Nearly twenty-five miles from the nearest town, and not a human being
visible from the point of observation occupied by Miss Gladden, as she
slowly swung backward and forward in her hammock under the pines, half
way up the mountain side; and the only sign of human life was a faint,
blue smoke curling upward among the evergreens on one side, at the
base of the mountain.
Directly at the foot of the mountain lay a small lake of azure blue,
at one end of which was a narrow bridge crossing the stream which
formed the outlet to the lake, and from which a footpath wound in the
direction of the solitary house from which the smoke ascended. At the
other extremity of the lake, where the gulch narrowed into a deep
ravine, walled with irregular masses of gray rock, a mountain stream
came dashing down over the ledges, forming a series of cascades, and
with a final leap plunged into the azure waters. It was a wild,
solitary place, and had there been another human being visible, he
doubtless would have been much astonished at the sight of a young
lady, dressed in the height of fashion, lazily swinging to and fro,
half way up the pine covered mountain.
But for Miss Gladden the charm of the situation lay in its solitude;
she was tired of society, and, glad to free herself for a while at
least from its conventionalities, was congratulating herself upon her
good fortune in finding this retreat, all unconscious that others were
already entering into her little world, soon to enter into her heart
and life.
As she swung dreamily under the pines she was aroused by a clear,
musical voice calling her name, and turning, saw the lithe, slender
form of Lyle Maverick, the daughter of her host, rapidly approaching.
Although Miss Gladden had been but a few days among the mountains,
there already existed between her and Lyle Maverick a mutual
admiration, though each was, as yet, unconscious of the admiration of
the other.
Lyle secretly worshipped Miss Gladden as the most beautiful being she
had ever seen, nor was it strange, for Leslie Gladden had all her life
received the homage always yielded to beauty, and from hearts far less
susceptible than that of this untutored child of the mountains; but
Lyle, notwithstanding her surroundings and her disadvantages, was
proud spirited, and did not proclaim her admiration for the beautiful
stranger. Miss Gladden, on her part, admired the imperious mountain
maid, as the loveliest specimen of uncultured, untrained girlhood,
just blossoming into womanhood, that she had ever met. She wondered
how she came to be so unlike her surroundings, and what would be the
result if this wild mountain flower could be transplanted to some more
favorable spot, there to receive the care and nurture bestowed on so
many far less beautiful. She had within the last few days, led by a
desire to know the proud, shy girl, made a companion of her; this was
a new experience for Lyle, and was fast deepening her admiration for
Miss Gladden into confidence and regard.
Miss Gladden watched Lyle now, as she came up the mountain path, as
fleet of foot and graceful in every motion as a deer, her head thrown
proudly back, her wavy hair rippling over her shoulders to her waist,
and shining in the sunlight like fine spun gold.
"Oh, Miss Gladden," she exclaimed, as, having reached the group of
pines, she threw herself carelessly at the foot of one of them, "the
solitude and isolation which you have prized so highly are to be
invaded by two new boarders of masculine gender."
A slight frown gathered on Miss Gladden's face, at the prospect of
intruders thus encroaching upon the mountain retreat which she was
beginning to regard as hers exclusively. Lyle, watching her, saw the
frown, and continued, her eyes dancing with mischief:
"They are city gentlemen, too, from the east; from Chicago and from
Boston, only think of the honor conferred upon us! They have come from
the land of civilization and culture to the wild west, to see how we
barbarians live; at least that is the object of one of them who is out
on a pleasure trip, for that is usually the meaning of western
pleasure trips."
"Lyle, are you not rather severe? They come for the sake of the
scenery, or as I have, for rest."
"A few for rest perhaps, but scenery? nonsense! Look at the majority
of your 'western stories,' as they are called; how much is there in
them of scenery? A few lines here and there, but pages devoted to
descriptions of western life with its ignorance and uncouthness."
"But stories of western life usually contain a great deal of
originality and piquancy; that is why they are popular."
"Possibly," said Lyle dryly, "but I have seen very little originality
in the life I have led here. It may seem original to outsiders; it is
monotonous enough to those who live it, year after year. The scenery
of the west is grand, I love it, and if I could see it with such eyes
as yours, eyes accustomed to beauty in all its infinite kinds and
degrees, and with a mind cultivated, fed on the choicest thought than
can be culled not only from our own country and in our own tongue, but
from other countries and in other tongues as well, I would appreciate
the beauty about me more keenly than I can now; but I despise this
life in which I have been reared, a life of ignorance, coarseness,
brutality and deceit. Here I have lived for the past ten years, here I
am likely to live for ten, twenty years to come."
Both were silent for a few moments, while Miss Gladden watched the
beautiful face, in this instance an index of an equally beautiful
soul, and she marveled more than ever. At last she said gently:
"Lyle, dear, pardon me for asking such a question, but you are an
anomaly; how is it, living all these years as you have, in these
surroundings, that you have so good an education? You have evidently
read considerable, and you converse well; you cannot be called
ignorant."
"No," the girl replied sadly, "I am not quite so ignorant as a
stranger would think to see me, but I have learned just enough to make
me realize how little I do know, and that little I have acquired by
stealth. I could read a very little when we came here from some small
town, somewhere in the east, I have forgotten where, and I wanted to
learn, but father forbade it; he said he wouldn't have any of his
children putting on airs, that what was good enough for him would have
to do for them. He has always been severe with me, I suppose he didn't
want any girls, that's what mother says. Mother was always as kind to
me as she dared to be, but she was afraid to help me to learn
anything, and she couldn't have taught me much anyway. I studied every
little bit of print I could come across, if it were nothing more than
a scrap of newspaper, I was so anxious to be able to read. Then, when
I was about twelve years old, a little girl who stayed here one summer
with her governess, left some of her old, worn-out school books and
writing books. I hid them in my room as carefully as if they had been
diamonds, and pored over them every chance I could get for the next
year. About that time, I got acquainted with one of the miners who had
been here a long time, a strange, silent man, who was very different
from the others, and who kept by himself. He seemed to take a great
liking to me, and I consider him to-day the best friend that I have in
the world. He found out how I was studying and trying to learn, and he
helped me, for he had had a fine education. He bought books for me,
not only school books, but choice books to read, stories, poems and
plays, and he has talked with me a great deal, and told me about
places and people and authors, and so has saved me from being a total
ignoramus."
"How kind!" exclaimed Miss Gladden, "I don't wonder that you consider
him your friend. Is he here now?"
"Yes," replied Lyle, "he has been away for a few days, but he came
back last night, and I went down to his cabin to see him. He brought
me some beautiful books, but I keep them at his cabin most of the
time, so no one at the house will get hold of them."
"Does he live alone?" asked Miss Gladden.
"No, an Irishman, who has a pretty good education, lives with him most
of the time; he is quite a musician and is teaching me to play the
violin. 'Mike' they call the Irishman, and my friend is 'Jack'; the
other miners nicknamed him 'Lone Jack,' but nobody, I suppose, knows
what their real names are."
"Why, how interesting!" exclaimed Miss Gladden. "Why haven't you ever
told me before? It sounds like a story with a deep-laid plot, and a
typical villain lurking somewhere."
"There are plots enough, and villains enough, but Jack is not one of
them," quietly replied the girl, with a curious expression.
"Would he let me come and see him?" inquired Miss Gladden.
"He might, if I asked him, but you would find him very uncommunicative.
He does not care for strangers. He was telling me last night about a
comical, dudish looking fellow whom he saw on the train, and who got
off at Silver City, and he said he was coming up here into the
mountains in company with another young gentleman; he thought I would be
likely to see them, and I think they are the new boarders."
"Why, have you seen them?" asked Miss Gladden, in surprise.
"Yes," laughed Lyle, "one of them, from my post of observation behind
the kitchen door, and he did appear so ridiculous with his gold
eye-glasses, looking as solemn as an owl, and glancing around with
that expression of supercilious curiosity, as though he expected to
find us all wild Indians, or something of the sort."
"Ah, that accounts for the little tirade against western pleasure
tourists I heard when you first came up. Evidently the eye-glasses did
not produce a very favorable impression on you."
"Well," retorted Lyle, "see him yourself, and see what impressions you
will receive."
"Well, my dear," said Miss Gladden, "as it is nearly dinner time, I
would suggest that we adjourn to the house, alleviate these pangs of
hunger, take an observation of the gold eye-glasses and report our
impressions later."
"Agreed," said Lyle merrily, and the two began to descend the
mountain.