THE Burrows girl was sitting on a soap box outside the Throne cabin.
Supper was over, the dishes were just washed up, her uncle sat within
reading a book of mathematics, so the Burrows girl could enjoy the
cool solitude of the hills watching the afterglow. She knew she was
ruddy, sunburned, and freckled; she also knew that the effect was
rather becoming, that week by week her dainty beauty was budding
steadily with considerable prospect of real loveliness,--all of which
gave very good cause for contentment. As yet man had not appeared in
her paradise, because so far a month's observation had convinced her
that none of the neighbouring prospectors were sufficiently young to
count. At school she had been three times in love with men seen
distantly in church or street, but these had all gone blindly by, and
were probably fools. Now, according to all her text-books, which
were mostly novels, to every maid there comes in time a man. This
man takes himself seriously as a lord of creation, but is really not
at all so formidable as he looks, being a vulnerable creature, prone
to make an ass of himself on the smallest provocation from a woman.
The greater the lord of creation, the more abject his enslavement,
the more complete the conquest. There was one story about a young
lad, called Una, leading a growling lion around with a string.
"I want my lion to be very growly indeed," said the Burrows girl to
the stars; whereat the stars, seeing two young men toiling painfully
up the trail, began to wink.
"Why," said the Burrows girl, "there's something moving yonder. Two
men, I declare, on horseback, coming up to the cabin. Uncle!" she
called,--"Uncle!"
"Well, my dear?" An elderly man in a velveteen jacket came lounging
to the door and stood against the lamplight.
"Visitors, Uncle! Oh, bother!" continued the Burrows girl fretfully;
"they'll be wanting supper."
"The duties of hospitality," said the man sententiously, "must"--
"Oh, drat the duties! You never have to wash up." Then, to appease
him: "I don't want any company, Uncle--except you. I wonder who are
they? Not prospectors, anyway. The big one looks like a soldier."
"Mounted police."
"And the little one?" she spoke under her breath. "'In this style
three and sixpence,'--I've seen lots like him; but the big one is
'positively thrown away at a guinea.'"
"Good evening, gentlemen."
"Same to you," said the big man, reining up close before the cabin.
"I had orders to deliver this package with the talking end up."
"Mr. Burrows, I think," said the little man, drawing nearer. "My
name's Ramsay, and my father asked me to deliver this letter of
introduction."
"What! From Augustus Ramsay & Co.? This is indeed fortunate.
Welcome; most heartily welcome, Mr. Ramsay. Let me present to you my
niece, Miss Violet."
For some minutes the Blackguard sat his horse impatient, holding
Ramsay's rein while compliments flew thick--Balham compliments,
bourgeois civilities. He was the "common soldier" once more,
Ramsay's soldier-servant from the Burrows' point of view. Then the
girl came to him, rather ashamed, he thought, asked him to "get
down," hoped he was not very tired, led him off to a shed which
served for a stable, showed him the water-hole, the oats, the
lantern, the compressed hay, and finally ran off to light up her
kitchen stove for a second supper.
"She's almost a lady," thought the Blackguard, while he groomed and
watered and fed the exhausted horses.
Within the cabin Mr. Burrows was holding forth while his niece laid
the table. From his talk one would have supposed that he spoke from
some rostrum, possibly from a throne.
"Look at me," he said majestically,--"do I look like a fool?"
The Tenderfoot blushed.
"Answer this. Does my appearance suggest insanity?"
The Tenderfoot went on blushing.
"These ignorant prospectors have given forth to the whole
neighbourhood that because my methods of mining differ from theirs, I
am nothing better than a lunatic."
"I should think that you would treat them with silent contempt."
"I do, young man,--I do treat them with silent contempt. Why, only
the other day I asked one of them what he meant by----; but, pshaw, I
can afford to overlook what they mean. After all, these prospectors
only reflect the greater world outside, which ever has resented
improvements, and looked upon the inventor as a public enemy. It was
thus with Galileo, Watt, Stephenson, Faraday--contempt,
disparagement, starvation, while they lived; then, when they died of
want, a commemorative statue. For my part, I desire no statue which
commemorates rather the littleness of the living than the greatness
of the dead. I overlook such small considerations; they are beneath
my notice. What did you say, Violet? Supper? Ah!--a second supper.
This mountain air has the advantage of being conducive to a second
supper. I entirely approve of mountain air. Draw up, young man, to
the table."
So they began to eat bacon and beans, the Lunatic discoursing
monotonously, the Tenderfoot exchanging first flirtation signals with
the Burrows girl, as she waited on them, while the Blackguard just
outside splashed cumbrously over a tin basin and a model brickbat of
scrubbing soap.
"Ah!" Mr. Burrows sighed over his second helping, which left
seemingly but a scanty remainder for the big hungry man outside.
"These considerations of diet, my young friend,"--and so on.
With a last wrench at the roller towel, which he had puffed over and
blown into with great satisfaction, the Blackguard rolled down the
sleeves of his grey undershirt, wished inwardly that he had brought a
jacket, since he was to be the guest of a woman, and strode with
loud-clanking spurs across the doorstep.
"Ah, Constable," said Lunatic Burrows indifferently, "I had
forgotten. I hope Miss Burrows has reserved some supper for you in
the kitchen."
The Blackguard's face looked black and threatening as he drew up his
shoulders, his head almost touching the beams. "I only came in," he
said haughtily, "to tell this youngster not to trouble about the
horses--I've seen to them."
"I've kept your supper in the oven," said Miss Burrows anxiously.
"You'll forgive us for beginning without you?"
La Mancha bowed stiffly, but his eyes were tender at once when he saw
the girl's real courtesy.
"I hope you'll excuse me, Miss Burrows. Fact is, I have friends at
the Tough Nut Claim who want me to stay over night." Then he turned
to her Uncle: "You needn't disturb yourself, Burrows."
"Oh yes--certainly--very proper, I'm sure. Your friends at the Tough
Nut will"--
"For shame, Uncle," cried the girl indignantly; and the Tenderfoot
stood up.
"I hope you'll excuse me too, Mr. Burrows, if I say good-night. I'm
going with my friend."
Mr. Burrows turned to him in speechless astonishment, but the
Blackguard came at once to the rescue. "Sit down again, youngster,"
he said gently; "we'll make a man of you yet. Good-night, Miss
Burrows; good-night, youngster; so-long, Burrows,--see you again in
the morning."
Then he turned on his heel and walked out.
"I think it's too bad," said the girl; "I never felt so shamed in all
my life."
"Ah, well, you see," drawled Lunatic Burrows, with a sigh of relief.
"A few more beans, Mr. Ramsay--just a few more."
"Who is he?" asked the girl.
"Why, that's Mr. La Mancha."
"La Mancha--is that the Blackguard?" Miss Burrows went to the door,
looking out into the clear starlight on the hills. "I've heard of
him. They say he's a tremendous swell. What a splendid man!"
"A swell?" drawled Mr. Burrows, awakening as though from some dream.
"Dear, dear, you really ought to have warned me. It's all your
fault, Violet. How was I to know? Run after him--bring him back at
once."
Miss Violet turned her back on him, and went off to the kitchen.