Eden Village with its big elms and shaded roads, its wide meadows
and encircling green hills. It was all new and delightful after the
bare, primeval grandeur of the mountains. Besides, and Wade laughed
softly to himself, when all was said and done, he really wanted to meet
her. The prospect brought a flutter to his heart and a pleasant
excitement to his mind. He would probably fall in love with her again,
but there was no harm in that since he would be off before the disease
could strike in very deep.
He had reached the stone wall dividing his property from the land
beyond. At a little distance a brook bubbled along its sunken course.
Bushes, ferns, and here and there a small tree lined its banks, and Wade
could follow its journeying with his eyes for some distance. He vaulted
the wall and crossed to the brook, examining it with the curiosity of a
fisherman. It was rather disappointing. He didn't believe any
self-respecting fish would deign to inhabit such meagre quarters. But
it was a fascinating little stream for all of that, and it sang and
purled and had such a jolly good time all to itself that unconsciously
Wade fell into step with it, so to speak, and kept it company through
the meadow. Swallows darted above him and sparrows took flight before
him in mild alarm. Once he disturbed a catbird on her nest and she flew
circling about his head, scolding harshly.
What had he been thinking about a moment before? Oh, yes, he had been
considering the danger of overdoing the falling in love business. Well,
there was a proverb about its being better to have loved and lost than
never to have loved at all. Wade agreed with those sentiments. To go
head over ears in love with some nice girl like--well, like Evelyn
Walton--even if you got turned down was better than nothing. Of course
the girl mustn't know. It wasn't a part of his plan to worry her any. He
was quite certain that if he was careful she needn't even guess his
sentiments. Perhaps--well, what if it was nonsense? A fellow could think
nonsense if he wanted to, couldn't he, on a day like this? Perhaps she
might care for him enough to marry him! There wasn't any reason why he
shouldn't marry. He had plenty of money and would have more; he could
give the woman that married him about as much as the next man. She could
have a house in New York if she wanted it! And servants and--and motors
and--all the things a woman usually wants. Of course he didn't want to
be married for his money, but--well, he wondered whether it would help
if he managed to convey the idea that he was pretty well off, that he
owned more than a controlling interest in one of the richest gold mines
in Colorado. Undoubtedly there were girls who would jump at the chance
to marry the principal owner of a mine like the--
He stopped with a gasp.
Great Scott! she mustn't hear the name of that mine! At least, not
unless things turned out as they never could turn out. He groaned. He
would have to watch himself every minute when he was with her or he
would be blurting it out!
He found himself confronted by a fence, beyond which a wooded hill
sloped upward. Should he return the way he had come, or--no, he could
commit trespass on somebody's wheat field and so in all probability
reach the highway. Five minutes later he found himself on the road and
started back towards the cottage. He rather hoped that Miss Walton would
not be on her front porch as he went by. He wasn't quite ready yet to
show himself. It was a good ten minutes' walk to the end of the common,
but he was so busy with his thoughts that he paid little attention to
time or distance. He only came to himself when he suddenly found the
lilac hedge beside him and the gate hospitably open. He walked up the
steps, dimly conscious that his cottage looked this morning far less
disreputable than it had seemed yesterday, and tried the front door. He
didn't remember whether he had locked it last night. But evidently he
had not, for it swung open and he found himself staring blankly into a
pair of very lovely and much surprised blue eyes.