CHAPTER XIII
In the deepening shadows of the evening Hope and the breed boy roderapidly toward the camp, hungry for the long-delayed supper.
"Dan staked me to his share of the coyotes, so you may have them," saidthe girl.
"Seven pups an' the old one!" exclaimed Dave; "that's better'n huntin'chickens."
"And supper just now is better than anything," sighed Hope to herself.The boy heard, but did not reply, his mind being busy with amathematical problem.
"How much is eight times four dollars, an' seventy-five cents for thehide?" he asked.
"That's a little example I'll let you work out for yourself," repliedhis teacher. "You're awfully stupid in arithmetic, Dave, and it's toobad, for in cases of coyotes' bounty and so forth it would be a prettygood thing for you to know. You hurry up and figure that out, forto-morrow you're going to get a hard one. It's this: If a Gatling gunfires two thousand shots a minute how many can it fire in half an hour?"
"Whew! you don't expect anybody to answer _that_, do you?" exclaimed theboy.
"Oh, that's easy," she laughed. "If you can't figure it out yourself youmight ask old Peter or Long Bill, maybe they'd know."
The boy rode along, his thoughts absorbed in a brown study. At length hesighed and looked up.
"Well, anyway, it'll be enough to buy a horse or a new saddle with."Then as though struck with a sudden thought he asked: "Say, what madeDan give you his share of them coyotes?" She suppressed a faintinclination to smile.
"Perhaps he gave up as I did, and thought there was nothing there. OldPeter said he knew there wasn't. But it's just possible Dan wanted to begenerous. Don't you think so?"
"Not Dan!" exclaimed the boy. "There ain't one chance in a million_he'd_ ever give such snap as that away! I reckon," he concluded aftersome studying, "he must 'a' thought that den was empty an' was goin' topay me back. Ain't I got it on him now, though!"
"And instead of being paid back you are getting both shares of thecoyote bounty, and you know you don't deserve it. What are you going todo about it?"
"You bet _he_ ain't a-goin' to get none of it!" was the emphatic reply;to which the girl had nothing to say.
In a few moments they came in sight of Sydney's camp. From out of thesmall stove-pipe of the first of the two tents rolled a volume of smoke,and across the narrow brush-covered valley came the delicious odor ofcooking food. Simultaneously the two riders urged on their horses to afaster gait, for Hope at least was hungry. It is safe to say that thebreed boy was in the same condition, and this invitation out to supperpleased him mightily. He was a large, stolidly built lad of fourteenyears, and like all boys of that age, whether stolidly built or slenderas a sapling, was always hungry.
"I'll bet I can eat the whole shootin' match," he declared, actuallybelieving that he spoke the truth.
"I think the meal is prepared for hungry people," replied Hope, heartilyagreeing with the boy's sentiments. "And I hope they have waited for us.But for goodness' sake be careful not to make yourself sick, Dave!"
The camp was pitched in an open flat beside a small sparkling mountainstream. Upon one side of the creek was brush-covered bottom land,through which the riders followed a winding trail, dim in thesemi-darkness. Then they splashed across the creek, and rode up itssteep bank into the clear, grass-covered government dooryard of thecampers.
"Well, at last!" called a voice from the tent. "The posse was justgetting ready to go in search of you. Thought the chickens must havelured you away. Come right in, the feast is prepared!"
"All right, Syd," called the girl happily, dismounting almost in thearms of old Jim McCullen, her dear "father Jim," to whom she gave theheartiest handshake he had ever received.
"Oh, I'm so glad you're back!" she exclaimed as he led her horse away tostake it out. "How's everything at home--the dogs and horses, andeverything? Never mind the _people_! I don't want to hear a single thingabout them! We're late, Syd," she apologized, as her cousin held openthe tent flap for her to enter, "but oh, we've had such a stack of fun!"
She greeted the little English cook, an old acquaintance, who beamedwith smiles as she entered. Then she cast her dark eyes about the tentand encountered those of Livingston.
"We were beginning to fear for your safety, Miss Hathaway," he said toher, then wondered why she should laugh. And she did laugh loudly, witha clear, sweet, reverberant ring that echoed through the little valley.Before it had died away her face settled back into its natural quiet.She threw her cowboy's hat into a far corner, and seated herself on acase of canned goods opposite Livingston, to whom she immediatelydevoted herself.
She was not bold, this slender, well-built girl of the prairies,--no onewho knew her could conceive such an idea,--but she moved with aforwardness, a certain freedom of manner that was her own divine right.Whatever she did, whatever she said, appeared right in her--in anotherless graceful, less charming, less magnetic, it would in many instancesseem gross boldness. But with her wonderful, forceful personalitywhatever she did or said was the embodiment of grace and right.
Many of her acquaintances aped her ways and little peculiarities ofspeech, to the utter ruination of any originality or fascination theymay have themselves possessed, for such originality cannot be imitated.
She leaned nearer to Livingston.
"You should have been with us--we've had a great time! Just think, wegot eight coyotes! Isn't that fine for one evening?"
"Indeed," he exclaimed, "I think that remarkable! Your cousin said thatsomething of the kind was keeping you. I take it that you arepassionately fond of hunting."
"Yes, it is the greatest sport there is in this country, and where thehunting is good, as it is at home along the Missouri River, there isnothing like it. But up here there is really no game to speak of, thoughthe mountains at one time abounded with it. Even chickens are as hard tofind as a needle in a haystack. We found a den of coyotes, seven littleones, and one of the old ones we got with the help of the dogs. Youknow," she said confidentially, "I shouldn't have delayed this supperfor anything less than a den of coyotes."
"There won't be the sign of any kind of game left up here by the timeshe leaves," remarked Sydney, taking a seat on the ground beside her.
"I heard tell as how she was tryin' to make a clearance," said old JimMcCullen from the entrance.
She flashed him a quick look of surprise. He answered it with a barelyperceptible squint, which she understood from years of comradeship tomean that he shared her secret. It meant more than that. He not onlyshared her secret, but his right hand--his life--was at her disposal, ifnecessary. Then, in acknowledgment of his silent message she gave himone of her rare, glorious smiles.
"You did make a pretty lively clearing," said her cousin. "Eight coyotesisn't so bad. That means numerous calves saved, young colts, a hundredor so sheep, not to mention innumerable wild birds and barnyard fowl."
"Truly, it makes us feel like conquerors, doesn't it, Dave? But we'refamished, Syd!" Then placing her seat beside the table she motioned theothers to join her, and soon they were enjoying a remarkably good campsupper.
The cook bustled about the tent, pouring out coffee, apologizing,praising this dish or that, and urging them to partake of more, all inone breath.
Sydney and his friend Livingston kept up the conversation, to which Hopelistened, too contented and happy with the meal, the hour, and thecompany to enter it herself. She finally pushed back her plate,congratulated the cook upon the success of his supper, and gave the twina warning look, which he completely ignored.
"Here, take another piece o' this pie," said the cook, who hadintercepted the girl's glance. At this invitation the boy helped himselfwith alacrity, and with a broad smile the cook continued: "I neverknowed a boy yet to kill himself eatin'. You can fill 'em plumb full tothe brim, an' in a 'alf hour they're lookin' fer more. All the same, doger Injun, halways hungry; an' a boy's just the same."
"Eat all you want, youngster, you're not in school now," said Carter. "Ihave a
slight recollection myself of a time when I had an appetite."
"I failed to notice anything wrong with it to-night, Sydney," remarkedthe girl.
"There's nothin' like a happetite," observed the cook. "Did you's everhear the meaning hoff the word? This is how hit was told to _me_." Hestood before them emphasizing each word with a forward shake of hisfirst finger. "H-a-p-p-y,--happy,--t-i-t-e, tight,--happy--tite--that'sright, ain't hit? When you're heatin' hall you want you're _tight_, an'then you're happy, ain't you? An' that's what hit means,--happy-tight."
Whether this observation of the small English cook's was original or notthose present had no way of ascertaining. But since this was but asample of the many observations he aired each day, it is reasonable tosuppose that it originated in his fertile brain.
"I think there's no doubt about that being the true derivation of theword," said Hope. "In fact, I am sure it is. Isn't it, Dave?"
"I don't know nothin' about it," said the boy, looking up from his lastbite of pie; then giving a deep sigh he reluctantly moved away from thetable.
"Well, I can guarantee that you're happy," said Hope, "and that is apositive demonstration of the truth of William's observation. But now wemust go," she said, rising abruptly and picking up her hat from thecorner of the tent.
"You haven't been here a half hour yet, Hopie, but I suppose I must bethankful for small favors," deplored Carter.
"I've had my supper,--a nice one, too,--and that's what I came for, Syd,dear," said the girl. "And if I may, I will come again, until you anddear old Jim both get tired of me."
"_Get tired_--fiddlesticks!" exclaimed McCullen, while Sydney laughed alittle, and left the tent to saddle her horse. The breed boy followedhim; then Livingston, too, was about to leave when McCullen stopped him.
"Just stay in here by the fire and talk to Hopie till we get yourhorses," he said, abruptly leaving them together.
The girl drew nearer the stove.
"It's quite chilly out this evening," she remarked.
"That is the beauty of the nights in this northern country," he replied,coming near to her.
"Why, we're alone," she observed. "I wonder where William went!"
"I didn't notice his disappearance," he replied. "But we arealone--together. Are you not frightened?"
"Frightened? No!" she said softly. "Why?"
"A senseless remark. Do not notice it--or anything, I beg of you. I amquite too happy to weigh my words."
"Then you have proved the cook's theory correct; providing you haveeaten--sufficiently," she replied. They both smiled, and darts of lightfrom the stove played about their faces.
"Will you allow me--this night--to ride home with you?" he asked,watching the fantastic shadows upon her face and catching gleams of herdeep eyes as they occasionally sought his own.
She hesitated a moment before replying.
"You think me a strange girl," she said. "I wonder what you will thinkof me now if I refuse this."
"I think nothing except that you are the sweetest girl I have everknown--and the _noblest_. I thank my Maker for having met you, andspoken with you, and sat here in the firelight beside you! Your ways areyour own. I shall not--cannot question you, or impose myself upon you.Our lives, it seems, lie far apart. But I cannot help it--the words burnthemselves out--I love you, _Hope_--I love you! Forgive me!" He raisedher hand to his lips and left her standing alone in the firelight.
"He loves me," she thought, far into the quiet hours of the night. "Heloves me, and yet he ran away from me!"
Hope Hathaway: A Story of Western Ranch Life Page 13