CHAPTER I

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BOB HAMPTON OF PLACER

by

RANDALL PARRISH

Author of "When Wilderness Was King," "My Lady of the North," "Historic

Illinois," Etc.

Illustrated by Arthur I. Keller

[Frontispiece: "I Read It in your Face," He Insisted. "It Told of

Love."]

Eighth Edition

Chicago

A. C. McClurg & Co.

1907

Copyright

A. C. McClurg & Co.

1906

Entered at Stationers' Hall, London

All rights reserved

Published, September 22, 1906

Second Edition October 1, 1906

Third Edition October 15, 1906

Fourth Edition November 1, 1906

Fifth Edition November 15, 1906

Sixth Edition December 1, 1906

Seventh Edition January 5, 1907

Eighth Edition January 9, 1907

CONTENTS

PART I

FROM OUT THE CANYON

CHAPTER

I HAMPTON, OF PLACER

II OLD GILLIS'S GIRL

III BETWEEN LIFE AND DEATH

IV ON THE NAKED PLAIN

V A NEW PROPOSITION

VI "TO BE OR NOT TO BE"

VII "I'VE COME HERE TO LIVE"

VIII A LAST REVOLT

IX AT THE OCCIDENTAL

PART II

WHAT OCCURRED IN GLENCAID

I THE ARRIVAL OF MISS SPENCER

II BECOMING ACQUAINTED

III UNDER ORDERS

IV SILENT MURPHY

V IN HONOR OF MISS SPENCER

VI THE LIEUTENANT MEETS MISS SPENCER

VII AN UNUSUAL GIRL

VIII THE REAPPEARANCE OF AN OLD FRIEND

IX THE VERGE OF A QUARREL

X A SLIGHT INTERRUPTION

XI THE DOOR OPENS, AND CLOSES AGAIN

XII THE COHORTS OF JUDGE LYNCH

XIII "SHE LOVES ME, SHE LOVES ME NOT"

XIV PLUCKED FROM THE BURNING

XV THE DOOR CLOSES

XVI THE RESCUE OF MISS SPENCER

XVII THE PARTING HOUR

PART III

ON THE LITTLE BIG HORN

I MR. HAMPTON RESOLVES

II THE TRAIL OF SILENT MURPHY

III THE HAUNTING OF A CRIME

IV THE VERGE OF CONFESSION

V ALONE WITH THE INSANE

VI ON THE LITTLE BIG HORN

VII THE FIGHT IN THE VALLEY

VIII THE OLD REGIMENT

IX THE LAST STAND

X THE CURTAIN FALLS

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

"I Read It in your Face," He Insisted. "It Told of Love" . . . . . .

_Frontispiece_

They Advanced Slowly, the Supported Blankets Swaying Gently to the

Measured Tread

"Mr. Slavin Appears to have Lost his Previous Sense of Humor," He

Remarked, Calmly

Together They Bore Him, now Unconscious, Slowly down below the First

Fire-Line

BOB HAMPTON OF PLACER

_PART I_

FROM OUT THE CANYON

CHAPTER I

HAMPTON, OF PLACER

It was not an uncommon tragedy of the West. If slightest chronicle of

it survive, it must be discovered among the musty and nearly forgotten

records of the Eighteenth Regiment of Infantry, yet it is extremely

probable that even there the details were never written down.

Sufficient if, following certain names on that long regimental roll,

there should be duly entered those cabalistic symbols signifying to the

initiated, "Killed in action." After all, that tells the story. In

those old-time Indian days of continuous foray and skirmish such brief

returns, concise and unheroic, were commonplace enough.

Yet the tale is worth telling now, when such days are past and gone.

There were sixteen of them when, like so many hunted rabbits, they were

first securely trapped among the frowning rocks, and forced

relentlessly backward from off the narrow trail until the precipitous

canyon walls finally halted their disorganized flight, and from sheer

necessity compelled a rally in hopeless battle. Sixteen,--ten

infantrymen from old Fort Bethune, under command of Syd. Wyman, a

gray-headed sergeant of thirty years' continuous service in the

regulars, two cow-punchers from the "X L" ranch, a stranger who had

joined them uninvited at the ford over the Bear Water, together with

old Gillis the post-trader, and his silent chit of a girl.

Sixteen--but that was three days before, and in the meanwhile not a few

of those speeding Sioux bullets had found softer billet than the

limestone rocks. Six of the soldiers, four already dead, two dying,

lay outstretched in ghastly silence where they fell. "Red" Watt, of

the "X L," would no more ride the range across the sun-kissed prairie,

while the stern old sergeant, still grim of jaw but growing dim of eye,

bore his right arm in a rudely improvised sling made from a

cartridge-belt, and crept about sorely racked with pain, dragging a

shattered limb behind him. Then the taciturn Gillis gave sudden

utterance to a sobbing cry, and a burst of red spurted across his white

beard as he reeled backward, knocking the girl prostrate when he fell.

Eight remained, one helpless, one a mere lass of fifteen. It was the

morning of the third day.

The beginning of the affair had burst upon them so suddenly that no two

in that stricken company would have told the same tale. None among

them had anticipated trouble; there were no rumors of Indian war along

the border, while every recognized hostile within the territory had

been duly reported as north of the Bear Water; not the vaguest

complaint had drifted into military headquarters for a month or more.

In all the fancied security of unquestioned peace these chance

travellers had slowly toiled along the steep trail leading toward the

foothills, beneath the hot rays of the afternoon sun, their thoughts

afar, their steps lagging and careless. Gillis and the girl, as well

as the two cattle-herders, were on horseback; the remainder soberly

trudged forward on foot, with guns slung to their shoulders. Wyman was

somewhat in advance, walking beside the stranger, the latter a man of

uncertain age, smoothly shaven, quietly dressed in garments bespeaking

an Eastern tailor, a bit grizzled of hair along the temples, and

possessing a pair of cool gray eyes. He had introduced himself by the

name of Hampton, but had volunteered no further information, nor was it

customary in that country to question impertinently. The others of the

little party straggled along as best suited themselves, all semblance

to the ordinary discipline of the service having been abandoned.

Hampton, through the medium of easy conversation, early discovered in

the sergeant an intelligent mind, possessing some knowledge of

literature. They had been discussing books with rare enthusiasm, and

the former had drawn from the concealment of an inner pocket a

diminutive copy of "The Merchant of Venice," from which he was reading

aloud a disputed passage, when the faint trail they followed suddenly

dipped into the yawning mouth of a black canyon. It was a narrow,

gloomy, contracted gorge, a mere gash between those towering hills

shadowing its depths on either hand. A swift mountain stream, noisy

and clear as crystal, dashed from rock to rock close beside the more

northern wall, while the ill-defined pathway, strewn with bowlders and

guarded by underbrush, clung to the opposite side, where low scrub

trees partially obscured the view.

All was silent as death when they entered. Not so much as the flap of

a wing or the stir of a leaf roused suspicion, yet they had barely

advanced a short hundred paces when those apparently bare rocks in

front flamed red, the narrow defile echoed to wild screeches and became

instantly crowded with weird, leaping figures. It was like a plunge

from heaven into hell. Blaine and Endicott sank at the first fire;

Watt, his face picturing startled surprise, reeled from his saddle,

clutching at the air, his horse dashing madly forward and dragging him,

head downward, among the sharp rocks; while Wyman's stricken arm

dripped blood. Indeed, under that sudden shock, he fell, and was

barely rescued by the prompt action of the man beside him. Dropping

the opened book, and firing madly to left and right with a revolver

which appeared to spring into his hand as by magic, the latter coolly

dragged the fainting soldier across the more exposed space, until the

two found partial security among a mass of loosened rocks littering the

base of the precipice. The others who survived that first scorching

discharge also raced toward this same shelter, impelled thereto by the

unerring instinct of border fighting, and flinging themselves flat

behind protecting bowlders, began responding to the hot fire rained

upon them.

Scattered and hurried as these first volleys were, they proved

sufficient to check the howling demons in the open. It has never been

Indian nature to face unprotected the aim of the white men, and those

dark figures, which only a moment before thronged the narrow gorge,

leaping crazily in the riot of apparent victory, suddenly melted from

sight, slinking down into leafy coverts beside the stream or into holes

among the rocks, like so many vanishing prairie-dogs. The fierce

yelpings died faintly away in distant echoes, while the hideous roar of

conflict diminished to the occasional sharp crackling of single rifles.

Now and then a sinewy brown arm might incautiously project across the

gleaming surface of a rock, or a mop of coarse black hair appear above

the edge of a gully, either incident resulting in a quick interchange

of fire. That was all; yet the experienced frontiersmen knew that eyes

as keen as those of any wild animal of the jungle were watching

murderously their slightest movement.

Wyman, now reclining in agony against the base of the overhanging

cliff, directed the movements of his little command calmly and with

sober military judgment. Little by little, under protection of the

rifles of the three civilians, the uninjured infantrymen crept

cautiously about, rolling loosened bowlders forward into position,

until they finally succeeded in thus erecting a rude barricade between

them and the enemy. The wounded who could be reached were laboriously

drawn back within this improvised shelter, and when the black shadows

of the night finally shut down, all remaining alive were once more

clustered together, the injured lying moaning and ghastly beneath the

overhanging shelf of rock, and the girl, who possessed all the patient

stoicism of frontier training, resting in silence, her widely opened

eyes on those far-off stars peeping above the brink of the chasm, her

head pillowed on old Gillis's knee.

Few details of those long hours of waiting ever came forth from that

black canyon of death. Many of the men sorely wounded, all wearied,

powder-stained, faint with hunger, and parched with thirst, they simply

fought out to the bitter ending their desperate struggle against

despair. The towering, overhanging wall at their back assured

protection from above, but upon the opposite cliff summit, and easily

within rifle range, the cunning foe early discovered lodgment, and from

that safe vantage-point poured down a merciless fire, causing each man

to crouch lower behind his protecting bowlder. No motion could be

ventured without its checking bullet, yet hour after hour the besieged

held their ground, and with ever-ready rifles left more than one

reckless brave dead among the rocks. The longed-for night came dark

and early at the bottom of that narrow cleft, while hardly so much as a

faint star twinkled in the little slit of sky overhead. The cunning

besiegers crept closer through the enshrouding gloom, and taunted their

entrapped victims with savage cries and threats of coming torture, but

no warrior among them proved sufficiently bold to rush in and slay.

Why should they? Easier, safer far, to rest secure behind their

shelters, and wait in patience until the little band had fired its last

shot. Now they skulked timorously, but then they might walk upright

and glut their fiendish lust for blood.

Twice during that long night volunteers sought vainly to pierce those

lines of savage watchers. A long wailing cry of agony from out the

thick darkness told the fate of their first messenger, while Casey, of

the "X L," crept slowly, painfully back, with an Indian bullet embedded

deep in his shoulder. Just before the coming of dawn, Hampton, without

uttering a word, calmly turned up the collar of his tightly buttoned

coat, so as better to conceal the white collar he wore, gripped his

revolver between his teeth, and crept like some wriggling snake among

the black rocks and through the dense underbrush in search after water.

By some miracle of divine mercy he was permitted to pass unscathed, and

came crawling back, a dozen hastily filled canteens dangling across his

shoulders. It was like nectar to those parched, feverish throats; but

of food barely a mouthful apiece remained in the haversacks.

The second day dragged onward, its hours bringing no change for the

better, no relief, no slightest ray of hope. The hot sun scorched them

pitilessly, and two of the wounded died delirious. From dawn to dark

there came no slackening of the savage watchfulness which held the

survivors helpless behind their coverts. The merest uplifting of a

head, the slightest movement of a hand, was sufficient to demonstrate

how sharp were those savage eyes. No white man in the short

half-circle dared to waste a single shot now; all realized that their

stock of ammunition was becoming fearfully scant, yet those scheming

devils continually baited them to draw their fire.

Another long black night followed, during which, for an hour or so in

turn, the weary defenders slept, tossing uneasily, and disturbed by

fearful dreams. Then gray and solemn, amid the lingering shadows of

darkness, dawned the third dread day of unequal conflict. All

understood that it was destined to be their last on this earth unless

help came. It seemed utterly hopeless to protract the struggle, yet

they held on grimly, patiently, half-delirious from hunger and thirst,

gazing into each other's haggard faces, almost without recognition,

every man at his post. Then it was that old Gillis received his

death-wound, and the solemn, fateful whisper ran from lip to lip along

the scattered line that only five cartridges remained.

For two days Wyman had scarcely stirred from where he lay bolstered

against the rock. Sometimes he became delirious from fever, uttering

incoherent phrases, or swearing in pitiful weakness. Again he would

partially arouse to his old sense of soldierly duty, and assume

intelligent command. Now he twisted painfully about upon his side,

and, with clouded eyes, sought to discern what man was lying next him.

The face was hidden so that all he could clearly distinguish was the

fact that this man was not clothed as a soldier.

"Is that you, Hampton?" he questioned, his voice barely audible.

The person thus addressed, who was lying flat upon his back, gazing

silently upward at the rocky front of the cliff, turned cautiously over

upon his elbow before venturing reply.

"Yes; what is it, sergeant? It looks to be a beauty of a morning way

up yonder."

There was a hearty, cheery ring to his clear voice which left the

pain-racked old soldier envious.

"My God!" he growled savagely. "'T is likely to be the last any of us

will ever see. Was n't it you I heard whistling just now? One might

imagine this was to be a wedding, rather than a funeral."

"And why not, Wyman? Did n't you know they employed music at both

functions nowadays? Besides, it is not every man who is permitted to

assist at his own obsequies--the very uniqueness of such a situation

rather appeals to my sense of humor. Pretty tune, that one I was

whistling, don't you think? Picked it up on 'The Pike' in Cincinnati

fifteen years ago. Sorry I don't recall the words, or I'd sing them

for you."

The sergeant, his teeth clinched tightly to repress the pain racking

him, stifled his resentment with an evident effort. "You may be less

light-hearted when you learn that the last of our ammunition is already

in the guns," he remarked, stiffly.

"I suspected as much." And the speaker lifted himself on one elbow to

peer down the line of recumbent figures. "To be perfectly frank with

you, sergeant, the stuff has held out considerably longer than I

believed it would, judging from the way those 'dough boys' of yours

kept popping at every shadow in front of them. It 's a marvel to me,

the mutton-heads they take into the army. Oh, now, you need n't scowl

at me like that, Wyman; I 've worn the blue, and seen some service

where a fellow needed to be a man to sport the uniform. Besides, I 'm

not indifferent, old chap, and just so long as there remained any work

worth attending to in this skirmishing affair, I did it, did n't I?

But I tell you, man, there is mighty little good trying to buck against

Fate, and when Luck once finally lets go of a victim, he's bound to

drop straight to the bottom before he stops. That's the sum and

substance of all my philosophy, old fellow, consequently I never kick

simply because things happen to go wrong. What's the use? They 'll go

wrong just the same. Then again, my life has never been so sweet as to

cause any excessive grief over the prospect of losing it. Possibly I

might prefer to pass out from this world in some other manner, but

that's merely a matter of individual taste, and just now there does n't

seem to be very much choice left me. Consequently, upheld by my

acquired philosophy, and encouraged by the rectitude of my past

conduct, I 'm merely holding back one shot for myself, as a sort of

grand finale to this fandango, and another for that little girl out

yonder."

These words were uttered slowly, the least touch of a lazy drawl

apparent in the low voice, yet there was an earnest simplicity

pervading the speech which somehow gave it impressiveness. The man

meant exactly what he said, beyond the possibility of a doubt. The old

soldier, accustomed to every form of border eccentricity, gazed at him

with disapproval.

"Either you 're the coolest devil I 've met during thirty years of

soldiering," he commented, doubtfully, "or else the craziest. Who are

you, anyhow? I half believe you might be Bob Hampton, of Placer."

The other smiled grimly. "You have the name tolerably correct, old

fellow; likewise that delightful spot so lately honored by my

residence. In brief, you have succeeded in calling the turn perfectly,

so far as your limited information extends. In strict confidence I

propose now to impart to you what has hitherto remained a profound

secret. Upon special request of a number of influential citizens of

Placer, including the city marshal and other officials, expressed in

mass-meeting, I have decided upon deserting that sagebrush metropolis

to its just fate, and plan to add the influence of my presence to the

future development of Glencaid. I learn that the climate there is more

salubrious, more conducive to long living, the citizens of Placer being

peculiarly excitable and careless with their fire-arms."

The sergeant had been listening with open mouth. "The hell you say!"

he finally ejaculated.

"The undented truth, every word of it. No wonder you are shocked. A

fine state of affairs, isn't it, when a plain-spoken, pleasant-mannered

gentleman, such as I surely am,--a university graduate, by all the

gods, the nephew of a United States Senator, and acknowledged to be the

greatest exponent of scientific poker in this territory,--should be

obliged to hastily change his chosen place of abode because of the

threat of an ignorant and depraved mob. Ever have a rope dangled in

front of your eyes, sergeant, and a gun-barrel biting into your cheek

at the same time? Accept my word for it, the experience is trying on

the nerves. Ran a perfectly square game too, and those ducks knew it;

but there 's no true sporting spirit left in this territory any more.

However, spilled milk is never worth sobbing over, and Fate always

contrives to play the final hand in any game, and stocks the cards to

win. Quite probably you are familiar with Bobbie Burns, sergeant, and

will recall easily these words, 'The best-laid schemes o' mice and men

gang aft agley'? Well, instead of proceeding, as originally intended,

to the delightful environs of Glencaid, for a sort of a Summer

vacation, I have, on the impulse of the moment, decided upon crossing

the Styx. Our somewhat impulsive red friends out yonder are kindly

preparing to assist me in making a successful passage, and the citizens

of Glencaid, when they learn the sorrowful news of my translation,

ought to come nobly forward with some suitable memorial to my virtues.

If, by any miracle of chance, you should pull through, Wyman, I would

hold it a friendly act if you suggest the matter. A neat monument, for

instance, might suitably voice their grief; it would cost them far less

than I should in the flesh, and would prove highly gratifying to me, as

well as those mourners left behind in Placer."

"A breath of good honest prayer would serve better than all your fun,"

groaned the sergeant, soberly.

The gray eyes resting thoughtfully on the old soldier's haggard face

became instantly grave and earnest.

"Sincerely I wish I might aid you with one," the man admitted, "but I

fear, old fellow, any prayer coming from my lips would never ascend

very far. However, I might try the comfort of a hymn, and you will

remember this one, which, no doubt, you have helped to sing back in

God's country."

There was a moment's hushed pause, during which a rifle cracked sharply

out in the ravine; then the reckless fellow, his head partially

supported against the protecting bowlder, lifted up a full, rich

barytone in rendition of that hymn of Christian faith--

"Nearer, my God, to Thee!

Nearer to Thee!

E'en though it be a cross

That raiseth me,

Still all my song shall be,

Nearer, my God, to Thee!

Nearer to Thee."

Glazed and wearied eyes glanced cautiously toward the singer around the

edges of protecting rocks; fingers loosened their grasp upon the rifle

barrels; smoke-begrimed cheeks became moist; while lips, a moment

before profaned by oaths, grew silent and trembling. Out in front a

revengeful brave sent his bullet swirling just above the singer's head,

the sharp fragments of rock dislodged falling in a shower upon his

upturned face; but the fearless rascal sang serenely on to the end,

without a quaver.

"Mistake it for a death song likely," he remarked dryly, while the last

clear, lingering note, reechoed by the cliff, died reluctantly away in

softened cadence. "Beautiful old song, sergeant, and I trust hearing

it again has done you good. Sang it once in a church way back in New

England. But what is the trouble? Did you call me for some special

reason?"

"Yes," came the almost gruff response; for Wyman, the fever stealing

back upon him, felt half ashamed of his unshed tears. "That is,

provided you retain sufficient sense to listen. Old Gillis was shot

over an hour ago, yonder behind that big bowlder, and his girl sits

there still holding his head in her lap. She'll get hit also unless

somebody pulls her out of there, and she's doing no good to

Gillis--he's dead."

Hampton's clear-cut, expressive face became graver, all trace of

recklessness gone from it. He lifted his head cautiously, peering over

his rock cover toward where he remembered earlier in the fight Gillis

had sought refuge.

CHAPTER II

OLD GILLIS'S GIRL

Excepting for a vague knowledge that Gillis had had a girl with him,

together with the half-formed determination that if worse came to worst

she must never be permitted to fall alive into the hands of the lustful

Sioux, Mr. Hampton had scarcely so much as noted her presence. Of late

years he had not felt greatly interested in the sex, and his

inclination, since uniting his shattered fortunes with this little

company, had been to avoid coming into personal contact with this

particular specimen. Practically, therefore, he now observed her for

the first time. Previously she had passed within range of his vision

simply as the merest shadow; now she began to appeal faintly to him as

a personality, uninteresting enough, of course, yet a living human

being, whom it had oddly become his manifest duty to succor and

protect. The never wholly eradicated instincts of one born and bred a

gentleman, although heavily overlaid by the habits acquired in many a

rough year passed along the border, brought vividly before him the

requirements of the situation. Undoubtedly death was destined to be

the early portion of them all; nevertheless she deserved every

opportunity for life that remained, and with the ending of hope--well,

there are worse fates upon the frontier than the unexpected plunge of a

bullet through a benumbed brain.

Guided by the unerring instinct of an old Indian fighter, Gillis,

during that first mad retreat, had discovered temporary shelter behind

one of the largest bowlders. It was a trifle in advance of those later

rolled into position by the soldiers, but was of a size and shape which

should have afforded ample protection for two, and doubtless would have

done so had it not been for the firing from the cliff opposite. Even

then it was a deflected bullet, glancing from off the polished surface

of the rock, which found lodgment in the sturdy old fighter's brain.

The girl had caught him as he fell, had wasted all her treasured store

of water in a vain effort to cleanse the blood from his features, and

now sat there, pillowing his head upon her knee, although the old man

was stone dead with the first touch of the ball. That had occurred

fully an hour before, but she continued in the same posture, a grave,

pathetic figure, her face sobered and careworn beyond her years, her

eyes dry and staring, one brown hand grasping unconsciously the old

man's useless rifle. She would scarcely have been esteemed attractive

even under much happier circumstances and assisted by dress, yet there

was something in the independent poise of her head, the steady

fixedness of her posture, which served to interest Hampton as he now

watched her curiously.

"Fighting blood," he muttered admiringly to himself. "Might fail to

develop into very much of a society belle, but likely to prove valuable

out here."

She was rather a slender slip of a thing, a trifle too tall for her

years, perhaps, yet with no lack of development apparent in the slim,

rounded figure. Her coarse home-made dress of dark calico fitted her

sadly, while her rumpled hair, from which the broad-brimmed hat had

fallen, possessed a reddish copper tinge where it was touched by the

sun. Mr. Hampton's survey did not increase his desire for more

intimate acquaintanceship, yet he recognized anew her undoubted claim

upon him.

"Suppose I might just as well drop out that way as any other," he

reflected, thoughtfully. "It's all in the game."

Lying flat upon his stomach, both arms extended, he slowly forced

himself beyond his bowlder into the open. There was no great distance

to be traversed, and a considerable portion of the way was somewhat

protected by low bushes. Hampton took few chances of those spying eyes

above, never uplifting his head the smallest fraction of an inch, but

reaching forward with blindly groping hands, caught hold upon any

projecting root or stone which enabled him to drag his body an inch

farther. Twice they fired directly down at him from the opposite

summit, and once a fleck of sharp rock, chipped by a glancing bullet,

embedded itself in his cheek, dyeing the whole side of his face

crimson. But not once did he pause or glance aside; nor did the girl

look up from the imploring face of her dead. As he crept silently in,

sheltering himself next to the body of the dead man, she perceived his

presence for the first time, and shrank back as if in dread.

"What are you doing? Why--why did you come here?" she questioned, a

falter in her voice; and he noticed that her eyes were dark and large,

yielding a marked impress of beauty to her face.

"I was unwilling to leave you here alone," he answered, quietly, "and

hope to discover some means for getting you safely back beside the

others."

"But I didn't want you," and there was a look of positive dislike in

her widely opened eyes.

"Did n't want me?" He echoed these unexpected words in a tone of

complete surprise. "Surely you could not desire to be left here alone?

Why didn't you want me?"

"Because I know who you are!" Her voice seemed to catch in her throat.

"He told me. You're the man who shot Jim Eberly."

Mr. Hampton was never of a pronounced emotional nature, nor was he a

person easily disconcerted, yet he flushed at the sound of these

impulsive words, and the confident smile deserted his lips. For a

moment they sat thus, the dead body lying between, and looked at each

other. When the man finally broke the constrained silence a deeper

intonation had crept into his voice.

"My girl," he said gravely, and not without a suspicion of pleading,

"this is no place for me to attempt any defence of a shooting affray in

a gambling-house, although I might plead with some justice that Eberly

enjoyed the honor of shooting first. I was not aware of your personal

feeling in the matter, or I might have permitted some one else to come

here in my stead. Now it is too late. I have never spoken to you

before, and do so at this time merely from a sincere desire to be of

some assistance."

There was that in his manner of grave courtesy which served to steady

the girl. Probably never before in all her rough frontier experience

had she been addressed thus formally. Her closely compressed lips

twitched nervously, but her questioning eyes remained unlowered.

"You may stay," she asserted, soberly. "Only don't touch me."

No one could ever realize how much those words hurt him. He had been

disciplined in far too severe a school ever to permit his face to index

the feelings of his heart, yet the unconcealed shrinking of this

uncouth child from slightest personal contact with him cut through his

acquired reserve as perhaps nothing else could ever have done. Not

until he had completely conquered his first unwise impulse to retort

angrily, did he venture again to speak.

"I hope to aid you in getting back beside the others, where you will be

less exposed."

"Will you take him?"

"He is dead," Hampton said, soberly, "and I can do nothing to aid him.

But there remains a chance for you to escape."

"Then I won't go," she declared, positively.

Hampton's gray eyes looked for a long moment fixedly into her darker

ones, while the two took mental stock of each other. He realized the

utter futility of any further argument, while she felt instinctively

the cool, dominating strength of the man. Neither was composed of that

poor fibre which bends.

"Very well, my young lady," he said, easily, stretching himself out

more comfortably in the rock shadow. "Then I will remain here with

you; it makes small odds."

Excepting for one hasty, puzzled glance, she did not deign to look

again toward him, and the man rested motionless upon his back, staring

up at the sky. Finally, curiosity overmastered the actor in him, and

he turned partially upon one side, so as to bring her profile within

his range of vision. The untamed, rebellious nature of the girl had

touched a responsive chord; unseeking any such result she had directly

appealed to his better judgment, and enabled him to perceive her from

an entirely fresh view-point. Her clearly expressed disdain, her

sturdy independence both of word and action, coupled with her frankly

voiced dislike, awoke within him an earnest desire to stand higher in

her regard. Her dark, glowing eyes were lowered upon the white face of

the dead man, yet Hampton noted how clear, in spite of sun-tan, were

those tints of health upon the rounded cheek, and how soft and glossy

shone her wealth of rumpled hair. Even the tinge of color, so

distasteful in the full glare of the sun, appeared to have darkened

under the shadow, its shade framing the downcast face into a pensive

fairness. Then he observed how dry and parched her lips were.

"Take a drink of this," he insisted heartily, holding out toward her as

he spoke his partially filled canteen.

She started at the unexpected sound of his voice, yet uplifted the

welcome water to her mouth, while Hampton, observing it all closely,

could but remark the delicate shapeliness other hand.

"If that old fellow was her father," he reflected soberly, "I should

like to have seen her mother."

"Thank you," she said simply, handing back the canteen, but without

lifting her eyes again to his face. "I was so thirsty." Her low tone,

endeavoring to be polite enough, contained no note of encouragement.

"Was Gillis your father?" the man questioned, determined to make her

recognize his presence.

"I suppose so; I don't know."

"You don't know? Am I to understand you are actually uncertain whether

this man was your father or not?"

"That is about what I said, was n't it? Not that it is any of your

business, so far as I know, Mr. Bob Hampton, but I answered you all

right. He brought me up, and I called him 'dad' about as far back as I

can remember, but I don't reckon as he ever told me he was my father.

So you can understand just what you please."

"His name was Gillis, was n't it?"

The girl nodded wearily.

"Post-trader at Fort Bethune?"

Again the rumpled head silently acquiesced.

"What is your name?"

"He always called me 'kid,'" she admitted unwillingly, "but I reckon if

you have any further occasion for addressing me, you'd better say,

'Miss Gillis.'"

Hampton laughed lightly, his reckless humor instantly restored by her

perverse manner.

"Heaven preserve me!" he exclaimed good naturedly, "but you are

certainly laying it on thick, young lady! However, I believe we might

become good friends if we ever have sufficient luck to get out from

this hole alive. Darn if I don't sort of cotton to you, little

girl--you've got some sand."

For a brief space her truthful, angry eyes rested scornfully upon his

face, her lips parted as though trembling with a sharp retort. Then

she deliberately turned her back upon him without uttering a word.

For what may have been the first and only occasion in Mr. Hampton's

audacious career, he realized his utter helplessness. This mere slip

of a red-headed girl, this little nameless waif of the frontier,

condemned him so completely, and without waste of words, as to leave

him weaponless. Not that he greatly cared; oh, no! still, it was an

entirely new experience; the arrow went deeper than he would have

willingly admitted. Men of middle age, gray hairs already commencing

to shade their temples, are not apt to enjoy being openly despised by

young women, not even by ordinary freckle-faced girls, clad in coarse

short frocks. Yet he could think of no fitting retort worth the

speaking, and consequently he simply lay back, seeking to treat this

disagreeable creature with that silent contempt which is the last

resort of the vanquished.

He was little inclined to admit, even to himself, that he had been

fairly hit, yet the truth remained that this girl was beginning to

interest him oddly. He admired her sturdy independence, her audacity

of speech, her unqualified frankness. Mr. Hampton was a thoroughgoing

sport, and no quality was quite so apt to appeal to him as dead

gameness. He glanced surreptitiously aside at her once more, but there

was no sign of relenting in the averted face. He rested lower against

the rock, his face upturned toward the sky, and thought. He was

becoming vaguely aware that something entirely new, and rather

unwelcome, had crept into his life during that last fateful half-hour.

It could not be analyzed, nor even expressed definitely in words, but

he comprehended this much--he would really enjoy rescuing this girl,

and he should like to live long enough to discover into what sort of

woman she would develop.

It was no spirit of bravado that gave rise to his reckless speech of an

hour previous. It was simply a spontaneous outpouring of his real

nature, an unpremeditated expression of that supreme carelessness with

which he regarded the future, the small value he set on life. He truly

felt as utterly indifferent toward fate as his words signified. Deeply

conscious of a life long ago irretrievably wrecked, everything behind a

chaos, everything before worthless,--for years he had been actually

seeking death; a hundred times he had gladly marked its apparent

approach, a smile of welcome upon his lips. Yet it had never quite

succeeded in reaching him, and nothing had been gained beyond a

reputation for cool, reckless daring, which he did not in the least

covet. But now, miracle of all miracles, just as the end seemed

actually attained, seemed beyond any possibility of being turned aside,

he began to experience a desire to live--he wanted to save this girl.

His keenly observant eyes, trained by the exigencies of his trade to

take note of small things, and rendered eager by this newly awakened

ambition, scanned the cliff towering above them. He perceived the

extreme irregularity of its front, and numerous peculiarities of

formation which had escaped him hitherto. Suddenly his puzzled face

brightened to the birth of an idea. By heavens! it might be done!

Surely it might be done! Inch by inch he traced the obscure passage,

seeking to impress each faint detail upon his memory--that narrow ledge

within easy reach of an upstretched arm, the sharp outcropping of

rock-edges here and there, the deep gash as though some giant axe had

cleaved the stone, those sturdy cedars growing straight out over the

chasm like the bowsprits of ships, while all along the way, irregular

and ragged, varied rifts not entirely unlike the steps of a crazy

staircase.

The very conception of such an exploit caused his flesh to creep. But

he was not of that class of men who fall back dazed before the face of

danger. Again and again, led by an impulse he was unable to resist, he

studied that precipitous rock, every nerve tingling to the newborn

hope. God helping them, even so desperate a deed might be

accomplished, although it would test the foot and nerve of a Swiss

mountaineer. He glanced again uneasily toward his companion, and saw

the same motionless figure, the same sober face turned deliberately

away. Hampton did not smile, but his square jaw set, and he clinched

his hands. He had no fear that she might fall him, but for the first

time in all his life he questioned his own courage.

CHAPTER III

BETWEEN LIFE AND DEATH

The remainder of that day, as well as much of the gloomy night

following, composed a silent, lingering horror. The fierce pangs of

hunger no longer gnawed, but a dull apathy now held the helpless

defenders. One of the wounded died, a mere lad, sobbing pitifully for

his mother; an infantryman, peering forth from his covert, had been

shot in the face, and his scream echoed among the rocks in multiplied

accents of agony; while Wyman lay tossing and moaning, mercifully

unconscious. The others rested in their places, scarcely venturing to

stir a limb, their roving, wolfish eyes the only visible evidence of

remaining life, every hope vanished, yet each man clinging to his

assigned post of duty in desperation. There was but little firing--the

defenders nursing their slender stock, the savages biding their time.

When night shut down the latter became bolder, and taunted cruelly

those destined to become so soon their hapless victims. Twice the

maddened men fired recklessly at those dancing devils, and one pitched

forward, emitting a howl of pain that caused his comrades to cower once

again behind their covers. One and all these frontiersmen recognized

the inevitable--before dawn the end must come. No useless words were

spoken; the men merely clinched their teeth and waited.

Hampton crept closer in beside the girl while the shadows deepened, and

ventured to touch her hand. Perhaps the severe strain of their

situation, the intense loneliness of that Indian-haunted twilight, had

somewhat softened her resentment, for she made no effort now to repulse

him.

"Kid," he said at last, "are you game for a try at getting out of this?"

She appeared to hesitate over her answer, and he could feel her

tumultuous breathing. Some portion of her aversion had vanished. His

face was certainly not an unpleasant one to look upon, and there were

others other sex who had discovered in it a covering for a multitude of

sins. Hampton smiled slightly while he waited; he possessed some

knowledge of the nature feminine.

"Come, Kid," he ventured finally, yet with new assurance vibrating in

his low voice; "this is surely a poor time and place for any indulgence

in tantrums, and you 've got more sense. I 'm going to try to climb up

the face of that cliff yonder,--it's the only possible way out from

here,--and I propose to take you along with me."

She snatched her hand roughly away, yet remained facing him. "Who gave

you any right to decide what I should do?"

The man clasped his fingers tightly about her slender arm, advancing

his face until he could look squarely into hers. She read in the lines

of that determined countenance an inflexible resolve which overmastered

her.

"The right given by Almighty God to protect any one of your sex in

peril," he replied. "Before dawn those savage fiends will be upon us.

We are utterly helpless. There remains only one possible path for

escape, and I believe I have discovered it. Now, my girl, you either

climb those rocks with me, or I shall kill you where you are. It is

that, or the Sioux torture. I have two shots left in this gun,--one

for you, the other for myself. The time has come for deciding which of

these alternatives you prefer."

The gleam of a star glittered along the steel of his revolver, and she

realized that he meant what he threatened.

"If I select your bullet rather than the rocks, what then?"

"You will get it, but in that case you will die like a fool."

"You have believed me to be one, all this afternoon."

"Possibly," he admitted; "your words and actions certainly justified

some such conclusion, but the opportunity has arrived for causing me to

revise that suspicion."

"I don't care to have you, revise it, Mr. Bob Hampton. If I go, I

shall hate you just the same."

Hampton's teeth clicked like those of an angry dog. "Hate and be

damned," he exclaimed roughly. "All I care about now is to drag you

out of here alive."

His unaffected sincerity impressed her more than any amount of

pleading. She was long accustomed to straight talk; it always meant

business, and her untutored nature instantly responded with a throb of

confidence.

"Well, if you put it that way," she said, "I 'll go."

For one breathless moment neither stirred. Then a single wild yell

rang sharply forth from the rocks in their front, and a rifle barked

savagely, its red flame cleaving the darkness with tongue of fire. An

instant and the impenetrable gloom again surrounded them.

"Come on, then," he whispered, his fingers grasping her sleeve.

She shook off the restraining touch of his hand as if it were

contamination, and sank down upon her knees beside the inert body. He

could barely perceive the dim outlines of her bowed figure, yet never

moved, his breath perceptibly quickening, while he watched and waited.

Without word or moan she bent yet lower, and pressed her lips upon the

cold, white face. The man caught no more than the faintest echo of a

murmured "Good-bye, old dad; I wish I could take you with me." Then

she stood stiffly upright, facing him. "I'm ready now," she announced

calmly. "You can go on ahead."

They crept among low shrubs and around the bowlders, carefully guarding

every slightest movement lest some rustle of disturbed foliage, or

sound of loosened stone, might draw the fire of those keen watchers.

Nor dared they ignore the close proximity of their own little company,

who, amid such darkness, might naturally suspect them for approaching

savages. Every inch of their progress was attained through tedious

groping, yet the distance to be traversed was short, and Hampton soon

found himself pressing against the uprising precipice. Passing his

fingers along the front, he finally found that narrow ledge which he

had previously located with such patient care, and reaching back, drew

the girl silently upon her feet beside him. Against that background of

dark cliff they might venture to stand erect, the faint glimmer of

reflected light barely sufficient to reveal to each the shadowy outline

of the other.

"Don't move an inch from this spot," he whispered. "It wouldn't be a

square deal, Kid, to leave those poor fellows to their death without

even telling them there's a chance to get out."

She attempted no reply, as he glided noiselessly away, but her face,

could he have seen it, was not devoid of expression. This was an act

of generosity and deliberate courage of the very kind most apt to

appeal to her nature, and within her secret heart there was rapidly

developing a respect for this man, who with such calm assurance won his

own way. He was strong, forceful, brave,--Homeric virtues of real

worth in that hard life which she knew best. All this swept across her

mind in a flash of revelation while she stood alone, her eyes

endeavoring vainly to peer into the gloom. Then, suddenly, that black

curtain was rent by jagged spurts of red and yellow flame. Dazed for

an instant, her heart throbbing wildly to the sharp reports of the

rifles, she shrank cowering back, her fascinated gaze fixed on those

imp-like figures leaping forward from rock to rock. Almost with the

flash and sound Hampton sprang hastily back and gathered her in his

arms.

"Catch hold, Kid, anywhere; only go up, and quick!"

As he thus lifted her she felt the irregularities of rock beneath her

clutching fingers, and scrambled instinctively forward along the narrow

shelf, and then, reaching higher, her groping hands clasped the roots

of a projecting cedar. She retained no longer any memory for Hampton;

her brain was completely terrorized. Inch by inch, foot by foot,

clinging to a fragment of rock here, grasping a slippery branch there,

occasionally helped by encountering a deeper gash in the face of the

precipice, her movements concealed by the scattered cedars, she toiled

feverishly up, led by instinct, like any wild animal desperately driven

by fear, and only partially conscious of the real dread of her terrible

position. The first time she became aware that Hampton was closely

following was when her feet slipped along a naked root, and she would

have plunged headlong into unknown depths had she not come into sudden

contact with his supporting shoulder. Faint and dizzy, and trembling

like the leaf of an aspen, she crept forward onto a somewhat wider

ledge of thin rock, and lay there quivering painfully from head to

foot. A moment of suspense, and he was outstretched beside her,

resting at full length along the very outer edge, his hand closing

tightly over her own.

"Remain perfectly quiet," he whispered, panting heavily. "We can be no

safer anywhere else."

She could distinguish the rapid pounding of his heart as well as her

own, mingled with the sharp intake of their heavy breathing, but these

sounds were soon overcome by that of the tumult below. Shots and

yells, the dull crash of blows, the shouts of men engaged in a death

grapple, the sharp crackling of innumerable rifles, the inarticulate

moans of pain, the piercing scream of sudden torture, were borne upward

to them from out the blackness. They did not venture to lift their

heads from off the hard rock; the girl sobbed silently, her slender

form trembling; the fingers of the man closed more tightly about her

hand. All at once the hideous uproar ceased with a final yelping of

triumph, seemingly reechoed the entire length of the chasm, in the

midst of which one single voice pleaded pitifully,--only to die away in

a shriek. The two agonized fugitives lay listening, their ears

strained to catch the slightest sound from below. The faint radiance

of a single star glimmered along the bald front of the cliff, but

Hampton, peering cautiously across the edge, could distinguish nothing.

His ears could discern evidences of movement, and he heard guttural

voices calling at a distance, but to the vision all was black. The

distance those faint sounds appeared away made his head reel, and he

shrank cowering back against the girl's body, closing his eyes and

sinking his head upon his arm.

These uncertain sounds ceased, the strained ears of the fugitives heard

the crashing of bodies through the thick shrubbery, and then even this

noise died away in the distance. Yet neither ventured to stir or

speak. It may be that the girl slept fitfully, worn out by long vigil

and intense strain; but the man proved less fortunate, his eyes staring

out continually into the black void, his thoughts upon other days long

vanished but now brought back in all their bitterness by the mere

proximity of this helpless waif who had fallen into his care. His

features were drawn and haggard when the first gray dawn found ghastly

reflection along the opposite rock summit, and with blurred eyes he

watched the faint tinge of returning light steal downward into the

canyon. At last it swept aside those lower clinging mists, as though

some invisible hand had drawn back the night curtains, and he peered

over the edge of his narrow resting-place, gazing directly down upon

the scene of massacre. With a quick gasp of unspeakable horror he

shrank so sharply back as to cause the suddenly awakened girl to start

and glance into his face.

"What is it?" she questioned, with quick catching of breath, reading

that which she could not clearly interpret in his shocked expression.

"Nothing of consequence," and he faintly endeavored to smile. "I

suppose I must have been dreaming also, and most unpleasantly. No;

please do not look down; it would only cause your head to reel, and our

upward climb is not yet completed. Do you feel strong enough now to

make another attempt to reach the top?"

His quiet spirit of assured dominance seemed to command her obedience.

With a slight shudder she glanced doubtfully up the seemingly

inaccessible height.

"Can we?" she questioned helplessly.

"We can, simply because we must," and his white teeth shut together

firmly. "There is no possibility of retracing our steps downward, but

with the help of this daylight we surely ought to be able to discover

some path leading up."

He rose cautiously to his feet, pressing her more closely against the

face of the cliff, thus holding her in comparative safety while

preventing her from glancing back into the dizzy chasm. The most

difficult portion of their journey was apparently just before them,

consisting of a series of narrow ledges, so widely separated and

irregular as to require each to assist the other while passing from

point to point. Beyond these a slender cleft, bordered by gnarled

roots of low bushes, promised a somewhat easier and securer passage

toward the summit. Hampton's face became deathly white as they began

the perilous climb, but his hand remained steady, his foot sure, while

the girl moved forward as if remaining unconscious of the presence of

danger, apparently swayed by his dominant will to do whatsoever he bade

her. More than once they tottered on the very brink, held to safety

merely by desperate clutchings at rock or shrub, yet never once did the

man loosen his guarding grasp of his companion. Pressed tightly

against the smooth rock, feeling for every crevice, every slightest

irregularity of surface, making use of creeping tendril or dead branch,

daring death along every inch of the way, these two creepers at last

attained the opening to the little gulley, and sank down, faint and

trembling, their hands bleeding, their clothing sadly torn by the sharp

ledges across which they had pulled their bodies by the sheer strength

of extended arms. Hampton panted heavily from exertion, yet the old

light of cool, resourceful daring had crept back into the gray eyes,

while the stern lines about his lips assumed pleasanter curves. The

girl glanced furtively at him, the long lashes shadowing the expression

of her lowered eyes. In spite of deep prejudice she felt impelled to

like this man; he accomplished things, and he didn't talk.

It was nothing more serious than a hard and toilsome climb after that,

a continuous struggle testing every muscle, straining every sinew,

causing both to sink down again and again, panting and exhausted, no

longer stimulated by imminent peril. The narrow cleft they followed

led somewhat away from the exposed front of the precipice, yet arose

steep and jagged before them, a slender gash through the solid rock, up

which they were often compelled to force their passage; again it became

clogged with masses of debris, dead branches, and dislodged fragments

of stone, across which they were obliged to struggle desperately, while

once they completely halted before a sheer smoothness of rock wall that

appeared impassable. It was bridged finally by a cedar trunk, which

Hampton wrenched from out its rocky foothold, and the two crept

cautiously forward, to emerge where the sunlight rested golden at the

summit. They sank face downward in the short grass, barely conscious

that they had finally won their desperate passage.

Slowly Hampton succeeded in uplifting his tired body and his reeling

head, until he could sit partially upright and gaze unsteadily about.

The girl yet remained motionless at his feet, her thick hair, a mass of

red gold in the sunshine, completely concealing her face, her slender

figure quivering to sobs of utter exhaustion. Before them stretched

the barren plain, brown, desolate, drear, offering in all its wide

expanse no hopeful promise of rescue, no slightest suggestion even of

water, excepting a fringe of irregular trees, barely discernible

against the horizon. That lorn, deserted waste, shimmering beneath the

sun-rays, the heat waves already becoming manifest above the

rock-strewn surface, presented a most depressing spectacle. With hand

partially shading his aching eyes from the blinding glare, the man

studied its every exposed feature, his face hardening again into lines

of stern determination. The girl stirred from her position, flinging

back her heavy hair with one hand, and looking up into his face with

eyes that read at once his disappointment.

"Have--have you any water left?" she asked at last, her lips parched

and burning as if from fever.

He shook the canteen dangling forgotten at his side. "There may be a

few drops," he said, handing it to her, although scarcely removing his

fixed gaze from off that dreary plain. "We shall be obliged to make

those trees yonder; there ought to be water there in plenty, and

possibly we may strike a trail."

She staggered to her feet, gripping his shoulder, and swaying a little

from weakness, then, holding aside her hair, gazed long in the

direction he pointed.

"I fairly shake from hunger," she exclaimed, almost angrily, "and am

terribly tired and sore, but I reckon I can make it if I 've got to."

There was nothing more said between them. Like two automatons, they

started off across the parched grass, the heat waves rising and falling

as they stumbled forward. Neither realized until then how thoroughly

that hard climb up the rocks, the strain of continued peril, and the

long abstinence from food had sapped their strength, yet to remain

where they were meant certain death; all hope found its centre amid

those distant beckoning trees. Mechanically the girl gathered back her

straying tresses, and tied them with a rag torn from her frayed skirt.

Hampton noted silently how heavy and sunken her eyes were; he felt a

dull pity, yet could not sufficiently arouse himself from the lethargy

of exhaustion to speak. His body seemed a leaden weight, his brain a

dull, inert mass; nothing was left him but an unreasoning purpose, the

iron will to press on across that desolate plain, which already reeled

and writhed before his aching eyes.

No one can explain later how such deeds are ever accomplished; how the

tortured soul controls physical weakness, and compels strained sinews

to perform the miracle of action when all ambition has died. Hampton

surely must have both seen and known, for he kept his direction, yet

never afterwards did he regain any clear memory of it. Twice she fell

heavily, and the last time she lay motionless, her face pressed against

the short grass blades. He stood looking down upon her, his head

reeling beneath the hot rays of the sun, barely conscious of what had

occurred, yet never becoming totally dead to his duty. Painfully he

stooped, lifted the limp, slender figure against his shoulder, and went

straggling forward, as uncertain in steps as a blind man, all about him

stretching the dull, dead desolation of the plain. Again and again he

sank down, pillowing his eyes from the pitiless sun glare; only to

stagger upright once more, ever bending lower and lower beneath his

unconscious burden.

CHAPTER IV

ON THE NAKED PLAIN

It was two hundred and eighteen miles, as the crow flies, between old

Fort Bethune and the rock ford crossing the Bear Water, every foot of

that dreary, treeless distance Indian-haunted, the favorite

skulking-place and hunting-ground of the restless Sioux. Winter and

summer this wide expanse had to be suspiciously patrolled by numerous

military scouting parties, anxious to learn more regarding the

uncertain whereabouts of wandering bands and the purposes of

malecontents, or else drawn hither and thither by continually shifting

rumors of hostile raids upon the camps of cattlemen. All this involved

rough, difficult service, with small meed of honor attached, while

never had soldiers before found trickier foemen to contend against, or

fighters more worthy of their steel.

One such company, composed of a dozen mounted infantrymen, accompanied

by three Cree trailers, rode slowly and wearily across the brown

exposed uplands down into the longer, greener grass of the wide valley

bottom, until they emerged upon a barely perceptible trail which wound

away in snake-like twistings, toward those high, barren hills whose

blue masses were darkly silhouetted against the western sky. Upon

every side of them extended the treeless wilderness, the desolate

loneliness of bare, brown prairie, undulating just enough to be

baffling to the eyes, yet so dull, barren, grim, silent, and colorless

as to drive men mad. The shimmering heat rose and fell in great

pulsating waves, although no slightest breeze came to stir the stagnant

air, while thick clouds of white dust, impregnated with poisonous

alkali, rose from out the grass roots, stirred by the horses' feet, to

powder the passers-by from head to foot. The animals moved steadily

forward, reluctant and weary, their heads drooping dejectedly, their

distended nostrils red and quivering, the oily perspiration streaking

their dusted sides. The tired men, half blinded by the glare, lolled

heavily in their deep cavalry saddles, with encrusted eyes staring

moodily ahead.

Riding alone, and slightly in advance of the main body, his mount a

rangy, broad-chested roan, streaked with alkali dust, the drooping head

telling plainly of wearied muscles, was the officer in command. He was

a pleasant-faced, stalwart young fellow, with the trim figure of a

trained athlete, possessing a square chin smoothly shaven, his

intelligent blue eyes half concealed beneath his hat brim, which had

been drawn low to shade them from the glare, one hand pressing upon his

saddle holster as he leaned over to rest. No insignia of rank served

to distinguish him from those equally dusty fellows plodding gloomily

behind, but a broad stripe of yellow running down the seams of his

trousers, together with his high boots, bespoke the cavalry service,

while the front of his battered campaign hat bore the decorations of

two crossed sabres, with a gilded "7" prominent between. His attire

was completed by a coarse blue shirt, unbuttoned at the throat, about

which had been loosely knotted a darker colored silk handkerchief, and

across the back of the saddle was fastened a uniform jacket, the single

shoulder-strap revealed presenting the plain yellow of a second

lieutenant.

Attaining to the summit of a slight knoll, whence a somewhat wider

vista lay outspread, he partially turned his face toward the men

straggling along in the rear, while his hand swept across the dreary

scene.

"If that line of trees over yonder indicates the course of the Bear

Water, Carson," he questioned quietly, "where are we expected to hit

the trail leading down to the ford?"

The sergeant, thus addressed, a little stocky fellow wearing a closely

clipped gray moustache, spurred his exhausted horse into a brief trot,

and drew up short by the officer's side, his heavy eyes scanning the

vague distance, even while his right hand was uplifted in perfunctory

salute.

"There 's no trail I know about along this bank, sir," he replied

respectfully, "but the big cottonwood with the dead branch forking out

at the top is the ford guide."

They rode down in moody silence into the next depression, and began

wearily climbing the long hill opposite, apparently the last before

coming directly down the banks of the stream. As his barely moving

horse topped the uneven summit, the lieutenant suddenly drew in his

rein, and uttering an exclamation of surprise, bent forward, staring

intently down in his immediate front. For a single instant he appeared

to doubt the evidence of his own eyes; then he swung hastily from out

the saddle, all weariness forgotten.

"My God!" he cried, sharply, his eyes suspiciously sweeping the bare

slope. "There are two bodies lying here--white people!"

They lay all doubled up in the coarse grass, exactly as they had

fallen, the man resting face downward, the slender figure of the girl

clasped vice-like in his arms, with her tightly closed eyes upturned

toward the glaring sun. Their strange, strained, unnatural posture,

the rigidity of their limbs, the ghastly pallor of the exposed young

face accentuated by dark, dishevelled hair, all alike seemed to

indicate death. Never once questioning but that he was confronting the

closing scene of a grewsome tragedy, the thoroughly aroused lieutenant

dropped upon his knees beside them, his eyes already moist with

sympathy, his anxious fingers feeling for a possible heart-beat. A

moment of hushed, breathless suspense followed, and then he began

flinging terse, eager commands across his shoulder to where his men

were clustered.

"Here! Carson, Perry, Ronk, lay hold quick, and break this fellow's

clasp," he cried, briefly. "The girl retains a spark of life yet, but

the man's arms fairly crush her."

With all the rigidity of actual death those clutching hands held their

tenacious grip, but the aroused soldiers wrenched the interlaced

fingers apart with every tenderness possible in such emergency, shocked

at noting the expression of intense agony stamped upon the man's face

when thus exposed to view. The whole terrible story was engraven

there--how he had toiled, agonized, suffered, before finally yielding

to the inevitable and plunging forward in unconsciousness, written as

legibly as though by a pen. Every pang of mental torture had left

plainest imprint across that haggard countenance. He appeared old,

pitiable, a wreck. Carson, who in his long service had witnessed much

of death and suffering, bent tenderly above him, seeking for some faint

evidence of lingering life. His fingers felt for no wound, for to his

experienced eyes the sad tale was already sufficiently clear--hunger,

exposure, the horrible heart-breaking strain of hopeless endeavor, had

caused this ending, this unspeakable tragedy of the barren waterless

plain. He had witnessed it all before, and hoped now for little. The

anxious lieutenant, bareheaded under the hot sun-glare, strode hastily

across from beside the unconscious but breathing girl, and stood gazing

doubtfully down upon them.

"Any life, sergeant?" he demanded, his voice rendered husky by sympathy.

"He doesn't seem entirely gone, sir," and Carson glanced up into the

officer's face, his own eyes filled with feeling. "I can distinguish

just a wee bit of breathing, but it's so weak the pulse hardly stirs."

"What do you make of it?"

"Starving at the bottom, sir. The only thing I see now is to get them

down to water and food."

The young officer glanced swiftly about him across that dreary picture

of sun-burnt, desolate prairie stretching in every direction, his eyes

pausing slightly as they surveyed the tops of the distant cottonwoods.

"Sling blankets between your horses," he commanded, decisively. "Move

quickly, lads, and we may save one of these lives yet."

He led in the preparation himself, his cheeks flushed, his movements

prompt, decisive. As if by some magic discipline the rude, effective

litters were rapidly made ready, and the two seemingly lifeless bodies

gently lifted from off the ground and deposited carefully within. Down

the long, brown slope they advanced slowly, a soldier grasping the rein

and walking at each horse's head, the supporting blankets, securely

fastened about the saddle pommels, swaying gently to the measured tread

of the trained animals. The lieutenant directed every movement, while

Carson rode ahead, picking out the safest route through the short

grass. Beneath the protecting shadows of the first group of

cottonwoods, almost on the banks of the muddy Bear Water, the little

party let down their senseless burdens, and began once more their

seemingly hopeless efforts at resuscitation. A fire was hastily

kindled from dried and broken branches, and broth was made, which was

forced through teeth that had to be pried open. Water was used

unsparingly, the soldiers working with feverish eagerness, inspired by

the constant admonitions of their officer, as well as their own

curiosity to learn the facts hidden behind this tragedy.

[Illustration: They advanced slowly, the supporting blankets swaying

gently to the measured tread.]

It was the dark eyes of the girl which opened first, instantly closing

again as the glaring light swept into them. Then slowly, and with

wonderment, she gazed up into those strange, rough faces surrounding

her, pausing in her first survey to rest her glance on the sympathetic

countenance of the young lieutenant, who held her half reclining upon

his arm.

"Here," he exclaimed, kindly, interpreting her glance as one of fear,

"you are all right and perfectly safe now, with friends to care for

you. Peters, bring another cup of that broth. Now, miss, just take a

sup or two of this, and your strength will come back in a jiffy. What

was the trouble? Starving?"

She did exactly as he bade her, every movement mechanical, her eyes

fastened upon his face.

"I--I reckon that was partly it," she responded at last, her voice

faint and husky. Then her glance wandered away, and finally rested

upon another little kneeling group a few yards farther down stream. A

look of fresh intelligence swept into her face.

"Is that him?" she questioned, tremblingly. "Is--is he dead?"

"He was n't when we first got here, but mighty near gone, I'm afraid.

I've been working over you ever since."

She shook herself free and sat weakly up, her lips tight compressed,

her eyes apparently blind to all save that motionless body she could

barely distinguish. "Let me tell you, that fellow's a man, just the

same; the gamest, nerviest man I ever saw. I reckon he got hit, too,

though he never said nothing about it. That's his style."

The deeply interested lieutenant removed his watchful eyes from off his

charge just long enough to glance inquiringly across his shoulder.

"Has the man any signs of a wound, sergeant?" he asked, loudly.

"A mighty ugly slug in the shoulder, sir; has bled scandalous, but I

guess it 's the very luck that's goin' to save him; seems now to be

comin' out all right."

The officer's brows knitted savagely. "It begins to look as if this

might be some of our business. What happened? Indians?"

"Yes."

"How far away?"

"I don't know. They caught us in a canyon somewhere out yonder, maybe

three or four days ago; there was a lot killed, some of them soldiers.

My dad was shot, and then that night he--he got me out up the rocks,

and he--he was carrying me in his arms when I--I fainted, I saw there

was blood on his shirt, and it was dripping down on the grass as he

walked. That's about all I know."

"Who is the man? What's his name?"

The girl looked squarely into the lieutenant's eyes, and, for some

reason which she could never clearly explain even to herself, lied

calmly. "I don't know; I never asked."

Sergeant Carson rose stiffly from his knees beside the extended figure

and strode heavily across toward where they were sitting, lifting his

hand in soldierly salute, his heels clicking as he brought them sharply

together in military precision.

"The fellow is getting his eyes open, sir," he reported, "and is

breathing more regular. Purty weak yit, but he'll come round in time."

He stared curiously down at the girl now sitting up unsupported, while

a sudden look of surprised recognition swept across his face.

"Great guns!" he exclaimed, eagerly, "but I know you. You're old man

Gillis's gal from Bethune, ain't ye?"

The quickly uplifted dark eyes seemed to lighten the ghastly pallor of

her face, and her lips trembled. "Yes," she acknowledged simply, "but

he's dead."

The lieutenant laid his ungloved hand softly on her shoulder, his blue

eyes moist with aroused feeling.

"Never mind, little girl," he said, with boyish sympathy. "I knew

Gillis, and, now the sergeant has spoken, I remember you quite well.

Thought all the time your face was familiar, but could n't quite decide

where I had seen you before. So poor old Gillis has gone, and you are

left all alone in the world! Well, he was an old soldier, could not

have hoped to live much longer anyway, and would rather go fighting at

the end. We 'll take you back with us to Bethune, and the ladies of

the garrison will look after you."

The recumbent figure lying a few yards away half lifted itself upon one

elbow, and Hampton's face, white and haggard, stared uncertainly across

the open space. For an instant his gaze dwelt upon the crossed sabres

shielding the gilded "7" on the front of the lieutenant's scouting hat,

then settled upon the face of the girl. With one hand pressed against

the grass he pushed himself slowly up until he sat fronting them, his

teeth clinched tight, his gray eyes gleaming feverishly in their sunken

sockets.

"I'll be damned if you will!" he said, hoarsely. "She 's my girl now."

CHAPTER V

A NEW PROPOSITION

To one in the least inclined toward fastidiousness, the Miners' Home at

Glencaid would scarcely appeal as a desirable place for long-continued

residence. But such a one would have had small choice in the matter,

as it chanced to be the only hotel there. The Miners' Home was

unquestionably unique as regards architectural details, having been

constructed by sections, in accordance with the rapid development of

the camp, and enjoyed the further distinction--there being only two

others equally stylish in town--of being built of sawn plank, although,

greatly to the regret of its unfortunate occupants, lack of seasoning

had resulted in wide cracks in both walls and stairway. These were

numerous, and occasionally proved perilous pitfalls to unwary

travellers through the ill-lighted hall, while strict privacy within

the chambers was long ago a mere reminiscence. However, these

deficiencies were to be discovered only after entering. Without, the

Miners' Home put up a good front,--which along the border is considered

the chief matter of importance,--and was in reality the most

pretentious structure gracing the single cluttered street of Glencaid.

Indeed, it was pointed at with much civic pride by those citizens never

compelled to exist within its yawning walls, and, with its ornament of

a wide commodious porch, appeared even palatial in comparison with the

log stable upon its left flank, or the dingy tent whose worm-eaten

canvas flapped dejectedly upon the right. Directly across the street,

its front a perfect blaze of glass, stood invitingly the Occidental

saloon; but the Widow Guffy, who operated the Miners' Home with a

strong hand, possessed an antipathy to strong liquor, which

successfully kept all suspicion of intoxicating drink absent from those

sacredly guarded precincts, except as her transient guests imported it

internally, in the latter case she naturally remained quiescent, unless

the offender became unduly boisterous. On such rare occasions Mrs.

Guffy had always proved equal to the emergency, possessing Irish

facility with either tongue or club.

Mr. Hampton during the course of his somewhat erratic career had

previously passed several eventful weeks in Glencaid. He was neither

unknown nor unappreciated at the Miners' Home, and having on previous

occasions established his reputation as a spender, experienced little

difficulty now in procuring promptly the very best accommodation which

the house afforded. That this arrangement was accomplished somewhat to

the present discomfort of two vociferous Eastern tourists did not

greatly interfere with his pleasurable interest in the situation.

"Send those two fellows in here to argue it out," he said, languidly,

after listening disgustedly to their loud lamentations in the hallway,

and addressing his remarks to Mrs. Guffy, who had glanced into the room

to be again assured regarding his comfort, and to express her deep

regret over the unseemly racket. "The girl has fallen asleep, and I 'm

getting tired of hearing so much noise."

"No, be hivings, an' ye don't do nuthin' of thet sort, Bob," returned

the widow, good-naturedly, busying herself with a dust-rag. "This is

me own house, an' Oi've tended ter the loikes of them sort er fellers

afore. There'll be no more bother this toime. Besides, it's a paceful

house Oi'm runnin', an' Oi know ye'r way of sittling them things. It's

too strenurous ye are, Misther Hampton. And what did ye do wid the

young lady, Oi make bould to ask?"

Hampton carelessly waved his hand toward the rear room, the door of

which stood ajar, and blew a thick cloud of smoke into the air, his

eyes continuing to gaze dreamily through the open window toward the

distant hills.

"Who's running the game over at the Occidental?" he asked,

professionally.

"Red Slavin, bad cess to him!" and her eyes regarded her questioner

with renewed anxiety. "But sure now, Bob, ye mustn't think of playin'

yit awhoile. Yer narves are in no fit shape, an' won't be fer a wake

yit."

He made no direct reply, and she hung about, flapping the dust-rag

uneasily.

"An' what did ye mane ter be doin' wid the young gyurl?" she questioned

at last, in womanly curiosity.

Hampton wheeled about on the hard chair, and regarded her quizzingly.

"Mrs. Guffy," he said, slowly, "you've been a mother to me, and it

would certainly be unkind not to give you a straight tip. Do? Why,

take care of her, of course. What else would you expect of one

possessing my kindly disposition and well-known motives of

philanthropy? Can it be that I have resided with you, off and on, for

ten years past without your ever realizing the fond yearnings of my

heart? Mrs. Guffy, I shall make her the heiress to my millions; I

shall marry her off to some Eastern nabob, and thus attain to that high

position in society I am so well fitted to adorn--sure, and what else

were you expecting, Mrs. Guffy?"

"A loikely story," with a sniff of disbelief. "They tell me she 's old

Gillis's daughter over to Bethune."

"They tell you, do they?" a sudden gleam of anger darkening his gray

eyes. "Who tell you?"

"Sure, Bob, an' thet 's nuthin' ter git mad about, so fur as I kin see.

The story is in iverybody's mouth. It wus thim sojers what brought ye

in thet tould most ov it, but the lieutenant,--Brant of the Seventh

Cavalry, no less,--who took dinner here afore he wint back after the

dead bodies, give me her name."

"Brant of the Seventh?" He faced her fairly now, his face again

haggard and gray, all the slight gleam of fun gone out of it. "Was

that the lad's name?"

"Sure, and didn't ye know him?"

"No; I noticed the '7' on his hat, of course, but never asked any

questions, for his face was strange. I didn't know. The name, when

you just spoke it, struck me rather queer. I--I used to know a Brant

in the Seventh, but he was much older; it was not this man."

She answered something, lingering for a moment at the door, but he made

no response, and she passed out silently, leaving him staring moodily

through the open window, his eyes appearing glazed and sightless.

Glencaid, like most mining towns of its class, was dull and dead enough

during the hours of daylight. It was not until after darkness fell

that it awoke from its somnolence, when the scattered miners came

swarming down from out the surrounding hills and turned into a noisy,

restless playground the single narrow, irregular street. Then it

suddenly became a mad commixture of Babel and hell. At this hour

nothing living moved within range of the watcher's vision except a

vagrant dog; the heat haze hung along the near-by slopes, while a

little spiral of dust rose lazily from the deserted road. But Hampton

had no eyes for this dreary prospect; with contracted brows he was

viewing again that which he had confidently believed to have been

buried long ago. Finally, he stepped quickly across the little room,

and, standing quietly within the open doorway, looked long at the young

girl upon the bed. She lay in sound, motionless sleep, one hand

beneath her cheek, her heavy hair, scarcely revealing its auburn hue in

the gloom of the interior, flowing in wild disorder across the crushed

pillow. He stepped to the single window and drew down the green shade,

gazed at her again, a new look of tenderness softening his stern face,

then went softly out and closed the door.

An hour later he was still sitting on the hard chair by the window, a

cigar between his teeth, thinking. The lowering sun was pouring a

perfect flood of gold across the rag carpet, but he remained utterly

unconscious as to aught save the gloomy trend of his own awakened

memories. Some one rapped upon the outer door.

"Come in," he exclaimed, carelessly, and barely glancing up. "Well,

what is it this time, Mrs. Guffy?"

The landlady had never before seen this usually happy guest in his

present mood, and she watched him curiously.

"A man wants ter see ye," she announced, shortly, her hand on the knob.

"Oh, I'm in no shape for play to-night; go back and tell him so."

"Sure, an' it's aisy 'nough ter see thet wid half an eye. But this un

isn't thet koind of a man, an' he's so moighty perlite about it Oi jist

cud n't sind the loikes of him away. It's 'Missus Guffy, me dear

madam, wud ye be koind enough to convey me complimints to Misther

Robert Hampton, and requist him to grant me a few minutes of his toime

on an important matter?' Sure, an' what do ye think of thet?"

"Huh! one of those fellows who had these rooms?" and Hampton rose to

his feet with animation.

The landlady lowered her voice to an almost inaudible whisper.

"It's the Reverend Howard Wynkoop," she announced, impressively,

dwelling upon the name. "The Reverend Howard Wynkoop, the Prasbytarian

Missionary--wouldn't thet cork ye?"

It evidently did, for Mr. Hampton stared at her for fully a minute in

an amazement too profound for fit expression in words. Then he

swallowed something in his throat.

"Show the gentleman up," he said, shortly, and sat down to wait.

The Rev. Howard Wynkoop was neither giant nor dwarf, but the very

fortunate possessor of a countenance which at once awakened confidence

in his character. He entered the room quietly, rather dreading this

interview with one of Mr. Hampton's well-known proclivities, yet in

this case feeling abundantly fortified in the righteousness of his

cause. His brown eyes met the inquisitive gray ones frankly, and

Hampton waved him silently toward a vacant chair.

"Our lines of labor in this vineyard being so entirely opposite," the

latter said, coldly, but with intended politeness, "the honor of your

unexpected call quite overwhelms me. I shall have to trouble you to

speak somewhat softly in explanation of your present mission, so as not

to disturb a young girl who chances to be sleeping in the room beyond."

Wynkoop cleared his throat uneasily, his naturally pale cheeks flushed.

"It was principally upon her account I ventured to call," he explained

in sudden confidence. "Might I see her?"

Hampton's watchful eyes swept the others face suspiciously, and his

hands clinched.

"Relative?" he asked gravely.

The preacher shook his head.

"Friend of the family, perhaps?"

"No, Mr. Hampton. My purpose in coming here is perfectly proper, yet

the request was not advanced as a right, but merely as a special

privilege."

A moment Hampton hesitated; then he arose and quietly crossed the room,

holding open the door. Without a word being spoken the minister

followed, and stood beside him. For several minutes the eyes of both

men rested upon the girl's sleeping form and upturned face. Then

Wynkoop drew silently back, and Hampton closed the door noiselessly.

"Well," he said, inquiringly, "what does all this mean?"

The minister hesitated as if doubtful how best to explain the nature of

his rather embarrassing mission, his gaze upon the strong face of the

man fronting him so sternly.

"Let us sit down again," he said at last, "and I will try to make my

purpose sufficiently clear. I am not here to mince words, nor do I

believe you to be the kind of a man who would respect me if I did. I

may say something that will not sound pleasant, but in the cause of my

Master I cannot hesitate. You are an older man than I, Mr. Hampton;

your experience in life has doubtless been much broader than mine, and

it may even be that in point of education you are likewise my superior.

Nevertheless, as the only minister of the Gospel residing in this

community it is beyond question my plain duty to speak a few words to

you in behalf of this young lady, and her probable future. I trust not

to be offensive, yet cannot shirk the requirements of my sacred office."

The speaker paused, somewhat disconcerted perhaps by the hardening of

the lines in Hampton's face.

"Go on," commanded Hampton, tersely, "only let the preacher part slide,

and say just what you have to say as man to man."

Wynkoop stiffened perceptibly in his chair, his face paling somewhat,

but his eyes unwavering. Realizing the reckless nature before him, he

was one whom opposition merely inspired.

"I prefer to do so," he continued, more calmly. "It will render my

unpleasant task much easier, and yield us both a more direct road for

travel. I have been laboring on this field for nearly three years.

When I first came here you were pointed out to me as a most dangerous

man, and ever since then I have constantly been regaled by the stories

of your exploits. I have known you merely through such unfriendly

reports, and came here strongly prejudiced against you as a

representative of every evil I war against. We have never met before,

because there seemed to be nothing in common between us; because I had

been led to suppose you to be an entirely different man from what I now

believe you are."

Hampton stirred uneasily in his chair.

"Shall I paint in exceedingly plain words the picture given me of you?"

There was no response, but the speaker moistened his lips and proceeded

firmly. "It was that of a professional gambler, utterly devoid of

mercy toward his victims; a reckless fighter, who shot to kill upon the

least provocation; a man without moral character, and from whom any

good action was impossible. That was what was said about you. Is the

tale true?"

Hampton laughed unpleasantly, his eyes grown hard and ugly.

"I presume it must be," he admitted, with a quick side glance toward

the closed door, "for the girl out yonder thought about the same. A

most excellent reputation to establish with only ten years of strict

attendance to business."

Wynkoop's grave face expressed his disapproval.

"Well, in my present judgment that report was not altogether true," he

went on clearly and with greater confidence. "I did suppose you

exactly that sort of a man when I first came into this room. I have

not believed so, however, for a single moment since. Nevertheless, the

naked truth is certainly bad enough, without any necessity for our

resorting to romance. You may deceive others by an assumption of

recklessness, but I feel convinced your true nature is not evil. It

has been warped through some cause which is none of my business. Let

us deal alone with facts. You are a gambler, a professional gambler,

with all that that implies; your life is, of necessity, passed among

the most vicious and degrading elements of mining camps, and you do not

hesitate even to take human life when in your judgment it seems

necessary to preserve your own. Under this veneer of lawlessness you

may, indeed, possess a warm heart, Mr. Hampton; you may be a good

fellow, but you are certainly not a model character, even according to

the liberal code of the border."

"Extremely kind of you to enter my rooms uninvited, and furnish me with

this list of moral deficiencies," acknowledged the other with affected

carelessness. "But thus far you have failed to tell me anything

strikingly new. Am I to understand you have some particular object in

this exchange of amenities?"

"Most assuredly. It is to ask if such a person as you practically

confess yourself to be--homeless, associating only with the most

despicable and vicious characters, and leading so uncertain and

disreputable a life--can be fit to assume charge of a girl, almost a

woman, and mould her future?"

For a long, breathless moment Hampton stared incredulously at his

questioner, crushing his cigar between his teeth. Twice he started to

speak, but literally choked back the bitter words burning his lips,

while an uncontrollable admiration for the other's boldness began to

overcome his first fierce anger.

"By God!" he exclaimed at last, rising to his feet and pointing toward

the door. "I have shot men for less. Go, before I forget your cloth.

You little impudent fool! See here--I saved that girl from death, or

worse; I plucked her from the very mouth of hell; I like her; she 's

got sand; so far as I know there is not a single soul for her to turn

to for help in all this wide world. And you, you miserable, snivelling

hypocrite, you little creeping Presbyterian parson, you want me to

shake her! What sort of a wild beast do you suppose I am?"

Wynkoop had taken one hasty step backward, impelled to it by the fierce

anger blazing from those stern gray eyes. But now he paused, and, for

the only time on record, discovered the conventional language of polite

society inadequate to express his needs.

"I think," he said, scarcely realizing his own words, "you are a damned

fool."

Into Hampton's eyes there leaped a light upon which other men had

looked before they died,--the strange mad gleam one sometimes sees in

fighting animals, or amid the fierce charges of war. His hand swept

instinctively backward, closing upon the butt of a revolver beneath his

coat, and for one second he who had dared such utterance looked on

death. Then the hard lines about the man's mouth softened, the fingers

clutching the weapon relaxed, and Hampton laid one opened hand upon the

minister's shrinking shoulder.

"Sit down," he said, his voice unsteady from so sudden a reaction.

"Perhaps--perhaps I don't exactly understand."

For a full minute they sat thus looking at each other through the fast

dimming light, like two prize-fighters meeting for the first time

within the ring, and taking mental stock before beginning their

physical argument. Hampton, with a touch of his old audacity of

manner, was first to break the silence.

"So you think I am a damned fool. Well, we are in pretty fair accord

as to that fact, although no one before has ever ventured to state it

quite so clearly in my presence. Perhaps you will kindly explain?"

The preacher wet his dry lips with his tongue, forgetting himself when

his thoughts began to crystallize into expression.

"I regret having spoken as I did," he began. "Such language is not my

custom. I was irritated because of your haste in rejecting my advances

before hearing the proposition I came to submit. I certainly respect

your evident desire to be of assistance to this young woman, nor have I

the slightest intention of interfering between you. Your act in

preserving her life was a truly noble one, and your loyalty to her

interests since is worthy of all Christian praise. But I believe I

have a right to ask, what do you intend for the future? Keep her with

you? Drag her about from camp to camp? Educate her among the

contaminating poison of gambling-holes and dance-halls? Is her home

hereafter to be the saloon and the rough frontier hotel? her ideal of

manhood the quarrelsome gambler, and of womanhood a painted harlot?

Mr. Hampton, you are evidently a man of education, of early refinement;

you have known better things; and I have come to you seeking merely to

aid you in deciding this helpless young woman's destiny. I thought, I

prayed, you would be at once interested in that purpose, and would

comprehend the reasonableness of my position."

Hampton sat silent, gazing out of the window, his eyes apparently on

the lights now becoming dimly visible in the saloon opposite. For a

considerable time he made no move, and the other straightened back in

his chair watching him.

"Well!" he ventured at last, "what is your proposition?" The question

was quietly asked, but a slight tremor in the low voice told of

repressed feeling.

"That, for the present at least, you confide this girl into the care of

some worthy woman."

"Have you any such in mind?"

"I have already discussed the matter briefly with Mrs. Herndon, wife of

the superintendent of the Golden Rule mines. She is a refined

Christian lady, beyond doubt the most proper person to assume such a

charge in this camp. There is very little in such a place as this to

interest a woman of her capabilities, and I believe she would be

delighted to have such an opportunity for doing good. She has no

children of her own."

Hampton flung his sodden cigar butt out of the window. "I'll talk it

over to-morrow with--with Miss Gillis," he said, somewhat gruffly. "It

may be this means a good deal more to me than you suppose, parson, but

I 'm bound to acknowledge there is considerable hard sense in what you

have just said, and I 'll talk it over with the girl."

Wynkoop held out his hand cordially, and the firm grasp of the other

closed over his fingers.

"I don't exactly know why I didn't kick you downstairs," the latter

commented, as though still in wonder at himself. "Never remember being

quite so considerate before, but I reckon you must have come at me in

about the right way."

If Wynkoop answered, his words were indistinguishable, but Hampton

remained standing in the open door watching the missionary go down the

narrow stairs.

"Nervy little devil," he acknowledged slowly to himself. "And maybe,

after all, that would be the best thing for the Kid."

CHAPTER VI

"TO BE OR NOT TO BE"

They were seated rather close together upon the steep hillside, gazing

silently down upon squalid Glencaid. At such considerable distance all

the dull shabbiness of the mining town had disappeared, and it seemed

almost ideal, viewed against the natural background of brown rocks and

green trees. All about them was the clear, invigorating air of the

uplands, through which the eyes might trace for miles the range of

irregular rocky hills, while just above, seemingly almost within touch

of the extended hand, drooped the blue circling sky, unflecked by

cloud. Everywhere was loneliness, no sound telling of the labor of man

reached them, and the few scattered buildings far below resembling mere

doll-houses.

They had conversed only upon the constantly changing beauty of the

scene, or of incidents connected with their upward climb, while moving

slowly along the trail through the fresh morning sunshine. Now they

sat in silence, the young girl, with cheeks flushed and dreamy eyes

aglow, gazing far off along the valley, the man watching her curiously,

and wondering how best to approach his task. For the first time he

began to realize the truth, which had been partially borne in upon him

the previous evening by Wynkoop, that this was no mere child with whom

he dealt, but a young girl upon the verge of womanhood. Such knowledge

began to reveal much that came before him as new, changing the entire

nature of their present relationship, as well as the scope of his own

plain duty. It was his wont to look things squarely in the face, and

unpleasant and unwelcome as was the task now confronting him, during

the long night hours he had settled it once for all--the preacher's

words were just.

Observing her now, sitting thus in total unconsciousness of his

scrutiny, Hampton made no attempt to analyze the depth of his interest

for this waif who had come drifting into his life. He did not in the

least comprehend why she should have touched his heart with generous

impulses, nor did he greatly care. The fact was far the more

important, and that fact he no longer questioned. He had been a

lonely, unhappy, discontented man for many a long year, shunned by his

own sex, who feared him, never long seeking the society of the other,

and retaining little real respect for himself. Under such conditions a

reaction was not unnatural, and, short as the time had been since their

first meeting, this odd, straightforward chit of a girl had found an

abiding-place in his heart, had furnished him a distinct motive in life

before unknown.

Even to his somewhat prejudiced eyes she was not an attractive

creature, for she possessed no clear conception of how to render

apparent those few feminine charms she possessed. Negligence and total

unconsciousness of self, coupled with lack of womanly companionship and

guidance, had left her altogether in the rough. He marked now the

coarse ragged shoes, the cheap patched skirt, the tousled auburn hair,

the sunburnt cheeks with a suggestion of freckles plainly visible

beneath the eyes, and some of the fastidiousness of earlier days caused

him to shrug his shoulders. Yet underneath the tan there was the glow

of perfect young health; the eyes were frank, brave, unflinching; while

the rounded chin held a world of character in its firm contour.

Somehow the sight of this brought back to him that abiding faith in her

"dead gameness" which had first awakened his admiration. "She's got it

in her," he thought, silently, "and, by thunder! I 'm here to help her

get it out."

"Kid," he ventured at last, turning over a broken fragment of rock

between his restless fingers, but without lifting his eyes, "you were

talking while we came up the trail about how we 'd do this and that

after a while. You don't suppose I 'm going to have any useless girl

like you hanging around on to me, do you?"

She glanced quickly about at him, as though such unexpected expressions

startled her from a pleasant reverie. "Why, I--I thought that was the

way you planned it yesterday," she exclaimed, doubtfully.

"Oh, yesterday! Well, you see, yesterday I was sort of dreaming;

to-day I am wide awake, and I 've about decided, Kid, that for your own

good, and my comfort, I 've got to shake you."

A sudden gleam of fierce resentment leaped into the dark eyes, the

unrestrained glow of a passion which had never known control. "Oh, you

have, have you, Mister Bob Hampton? You have about decided! Well, why

don't you altogether decide? I don't think I'm down on my knees

begging you for mercy. Good Lord! I reckon I can get along all right

without you--I did before. Just what happened to give you such a

change of heart?"

"I made the sudden discovery," he said, affecting a laziness he was

very far from feeling, "that you were too near being a young woman to

go traipsing around the country with me, living at shacks, and having

no company but gambling sharks, and that class of cattle."

"Oh, did you? What else?"

"Only that our tempers don't exactly seem to jibe, and the two of us

can't be bosses in the same ranch."

She looked at him contemptuously, swinging her body farther around on

the rock, and sitting stiffly, the color on her cheeks deepening

through the sunburn. "Now see here, Mister Bob Hampton, you're a

fraud, and you know it! Did n't I understand exactly who you was, and

what was your business? Did n't I know you was a gambler, and a 'bad

man'? Didn't I tell you plain enough out yonder,"--and her voice

faltered slightly,--"just what I thought about you? Good Lord! I have

n't been begging to stick with you, have I? I just didn't know which

way to turn, or who to turn to, after dad was killed, and you sorter

hung on to me, and I let it go the way I supposed you wanted it. But I

'm not particularly stuck on your style, let me tell you, and I reckon

there 's plenty of ways for me to get along. Only first, I propose to

understand what your little game is. You don't throw down your hand

like that without some reason."

Hampton sat up, spurred into instant admiration by such independence of

spirit. "You grow rather good-looking, Kid, when you get hot, but you

go at things half-cocked, and you 've got to get over it. That's the

whole trouble--you 've never been trained, and I would n't make much of

a trainer for a high-strung filly like you. Ever remember your mother?"

"Mighty little; reckon she must have died when I was about five years

old. That's her picture."

Hampton took in his hand the old-fashioned locket she held out toward

him, the long chain still clasped about her throat, and pried open the

stiff catch with his knife blade. She bent down to fasten her loosened

shoe, and when her eyes were uplifted again his gaze was riveted upon

the face in the picture.

"Mighty pretty, wasn't she?" she asked with a sudden girlish interest,

bending forward to look, regardless of his strained attitude. "And she

was prettier than that even, the way I remember her best, with her hair

all hanging down, coming to tuck me into bed at night. Someway that's

how I always seem to see her."

The man drew a deep breath, and snapped shut the locket, yet still

retained it in his hand. "Is--is she dead?" he questioned, and his

voice trembled in spite of steel nerves.

"Yes, in St. Louis; dad took me there with him two years ago, and I saw

her grave."

"Dad? Do you mean old Gillis?"

She nodded, beginning dimly to wonder why he should speak so fiercely

and stare at her in that odd way. He seemed to choke twice before he

could ask the next question.

"Did he--old Gillis, I mean--claim to be your father, or her husband?"

"No, I don't reckon he ever did, but he gave me that picture, and told

me she was my mother. I always lived with him, and called him dad. I

reckon he liked it, and he was mighty good to me. We were at Randolph

a long time, and since then he's been post-trader at Bethune. That's

all I know about it, for dad never talked very much, and he used to get

mad when I asked him questions."

Hampton dropped the locket from his grasp, and arose to his feet. For

several minutes he stood with his back turned toward her, apparently

gazing down the valley, his jaw set, his dimmed eyes seeing nothing.

Slowly the color came creeping back into his face, and his hands

unclinched. Then he wheeled about, and looked down upon her,

completely restored to his old nature.

"Then it seems that it is just you and I, Kid, who have got to settle

this little affair," he announced, firmly. "I 'll have my say about

it, and then you can uncork your feelings. I rather imagine I have n't

very much legal right in the premises, but I 've got a sort of moral

grip on you by reason of having pulled you out alive from that canyon

yonder, and I propose to play this game to the limit. You say your

mother is dead, and the man who raised you is dead, and, so far as

either of us know, there is n't a soul anywhere on earth who possesses

any claim over you, or any desire to have. Then, naturally, the whole

jack-pot is up to me, provided I 've got the cards. Now, Kid, waving

your prejudice aside, I ain't just exactly the best man in this world

to bring up a girl like you and make a lady out of her. I thought

yesterday that maybe we might manage to hitch along together for a

while, but I 've got a different think coming to-day. There 's no use

disfiguring the truth. I 'm a gambler, something of a fighter on the

side, and folks don't say anything too pleasant about my peaceful

disposition around these settlements; I have n't any home, and mighty

few friends, and the few I have got are nothing to boast about. I

reckon there 's a cause for it all. So, considering everything, I 'm

about the poorest proposition ever was heard of to start a young

ladies' seminary. The Lord knows old Gillis was bad enough, but I 'm a

damned sight worse. Now, some woman has got to take you in hand, and I

reckon I 've found the right one."

"Goin' to get married, Bob?"

"Not this year; it's hardly become so serious as that, but I 'm going

to find you a good home here, and I 'm going to put up plenty of stuff,

so that they 'll take care of you all right and proper."

The dark eyes never wavered as they looked steadily into the gray ones,

but the chin quivered slightly.

"I reckon I 'd rather try it alone," she announced stubbornly. "Maybe

I might have stood it with you, Bob Hampton, but a woman is the limit."

Hampton in other and happier days had made something of a study of the

feminine nature, and he realized now the utter impracticability of any

attempt at driving.

"I expect it will go rather hard at first, Kid," he admitted craftily,

"but I think you might try it a while just to sort of please me."

"Who--who is she?" doubtfully.

"Mrs. Herndon, wife of the superintendent of the 'Golden Rule' mine";

and he waved his hand toward the distant houses. "They tell me she's a

mighty fine woman."

"Oh, they do? Then somebody's been stirring you up about me, have

they? I thought that was about the way of it. Somebody wants to

reform me, I reckon. Well, maybe I won't be reformed. Who was it,

Bob?"

"The Presbyterian Missionary," he confessed reluctantly, "a nervy

little chap named Wynkoop; he came in to see me last night while you

were asleep." He faced her open scorn unshrinkingly, his mind fully

decided, and clinging to one thought with all the tenacity of his

nature.

"A preacher!" her voice vibrant with derision, "a preacher! Well, of

all things, Bob Hampton! You led around by the nose in that way! Did

he want you to bring me to Sunday school? A preacher! And I suppose

the fellow expects to turn me over to one of his flock for religious

instruction. He'll have you studying theology inside of a year. A

preacher! Oh, Lord, and you agreed! Well, I won't go; so there!"

"As I understand the affair," Hampton continued, as she paused for

breath, "it was Lieutenant Brant who suggested the idea of his coming

to me. Brant knew Gillis, and remembered you, and realizing your

unpleasant situation, thought such an arrangement would be for your

benefit."

"Brant!" she burst forth in renewed anger; "he did, did he! The

putty-faced dandy! I used to see him at Bethune, and you can bet he

never bothered his head about me then. No, and he didn't even know me

out yonder, until after the sergeant spoke up. What business has that

fellow got planning what I shall do?"

Hampton made no attempt to answer. It was better to let her

indignation die out naturally, and so he asked a question. "What is

this Brant doing at Bethune? There is no cavalry stationed there."

She glanced up quickly, interested by the sudden change in his voice.

"I heard dad say he was kept there on some special detail. His

regiment is stationed at Fort Lincoln, somewhere farther north. He

used to come down and talk with dad evenings, because daddy saw service

in the Seventh when it was first organized after the war."

"Did you--did you ever hear either of them say anything about Major

Alfred Brant? He must have been this lad's father."

"No, I never heard much they said. Did you know him?"

"The father, yes, but that was years ago. Come, Kid, all this is only

ancient history, and just as well forgotten. Now, you are a sensible

girl, when your temper don't get away with you, and I am simply going

to leave this matter to your better judgment. Will you go to Mrs.

Herndon's, and find out how you like it? You need n't stop there an

hour if she is n't good to you, but you ought not to want to remain

with me, and grow up like a rough boy."

"You--you really want me to go, don't you?"

"Yes, I want you to go. It's a chance for you, Kid, and there is n't a

bit of a show in the kind of a life I lead. I never have been in love

with it myself, and only took to it in the first place because the

devil happened to drive me that way. The Lord knows I don't want to

lead any one else through such a muck. So it is a try?"

The look of defiance faded slowly out of her face as she stood gravely

regarding him. The man was in deadly earnest, and she felt the quiet

insistence of his manner. He really desired it to be decided in this

way, and somehow his will had become her law, although such a suspicion

had never once entered her mind.

"You bet, if you put it that way," she consented, simply, "but I reckon

that Mrs. Herndon is likely to wish I hadn't."

Together, yet scarcely exchanging another word, the two retraced their

steps slowly down the steep trail leading toward the little town in the

valley, walking unconsciously the pathway of fate, the way of all the

world.

CHAPTER VII

"I'VE COME HERE TO LIVE"

Widely as these two companions differed in temperament and experience,

it would be impossible to decide which felt the greater uneasiness at

the prospect immediately before them. The girl openly rebellious, the

man extremely doubtful, with reluctant steps they approached that tall,

homely yellow house--outwardly the most pretentious in Glencaid--which

stood well up in the valley, where the main road diverged into numerous

winding trails leading toward the various mines among the foothills.

They were so completely opposite, these two, that more than one chance

passer-by glanced curiously toward them as they picked their way onward

through the red dust. Hampton, slender yet firmly knit, his movements

quick like those of a watchful tiger, his shoulders set square, his

body held erect as though trained to the profession of arms, his gray

eyes marking every movement about him with a suspicion born of

continual exposure to peril, his features finely chiselled, with

threads of gray hair beginning to show conspicuously about the temples.

One would glance twice at him anywhere, for in chin, mouth, and eyes

were plainly pictured the signs of strength, evidences that he had

fought stern battles, and was no craven. For good or evil he might be

trusted to act instantly, and, if need arose, to the very death. His

attire of fashionably cut black cloth, and his immaculate linen, while

neat and unobtrusive, yet appeared extremely unusual in that careless

land of clay-baked overalls and dingy woollens. Beside him, in vivid

contrast, the girl trudged in her heavy shoes and bedraggled skirts,

her sullen eyes fastened doggedly on the road, her hair showing ragged

and disreputable in the brilliant sunshine. Hampton himself could not

remain altogether indifferent to the contrast.

"You look a little rough, Kid, for a society call," he said. "If there

was any shebang in this mud-hole of a town that kept any women's things

on sale fit to look at, I 'd be tempted to fix you up a bit."

"Well, I'm glad of it," she responded, grimly. "I hope I look so blame

tough that woman won't say a civil word to us. You can bet I ain't

going to strain myself to please the likes of her."

"You certainly exhibit no symptoms of doing so," he admitted, frankly.

"But you might, at least, have washed your face and fixed your hair."

She flashed one angry glance at him, stopping in the middle of the

road, her head flung back as though ready for battle. Then, as if by

some swift magic of emotion, her expression changed. "And so you're

ashamed of me, are you?" she asked, her voice sharp but unsteady.

"Ashamed to be seen walking with me? Darn it! I know you are! But I

tell you, Mr. Bob Hampton, you won't be the next time. And what's

more, you just don't need to traipse along another step with me now. I

don't want you. I reckon I ain't very much afraid of tackling this

Presbyterian woman all alone."

She swung off fiercely, and the man chuckled softly as he followed,

watchfully, through the circling, red dust cloud created by her hasty

feet. The truth is, Mr. Hampton possessed troubles and scruples of his

own in connection with this contemplated call. He had never met the

lady; indeed, he could recall very few of her sex, combining

respectability and refinement, whom he had met during the past ten

years. But he retained some memory of the husband as having been

associated with a strenuous poker game at Placer, in which he also held

a prominent place, and it would seem scarcely possible that the wife

did not know whose bullet had turned her for some weeks into a

sick-nurse. For Herndon he had not even a second thought, but the

possible ordeal of a woman's tongue was another matter. A cordial

reception could hardly be anticipated, and Hampton mentally braced

himself for the worst.

There were some other things, also, but these he brushed aside for the

present. He was not the sort of man to wear his heart upon his sleeve,

and all his life long he had fought out his more serious battles in

loneliness and silence. Now he had work to accomplish in the open; he

was going to stay with the Kid--after that, _quien sabe_? So he smiled

somewhat soberly, swore softly to himself, and strode on. He had never

yet thrown down his cards merely because luck had taken a bad turn.

It was a cheerless-looking house, painted a garish yellow, having

staring windows, and devoid of a front porch, or slightest attempt at

shade to render its uncomely front less unattractive. Hampton could

scarcely refrain from forming a mental picture of the woman who would

most naturally preside within so unpolished an abode--an angular,

hard-featured, vinegar-tempered creature, firm settled in her

prejudices and narrowed by her creed. Had the matter been left at that

moment to his own decision, this glimpse of the house would have turned

them both back, but the girl unhesitatingly pressed forward and turned

defiantly in through the gateless opening. He followed in silence

along the narrow foot-path bordered by weeds, and stood back while she

stepped boldly up on the rude stone slab and rapped sharply against the

warped and sagging door. A moment they stood thus waiting with no

response from within. Once she glanced suspiciously around at him,

only to wheel back instantly and once more apply her knuckles to the

wood. Before he had conjured up something worth saying the door was

partially opened, and a rounded dumpling of a woman, having rosy

cheeks, her hair iron-gray, her blue eyes half smiling in uncertain

welcome, looked out upon them questioningly.

"I 've come to live here," announced the girl, sullenly. "That is, if

I like it."

The woman continued to gaze at her, as if tempted to laugh outright;

then the pleasant blue eyes hardened as their vision swept beyond

toward Hampton.

"It is extremely kind of you, I 'm sure," she said at last. "Why is it

I am to be thus honored?"

The girl backed partially off the doorstep, her hair flapping in the

wind, her cheeks flushed.

"Oh, you need n't put on so much style about it," she blurted out.

"You 're Mrs. Herndon, ain't you? Well, then, this is the place where

I was sent; but I reckon you ain't no more particular about it than I

am. There's others."

"Who sent you to me?" and Mrs. Herndon came forth into the sunshine.

"The preacher."

"Oh, Mr. Wynkoop; then you must be the homeless girl whom Lieutenant

Brant brought in the other day. Why did you not say so at first? You

may come in, my child."

There was a sympathetic tenderness apparent now in the tones of her

voice, which the girl was swift to perceive and respond to, yet she

held back, her independence unshaken. With the quick intuition of a

woman, Mrs. Herndon bent down, placing one hand on the defiant shoulder.

"I did not understand, at first, my dear," she said, soothingly, "or I

should never have spoken as I did. Some very strange callers come

here. But you are truly welcome. I had a daughter once; she must have

been nearly your age when God took her. Won't you come in?"

While thus speaking she never once glanced toward the man standing in

silence beyond, yet as the two passed through the doorway together he

followed, unasked. Once within the plainly furnished room, and with

her arm about the girl's waist, the lines about her mouth hardened. "I

do not recall extending my invitation to you," she said, coldly.

He remained standing, hat in hand, his face shadowed, his eyes

picturing deep perplexity.

"For the intrusion I offer my apology," he replied, humbly; "but you

see I--I feel responsible for this young woman. She--sort of fell to

my care when none of her own people were left to look after her. I

only came to show her the way, and to say that I stand ready to pay you

well to see to her a bit, and show her how to get hold of the right

things."

"Indeed!" and Mrs. Herndon's voice was not altogether pleasant. "I

understood she was entirely alone and friendless. Are you that man who

brought her out of the canyon?"

Hampton bowed as though half ashamed of acknowledging the act.

"Oh! then I know who you are," she continued, unhesitatingly. "You are

a gambler and a bar-room rough. I won't touch a penny of your money.

I told Mr. Wynkoop that I shouldn't, but that I would endeavor to do my

Christian duty by this poor girl. He was to bring her here himself,

and keep you away."

The man smiled slightly, not in the least disconcerted by her plain

speech. The cutting words merely served to put him on his mettle.

"Probably we departed from the hotel somewhat earlier than the minister

anticipated," he explained, quietly, his old ease of manner returning

in face of such open opposition. "I greatly regret your evident

prejudice, madam, and can only say that I have more confidence in you

than you appear to have in me. I shall certainly discover some means

by which I may do my part in shaping this girl's future, but in the

meanwhile will relieve you of my undesired presence."

He stepped without into the glare of the sunlight, feeling utterly

careless as to the woman who had affronted him, yet somewhat hurt on

seeing that the girl had not once lifted her downcast eyes to his face.

Yet he had scarcely taken three steps toward the road before she was

beside him, her hand upon his sleeve.

"I won't stay!" she exclaimed, fiercely, "I won't, Bob Hampton. I 'd

rather go with you than be good."

His sensitive face flushed with delight, but he looked gravely down

into her indignant eyes. "Oh, yes, you will, Kid," and his hand

touched her roughened hair caressingly. "She's a good, kind woman, all

right, and I don't blame her for not liking my style."

"Do--do you really want me to stick it out here, Bob?"

It was no small struggle for him to say so, for he was beginning to

comprehend just what this separation meant. She was more to him than

he had ever supposed, more to him than she had been even an hour

before; and now he understood clearly that from this moment they must

ever run farther apart--her life tending upward, his down. Yet there

was but one decision possible. A life which is lonely and

dissatisfied, a wasted life, never fully realizes how lonely,

dissatisfied, and wasted it is until some new life, beautiful in young

hope and possibility, comes into contact with it. For a single instant

Hampton toyed with the temptation confronting him, this opportunity of

brightening his own miserable future by means of her degradation. Then

he answered, his voice grown almost harsh. "This is your best chance,

little girl, and I want you to stay and fight it out."

Their eyes met, each dimly realizing, although in a totally different

way, that here was a moment of important decision. Mrs. Herndon

darkened the doorway, and stood looking out.

"Well, Mr. Bob Hampton," she questioned, plainly, "what is this going

to be?"

He glanced toward her, slightly lifting his hat, and promptly releasing

the girl's clinging hand.

"Miss Gillis consents to remain," he announced shortly, and, denying

himself so much as another glance at his companion, strode down the

narrow path to the road. A moment the girl's eyes followed him through

the dust cloud, a single tear stealing down her cheek. Only a short

week ago she had utterly despised this man, now he had become truly

more to her than any one else in the wide, wide world. She did not in

the least comprehend the mystery; indeed, it was no mystery, merely the

simple trust of a child naturally responding to the first unselfish

love given it. Perhaps Mrs. Herndon dimly understood, for she came

forth quietly, and led the girl, now sobbing bitterly, within the cool

shadows of the house.

CHAPTER VIII

A LAST REVOLT

It proved a restless day, and a sufficiently unpleasant one, for Mr.

Hampton. For a number of years he had been diligently training himself

in the school of cynicism, endeavoring to persuade himself that he did

not in the least care what others thought, nor how his own career

ended; impelling himself to constant recklessness in life and thought.

He had thus successfully built up a wall between the present and that

past which long haunted his lonely moments, and had finally decided

that it was hermetically sealed. Yet now, this odd chit of a girl,

this waif whom he had plucked from the jaws of death, had overturned

this carefully constructed barrier as if it had been originally built

of mere cardboard, and he was compelled again to see himself, loathe

himself, just as he had in those past years.

Everything had been changed by her sudden entrance into his life,

everything except those unfortunate conditions which still bound him

helpless. He looked upon the world no longer through his cool, gray

eyes, but out of her darker ones, and the prospect appeared gloomy

enough. He thought it all over again and again, dwelling in reawakened

memory upon details long hidden within the secret recesses of his

brain, yet so little came from this searching survey that the result

left him no plan for the future. He had wandered too far away from

home; the path leading back was long ago overgrown with weeds, and

could not now be retraced. One thing he grasped clearly,--the girl

should be given her chance; nothing in his life must ever again soil

her or lower her ideals. Mrs. Herndon was right, and he realized it;

neither his presence nor his money were fit to influence her future.

He swore between his clinched teeth, his face grown haggard. The sun's

rays bridged the slowly darkening valley with cords of red gold, and

the man pulled himself to his feet by gripping the root of a tree. He

realized that he had been sitting there for hours, and that he was

hungry.

Down beneath, amid the fast awakening noise and bustle of early

evening, the long discipline of the gambler reasserted itself--he got

back his nerve. It was Bob Hampton, cool, resourceful, sarcastic of

speech, quick of temper, who greeted the loungers about the hotel, and

who sat, with his back to the wall, in the little dining-room, watchful

of all others present. And it was Bob Hampton who strolled carelessly

out upon the darkened porch an hour later, leaving a roar of laughter

behind him, and an enemy as well. Little he cared for that, however,

in his present mood, and he stood there, amid the black shadows,

looking contemptuously down upon the stream of coatless humanity

trooping past on pleasure bent, the blue smoke circling his head, his

gray eyes glowing half angrily. Suddenly he leaned forward, clutching

the rail in quick surprise.

"Kid," he exclaimed, harshly, "what does this mean? What are you doing

alone here?"

She stopped instantly and glanced up, her face flushing in the light

streaming forth from the open door of the Occidental.

"I reckon I 'm alone here because I want to be," she returned,

defiantly. "I ain't no slave. How do you get up there?"

He extended his hand, and drew her up beside him into the shaded

corner. "Well," he said, "tell me the truth."

"I 've quit, that's all, Bob. I just couldn't stand for reform any

longer, and so I 've come back here to you."

The man drew a deep breath. "Did n't you like Mrs. Herndon?"

"Oh, she 's all right enough, so far as that goes. 'T ain't that; only

I just didn't like some things she said and did."

"Kid," and Hampton straightened up, his voice growing stern. "I 've

got to know the straight of this. You say you like Mrs. Herndon well

enough, but not some other things. What were they?"

The girl hesitated, drawing back a little from him until the light from

the saloon fell directly across her face. "Well," she declared,

slowly, "you see it had to be either her or--or you, Bob, and I 'd

rather it would be you."

"You mean she said you would have to cut me out entirely if you stayed

there with her?"

She nodded, her eyes filled with entreaty. "Yes, that was about it. I

wasn't ever to have anything more to do with you, not even to speak to

you if we met--and after you 'd saved my life, too."

"Never mind about that little affair, Kid," and Hampton rested his hand

gently on her shoulder. "That was all in the day's work, and hardly

counts for much anyhow. Was that all she said?"

"She called you a low-down gambler, a gun-fighter, a--a miserable

bar-room thug, a--a murderer. She--she said that if I ever dared to

speak to you again, Bob Hampton; that I could leave her house. I just

could n't stand for that, so I came away."

Hampton never stirred, his teeth set deep into his cigar, his hands

clinched about the railing. "The fool!" he muttered half aloud, then

caught his breath quickly. "Now see here, Kid," and he turned her

about so that he might look down into her eyes, "I 'm mighty glad you

like me well enough to put up a kick, but if all this is true about me,

why should n't she say it? Do you believe that sort of a fellow would

prove a very good kind to look after a young lady?"

"I ain't a young lady!"

"No; well, you 're going to be if I have my way, and I don't believe

the sort of a gent described would be very apt to help you much in

getting there."

"You ain't all that."

"Well, perhaps not. Like an amateur artist, madam may have laid the

colors on a little thick. But I am no winged angel, Kid, nor exactly a

model for you to copy after. I reckon you better stick to the woman,

and cut me."

She did not answer, yet he read an unchanged purpose in her eyes, and

his own decision strengthened. Some instinct led him to do the right

thing; he drew forth the locket from beneath the folds of her dress,

holding it open to the light. He noticed now a name engraven on the

gold case, and bent lower to decipher it.

"Was her name Naida? It is an uncommon word."

"Yes."

"And yours also?"

"Yes."

Their eyes met, and those of both had perceptibly softened.

"Naida," his lips dwelt upon the peculiar name as though he loved the

sound. "I want you to listen to me, child. I sincerely wish I might

keep you here with me, but I can't. You are more to me than you dream,

but it would not be right for me thus deliberately to sacrifice your

whole future to my pleasure. I possess nothing to offer you,--no home,

no friends, no reputation. Practically I am an outlaw, existing by my

wits, disreputable in the eyes of those who are worthy to live in the

world. She, who was your mother, would never wish you to remain with

me. She would say I did right in giving you up into the care of a good

woman. Naida, look on that face in the locket, your mother's face. It

is sweet, pure, beautiful, the face of a good, true woman. Living or

dead, it must be the prayer of those lips that you become a good woman

also. She should lead you, not I, for I am unworthy. For her sake,

and in her name, I ask you to go back to Mrs. Herndon."

He could perceive the gathering tears in her eyes, and his hand closed

tightly about her own. It was not one soul alone that struggled.

"You will go?"

"O Bob, I wish you wasn't a gambler!"

A moment he remained silent. "But unfortunately I am," he admitted,

soberly, "and it is best for you to go back. Won't you?"

Her gaze was fastened upon the open locket, the fair face pictured

there smiling up at her as though in pleading also.

"You truly think she would wish it?"

"I know she would."

The girl gave utterance to a quick, startled breath, as if the vision

frightened her. "Then I will go," she said, her voice a mere whisper,

"I will go."

He led her down the steps, out into the jostling crowd below, as if she

had been some fairy princess. Men occasionally spoke to him, but

seemingly he heard nothing, pressing his way through the mass of moving

figures in utter unconsciousness of their presence. Her locket hung

dangling, and he slipped it back into its place and drew her slender

form yet closer against his own, as they stepped forth into the black,

deserted road. Once, in the last faint ray of light which gleamed from

the windows of the Miners' Retreat, she glanced up shyly into his face.

It was white and hard set, and she did not venture to break the

silence. Half-way up the gloomy ravine they met a man and woman coming

along the narrow path. Hampton drew her aside out of their way, then

spoke coldly.

"Mrs. Herndon, were you seeking your lost charge? I have her here."

The two passing figures halted, peering through the darkness.

"Who are you?" It was the gruff voice of the man.

Hampton stepped out directly in his path. "Herndon," he said, calmly,

"you and I have clashed once before, and the less you have to say

to-night the better. I am in no mood for trifling, and this happens to

be your wife's affair."

"Madam," and he lifted his hat, holding it in his hand, "I am bringing

back the runaway, and she has now pledged herself to remain with you."

"I was not seeking her," she returned, icily. "I have no desire to

cultivate the particular friends of Mr. Hampton."

"So I have understood, and consequently relinquish here and now all

claims upon Miss Gillis. She has informed me of your flattering

opinion regarding me, and I have indorsed it as being mainly true to

life. Miss Gillis has been sufficiently shocked at thus discovering my

real character, and now returns in penitence to be reared according to

the admonitions of the Presbyterian faith. Do I state this fairly,

Naida?"

"I have come back," she faltered, fingering the chain at her throat, "I

have come back."

"Without Bob Hampton?"

The girl glanced uneasily toward him, but he stood motionless in the

gloom.

"Yes--I--I suppose I must."

Hampton rested his hand softly upon her shoulder, his fingers

trembling, although his voice remained coldly deliberate.

"I trust this is entirely satisfactory, Mrs. Herndon," he said. "I can

assure you I know absolutely nothing regarding her purpose of coming to

me tonight. I realize quite clearly my own deficiencies, and pledge

myself hereafter not to interfere with you in any way. You accept the

trust, I believe?"

She gave utterance to a deep sigh of resignation. "It comes to me

clearly as a Christian duty," she acknowledged, doubtfully, "and I

suppose I must take up my cross; but--"

"But you have doubts," he interrupted. "Well, I have none, for I have

greater faith in the girl, and--perhaps in God. Good-night, Naida."

He bowed above the hand the girl gave him in the darkness, and ever

after she believed he bent lower, and pressed his lips upon it. The

next moment the black night had closed him out, and she stood there,

half frightened at she knew not what, on the threshold of her new life.

CHAPTER IX

AT THE OCCIDENTAL

Hampton slowly picked his way back through the darkness down the silent

road, his only guide those dim yellow lights flickering in the

distance. He walked soberly, his head bent slightly forward, absorbed

in thought. Suddenly he paused, and swore savagely, his disgust at the

situation bursting all bounds; yet when he arrived opposite the beam of

light streaming invitingly forth from the windows of the first saloon,

he was whistling softly, his head held erect, his cool eyes filled with

reckless daring.

It was Saturday night, and the mining town was already alive. The one

long, irregular street was jammed with constantly moving figures, the

numerous saloons ablaze, the pianos sounding noisily, the shuffling of

feet in the crowded dance-halls incessant. Fakers were everywhere

industriously hawking their useless wares and entertaining the

loitering crowds, while the roar of voices was continuous. Cowboys

from the wide plains, miners from the hidden gulches, ragged, hopeful

prospectors from the more distant mountains, teamsters, and half-naked

Indians, commingled in the restless throng, passing and repassing from

door to door, careless in dress, rough in manner, boisterous in

language. Here and there amid this heterogeneous population of toilers

and adventurers, would appear those attired in the more conventional

garb of the East,--capitalists hunting new investments, or chance

travellers seeking to discover a new thrill amid this strange life of

the frontier. Everywhere, brazen and noisy, flitted women, bold of

eye, painted of cheek, gaudy of raiment, making mock of their sacred

womanhood. Riot reigned unchecked, while the quiet, sleepy town of the

afternoon blossomed under the flickering lights into a saturnalia of

unlicensed pleasure, wherein the wages of sin were death.

Hampton scarcely noted this marvellous change; to him it was no

uncommon spectacle. He pushed his way through the noisy throng with

eyes ever watchful for the faces. His every motion was that of a man

who had fully decided upon his course. Through the widely opened doors

of the Occidental streams of blue and red shirted men were constantly

flowing in and out; a band played strenuously on the wide balcony

overhead, while beside the entrance a loud-voiced "barker" proclaimed

the many attractions within. Hampton swung up the broad wooden steps

and entered the bar-room, which was crowded by jostling figures, the

ever-moving mass as yet good-natured, for the night was young. At the

lower end of the long, sloppy bar he stopped for a moment to nod to the

fellow behind.

"Anything going on to-night worth while, Jim?" he questioned, quietly.

"Rather stiff game, they tell me, just started in the back room," was

the genial reply. "Two Eastern suckers, with Red Slavin sitting in."

The gambler passed on, pushing rather unceremoniously through the

throng of perspiring humanity. He appeared out of place amid the rough

element jostling him, and more than one glanced at him curiously, a few

swearing as he elbowed them aside. Scarcely noticing this, he drew a

cigar from his pocket, and stuck it unlighted between his teeth. The

large front room upstairs was ablaze with lights, every game in full

operation and surrounded by crowds of devotees. Tobacco smoke in

clouds circled to the low ceiling, and many of the players were noisy

and profane, while the various calls of faro, roulette, keno, and

high-ball added to the confusion and to the din of shuffling feet and

excited exclamations. Hampton glanced about superciliously, shrugging

his shoulders in open contempt--all this was far too coarse, too small,

to awaken his interest. He observed the various faces at the tables--a

habit one naturally forms who has desperate enemies in plenty--and then

walked directly toward the rear of the room. A thick, dingy red

curtain hung there; he held back its heavy folds and stepped within the

smaller apartment beyond.

Three men sat at the single table, cards in hand, and Hampton

involuntarily whistled softly behind his teeth at the first glimpse of

the money openly displayed before them. This was apparently not so bad

for a starter, and his waning interest revived. A red-bearded giant,

sitting so as to face the doorway, glanced up quickly at his entrance,

his coarse mouth instantly taking on the semblance of a smile.

"Ah, Bob," he exclaimed, with an evident effort at cordiality; "been

wondering if you wouldn't show up before the night was over. You're

the very fellow to make this a four-handed affair, provided you carry

sufficient stuff."

Hampton came easily forward into the full glow of the swinging oil

lamp, his manner coolly deliberate, his face expressionless. "I feel

no desire to intrude," he explained, quietly, watching the uplifted

faces. "I believe I have never before met these gentlemen."

Slavin laughed, his great white fingers drumming the table.

"It is an acquaintance easily made," he said, "provided one can afford

to trot in their class, for it is money that talks at this table

to-night. Mr. Hampton, permit me to present Judge Hawes, of Denver,

and Mr. Edgar Willis, president of the T. P. & R. I have no idea what

they are doing in this hell-hole of a town, but they are dead-game

sports, and I have been trying my best to amuse them while they're

here."

Hampton bowed, instantly recognizing the names.

"Glad to assist," he murmured, sinking into a vacant chair. "What

limit?"

"We have had no occasion to discuss that matter as yet," volunteered

Hawes, sneeringly. "However, if you have scruples we might settle upon

something within reason."

Hampton ran the undealt pack carelessly through his fingers, his lips

smiling pleasantly. "Oh, never mind, if it chances to go above my pile

I 'll drop out. Meanwhile, I hardly believe there is any cause for you

to be modest on my account."

The play opened quietly and with some restraint, the faces of the men

remaining impassive, their watchful glances evidencing nothing either

of success or failure. Hampton played with extreme caution for some

time, his eyes studying keenly the others about the table, seeking some

deeper understanding of the nature of his opponents, their strong and

weak points, and whether or not there existed any prior arrangement

between them. He was there for a purpose, a clearly defined purpose,

and he felt no inclination to accept unnecessary chances with the

fickle Goddess of Fortune. To one trained in the calm observation of

small things, and long accustomed to weigh his adversaries with care,

it was not extremely difficult to class the two strangers, and Hampton

smiled softly on observing the size of the rolls rather ostentatiously

exhibited by them. He felt that his lines had fallen in pleasant

places, and looked forward with serene confidence to the enjoyment of a

royal game, provided only he exercised sufficient patience and the

other gentlemen possessed the requisite nerve. His satisfaction was in

noways lessened by the sound of their voices, when incautiously raised

in anger over some unfortunate play. He immediately recognized them as

the identical individuals who had loudly and vainly protested over his

occupancy of the best rooms at the hotel. He chuckled grimly.

But what bothered him particularly was Slavin. The cool gray eyes,

glancing with such apparent negligence across the cards in his hands,

noted every slight movement of the red-bearded gambler, in expectation

of detecting some sign of trickery, or some evidence that he had been

selected by this precious trio for the purpose of easy plucking.

Knavery was Slavin's style, but apparently he was now playing a

straight game, no doubt realizing clearly, behind his impassive mask of

a face, the utter futility of seeking to outwit one of Hampton's

enviable reputation.

It was, unquestionably, a fairly fought four-handed battle, and at

last, thoroughly convinced of this, Hampton settled quietly down,

prepared to play out his game. The hours rolled on unnoted, the men

tireless, their faces immovable, the cards dealt silently. The stakes

grew steadily larger, and curious visitors, hearing vague rumors

without, ventured in, to stand behind the chairs of the absorbed

players and look on. Now and then a startled exclamation evidenced the

depth of their interest and excitement, but at the table no one spoke

above a strained whisper, and no eye ventured to wander from the board.

Several times drinks were served, but Hampton contented himself with a

gulp of water, always gripping an unlighted cigar between his teeth.

He was playing now with apparent recklessness, never hesitating over a

card, his eye as watchful as that of a hawk, his betting quick,

confident, audacious. The contagion of his spirit seemed to affect the

others, to force them into desperate wagers, and thrill the lookers-on.

The perspiration was beading Slavin's forehead, and now and then an

oath burst unrestrained from his hairy lips. Hawes and Willis sat

white-faced, bent forward anxiously over the table, their fingers

shaking as they handled the fateful cards, but Hampton played without

perceptible tremor, his utterances few and monosyllabic, his calm face

betraying not the faintest emotion.

And he was steadily winning. Occasionally some other hand drew in the

growing stock of gold and bank notes, but not often enough to offset

those continued gains that began to heap up in such an alluring pile

upon his portion of the table. The watchers began to observe this, and

gathered more closely about his chair, fascinated by the luck with

which the cards came floating into his hands, the cool judgment of his

critical plays, the reckless abandon with which he forced success. The

little room was foul with tobacco smoke and electric with ill-repressed

excitement, yet he played on imperturbably, apparently hearing nothing,

seeing nothing, his entire personality concentrated on his play.

Suddenly he forced the fight to a finish. The opportunity came in a

jack-pot which Hawes had opened. The betting began with a cool

thousand. Then Hampton's turn came. Without drawing, his cards yet

lying face downward before him on the board, his calm features as

immovable as the Sphinx, he quietly pushed his whole accumulated pile

to the centre, named the sum, and leaned back in his chair, his eyes

cold, impassive. Hawes threw down his hand, wiping his streaming face

with his handkerchief; Willis counted his remaining roll, hesitated,

looked again at the faces of his cards, flung aside two, drawing to

fill, and called loudly for a show-down, his eyes protruding. Slavin,

cursing fiercely under his red beard, having drawn one card, his

perplexed face instantly brightening as he glanced at it, went back

into his hip pocket for every cent he had, and added his profane demand

for a chance at the money.

A fortune rested on the table, a fortune the ownership of which was to

be decided in a single moment, and by the movement of a hand. The

crowd swayed eagerly forward, their heads craned over to see more

clearly, their breathing hushed. Willis was gasping, his whole body

quivering; Slavin was watching Hampton's hands as a cat does a mouse,

his thick lips parted, his fingers twitching nervously. The latter

smiled grimly, his motions deliberate, his eyes never wavering.

Slowly, one by one, he turned up his cards, never even deigning to

glance downward, his entire manner that of unstudied indifference.

One--two--three. Willis uttered a snarl like a stricken wild beast,

and sank back in his chair, his eyes closed, his cheeks ghastly. Four.

Slavin brought down his great clenched fist with a crash on the table,

a string of oaths bursting unrestrained from his lips. Five. Hampton,

never stirring a muscle, sat there like a statue, watching. His right

hand kept hidden beneath the table, with his left he quietly drew in

the stack of bills and coin, pushing the stuff heedlessly into the side

pocket of his coat, his gaze never once wandering from those stricken

faces fronting him. Then he softly pushed back his chair and stood

erect. Willis never moved, but Slavin rose unsteadily to his feet,

gripping the table fiercely with both hands.

"Gentlemen," said Hampton, gravely, his clear voice sounding like the

sudden peal of a bell, "I can only thank you for your courtesy in this

matter, and bid you all good-night. However, before I go it may be of

some interest for me to say that I have played my last game."

Somebody laughed sarcastically, a harsh, hateful laugh. The speaker

whirled, took one step forward; there was the flash of an extended arm,

a dull crunch, and Red Slavin went crashing backward against the wall.

As he gazed up, dazed and bewildered, from the floor, the lights

glimmered along a blue-steel barrel.

"Not a move, you red brute," and Hampton spurned him contemptuously

with his heel. "This is no variety show, and your laughter was in poor

taste. However, if you feel particularly hilarious to-night I 'll give

you another chance. I said this was my last game; I'll repeat

it--_this was my last game_! Now, damn you! if you feel like it,

laugh!"

He swept the circle of excited faces, his eyes glowing like two

diamonds, his thin lips compressed into a single straight line.

"Mr. Slavin appears to have lost his previous sense of humor," he

remarked, calmly. "I will now make my statement for the third

time--_this was my last game_. Perhaps some of you gentlemen also may

discover this to be amusing."

[Illustration: "Mr. Slavin appears to have lost his previous sense of

humor," he remarked, calmly.]

The heavy, strained breathing of the motionless crowd was his only

answer, and a half smile of bitter contempt curled Hampton's lips, as

he swept over them a last defiant glance.

"Not quite so humorous as it seemed to be at first, I reckon," he

commented, dryly. "Slavin," and he prodded the red giant once more

with his foot, "I'm going out; if you make any attempt to leave this

room within the next five minutes I 'll kill you in your tracks, as I

would a mad dog. You stacked cards twice to-night, but the last time I

beat you fairly at your own game."

He held aside the heavy curtains with his left hand and backed slowly

out facing them, the deadly revolver shining ominously in the other.

Not a man moved: Slavin glowered at him from the floor, an impotent

curse upon his lips. Then the red drapery fell.

While the shadows of the long night still hung over the valley, Naida,

tossing restlessly upon her strange bed within the humble yellow house

at the fork of the trails, was aroused to wakefulness by the pounding

of a horse's hoofs on the plank bridge spanning the creek. She drew

aside the curtain and looked out, shading her eyes to see clearer

through the poor glass. All she perceived was a somewhat deeper smudge

when the rider swept rapidly past, horse and man a shapeless shadow.

Three hours later she awoke again, this time to the full glare of day,

and to the remembrance that she was now facing a new life. As she lay

there thinking, her eyes troubled but tearless, far away on the

sun-kissed uplands Hampton was spurring forward his horse, already

beginning to exhibit signs of weariness. Bent slightly over the saddle

pommel, his eyes upon these snow-capped peaks still showing blurred and

distant, he rode steadily on, the only moving object amid all that

wide, desolate landscape.

_PART II_

WHAT OCCURRED IN GLENCAID

CHAPTER I

THE ARRIVAL OF MISS SPENCER

There was a considerable period when events of importance in Glencaid's

history were viewed against the background of the opening of its first

school. This was not entirely on account of the deep interest

manifested in the cause of higher education by the residents, but owing

rather to the personality of the pioneer school-teacher, and the deep,

abiding impress which she made upon the community.

Miss Phoebe Spencer came direct to Glencaid from the far East, her

starting-point some little junction place back in Vermont, although she

proudly named Boston as her home, having once visited in that

metropolis for three delicious weeks. She was of an ardent,

impressionable nature. Her mind was nurtured upon Eastern conceptions

of our common country, her imagination aglow with weird tales of the

frontier, and her bright eyes perceived the vivid coloring of romance

in each prosaic object west of the tawny Missouri. All appeared so

different from that established life to which she had grown

accustomed,--the people, the country, the picturesque language,--while

her brain so teemed with lurid pictures of border experiences and

heroes as to reveal romantic possibilities everywhere. The vast,

mysterious West, with its seemingly boundless prairies, grand, solemn

mountains, and frankly spoken men peculiarly attired and everywhere

bearing the inevitable "gun," was to her a newly discovered world. She

could scarcely comprehend its reality. As the apparently illimitable

plains, barren, desolate, awe-inspiring, rolled away behind, mile after

mile, like a vast sea, and left a measureless expanse of grim desert

between her and the old life, her unfettered imagination seemed to

expand with the fathomless blue of the Western sky. As her eager eyes

traced the serrated peaks of a snow-clad mountain range, her heart

throbbed with anticipation of wonders yet to come. Homesickness was a

thing undreamed of; her active brain responded to each new impression.

She sat comfortably ensconced in the back seat of the old, battered red

coach, surrounded by cushions for protection from continual jouncing,

as the Jehu in charge urged his restive mules down the desolate valley

of the Bear Water. Her cheeks were flushed, her wide-open eyes filled

with questioning, her pale fluffy hair frolicking with the breeze, as

pretty a picture of young womanhood as any one could wish to see. Nor

was she unaware of this fact. During the final stage other long

journey she had found two congenial souls, sufficiently picturesque to

harmonize with her ideas of wild Western romance.

These two men were lolling in the less comfortable seat opposite,

secretly longing for a quiet smoke outside, yet neither willing to

desert this Eastern divinity to his rival. The big fellow, his arm run

carelessly through the leather sling, his bare head projecting half out

of the open window, was Jack Moffat, half-owner of the "Golden Rule,"

and enjoying a well-earned reputation as the most ornate and artistic

liar in the Territory. For two hours he had been exercising his talent

to the full, and merely paused now in search of some fresh inspiration,

holding in supreme and silent contempt the rather feeble imitations of

his less-gifted companion. It is also just to add that Mr. Moffat

personally formed an ideal accompaniment to his vivid narrations of

adventure, and he was fully aware of the fact that Miss Spencer's

appreciative eyes wandered frequently in his direction, noting his

tanned cheeks, his long silky mustache, the somewhat melancholy gleam

of his dark eyes--hiding beyond doubt some mystery of the past, the

nature of which was yet to be revealed. Mr. Moffat, always strong

along this line of feminine sympathy, felt newly inspired by these

evidences of interest in his tales, and by something in Miss Spencer's

face which bespoke admiration.

The fly in the ointment of this long day's ride, the third party, whose

undesirable presence and personal knowledge of Mr. Moffat's past career

rather seriously interfered with the latter's flights of imagination,

was William McNeil, foreman of the "Bar V" ranch over on Sinsiniwa

Creek. McNeil was not much of a talker, having an impediment in his

speech, and being a trifle bashful in the presence of a lady. But he

caught the eye,--a slenderly built, reckless fellow, smoothly shaven,

with a strong chin and bright laughing eyes,--and as he lolled

carelessly back in his bearskin "chaps" and wide-brimmed sombrero,

occasionally throwing in some cool, insinuating comment regarding

Moffat's recitals, the latter experienced a strong inclination to heave

him overboard. The slight hardening of McNeil's eyes at such moments

had thus far served, however, as sufficient restraint, while the

unobservant Miss Spencer, unaware of the silent duel thus being

conducted in her very presence, divided her undisguised admiration,

playing havoc with the susceptible heart of each, and all unconsciously

laying the foundations for future trouble.

"Why, how truly remarkable!" she exclaimed, her cheeks glowing. "It's

all so different from the East; heroism seems to be in the very air of

this country, and your adventure was so very unusual. Don't you think

so, Mr. McNeil?"

The silent foreman hitched himself suddenly upright, his face unusually

solemn. "Why--eh--yes, miss--you might--eh--say that. He," with a

flip of his hand toward the other, "eh--reminds me--of--eh--an old

friend."

"Indeed? How extremely interesting!" eagerly scenting a new story.

"Please tell me who it was, Mr. McNeil."

"Oh--eh--knew him when I was a boy--eh--Munchausen."

Mr. Moffat drew in his head violently, with an exclamation nearly

profane, yet before he could speak Miss Spencer intervened.

"Munchausen! Why, Mr. McNeil, you surely do not intend to question the

truth of Mr. Moffat's narrative?"

The foreman's eyes twinkled humorously, but the lines of his face

remained calmly impassive. "My--eh--reference," he explained, gravely,

"was--eh--entirely to the--eh--local color, the--eh--expert touches."

"Oh!"

"Yes, miss. It's--eh--bad taste out here to--eh--doubt anybody's

word--eh--publicly."

Moffat stirred uneasily, his hand flung behind him, but McNeil was

gazing into the lady's fair face, apparently unconscious of any other

presence.

"But all this time you have not favored me with any of your own

adventures, Mr. McNeil. I am very sure you must have had hundreds out

on these wide plains."

The somewhat embarrassed foreman shook his head discouragingly.

"Oh, but I just know you have, only you are so modest about recounting

them. Now, that scar just under your hair--really it is not at all

unbecoming--surely that reveals a story. Was it caused by an Indian

arrow?"

McNeil crossed his legs, and wiped his damp forehead with the back of

his hand. "Hoof of a damn pack-mule," he explained, forgetting

himself. "The--eh--cuss lifted me ten feet."

Moffat laughed hoarsely, but as the foreman straightened up quickly,

the amazed girl joined happily in, and his own face instantly exhibited

the contagion.

"Ain't much--eh--ever happens out on a ranch," he said, doubtfully,

"except dodgin' steers, and--eh--bustin' broncoes."

"Your blame mule story," broke in Moffat, who had at last discovered

his inspiration, "reminds me of a curious little incident occurring

last year just across the divide. I don't recall ever telling it

before, but it may interest you, Miss Spencer, as illustrative of one

phase of life in this country. A party of us were out after bear, and

one night when I chanced to be left all alone in camp, I did n't dare

fall asleep and leave everything unguarded, as the Indians were all

around as thick as leaves on a tree. So I decided to sit up in front

of the tent on watch. Along about midnight, I suppose, I dropped off

into a doze, for the first thing I heard was the hee-haw of a mule

right in my ear. It sounded like a clap of thunder, and I jumped up,

coming slap-bang against the brute's nose so blamed hard it knocked me

flat; and then, when I fairly got my eyes open, I saw five Sioux

Indians creeping along through the moonlight, heading right toward our

pony herd. I tell you things looked mighty skittish for me just then,

but what do you suppose I did with 'em?"

"Eh--eat 'em, likely," suggested McNeil, thoughtfully, "fried with

plenty of--eh--salt; heard they were--eh--good that way."

Mr. Moffat half rose to his feet.

"You damn--"

"O Mr. McNeil, how perfectly ridiculous!" chimed in Miss Spencer.

"Please do go on, Mr. Moffat; it is so exceedingly interesting."

The incensed narrator sank reluctantly back into his seat, his eyes yet

glowing angrily. "Well, I crept carefully along a little gully until I

got where them Indians were just exactly opposite me in a direct line.

I had an awful heavy gun, carrying a slug of lead near as big as your

fist. Had it fixed up specially fer grizzlies. The fellow creepin'

along next me was a tremendous big buck; he looked like a plum giant in

that moonlight, and I 'd just succeeded in drawin' a bead on him when a

draught of air from up the gully strikin' across the back of my neck

made me sneeze, and that buck turned round and saw me. You wouldn't

hardly believe what happened."

"Whole--eh--bunch drop dead from fright?" asked McNeil, solicitously.

Moffat glared at him savagely, his lips moving, but emitting no sound.

"Oh, please don't mind," urged his fair listener, her flushed cheeks

betraying her interest. "He is so full of his fun. What did follow?"

The story-teller swallowed something in his throat, his gaze still on

his persecutor. "No, sir," he continued, hoarsely, "them bucks jumped

to their feet with the most awful yells I ever heard, and made a rush

toward where I was standing. They was exactly in a line, and I let

drive at that first buck, and blame me if that slug didn't go plum

through three of 'em, and knock down the fourth. You can roast me

alive if that ain't a fact! The fifth one got away, but I roped the

wounded fellow, and was a-sittin' on him when the rest of the party got

back to camp. Jim Healy was along, and he'll tell you the same story."

There was a breathless silence, during which McNeil spat meditatively

out of the window.

"Save any--eh--locks of their hair?" he questioned, anxiously.

"Oh, please don't tell me anything about that!" interrupted Miss

Spencer, nervously. "The whites don't scalp, do they?"

"Not generally, miss, but I--eh--didn't just know what Mr.

Moffat's--eh--custom was."

The latter gentleman had his head craned out of the window once more,

in an apparent determination to ignore all such frivolous remarks.

Suddenly he pointed directly ahead.

"There's Glencaid now, Miss Spencer," he said, cheerfully, glad enough

of an opportunity to change the topic of conversation. "That's the

spire of the new Presbyterian church sticking up above the ridge."

"Oh, indeed! How glad I am to be here safe at last!"

"How--eh--did you happen to--eh--recognize the church?" asked McNeil

with evident admiration. "You--eh--can't see it from the saloon."

Moffat disdained reply, and the lurching stage rolled rapidly down the

valley, the mules now lashed into a wild gallop to the noisy

accompaniment of the driver's whip.

The hoofs clattered across the narrow bridge, and, with a sudden swing,

all came to a sharp stand, amid a cloud of dust before a naked yellow

house.

"Here 's where you get out, miss," announced the Jehu, leaning down

from his seat to peer within. "This yere is the Herndon shebang."

The gentlemen inside assisted Miss Spencer to descend in safety to the

weed-bordered walk, where she stood shaking her ruffled plumage into

shape, and giving directions regarding her luggage. Then the two

gentlemen emerged, Moffat bearing a grip-case, a bandbox, and a basket,

while McNeil supported a shawl-strap and a small trunk. Thus decorated

they meekly followed her lead up the narrow path toward the front door.

The latter opened suddenly, and Mrs. Herndon bounced forth with

vociferous welcome.

"Why, Phoebe Spencer, and have you really come! I did n't expect you

'd get along before next week. Oh, this seems too nice to see you

again; almost as good as going home to Vermont. You must be completely

tired out."

"Dear Aunt Lydia; of course I 'm glad to be here. But I 'm not in the

least tired. I 've had such a delightful trip." She glanced around

smilingly upon her perspiring cavaliers. "Oh, put those things down,

gentlemen--anywhere there on the grass; they can be carried in later.

It was so kind of you both."

"Hey, there!" sang out the driver, growing impatient, "if you two gents

are aimin' to go down town with this outfit, you'd better be pilin' in

lively, fer I can't stay here all day."

Moffat glanced furtively aside at McNeil, only to discover that

individual quietly seated on the trunk. He promptly dropped his own

grip.

"Drive on with your butcher's cart," he called out spitefully. "I

reckon it's no special honor to ride to town."

The pleasantly smiling young woman glanced from one to the other, her

eyes fairly dancing, as the lumbering coach disappeared through the red

dust.

"How very nice of you to remain," she exclaimed. "Aunt Lydia, I am so

anxious for you to meet my friends, Mr. Moffat and Mr. McNeil. They

have been so thoughtful and entertaining all the way up the Bear Water,

and they explained so many things that I did not understand."

She swept impulsively down toward them, both hands extended, the bright

glances of her eyes bestowed impartially.

"I cannot invite you to come into the house now," she exclaimed,

sweetly, "for I am almost like a stranger here myself, but I do hope

you will both of you call. I shall be so very lonely at first, and you

are my earliest acquaintances. You will promise, won't you?"

McNeil bowed, painfully clearing his throat, but Moffat succeeded in

expressing his pleasure with a well-rounded sentence.

"I felt sure you would. But now I must really say good-bye for this

time, and go in with Aunt Lydia. I know I must be getting horribly

burned out here in this hot sun. I shall always be so grateful to you

both."

The two radiant knights walked together toward the road, neither

uttering a word. McNeil whistled carelessly, and Moffat gazed intently

at the distant hills. Just beyond the gate, and without so much as

glancing toward his companion, the latter turned and strode up one of

the numerous diverging trails. McNeil halted and stared after him in

surprise.

"Ain't you--eh--goin' on down town?"

"I reckon not. Take a look at my mine first."

McNeil chuckled. "You--eh--better be careful goin' up

that--eh--gully," he volunteered, soberly, "the--eh--ghosts of them

four--eh--Injuns might--eh--haunt ye!"

Moffat wheeled about as if he had been shot in the back. "You

blathering, mutton-headed cowherd!" he yelled, savagely.

But McNeil was already nearly out of hearing.