SOMETHING DOING
During the next two or three days the entire atmosphere of Snake's Fall
underwent a significant change. All doubt had been set at rest. The
whole problem of the future boom was solved, and David Slosson received
as much homage in the conversation of the general run of the citizens
as though he were the victorious general in a military campaign. The
lesser people, who would receive the most benefit from the coming boom,
regarded him with wide-eyed wonder at the stupendous nature of the
wildly exaggerated reports of his dealings in land. They saw in him a
Napoleon of finance, and remembered that their concerns were vastly
more valuable through his operations.
Men of maturer business instincts withheld their judgment and contented
themselves with a rather dazed wonder. Others, those who had actually
and already profited by his preliminary deals, chuckled softly to
themselves, rubbed their hands gently, pocketed his paper and deposit
money, and wrote him down "plumb crazy." But even so, there was a
sober watchfulness as to the next movements in the approaching boom.
Those who were the farthest seeing kept an eye wide open on Buffalo
Point. So far as they could see it was not possible for the Buffalo
Point interests to go under without a "kick." When would that "kick"
come, and where would it be delivered?
As for David Slosson, after his first effort, which had been the
deciding factor in the future of Snake's Fall, he remained
unapproachable. He was living at Peter McSwain's hotel, and occupied a
bedroom and parlor, which latter served him as an office. Here he
remained more or less invisible, possibly while his disfigured features
underwent the process of mending, possibly nursing his wrath and
plotting developments against the object of it. There was even another
possible explanation. Maybe the plunge into the land market he had
taken needed a great concentration of effort to completely manipulate
it. Whatever it was, very little of the railroad company's agent was
seen after his first setting defiant foot into the arena of affairs.
McSwain was more than interested. The hotel-keeper seemed to have
become obsessed with the idea that David Slosson was the only creature
worth regarding on the face of the earth. This was after he, Peter,
had spent the evening of that memorable first day of real movement, in
the company of Silas Mallinsbee and Gordon, out at the office at
Buffalo Point.
Peter McSwain had always been an attentive landlord in his business,
now he had suddenly become even more so, especially to David Slosson.
There was not a single requirement that the agent could conceive, but
Peter was on hand to supply it. He was more or less at his elbow the
whole time.
Then, too, Mike Callahan became a frequenter of the hotel, and even
boarded there. Furthermore, a wonderful friendliness between him and
Peter sprang up, which was so marked that the townspeople saw in it a
combination of forces possibly foreshadowing the inauguration of a
great hotel enterprise under their joint control. This also was after
that first evening, when Mike Callahan had also formed one of the party
at the office at Buffalo Point.
Another point of interest, had it been noticeable by the more curious
and interested of the frequenters of the hotel, was, that at any time
that Peter McSwain found it necessary to absent himself from the hotel,
Mike was always found in his place superintending the running of the
establishment.
However, these small details were merely an added puff of wind to the
breath of general excitement prevailing. The one thought in the place
seemed to be of those preparations necessary for the boom. Already
certain contracts, long since prepared for such a happening, were put
into operation. A number of buildings were started, or prepared to
start. The news had been sent broadcast by interested citizens, and a
fresh influx of people began and heavy orders from the various traders
were placed with the wholesalers in the East.
David Slosson in his quarters was made aware of these things, but
somehow they raised small enough enthusiasm in him. Truth to tell, he
was far too deeply concerned with the subtleties of his own affairs.
His course of action had not been the wild plunge which Peter McSwain
had suggested. On the contrary, such was his venomous nature that he
had pitted his own abilities and fortune against the Buffalo Point
interests in a carefully calculated scheme.
For years he had been engaged in every corner of the United States and
Canada in such work as he was now doing. In the process of such work,
by methods of unscrupulous grafting and blackmail he had contrived a
fortune of no inconsiderable amount. So that now he was no ordinary
agent. He was a "representative" of the interests he worked for. In
his case the distinction was a nice one.
As the result of his encounter with Gordon he had resolved upon the
crushing defeat of his adversaries by hurling the entire weight of his
personal fortune into the scale. True enough he had bought without
regard to price. He bought all he could in the best positions, and
even in the quarters which would not meet with the railroad's approval.
So his purchases had to be far greater, both in extent and price, than
in the ordinary way he would have made at Buffalo Point.
Having thus bought, and thrown his own money into the affair, this was
his plan of dealing with the matter. First, he knew this boom was
based on sound foundations. The future was assured by the vast
coal-fields just opening up. The Bude and Sideley Coal Company was
only the first. There would be others, many of them. With the
railroad depot at Snake's Fall, the whole of the outlying positions of
the city would boom with the rest. _Any land round it would be of
enormous value_. So he purchased in every direction. He bought at
"skied" prices from the big holders, so that the railroad should be
satisfied as to positions, and he bought largely in the outlying parts
of the city where no "skied" prices could rule. Then he pooled the
price which he knew the railroad would pay, with his own fortune to pay
the whole bill, put the railroad in _on the best sites at their own
price_, and held the balance of his purchases for himself.
It was his only means of justifying to his principals his declining to
accept Buffalo Point's terms, and though it meant locking up his
available capital in Snake's Fall, he knew, in the end, he would recoup
himself with added fortune, and have wrecked those who had rejected his
blackmail, and added to their audacity by personal assault. It pleased
him to think that Hazel Mallinsbee would also be made to suffer for
what he considered her outrageous treatment of himself.
His method was certainly Napoleonic, and for its very audacity it
should succeed. As he reviewed his position he could find no
appreciable flaws. If the coal were there the place must boom,
and--_he knew the coal was there_.
So he was satisfied.
Five days after making his first deal, those deals which had inspired
so much derision, his whole operations were completed. He was feeling
contented. It had been a strenuous time, and had demanded every ounce
of energy and commercial acumen he possessed to complete the work. He
knew that his whole future was at stake, but he also knew that he held
the four aces which would be the finally deciding factors in the game.
He felt free at last to notify the President of the Union Grayling and
Ukataw Railroad of his transactions, and was confident of that shrewd
financier's approval and felicitations. Nor were the latter the least
desirable in his estimation.
He had already dined in his parlor, as had been his custom since his
encounter with Gordon. But now he intended to move abroad. He felt
himself to be the arbiter of the fate of these "rubes," as he
characterized the citizens of Snake's Fall, and he did not see the
necessity for denying himself the adulation such a position entitled
him to.
With a self-satisfied feeling he picked up a long code message he had
written out and thrust it in his pocket. Then, carefully putting away
all other private papers into his dressing-case, and locking it, he
sauntered leisurely out of his room.
He intended to give himself his first breathing space for five days,
and he lounged downstairs to the hotel office.
Sure enough, the first person he encountered was Peter McSwain. The
man looked hot, but then he always looked hot. His smile of welcome
was almost servile, and David Slosson felt pleased at the sign.
The consequence was, his manner promptly became something more than
autocratic. There was a domineering note in his voice, and a cool
insolence in his regard of his host. Peter remained quite undisturbed.
His mind went back to the scene in the office at Buffalo Point on the
eventful first evening, and an even greater servility beamed out of his
hot eyes.
"Yes, sir," he cried, in answer to Slosson's inquiry as to the
movements in the town. "Movements? Why, I'd sure say you've set this
place jumping as though you'd opened up an earthquake under it. I tell
you frankly, Mr. Slosson, sir, we been waitin' days and days with our
eyes on you for a lead. I don't guess it means a thing to a gentleman
like you, but if you'd been a sort o' cock angel right down from the
clouds on an aeroplane you couldn't ha' been blessed more'n the folks
right here have been blessin' your name these last days, since you
outed that bum outfit down at Buffalo Point."
"They're a pretty rotten crowd," agreed Slosson, well enough pleased.
"Though I say it, it takes a man of experience to handle a crowd like
that. They're sheer blackmailers, but I don't stand for a thing like
that. You see, our play is to serve the public right. Well, seeing
Snake's Fall is a straight proposition I guess I had to treat 'em
right. I figure I put a heap of dollars in the way of Snake's Fall.
You won't do so bad yourself?"
Peter smiled amiably.
"I can't kick."
"Kick?" Slosson's eyes widened. "Guess you ought to get right on your
knees, and thank--me." Then he laughed. "Say, maybe you'll start
putting up a--real hotel."
His contempt was marked as he let his glance wander over his simple and
primitive surroundings. Peter took no sort of umbrage.
"Well, that was how I was figurin'. Y'see I got to be first in that
line. Since you downed Mallinsbee's crowd of crooks, why, it's going
to make things easy. Say, you don't figure to sink dollars that way
yourself? Maybe you could get right in on the ground floor."
His cordial tone pleased the agent, but he pretended to consider the
matter too small for his participation.
"I'd need a big holding," he laughed. "I ain't time for one-hossed
shows. Still, I thank you for the offer. Guess the Mallinsbee crowd
are kicking 'emselves to death. What?"
Peter nodded impressively, and drew closer in his confidence.
"Kickin'? That don't describe it. They deserve it, too. They kep' us
dancing around guessin' with their patch of grazin'. Say, this town
owes you a big heap, an' I'm glad. There's one thing owin' a real
smart gent like you, Mr. Slosson, sir, an' quite another owin' a crowd
of crooks like Mallinsbee's. This town ain't likely to forget.
There's things like testimonials around, sir," he added, winking
significantly, "and when a city's making a big pile through a man,
testimonials are like to take on a mighty handsome shape."
Slosson grinned.
"I shouldn't discourage 'em," he said pleasantly. "The folks 'll see
where they are in a few days. Here." He pulled out his long cypher
message from his pocket, and held it out towards Peter triumphantly.
"You can read it if you like. You won't be able to get its meaning,
but I'll tell you what it is. It's to tell my company to go right
ahead. They're in. That means that Snake's Fall is made, sir,
completely and finally made, and the Mallinsbee ground sharks are plumb
down and out. And I'm glad to say I've been the means of fixing things
that way for you."
Peter took the message. He took it rather quickly--almost too quickly.
He read it. The words were so much gibberish to him, and it was far
too long to remember. But with a quick effort he took in the one word
of address, and the first six words of the message.
Then he handed it back.
"Do you need that sent off, sir?" he inquired easily, but his heart was
beating quickly.
Slosson shook his head.
"Guess I'll send it myself. I'm going across to the depot right now."
He folded up the paper. "That's the sentence on the Buffalo Point
crooks, and its execution will follow--quick."
"An' serve 'em darned right," cried Peter sharply. "I ain't time for
crooks like them. You're right, sir. Don't take chances. See that
sent off yourself, sir. I'm real glad you come along here. There'll
be fortunes lying around in your track, an' then there's always
them--testimonials. Say, you'll just excuse me, sir, but there's some
all-fired 'rubes' shoutin' for drinks in the bar. I----"
Slosson laughed.
"Yes, you get right on. The boys have money to burn in this city now.
They'll have more later. I'll get going."
He moved off and passed through the crowded office, and out of the
hotel, while Peter dashed swiftly into his private office. He went
straight to his desk and wrote on paper all he could remember of the
code message. Then he stood up and swore softly to himself.
For some moments he let himself go at the expense of the man he had
just been talking to. Then he became calmer, and his face grew
thoughtful. Then, after awhile, a smile grew in his hot eyes, and he
murmured audibly--
"I wonder. Steve Mason's a good boy, an' he don't draw a big pile
slamming the keys of his instruments over there. I wonder."
After that he left the office and hurried out to the veranda, and stood
watching, in the evening light, for the figure of David Slosson leaving
the telegraph operator's office.
Gordon and Hazel Mallinsbee were riding amongst the hills. Gordon was
on Sunset, and Hazel's brown mare was reveling in the joy of a fresh
morning gallop through her native valleys and woodlands.
Ever since the memorable day when he discovered that Slosson was his
father's agent, Gordon had lived in a state of almost feverish delight.
At his instigation they had closed up the office at Buffalo Point, to
give color to their defeat by the agent. At his instigation they had
arranged many other more or less significant matters. But it had been
Mallinsbee's own suggestion that Gordon should take up his abode at the
ranch instead of sharing the hospitality of Mike Callahan's livery barn
in Snake's Fall.
It was a glorious summer day and the mountain breezes came down the
hillsides with that refreshing cool belonging to the heights above.
The joy of living was thrilling both of them as they rode, and their
horses, too, seemed to have caught the infection. But there was
something more than the mere joy of life and health actuating them now.
There was an excitement such as neither could have experienced during
those long, dull hours which, during the past weeks, had been spent in
the now closed office at Buffalo Point.
They raced along down a wide green valley lined upon either side by
wood-clad slopes of hills, which mounted up towards the blue for
several hundreds of feet. Ahead of them shone the white ramparts of
the mountain range. They scintillated in the sunlight, a shimmering
wall of snow and ice many thousands of feet high. Before them lay
miles and miles of broken hills, rising higher and higher as they
approached the ultimate barrier of the Rockies themselves.
The riders were in a perfect maze of valleys, and woods, and mountain
streams, and hills; a maze from which it seemed well-nigh impossible to
disentangle themselves. Yet, with her trained eyes, and wonderful
inborn knowledge of hill-craft, Hazel piloted their course without
hesitation, without question. The whole region was an open book to her
in the summer time. For miles and miles through that broken land she
knew every headland, every shadowy wood, every green valley and
gurgling stream. As she often told Gordon, it was her world--her home
and her world, it belonged to her.
"But I should lose myself in five minutes," Gordon protested, as they
swung out of the valley and into a narrow cutting between two
sheer-faced cliffs, overgrown with scrub and small bush, which left
hardly any room for their horses along the banks of a trickling brook
which divided them.
"Surely you would," Hazel, who was now in the lead, called back over
her shoulder. "And I guess I should just as soon lose my way in your
wonderful New York. You follow right along, and I'll promise to bring
you home by supper." Then, with laughing anxiety, "But for goodness'
sake don't lose our lunch out of your saddle bags. We'll be starving
after another hour of this."
The warning startled Gordon into an apprehensive survey of his saddle
bags. They were quite secure, however, and he followed closely on the
mare's heels.
Quickly it became apparent that they were traveling a well-worn cattle
path overgrown by the low scrub. It was difficult, but Hazel followed
it unfalteringly. Half a mile up this narrow, the great facets of the
hills on either side began to close in on them, and still further ahead
Gordon discovered that they almost met overhead, the narrowest possible
crack alone dividing them.
He was wondering in which direction lay their way out of such a
hopeless cul-de-sac when he saw Hazel suddenly bend her body low over
her mare's neck, and, at the same moment, she called back a warning to
him.
"'Ware overhead rocks!" she cried.
Gordon instantly followed her example, and kept close behind her as she
entered a passage which was practically a tunnel. Now their
difficulties were increased tenfold. The tunnel, in spite of the
narrow split in its roof, was almost dark. The low bush completely hid
the track and the little tumbling creek beside the path had deepened to
a six-foot cut bank.
Gordon became troubled. But it was not for himself so much as for
Hazel. His horse, Sunset, was steady as a rock, but the brown mare
ahead was as timid as a kitten. He glanced anxiously at the figure of
the girl. The journey seemed not to trouble her one bit. Her mare,
too, considering her timidity, was wonderfully steady. No doubt it was
the result of perfect confidence in the clever little creature on her
back, he thought. His gaze passed still further ahead. He was looking
for the termination of this mysterious winding tunnel. But twenty
yards was the limit of his vision and, so far, no end was in sight.
Suddenly Hazel's merry laugh came echoing back to him.
"Say, isn't this a great place?" she cried. "It's like one of those
enchanted lands you read of in fairy books." Then she added a further
warning. "Keep low. We're nearly through."
The horses scrambled on in the semi-darkness. But for Gordon the
enchantment of the place was passing, and he was glad to know they were
nearly through.
A few minutes later he saw Hazel begin to straighten herself up in the
saddle. He followed her example with some caution and considerable
relief. The roof was becoming higher, so, too, was the light
increasing. Gordon breathed a sigh.
"I don't know about the lunch," he said. "I've bumped the walls for
some considerable time. Is there much more of it?"
But before Hazel's reply could reach him his inquiry was answered by
the cavern itself. All in an instant they rounded a bend and a
dazzling beam of sunlight banished the darkness and nearly blinded him.
Two minutes later he pushed his way through a dense screen of willows,
and emerged upon the bank of a beautiful, serene lake of absolutely
transparent, sunlit water.
"Behold the spring which is the source of that little stream," cried
Hazel, indicating the lake spread out before them. "Isn't it a
fairy-book picture? Look round you. Oh, say, I just love it to death."
Gordon gazed about him in wonder. The lake was quite small, but its
setting was as beautiful as any artist could have painted it. All
around it, on two-thirds of its circumference, a hundred different
shades of green illumined the wonderful tangled vegetation. He looked
for the place from which they had emerged. It was completely hidden.
Gone, vanished as if by magic. All that remained were the great hills
at the back and the wooded banks of the lake at their feet.
He looked down at the water. Clear, clear; it was clear as crystal.
Then he turned towards the sun, and something of the wonder of it all
thrilled him. A sea, a calm, unruffled sea of the greenest grass he
had ever beheld stretched out before him. Or was it a broad river of
grass? Yes, it was a wide river, perhaps two miles wide, with great
mountainous banks on either side. To him they seemed to be standing at
its source, and its flow carried his gaze away on towards the west,
where, above all, miles and miles away, shone the white peaks of the
mountains.
The banks of this superb valley were deeply wooded from the base to the
soaring summits. Only were the hues of the foliage varied. Right at
the foot the green was bright, but less bright than the tall sweet
grass. While higher, the dark foliage of pine woods rose somberly on
stately towering blackened trunks.
At last Gordon turned back to the girl, who had sat watching the intent
expression of his face.
"Tell me," he said, and he made a comprehensive gesture with one hand.
Hazel was waiting only for that sign.
[Illustration: Hazel Was Waiting for That Sign]
"Where we stand now we are twenty miles from the ranch," she said.
"The only other outlet to this valley is twenty miles further on to the
west. If you could not find our secret passage again, you would have
to travel sixty miles through the most amazing country to get back
home."
"Sixty miles back?" Gordon muttered.
"Sure," returned Hazel. Then she laughed. "Even then, unless you'd
been pretty well born in these hills you'd never find the way."
Gordon nodded, and glanced in the direction whence they had come.
There was not a sign of the tunnel to be seen. The foliage screen
looked impenetrable. He began to smile.
"And your cattle station?" he questioned.
"Come on."
Hazel turned her mare away, and set off at a brisk canter. She
followed the line of the hills at the edge of the wide plain of sweet
grass.
Gordon followed her, marveling at the place, but more still at his
guide. A quarter of an hour's gallop under the shade of the most
amazingly beautiful woods he ever remembered to have seen, brought them
to a clearing, in the midst of which stood a smallish frame house. It
was more or less surrounded by a number of large, heavy-timbered
corrals. The whole place was perfectly hidden by the screen of woods
from view of the valley beyond.
Hazel leaped out of the saddle and passed hurriedly into the house.
Next minute she returned with two picket ropes.
"We'll picket them both while we eat and get a peek around the place.
We aren't yearning for a twenty-mile tramp back."
Gordon agreed. He remained silent while they off-saddled and secured
their horses beyond the woods on the open grass. He was thinking hard.
He was reviewing the purpose which had brought them to this wonderful
outworld hiding-place. Nor were his thoughts wholly free from doubts
and qualms.
At length the work was done. Their saddle blankets were laid out to
dry in the sun, and the saddle bags were emptied of the ample lunch
Hazel had carefully provided.
The girl was entirely mistress of the situation. Gordon felt his
helplessness out here in the secret heart of nature.
"Shall we eat first or----?" Hazel broke off questioningly.
"Can't we look around the house while the kettle boils?" inquired
Gordon, looking up from the fire he had kindled after some difficulty.
He was kneeling on the bare, dusty ground which had been trodden by the
hoofs of thousands of cattle in the past.
The girl nodded. Her delight in being this man's cicerone was
superlative. This was different from the days she had spent with David
Slosson.
"Sure. Come on," she cried. "And there's a well out back where we can
fill the kettle."
They hurried off to the well, and, between them, rather like two
children, they filled the kettle. Then they returned and placed it on
the fire, and again approached the house.
It was a squat, roomy structure of the ordinary frame type, but it was
in perfect preservation even to its paint, and Hazel pointed this out
as they approached.
"You see this was my daddy's first home," she said. "It's where I was
born." She drew a deep, happy sigh. "I seem to remember every stick
of it. And my daddy, why, he just loves it, too. That's why, though
we don't use it now, he has it painted every year, and kept clean. You
see, when my daddy built this for my momma he hadn't a pile of dollars.
It was just all he could afford, and he didn't ever guess he'd have a
great deal to spend on a home. We lived here years, and our cattle
grazed out in the valley beyond. I used to spend my whole time on the
back of a small broncho mare, chasing up and down the hills and woods.
And that's how I found that tunnel we came through. My, but I do love
this little place!"
"It's great," agreed Gordon warmly. "I'd call it a--a poet's home."
The girl flung open the front door and led the way in. Instantly
Gordon had the surprise of his life. It was furnished. Completely and
comfortably furnished. What was more, the furniture, though old, was
in perfect repair, and the room looked as though it had been recently
occupied.
"When you said 'disused,'" Gordon exclaimed, "I--I--thought it would be
empty."
The girl smiled a little sadly.
"No," she said. "We couldn't forsake it. It would be like forgetting
my poor momma. No. The furniture and things are just as we used them
when she was with us."
She passed from the parlor to the bedrooms, and the lean-to kitchen and
washhouse. Everything was in perfect order, except for a slight dust
which had gathered.
"You see, Hip-Lee and one of the choremen and I can fix it up in a day
ready for occupation. That's how my daddy likes to have it. My daddy
loved our lovely momma. I don't guess he'll ever get over losing her."
Then she looked up, and her shadow of sadness had gone. "Come along,"
she cried. "You've seen it all. So we'll just shut it up again, and
get back to our camp. I'm guessing that kettle'll be boiled dry."
But the kettle was only just on the boil, and the girl made the tea
while Gordon set out the food and plates. Then, when all was ready,
they sat down to their _tete-a-tete_ picnic with all the enjoyment of
two children, but with that between them which seemed to fill the whole
air of the valley with an intoxicating sense of happiness and delight.
"And what about that other place--that log and adobe shack you told me
of?" demanded Gordon, taking his tea-cup from the girl's hand.
Hazel laughed.
"That's a dandy shack, full of ants and crawly things, and its roof
leaks water. It's up on a hill where the wind just blows pneumonia
through it. If I showed it you I sort of reckon you'd be scared to use
it for--for anything."
Gordon joined in her laugh.
"I guess it'll be the real thing for my job. Say, don't you sort of
feel like a criminal? I do." He laughed again as he passed the plate
of cut meats to his companion.
"Criminals?" laughed Hazel buoyantly. "Why, I just feel as if you and
my daddy and I were all hanging by the neck on the highest peak of the
Rockies. Say, you're sure--sure of things?"
"I guess there's nothing sure in this world, except that no saint was
ever a financial genius. Sure? Say, how can we be sure till we've
fixed things the way we want 'em? But I tell you we've got to make
good. I won't believe we can fail. We mustn't fail. If only Peter
can get hold of Slosson's messages. Only one will do. If he can do
that, and it's what I expect, why--the whole thing becomes just a
practical joke, only not so harmful."
Gordon attacked his food with a healthy appetite, and the girl watched
him happily.
"It's the cleverest thing ever," she cried, "and--and I can't think how
you thought of it, and, having thought of it--dared to attempt to carry
it out."
Gordon smiled.
"I'm not clever, but--I did think of it, didn't I? And as to carrying
it out, why, I guess we're the same as the others. We're 'sharps.'
We're land pirates. We're ground sharks."
Hazel set her cup down.
"But you are clever. I didn't mean it that way."
"You're the first person ever told me."
"Am I?" Hazel blushed. Nor did she know why. Gordon, watching her,
sat entranced.
"Sure. Most everybody reckons I'm just a--a bit of an athlete--that's
all. My sister Gracie never gets tired of telling me what an
all-sorts-of-fool I am."
"How old is your--Gracie?"
"Thirteen."
"That makes a diff'rence."
"Oh, she doesn't get it all her own way," laughed Gordon. "I hide her
chocolates. That makes her mad. She's a passion for candy. But the
old dad is a bully feller. He's all sorts of a sportsman, and he
guesses that the best day in his life will be the one in which he finds
I'm not a fool."
Hazel gurgled merrily.
"That'll come along soon."
Gordon nodded.
"Gee! It makes me laugh to think of it. But say," he went on, a
moment later, "I'm glad you don't think me a fool. I'm just longing
for----" But he broke off and abruptly rose from the ground. Their
meal was finished. "Do we wash things or do we just pack 'em up?"
"Oh, we'll pack 'em," said Hazel, rising hastily. A sort of nervous
hurry was in her movement. "We won't rob the choreman and Hip-Lee of
their rights. Say, you bring up the horses, and I'll pack. We can
water them at the lake as we pass out--the horses, I mean."
A few minutes later Gordon returned with the horses.
As he rounded the bend in the now overgrown track, which had once
formed the main approach to the little ranch, and caught sight of the
graceful fawn-clad figure moving about, he stood for a moment to feast
his eyes upon the picture the girl made. She was all he had ever
dreamed of in life. There was nothing of the delicate exotic here,
none of the graceful gowning of a city, concealing an unhealthy body
reduced almost to infirmity by the unwholesome night life of modern
social demands. She was just a living example of the grace with which
Nature so readily endows those who obey her wonderful, helpful laws.
The perfect contours, the elasticity of gait, the clear, keen,
beautiful eyes, and the pretty tanning under the shade of her
wide-brimmed hat.
The beating of the man's heart quickened. All his feelings rose, and
set him longing to tell her all that was in his heart. He wanted then
and there to become her champion for all time. A great passionate wave
set the warm blood of youth surging to his head. He felt that she
belonged to him, and him alone. Had he not fought for her as those
warriors of old would have done? Yes, somehow he felt that she was
his, but, with a strange cowardice, he feared to put his fate to the
test through words which could never express half of all he felt. He
longed and feared, and he told himself----
But Hazel was looking in his direction. She saw him standing there,
and peremptorily summoned him to her presence.
"For goodness' sake," she cried. "Dreaming when there's work to be
done. Bring them right along, or we'll never get started. There's all
twenty miles before supper."
Gordon hurried forward, and as he came up he made his excuses.
"I had to look," he said apologetically. "You see it isn't every day a
feller gets a chance to see a real picture--like I've seen. Say, these
hills, I guess, can hand all that Nature can paint that way, but you
need a human life in it to make a picture real to just an ordinary
man's eyes. I--had to look."
But Hazel seemed to have become suddenly aware of something of that
which lay behind his words, and she hastily, and with flushed cheeks,
turned to the work of saddling her horse. Gordon attempted to help,
but she laughingly declined any aid. She pointed at the saddle bags on
his saddle.
"They're packed," she said. "Say, I'll show you how to refold your
blanket. This way."
Gordon spent some delicious moments struggling with his blanket under
the girl's superintendence, and his regret was all too genuine when, at
last, it was placed on Sunset's back with the saddle on the top of it.
As for the mare, she was saddled and bitted in the time it took him to
cinch Sunset up. By the time he had adjusted the bit Hazel was in the
saddle, gazing down at his efforts with merry, laughing eyes.
"It does seem queer," she said. "Here are you, big and strong, and
capable of most anything. Yet it puzzles you around a saddle--which is
so simple."
Gordon climbed into his saddle at last, and smiled round at her.
"I'm learning more than I ever guessed I'd learn when I left New York.
I've learned a heap of things, and you've taught me most of them.
Sometime I'll have to tell you all you've taught me, and then--and
then, why, I guess maybe you'll wonder." He laughed as they moved off.
But somehow Hazel kept her eyes averted.
"Now for the enchanted tunnel again," he cried, in a less serious mood.
"More enchantment, more delight! And then--then to the serious
criminal work we have on hand. Criminal. It sounds splendid. It
sounds exciting. We're conspirators of the deepest dye."