Imagine a lovely valley, green and fertile, encircled by a great chain
of mountains. Glistening to the westward, like a gem on its bosom, is a
beautiful lake, and from the very heart of the valley rises the city
itself. It nestles at the foot of a vast granite temple, which towers
above the homes of the citizens like a great, gray mountain.
"Perhaps the Land of Canaan looked like this to the Israelites,"
exclaimed Mary Price, as the Comet paused on the steep road in order to
give our pilgrims their first glimpse of the old Mormon city. For the
last thirty-six hours they had been surfeited with magnificent scenery.
"Snow-capped mountains and cañons and waterfalls are getting to be just
everyday affairs," wrote Billie to her father, still in distant Russia.
It was a rest to their eyes and their minds, therefore, to look down on
this peaceful and exquisite valley, Evelyn's home.
"It's all very beautiful," observed Miss Campbell. "I'm sure I never saw
a more enchanting scene in my life. But there's one thing that makes it
more beautiful to me even than the Vale of Cashmere, and that's a hot
bath. I'm looking forward to a hot bath, my dears, and a good night's
rest on a hair mattress in the best hotel in the city. I trust you feel
the same."
The girls laughed.
"We look a good deal like a United States geological surveying party,
after three months in the wilderness," answered Daniel Moore, looking
quizzically at the girls' sunburned faces, and glancing down at his gray
flannel shirt, borrowed from Jim Bowles.
"I do feel as if I had returned to my natural element," said Elinor;
"just a handful of dust. I am chewing dust and seeing dust and hearing
dust. My hair is dust and so are my clothes."
"After we are scrubbed and shampooed and manicured and fed and rested,"
here put in Billie, "I shall write a note to your Evelyn, Mr. Moore."
The young man hesitated.
"I've repented my bargain with you, Miss Billie. I'm afraid you might
get into some kind of trouble. I should never forgive myself if I
involved you in any difficulties."
"Nonsense," said Billie, who, having made up her mind to see Evelyn, was
not going to be thwarted at the eleventh hour. "There could be no
possible harm in my writing and asking her to call. Besides, we know her
now anyhow, quite well. Don't we, Helen?"
"Yes-s--," hesitated her cousin. "But I agree with Mr. Moore, that we
had better not make any more efforts to see Evelyn, although I can't
possibly see how we could become involved in any trouble by renewing our
acquaintance."
So the discussion came to an end. What this beautiful city with the
mysteries which hung over it had in store for them, they could not even
guess. Perhaps they would visit its chief points of interest like
ordinary tourists, and perhaps, who knows, they might penetrate far
deeper into its secrets. They were certain of one thing, however, that
Daniel Moore, for all his self-contained and calm exterior, was consumed
with an unquenchable flame of determination. By hook or by crook, he
would see Evelyn Stone, and, provided she was willing, he would take her
away from Utah.
"And we are likely to be the 'hook or crook,'" observed Billie, through
whose mind these thoughts were passing, as she guided the Comet into a
broad, spacious street, lined with beautiful stone houses.
"Where does Evelyn live?" asked Nancy. "Couldn't we go by the house on
our way to the hotel?"
"Their town house is on this very street," answered Evelyn's lover, "but
they are likely to be in the country at this time of the year. That's
another difficulty. You will see the place presently. It's on the
corner. Old Stone is a very rich person, I'm afraid. If he hadn't had so
much money, he wouldn't have looked down on me as a son-in-law."
Billie slowed up as they neared the fine granite mansion built by
Evelyn's father. The front shades were all pulled down, and there was
not a sign of life about the place.
"It looks more like a prison than a home," Billie exclaimed. "Does he
keep his pretty Evelyn locked up there all winter?"
"I'm afraid so," said Daniel ruefully. "She hasn't had much liberty
since she met me, anyhow. He's an infernal old----"
Daniel broke off in the middle of a sentence, for the front door of the
Stone house had opened, and there on the threshold, like a dragon at the
castle gate, stood John James Stone. He could never be said to glance
casually at anything, but his sharp eyes only rested for a moment on the
passing motor car, and he turned on his heel and entered the house.
"The old fox is never away, you see," ejaculated Daniel Moore.
But they soon approached an immense, splendid hotel, and the thought of
hot baths and clean clothes was sweeter to the weary ladies at that
moment than the most idyllic romance ever conceived.
It was to this hotel that Daniel Moore's luggage had been checked, and
there he found and redeemed it with the check the late train robber had
considerately returned to him.
"You won't see us again until seven o'clock to-night, Mr. Moore," Miss
Campbell had said. "And then you may not know us, we shall be so
transformed with soap and water."
"I may have news for you by then," he said, as they separated at the
elevator.
And that was the last they were to see of Daniel Moore for many a day to
come.
* * * * *
"I suppose butterflies feel about as we do," observed Nancy that evening
as they filed down to dinner.
"Meaning when they cease to be worms and appear clothed in fine
raiment," asked Billie.
"Not so very fine," answered Nancy, fingering a streamer of her pink
sash with a tender touch, as she glanced complaisantly down at her
lingerie frock.
Billie laughed teasingly.
"Little butterfly," she said, "is there anything; you like better than
pretty clothes?"
Nancy pouted and smiled.
"There is just this minute," she answered. "Dinner with waiters and soup
and mayonnaise and strawberry ice cream."
They exchanged happy smiles over Nancy's inconsequential menu.
After a month's Gypsying, it was good to be civilized for a few days
before the thirst for wandering came over them again, and they must push
on toward California.
Daniel Moore was not at the appointed meeting-place, in one of the small
sitting rooms. They waited impatiently for him for a quarter of an hour,
and finally left word at the desk that he would find them in the dining
room. There, in the interest of dinner and of the occupants of other
tables, their recent fellow traveler completely passed from their minds.
"It takes a thousand miles of privation to appreciate real comfort,"
observed Miss Helen Campbell, delicately nibbling the breast of a spring
chicken. "My dear children, how very pleasant this is, to be sure."
The Motor Maids fully agreed with her. The lights and the flowers, the
music and the well-trained waiters, as well as the delicious dinner,
afforded them supreme enjoyment for the moment. They tried to remember
that less than seventy years had passed since the first ox-drawn
emigrant wagon had entered the valley.
"And since that time all this has happened," cried Mary dramatically.
For it was she, more than the others, who loved the history of the
places through which they passed. "They say Brigham Young saw it all in
a dream," she continued, "and the moment he set eyes on the valley and
the lake, he said: 'This is the place. Drive on.'"
"'And forty years later Brigham Young laid the corner-stone for the
Temple,'" read Billie from the guide book in a sing-song voice. "'The
architecture is composite----' What's that?"
She raised her eyes questioningly. "Why, you haven't heard a word I----"
she began.
Four pairs of eyes were turned toward the entrance of the dining room,
where stood a tall, slender, young girl, in a white dress. Her red-gold
hair was coiled low on her neck. Her arms hung limply at her sides, and
she gazed with a listless air into space, without seeing any of the
diners at the tables. Her father, the imperturbable John James Stone,
was on one side of her, and on the other an equally imperturbable young
man, with a stern, rather hard countenance, a square jaw and a mouth as
inscrutable and enigmatic as the shut door of a tomb.
The head waiter conducted the party to a table in a far-distant corner
of the room, where the girls could see them without staring rudely.
"That's Evelyn Stone," said a woman at the table next to them. "She's
with her fiancé, Ebenezer Stone. He's her second cousin, you know."
"When did you say they were to be married?"
"The day after to-morrow. That's why they're in town. She is to be
married in the annex of the Temple on Saturday. They say she's not
over-anxious, either. There was another man in the case, you know. But
something happened, and she's consented to marry Ebenezer, who's always
wanted her. He's a good Mormon and hard working. He's made a lot of
money, I believe----"
"He's a piece of granite without any soul," put in a man in the party.
"Strike it hard enough, and sparks will fly," said one of the women.
The Motor Maids and Miss Campbell exchanged looks of dismay.
"Married the day after to-morrow," they repeated in whispers. "And
stopping in this hotel. Where, oh where, was Daniel Moore?"
They glanced at the door uneasily.
"I think we'd better not stop in here, children," said Miss Campbell in
a low voice. "It would be only a kindness to keep Mr. Moore from coming
into the dining room while they are there."
She led the way into the broad spacious hall of the hotel. But Daniel
Moore had not been seen at the desk, nor was he in any of the parlors.
While they searched, Billie examined the hotel register. There on the
same page with their own names were the three names--"John James Stone,
Miss Stone, Ebenezer Stone." Six lines above John James Stone, Daniel
Moore had written his name in a fine, manly hand. Billie noted the
number of Evelyn's room, and then followed her friends up to bed.
"It's too late for us to interfere, I am afraid," said Miss Campbell
sadly, as they stood in a silent little group in her room.