CHAPTER XXV
In a short time the horses were saddled and the two girls dashed pastthe stable buildings and the rough assortment of men who stood silentlyabout, past their watchful, alert eyes, on after the buggy, which hadnow become a mere speck high up on the mountain road. As they raced bythe house and tepees the boy, Ned, cautiously raised his small body frombehind a pile of logs which edged the road and beckoned to themfrantically. Hope's quick eye saw him, but only as the flash of a movingpicture across her mind, leaving no impression and instantly forgotten.But later, when she had entered the cook-tent at Sydney's camp andseated herself among the small company, the memory of the passing visioncame back, annoying, troubling her. She scented danger more than shefelt it. A sense of uneasiness possessed her. She condemned herselfroundly for the wild thoughts that had carried her away from herself,and would have given much at that moment to have known what the breedboy had wanted to commune to her.
Clarice was chatting volubly to Livingston. Sydney leaned upon thetable, listening attentively. Outside, old Jim McCullen was staking outthe saddle-horses, while about the stove and mess-box William, the cook,flitted in great importance. Sydney jumped up from the table when thetwo girls entered and arranged some extra seats for them, then took onehimself beside Louisa, who flushed prettily at his attentions.
"We beat you by fifteen minutes!" exclaimed Mrs. Van Rensselaer,breaking off from her conversation abruptly. "But we just came alongspinning. And I must tell you that I'm perfectly happy now, and don'tregret coming one bit! Just think, isn't this luck--Mr. Livingston haspromised to take me back to the ranch to-morrow, or whenever I decide toreturn! And you should see what a splendid dinner we are going to have!After all, I'm coming out the best in the deal--in spite of Jim's'didn't I tell you,' and Hope's 'what made you come.' This is a regulartaste of the real West--wild and rugged! You don't get it at theranch--luxurious quarters, Chinese servants everywhere, even the peopleespecially imported. You might as well be in New York for everythingexcept the climate. This is great--this little gulch here and thesefresh, sweet tents; but horrors, that place back there! Isn't there anyway to go around it when we go back to the ranch, Mr. Livingston? Idon't want even to catch sight of it. I never saw such a lot of lookingmen in all my life!"
They all laughed at the look of abject horror which she put upon herface--all with the exception of Hope, who sat silently in the shadow ofLouisa and Sydney.
"We've been to supper," said Sydney, turning around to his cousin, "sothis is an extra one for the special benefit of our guests. You'd betterappreciate it, for it's going to be a jim-dandy one. Livingston's beento supper, too, so this is just for the ladies."
"You're a good boy," murmured the girl, taking off her hat and pushingback the mass of dark hair from her forehead. "We'll soon show you ourappreciation."
"I guess we'd better light up, it's getting dark a little earliernowadays," he said, leaving Louisa's side to light the lanterns, whichsoon flooded the tent with soft radiance.
"I like the twilight," said Clarice to Livingston. "But then I like lotsof light, too. Some people can talk best in the dark, but I have to seeto talk."
"It's only eight o'clock," continued Sydney, from where he had left off."Last month it was daylight at ten. It beats all how time flies,anyway!" He hung an extra lantern, lighted for the momentous occasion,right where the rays fell full upon Hope's face. From the far end of thetent Livingston watched her. He sought her eyes as usual. They wereeverywhere, anywhere, but did not meet his. Lately a new star had risenfor him--a star of hope. O'Hara had told him, quite unsolicited, thatthere was no attachment between Hope and her cousin, much less anengagement, and suddenly a new world had opened for him.
"I don't see why you are lighting the lanterns now. It isn't dark atall," said the girl, rising suddenly from her seat. "From the top of theridge out there you can see the sunset, I know."
"Did you ever see a sunset as beautiful as the sunrise?" askedLivingston.
She stopped and pondered an instant, then glanced at him quickly, and asquickly away.
"No, I have not," she replied. "A sunrise is a baptism. It is like beingborn into a new world. There is nothing so beautiful, so grand, sopromising, as the vision of a new day's sun. And to stand in the coolmorning air with the dew beneath your feet and _feel_ all the promise ofthat vast, golden glory--to feel it----" She stopped suddenly, liftingher eyes to his for one brief instant. "There is no moment in life whenone is so near to God."
"Admitting the sublimity and grandeur of the time," said Clarice. "Yetwho ever heard of an enamored swain offering his heart at the feet ofhis fair lady at such an unearthly hour? It's preposterous!"
"In such a case he'd probably be sitting up too late the night before,"said Carter. "But it's a pretty idea, just the same," he declared,looking at Louisa.
"I think a sunset is prettier," insisted Clarice. "I've never been ableto rub the sleep out of my eyes to appreciate the sunrise as Hopedescribes it. But I think she is an exception."
"Would there were more then," said Livingston fervently.
His earnestness seemed to amuse Clarice, for she turned to him andlaughed. Hope swung about quickly, stung for the instant.
"It is sacred," she cried softly, then opening the tent-flap with aquick movement she stepped out into the evening.
Jim McCullen was putting up a new tent down near the edge of the streamfor the accommodation of the ladies. The girl went over to where he wasat work and assisted him by steadying one pole while he fastened thecanvas in position.
"How's the ranch, Jim?" she asked. "Mrs. Van Rensselaer hasn't had timeto tell me yet."
"Well, it's about the same as ever," replied McCullen slowly. "I reckonyour father's gettin' pretty lonesome without you. Feels like a losthorse by now. That there little Rosebush--Rosehill, he and themCresmonds have gone back East to get ready fer the great weddin' they'retalkin' about. Them folks seem to think it's a mighty fine thing tocatch a lord er an earl. But it always seemed to me that the Almightyleft out a whole pile in order to give some o' them fellers a title.Forgot Rosehill's brains entirely, an' he ain't no bigger'n a minute,neither."
"I guess you're right, about him," said Hope, kneeling beside McCullenas he fashioned a stake pin more to his liking. "I hope that outfitwon't come out here another year; I don't like them very well. It'snice and sweet out here on the grass, isn't it? I don't mind stayinghere at all to-night. I don't see what makes me feel so sleepy anddrowsy though, but I do--sort of tired, as though I wanted to get awayand go to bed. I haven't ridden far to-day either--only a few milesafter school. Jim, I wish I were back to-night at the ranch--I wish Icould go and say good-night to my father, and go away to my own room."
McCullen looked up from the peg he was driving, and remarked: "I'llwarrent you'll have as good a night's sleep out here in this tent as youwould at home on the ranch. Plenty o' fresh air an' no misquitoes tobother. But I reckon your father'd like to see you just the sameto-night."
"But he doesn't want me to go home until I've finished this school uphere. I'm earning fifty dollars a month. How much are you?"
"A hundred," replied McCullen. "But, look a-here, your father _said_that, but he'd be mighty glad to have you drop in on him one o' thesetimes. He's the sorriest father you ever seen!"
"But I shall stay, Jim, just as long as there is school here," said Hopedecidedly. "So don't _you_ try to get me to go home. Everyone else is.Sydney all the time, then Larry O'Hara. I'm glad he's gone over to campwith the soldiers. They're farther away than I thought. Louisa and Irode over in that direction after school, but only got to the top of thetall butte over there. We could see them where they were camped on FoxCreek, but it was too far to go, so we went back to Harris'. Larry wasall the time urging me to go home while he was here--and now Clarice hascome. But I won't go, Jim, until the school ends."
"Well, you just make the best of it," replied McCullen. "I like yourgrit. I'm a-goin' to stay right here so's to be near you what
everhappens."
"Jim," said the girl suddenly, "were you ever nervous?"
"I reckon I've been, a few times," replied McCullen. "Why, you ain't_nervous_, be you, Hopie? There ain't nothin' goin' to bother you outhere to-night. Mebby you ain't feelin' well."
She smiled at his consternation. "No, I don't think I'm nervous, Jim;just a little restless, that's all."
"I expect that woman's comin' has sort o' upset you. I didn't want tobring her, but she managed to overrule all o' my objections."
He finished driving the last peg, which made the tent secure against thestrongest wind, then straightened himself up with his hands upon thesmall of his back as though the movement was a difficult one.
"Well, I reckon I'll bring in the beddin', an' you can fix it up to suityourself," he said, looking down at the girl, who had seated herself onthe grass before the tent.
"Listen," she whispered, holding up a warning hand, "I hearhorsebackers."
"Sure enough," he replied after a moment's silence. "I reckon it's thembreed boys o' yourn. Hungriest outfit I ever seen!"
"Yes," she said, rising suddenly to her feet and peering into thegathering dusk, "that's who it is. Go get the blankets, Jim."
"Where're you goin'!" asked McCullen, as she moved quickly away down thebank of the creek toward the dark brush of the bottom.
"To tell them school's out," she replied with a short laugh, thendisappeared from his sight.
"I reckon she's afraid them boys'll annoy that Van Rensselaer woman.You'd think she'd never seen an Injun before, from the fuss she madeback there at Harris'," soliloquized McCullen as he brought a greatarmful of blankets and deposited them inside the new tent.
But Hope was not thinking of Mrs. Van Rensselaer as she stood in thenarrow brush trail holding the bridle of an impatient Indian pinto,while the soft-voiced twin looked at her through the semi-darkness.
"There's a bright moon to-night till three in the mornin', then it's asdark as pitch," he was saying.
"Who figured out all that?" demanded the girl.
The breed boy moved uneasily in his saddle. "I reckon Shorty Smith ersome o' 'em did," he replied.
"And they're going to meet in the sheep-shed at the foot of the bighill," she said deliberately.
"Yes," replied Dan reluctantly, "the one just inside the pasture fenceover there on this side. It's the nearest place to meet."
"How many men?" demanded Hope.
"'Bout a dozen, I reckon," replied the twin. "Mebby not so many." Heleaned forward until his face was close beside the girl's. "Say," hewhispered nervously, "if they ever found out I put you onto this, they'dfinish me mighty quick."
"Are they aware you know about it?" she asked quickly. "Do they know?"
"You can't never tell," replied the boy deliberately, sweetly.
The bushes rattled and another horse pushed its way alongside thepinto.
"If we only had that Gatlin' gun now we'd be all right," exclaimed theother twin enthusiastically, as his horse nosed its way in beside them."But if we get behind the big rock we'll scare 'em to death, so's theywon't have the nerve to do nothin'!"
"But what are they going to do?" demanded Hope impatiently. "You seem toknow nothing except that they're going to meet there for somedevilishness."
"Goin' to make a raid on the shed, I reckon," replied Dave. Thesoft-voiced twin was silent.
"And you think we can stand off a dozen men?" she demanded.
"They can't do a thing to us from the big rock, anyway, an' we can watchthe fun an' pick off everyone that leaves the shed. We can do thatmuch," said the soft-voiced twin eagerly.
"How you thirst for blood! They deserve death, every one--_the dogs_!But I can't do it! There must be some other way! He must be warned, andhis men too, and the thing averted. Before, it just happened so--thistime we have a chance and warning."
"It 'ud never do to tell him," exclaimed the soft-voiced twin nervously."He'd put his own head right into the noose!"
"Never!" she cried. "You don't know what courage he has!"
The soft-voiced twin continued to demur. Suddenly she held up her handto him commandingly. "Not another word! I'll manage this thing myself!It's for me to command, and you obey orders. Remember, you're myscouts--my _brave scouts_. Surely you want me to be proud of you!"
"You bet!" exclaimed Dave.
"Then do as I say," she commanded in a voice softly alluring, coaxing."Go home, find out what you can, and bring me word here in an hour. Ifyou are not back here then I will go down there and face them all,myself--_alone_."
"You wouldn't," whispered the soft-voiced twin excitedly.
"I _would_!" replied the girl. "Now go--and remember I'll expect youback in one hour. If you fail me, I'll go down there and face thosedevils single-handed! I could wipe the earth with forty such dogs!"
The breed boys turned away in silent, stolid, Indian fashion, and thebare-headed girl stood in the still gloom of the willow-brush listeningto the sound of their horses' quick hoof-beats until the last dull thudhad died in the distance.
"Chuck-away!" called a voice from the creek bank.
"Coming!" answered the girl, turning about with a start and running backalong the path.
At the bank she stopped, unnerved with a rush of thoughts,overwhelming--terrifying. She knelt down in the long grass, clasped herhands over her heart as if to tear it from her, and raised for aninstant a strained, white face to the starlit canopy of heaven.
"The brave can die but once," her heart repeated wildly. "But I am acoward--I cannot bear it! Oh, God,--if you are the great, goodGod,--spare him from all harm, from suffering and death! Spare him now!See, I offer myself instead--freely, gladly! Take me, but spare him!"
A dimly outlined face from the bank above looked down at her, followedby a soft, mellow laugh.
"The bank is so steep," said Livingston softly. "Here, give me your handand I will pull you up."
She took a quick step upward, then stopped just below him and looked athim intently.
"God in heaven," she said wildly to herself, "I swear they shall notharm a hair of your head! I'll tear the heart out of every man of themthat comes near you! I'll kill them all, the hounds, the sneaks, the lowvermin!"
She looked at him an instant so, then laughed--an odd, mirthless,reverberant laugh, that echoed on the hills above.
"Come, let me help you," he urged gently, reaching down his hand to her.She laughed again, this time softly, more naturally.
"My _lord_," she said with grave emphasis, "you honor me! I amoverwhelmed for the instant. Forgive my rudeness!"
"You have heard," he exclaimed regretfully. "Your friend has told you--Iam so sorry! But then it really doesn't make any difference--only Ithought you might like me better if you didn't know it."
"Oh, my lord," she laughed mockingly. "I must needs _adore_ you now!"
"Stop your fooling," he exclaimed impatiently. "And give me your handand I'll pull you up here."
With a sudden movement he stepped down toward her, grasping her handfirmly, drawing her up beside him on the bank. She looked at him in somesurprise.
"I always had an idea," she said, "that you were a very mild-manneredyoung man."
"But you've given me a title that I didn't want--you've put me out ofhumor, and now you must take the consequences," he said.
"I tried to make you angry. Why aren't you?" said Hope seriously.
"Angry with you!" he exclaimed softly. "With you, my girl! Look at meclosely--in my eyes and see the reason!" He stood beside her. His handgrasped hers, his powerful magnetism drew her until her cheeks flamed,but not the flicker of downcast eyelids betrayed more than the faintest,friendliest indifference.
"Come on," she said, turning abruptly toward the tent, "I'm starved formy supper!"
Hope Hathaway: A Story of Western Ranch Life Page 25