ON THE TRAIL
It was a night to remember, if for nothing else for the exquisite
atmospheric conditions prevailing. The moon was at its full, like some
splendid jewel radiating a silvery peace upon a slumbering world. The
jeweled sky suggested the untold wealth of an infinite universe. The
perfumed air filled lungs and nostrils with a beatific joy in living,
and the darkened splendor of the crowding hills inspired a reverence in
the human heart so profound, that it left scarce a place for the
smallness of mundane hopes and yearnings. The splendor, the breadth of
beauty sank into the human soul and left the spirit straining at its
earthly bonds, and gazing with longing towards the infinite power which
ordered its existence.
For ten miles of the journey from the old ranch-house Hazel rode under
the sublime influence of feelings so inspired. Nothing of the
conditions were new to her. The mountain nights in summer were as much
a part of her existence as was the ranching life of her home. She knew
them as she knew the work that filled her daylight hours. But their
effect upon her never varied--never weakened. No familiarity with them
could change that feeling of the infinite sublimity somewhere beyond
the narrow confines of human life. She drank in the deep draughts of
perfect life, she gazed abroad with shining eyes of simple happiness on
the splendid world, and a superlative thankfulness to the Creator of
all things that life had been thus vouchsafed her uplifted her heart
and all that was spiritual within her.
The journey to her home was twenty miles, but her favorite mare
possessed wings so far as its mistress was concerned. The distance was
all too short for the splendid young body, and that youthful mood of
delight. Hazel reveled in the expenditure of the energy required, as
the mare, beneath her, seemed to revel in the physical effort of the
journey.
For the greater part of the road the cobwebs of affairs she was engaged
upon left Hazel indifferent. The delight of life left no room for
them. But after the half way had been passed there came to her flashes
of thought which reduced her feelings to a more human mood.
Nor was that mood of the easiest. She experienced feelings of
disquiet, even alarm. She felt vexed, and a great resentment, and even
genuine anger, began to take possession of her. But these were
interspersed with moments when a certain irresponsibility and humor
would not be denied, and underlying all and every other emotion was a
great passionate longing, which she scarcely admitted even to herself.
Her mind was fixed upon two men: father and son. For the time at
least, they were the pivot of all things worldly for her. In her
thoughts the son possessed attributes little short of a demi-god, while
the father had become a being endowed with a deep, reflected regard.
There was room in her woman's heart for both in their respective
places. She knew she loved them, and her variations of mood were
inspired by the cruelly farcical atmosphere of the position surrounding
them both. She was angry with Gordon, bitterly angry at one moment, at
the next she reveled in the exquisite impudence of his daring. At one
moment her woman's tender pity went out to the big-hearted man who had
been submitted to such indignities by his own son and herself, and all
those concerned in the conspiracy, and, at the next, she found herself
smiling at the humor of his attitude towards his persecutors. Then,
too, over all these complications of feeling she was stirred with alarm
at that painful memory of the unguarded moment, when, lulled by her
interest in the millionaire's talk, she had admitted her name to him.
Visions of hideous possibilities rose before her eyes. If he should
chance to know her father's name. Why not? Surely he knew. But after
that one sharp interrogation he had given no sign.
She sighed a sort of half-hearted relief, but remained unconvinced. It
was this last contingency which had inspired her night journey home.
She had ridden out the moment she had been certain that their captive
had retired for the night.
There were still some eight miles to go before the ranch would be
reached when Hazel experienced a fright, which left her ready to turn
and flee back over the way she had come as swiftly as the legs of her
mare could carry her.
On clearing a bluff of spruce, around which her course lay, in the full
radiance of the moon's high noon, she suddenly beheld a horseman riding
towards her, a ghostly figure moving soundlessly over the high grass.
Such was the effect of this vision upon her, that, beyond being able to
bring her mare to an abrupt halt, panic left her paralysed. In all her
years she had never encountered a horseman riding late at night in the
mountains. Who was he? Who could he be? And an eerie feeling set her
flesh creeping at the ghostliness and noiselessness of his coming.
She sat there stupidly, her pretty cheeks ashen in the moonlight. And
all the time the man was coming nearer and nearer, traveling the same
trail she would have done had she pursued her course. Then an abject
terror surged upon her. He must meet her!
In an instant her paralysis left her, and she gathered her reins to
turn her mare about. But the maneuver was never effected. She had
suddenly recognized the horse the man was riding. It was Sunset. The
next moment she further recognized the broad shoulders of the man in
the saddle, and a glad cry broke from her, and she urged her mare on to
meet him.
"Gordon!" she cried, in a world of delight and relief as she came up
with him.
"You, Hazel?" came the joyous response of her ghostly visitor.
"You just scared me all to death," protested the girl, as the big
chestnut ranged up beside her.
"I did?" Gordon was smiling tenderly down at the pretty figure, so
fascinating in the moonlight as it sat astride the brown mare.
"My, but I thought--I--oh, I don't know what I thought. But what are
you doing around--now?"
The girl was smiling happily enough. Even in the silver of the
moonlight it was obvious that the color had returned to her cheeks.
"I was going to ask you that," returned Gordon. "But I guess I best
tell you things first." Then he began to laugh. "I was coming out to
see you, but--not you only. Say, I'm just the weakest conspirator ever
started out to trap a mouse. Look at me. Say, get a good look. It
isn't the sort of thing you'll see every time you open your eyes. I
was sick to death feeling the old dad was shut up a prisoner, and I
felt I must get along, even if it was only just to get a peek, and be
sure he wasn't suffering."
Hazel's eyes were tenderly regarding the great creature in the bright
moonlight. She had been so recently angry at this son's heartless
action, that his expression of contrition made her feel all the more
tender towards him.
"He's in bed, and--I'd guess he's snoring elegantly by now," she said,
with a smile. "I--I waited to start out till he was in bed." Then her
eyes met his. "What were you coming to--see me for?"
The direct challenge very nearly precipitated matters. Gordon had
excuses enough for seeing her, but only one real purpose. He hesitated
before replying.
"We've made good," he said at last, by way of subterfuge, and the girl
drew a deep breath of joyous content.
"You've--made--good?" she questioned, more in the way of reassuring
herself than desiring a reply.
Gordon moved his horse so that she could turn about.
"Let's go back to the--prison," he said, his words charged with the
excited delight stirring within him.
"Yes, we've made good." The girl turned her mare about and the two
moved on the way she had already come, side by side. "Listen, while I
tell you. Say, I could sort of shout it around the hill-tops--if they
weren't so snowy and cold. Snake's Fall is just a surging land market
for us at Buffalo. There are real estate offices opening everywhere,
and everybody you meet on the sidewalk is a broker of some sort. The
Bude and Sideley folk turned their holdings loose directly we got the
surveyors and engineers of the railroad up, and the folks all jumped.
Then the men at Snake's, who held in ours, followed suit. But your
father, bless him, held tight. The boom fairly rose to a shriek, and
we've been fighting to sit tight, and let the prices go up skywards.
Then we had a meeting, and your father loosened up a bit. Just to keep
the spurt on. Meanwhile I've handled things down east, and kept the
wires singing. The railroad have started a great advertising campaign
at my orders. The coal company, too, are talking Snake's Fall, and
Buffalo Point. In a month there'll be such a rush as only America, and
this continent generally knows how to make. Even now sites are
changing hands at ridiculous prices. Meanwhile I've got the railroad
busy. Already ten construction trains have come through, and they've
started on the new depot." He drew a deep sigh of satisfaction. Then
in a sort of shamefaced manner he went on. "But I've had to weaken in
the old dad's direction. I can't make good and leave him out all
together. You see, that play of Slosson's in Snake's will have to be
made good, and my father will have to make it that way. So I've got
your father to give me a six months' option on a stretch of land
adjoining the coalpits which he hadn't ceded to the Bude people. You
see, if there's coal there it'll put my father right with the game, and
we shan't have hurt him any. Meanwhile things will go on, and we'll
have to keep the old dad for another month. Then I sell, and----"
"You'll have won out," broke in Hazel, her eyes shining in the
moonlight. Then a shadow crossed her face. "But when your father
knows what you've done? What then?"
Gordon seemed to consider his reply carefully.
"You can leave that to me, Hazel," he said at last, with a whimsical
smile. "There's surely got to be a grand finale to this, and when it
comes I'll still need your help. Say, why were you riding in to the
ranch--at dead of night?"
The abrupt question shocked the girl out of her delighted content. The
memory of her trouble came overwhelmingly upon her. But Gordon was
waiting.
"You're making good, but I've made pretty bad," she said, thrusting a
desire to burst into tears resolutely from her. "I'm just every sort
of fool and I--don't know how much damage I haven't done. Everything's
gone right until this evening. Hip-Lee has just been as near perfect
as a Chinaman can be. We've carried out all our plans right through,
and I've never been near your father without Hip-Lee looking on. That
is--until this evening." The girl sighed. The confession of her
blundering was hard to make. "It was this way," she went on presently.
"Your father was out walking. I hadn't seen him return. I was in the
kitchen fixing his supper, and it was sticky hot, and I just hated the
flies, so I went out for a breath of air. Hip-Lee had been playing his
spy game on your father. Well, I just stood out front of the house
taking a look at the hills, and wishing I was amongst their snows, when
your father spoke. He had got back, and was sitting outside the house,
and, maybe, like me he was yearning for that snow. Well, I just
couldn't run away--so we talked. I guess we'd talked quite awhile, and
I'd kind of forgotten things, and in the middle of his talk he started
to address me by my name, and got as far as 'Miss.' Then, without a
thought, I spoke my name. He just seemed startled, but never said a
word about it, and now I'm worried to death. Was there ever such----"
The girl broke off, and it seemed to Gordon, in spite of her attempted
smile, she was very near tears. Instantly he smothered his own
feelings of alarm at her story and endeavored to console her. He
laughed, but in Hazel's hyper-sensitive condition of anxiety, his laugh
lacked its usual buoyancy.
"That's nothing to worry over," he said. "I'd say if your name had
meant anything to him he wouldn't have given you breathing time before
you'd learned a heap of things that wouldn't have sounded pretty.
Dad's no end of a sport, but when he gets a punch, and the fellow who
gives it him don't vanish quick, he's got a way of hitting back mighty
hard. I don't guess that break's going to figure any in our play. He
never said a word?"
"Not a word." Hazel tried to take comfort, but still remained
unconvinced. "Anyway what could he do?"
Gordon remained serious for some moments. Then his eyes lit again.
"Not a thing," he said emphatically, and Hazel knew he meant it.
For some time they rode on in silence, and thought was busy with them
both. Hazel was thinking of so many things, all of which somehow
focussed round the man at her side, and her ardent desire to obey his
lightest commands in the schemes of his fertile brain. Gordon had
dismissed every other thought from his mind but the delightful
companionship of this ride, which had come all unexpectedly. The
girl's mare led slightly, and the sober chestnut kept his nose on a
level with her shoulder, and thus Gordon was left free to regard the
girl he loved without fear of embarrassment to her. But somehow Hazel
was not unaware of his regard. A curious subconsciousness left her
with the feeling that her every movement was observed, and a pleasant,
excited nervousness began to stir her. She hastily broke the silence.
"You said you'd still need my help when--the grand finale came," she
demanded.
"Sure," came the prompt reply. Then very slowly the man added; "I
can't do anything without your help--now."
The girl glanced round quickly.
"You mean--with your father a prisoner?"
The man's smile deepened, and his blue eyes gazed thoughtfully,
ardently, into the hazel eyes, which, in a moment, became hidden from
him.
"I don't think I meant--quite that," he said.
The girl offered no reply, and the man went on.
"You see, we have become sort of partners in most everything, haven't
we? I don't seem to think of anything without you being in it." Then
he laughed, a little nervous laugh. "I don't try to either. Say, I
went out to the cattle station, and had a look at Slosson the other
day. The boys have got him pretty right, and--I felt sorry for him."
"Why?" Hazel asked her question without thinking. She somehow felt
incapable of thought just now. She felt like one drifting upon some
tide which was beyond her control, and the only guiding hand that
mattered was this man's.
Gordon gave one of his curious short laughs, which might have meant
anything.
"I don't know," he said. Then: "Yes, I do though. Think of a fellow
who's had his business queered, who's staked a big gamble and lost, not
only that, but the girl he's crazy about, and meanwhile is rounded up
in a shack that wouldn't keep a summer shower out, and seems as though
it was set up on purpose by some crazy genius as a sort of playground
for every sort of wind ever blew. Say, if I lost my partner now,
I'd---- Guess our partnership ought to expire in a month. This play
will be through then."
"Yes."
With all her desire to talk on indifferently, Hazel could find no word
to add to the monosyllable. She was trembling with a delightful
apprehension she could not check. And somehow she had no desire to
check it. This man was all powerful to sway her emotions, and she knew
it. The moments were growing almost painful in the tenseness of her
emotions.
"Another month. It's--awful for me to think of."
"Is it?"
The inanity of her remark would have made Hazel laugh at any other
time. Now, it passed her by, its meaninglessness conveying nothing
with the submerging of her humor in the sea of stronger emotions.
Gordon urged his horse to draw level with the mare. Then he
deliberately drew it down to a walk on the rustling grass, and Hazel
followed his example without protest. All about them was the delicate
silver tracery of the moonlight through the trees. The warmth of the
perfumed night air possessed a seductiveness only equaled by the night
beauties of the scene about them. It was such a moment when the most
timorous lover must become emboldened, and emulate the bravest. But
Gordon knew no timidity. His only fear was for failure. Had he
realized the tumult which his words had stirred within this girl's
bosom he might well have flung all hesitation to the winds. As it was
he threw the final cast with all the strength of his virile, impetuous
nature.
"Another month. Must it end then, Hazel?" He reached out and seized,
with gentle firmness, the girl's bridle hand. "Must it? Say, can't it
be partners--for life?" His eyes were very tender, but their humor was
still lurking in their depths. He leaned towards her and the girl's
hand remained unresistingly in his. "D'you know, dear, I sort of feel
to-night I'd like to have a dozen Slossons standing around waiting,
while I scrapped 'em all in turn for you. Maybe that don't tell you
much. It can't mean anything to you. It means this to me. It means I
just want to be the fellow who's got to see to it that life runs as
smooth as the wheels of a Pullman for you. It means I don't care a
thing for anything else in the world but you, not even this play we're
at now. I guess I just loved you the day I first saw you, and have
gone on loving you worse and worse ever since, till I don't guess
there's any doctor, but having you always with me, can save me from an
early grave." Somehow the two horses had come to a standstill. Nor
were they urged on. "I just want you, Hazel, all the time," Gordon
went on, more and more tenderly. "You'll never get to know how badly I
want you. Will you--shall it be--partners--always?"
The girl was gazing out over the moonlight scene so that Gordon could
see nothing of the light of happiness shining in her pretty eyes. All
he knew was the trembling of the hand he still held in his. Then,
suddenly, while he waited, he felt the girl's other hand, soft, warm,
full of that quiet strength which he knew to be hers, close over his,
and a wild thrill swept through his whole body.
"Is it 'yes'?" he demanded, with a passionate pressure of his hand, and
a great light burning in his eyes. "Mine! Mine! For--as long as we
live?"
The girl still made no verbal reply, but she bowed her head and gently
raised his hand, and tenderly pressed it to her soft bosom. In an
instant she lay crushed in his arms while the two horses, with heads
together, seemed lost in a friendly discussion of the extraordinary
proceedings going on between their riders.
What they thought about them was apparently on the whole favorable, for
presently, with mute expressions of good will, their handsome heads
drew apart and lowered significantly. The next moment they were
enjoying a pleasant siesta, such as only a four-footed creature can
accomplish standing without risk to life and limb.
Half an hour later they were wide awake and full of bustling activity.
The closed heels on their saddle cinchas warned them that even lovers'
madness has its limits of duration, and that the practical affairs of
life must inevitably become paramount in the end.
So they answered the call, and raced down the trail in the cool of the
night.