XVII.
Whatever may be said to the contrary, there are few more humiliatingmoments in a man's life than when he learns that some other person hassupplanted him in the affections of his adored one. And it was theGirl's knowledge of this, together with her desire to spare the feelingsof her two old admirers,--for in her nature there was ever thatthoughtfulness of others which never permitted her to do a mean thing toanyone,--that had caused her to flee so precipitously from the room.
But painful as was their humiliation as they stood in silence, gazingwith saddened faces at the door through which the Girl had gone out,their cup of bitterness was not yet full. The next moment the Sheriff,his lips curled inscrutably, said mockingly:
"Well, boys, the right man has come at last. Take your medicine,gentlemen."
His words cut Sonora to the quick, and it was with difficulty that hebraced himself to hear the worst.
"Who's the man?" he inquired gruffly.
The Sheriff's eyes fastened themselves upon him; at length with deadlycoldness he drawled out:
"Johnson's the man."
All the colour went out of Sonora's face, while his lips ejaculated:
"Gol A'mighty!"
"You lie!" blazed Trinidad in the next breath, and made a quick movementtowards the Sheriff.
But Rance was not to be denied. Seeing Nick advancing towards them hecalled upon him to verify his words; but that individual merely lookedfirst at one and then the other and did not answer, which silenceinfuriated Sonora.
"Why, you tol' me . . .?" he said with an angry look in his eye.
"Tol' you, Sonora? Why he tol' me the same thing," protested Trinidadwith an earnestness that, at any other time, would have sent hislisteners into fits of laughter.
This was too much for Sonora; he flew into a paroxysm of rage.
"Well, for a first-class liar . . .!"
"You bet!" corroborated Trinidad, relapsing, despite his anger, into hispet phrase.
For some minutes the dejected suitors continued in this strain, nowarguing and then condoling with one another, the boys, meanwhile,proceeding to clear the school-room of the benches, casks and planks,lifting or rolling them back into place as if they were made of paper.
All of a sudden Sonora's face cleared perceptibly. Turning swiftly tothe sheriff, who sat tilted back in a chair before the fire, he saidwith unexpected cheerfulness of voice:
"Why, Johnson's dead. He got away, an'--"
"Yes, he got away," remarked Rance, dully, shaking the ashes from hiscigar, which answer, together with the peculiar look which Sonora saw onthe other's face, made him at once suspicious that something was beingheld back from them which they had a right to know. It came about,therefore, that, with a hasty movement towards the Sheriff, his eyesglaring, his voice husky, Sonora demanded:
"Jack Rance, I call on you as Sheriff for Johnson! He was in yourcounty."
Instantly the cry was taken up by the others, but it was Trinidad who,shaking his fist in Rance's face, supplemented:
"You hustle up an' run a bridle through your p'int o' teeth or your boomfor re-election 's over, you lily-fingered gambler!"
But the Sheriff did not move a muscle, though after a moment he answeredcoolly:
"Oh, I don't know as I give a damn . . .!" Which reply, to say theleast, was somewhat disconcerting to the men who had surrounded him andwere eyeing him threateningly.
"No talk--we want Johnson," insisted Trinidad, hotly.
"We want Johnson," echoed the crowd in low, tense voices, their fistsclenched.
And still Rance did not waver, but calmly puffing sway at his long,black cigar he looked blankly into space. Presently a voice outsidecalling, "Boys!" sounded throughout the room and brought him back toactuality. He sat straight up in his chair while Nick, shifting uneasilyabout on his feet, muttered:
"Why, that's Ashby!"
"Oh, if--" began the Sheriff and stopped. The next instant the WellsFargo Agent, a cool, triumphant look on his face, stood framed in thedoorway. With a hasty movement towards him Rance asked tensely: "Did youget him?"
The answer came back, almost before the question was asked:
"Yes--we've got him."
"Not Johnson?" demanded Sonora, truculently.
"Yes, Johnson," affirmed the Wells Fargo Agent with a hard laugh, hiseyes the while upon Handsome, who, unaided, was lifting a heavy cask toa bench nearby.
"Not alive?" questioned Trinidad, unwilling to trust his own ears.
"You bet!" was Ashby's sententious confirmation, at which pandemoniumbroke loose, Nick alone appearing dejected and morose-looking. For hislove and devotion to the Girl were too genuine to permit of his takingany part whatsoever in what he believed was opposed to her happiness. Onthe other hand, Rance, as may be inferred, was inwardly rejoicing,though when he perceived that Nick was eyeing him steadily he wascareful to lower his eyes lest the little barkeeper should see thetriumph shining beneath them. And, finally, unable to bear Nick'sscrutiny any longer, he explained with a feeble attempt at self-defence:
"Well, I didn't do it, Nick, I didn't do it." But a moment later, hisface hard and set, he added: "Now he be damned! There's an end ofJohnson!"
The words were hardly out of his mouth, however, than Johnson, his armsbound, followed by the Deputy, strode into the room with the courage ofone who has long faced death, and stood before the men who glared at himwith fire in their eyes and murder in their hearts.
"How do you do, Mr. Johnson. I think, Mr. Johnson, five minutes will dofor you." Rance gave to the words a peculiar accent and inflection, butthis caused the prisoner to look even more composed and calm thanbefore; he returned crisply:
"I think so."
"So this is the gentleman the Girl loves?" Sonora's face wore a cruelgrin as he stood with arms folded leering at the prisoner.
The biting humour of the thought appealed to Rance, and he smiled grimlyto himself.
"That's the gentleman"--he was saying when a voice outside broke in uponhis words with:
"Nick! Boys! Boys!"
"It's the Girl!" cried Nick in dismay, at the same time rushing over tothe door to intercept her; while Ashby, desirous of preventing anycommunication between the Girl and the prisoner took up a positionbetween them--unnecessary precautions, since the Girl had no intentionof re-entering the room, but wished merely to say that she had forgottenthat it was recess and that the boys might have one drink.
At the sound of her voice Johnson paled. He listened to her retreatingsteps, then turning towards Nick he asked him to lock the door.
"Why, the devil . . .!" objected the Sheriff, angrily.
"Please," urged the prisoner with such a look of entreaty in his eyesthat Nick could not find it in his heart to deny him, and went forthwithto the door and locked it.
"Why, you--" began Sonora with a hurried movement towards the prisoner.
"You keep out of this, Sonora," enjoined the Sheriff, coming forward totake a hand in the proceedings. "I handle the rope--pick the tree . . ."
"Then hurry . . ." said Sonora, impatiently, while Trinidad interposedwith his usual, "You bet!"
"One moment," said the prisoner as the miners started to go out; and,strange to relate, the Sheriff ordered the men to halt. Turning oncemore to the prisoner, he said:
"Be quick--what is it?"
"It is true," began the unfortunate road agent in an even, unemotionalvoice, "that I love the Girl."
At these words Rance's arms flew up threateningly, while a mocking smilesprang to his lips.
"Well, you won't in a minute," he reminded him grimly.
The taunt brought no change of expression to the prisoner's face orchange of tone in his voice as he went on to say that he did not carewhat they did to him; that he was prepared for anything; and that everyman who travelled the path that he did faced death every day for a drinkof water or ten minutes' sleep, concluding calmly:
"You've got me and I wouldn't care but for the Girl."
"You've
got just three minutes!" A shade almost of contempt was inSonora's exclamation.
"Yes . . .!" blazed Trinidad.
There was an impressive silence; then in a voice that trembled strangelybetween pride and humility Johnson continued:
"I don't want her to know my end. Why, that would be an awful thoughtfor her to go on with all her life--that I died out there--near at hand.Why, boys, she couldn't stay here after that--she couldn't . . ."
"That's understood," replied Rance, succinctly.
"I'd like her to think," went on the prisoner, with difficulty chokingback the tears, "that I got away clear and went East and changed my wayof living. So you just drag me a good ways from here before you--" Hestopped abruptly and began to swallow nervously. When he spoke again itwas with a perceptible change of manner. "And when I don't write and shenever hears why she will say, 'he's forgotten me,' and that will beabout enough for her to remember, because she loved me before she knewwhat I was--and you can't change love in a minute."
All the while Johnson had been speaking the Sheriff's jealousy had beengrowing steadily until, finally, turning upon the other with asuccession of oaths he struck him a fierce blow in the face.
"I don't blame you," returned the prisoner without a trace of malice inhis voice. "Strike me again--strike me--one death is not enough for me.Damn me--I wish you could . . . Oh, why couldn't I have let her pass!I'm sorry I came her way--but it's too late now, it's too late . . ."
Rance, not in the least affected by what the prisoner had been saying,asked if that was his last word.
Johnson nodded.
Trinidad, simultaneously with his nod, snapped his finger, indicatingthat the prisoner's time was up.
"Dep!" called the Sheriff, sharply.
The Deputy came forward and took his prisoner in charge.
"Good-bye, sir!" said Nick, who was visibly affected.
"Good-bye!" returned the prisoner, briefly. "You tell the Girl--no, cometo think of it, Nick, don't say anything . . ."
"Come on, you!" ordered Happy.
Whereupon with a shout and an imprecation the men removed en masse tothe door.
"Boys," intervened Nick at this juncture, rushing into their midst,"when Alliger was hanged Rance let 'im see his sweetheart. I think,considerin' as how she ain't goin' to see no more o' Mr. Johnson here,an' knowin' the Girl's feelin's--well, I think she ought to have achance to--"
Nick was not allowed to finish, for instantly the men were up in armsraising a most vigorous objection to his proposal; but, notwithstanding,Nick, evidently bent upon calling the Girl, started for the door.
"No," objected Rance, obstinately.
The road agent took a step forward and, turning upon the Sheriff with adesperately hopeless expression upon his face, he said:
"Jack Rance, there were two of us--I've had my chance. Inside of tenminutes I'll be dead and it will be all your way. Couldn't you let me--"
He paused, and ended almost piteously with:
"Oh, I thought I'd have the courage not to ask, but, Oh, couldn't youlet me--couldn't you--"
Once more Nick intervened by shrewdly prevaricating:
"Here's the Girl, boys!"
But this ruse of Nick's met with no greater success than his previousefforts, for Rance, putting his foot down heavily upon the stove, voiceda vigorous protest.
"All right," said the prisoner, resignedly. Nevertheless, his facereflected his disappointment. Turning now to Nick he thanked him for hisefforts in his behalf.
"You must excuse Rance," remarked the little barkeeper with asignificant look at the Sheriff, "for bein' so small a man as to denythe usual courtesies, but he ain't quite himself."
Weary of their cavilling, for he believed that in the end the Sheriffwould carry his point, and determined to go before his courage failedhim, Johnson made a movement towards the door. Speaking bravely, thoughhis voice trembled, he said:
"Come, boys--come."
But, odd as it may seem, Nick's words had taken root.
"Wait a minute," Rance temporised.
The prisoner halted.
"I don't know that I'm so small a man as to deny the usual courtesies,since you put it that way," continued Rance. "I always have extendedthem. But we'll hear what you have to say--that's our protection. And itmight interest some of us to hear what the Girl will have to say to you,Mr. Johnson--after a week in her cabin there may be more to know than--"
Fire leapt to Johnson's eyes; he cried hoarsely--
"Stop!"
"Rance, you don't know what you're sayin'," resented Nick, casting hardlooks at him; while Sonora put a heavy hand upon the Sheriff andthreatened him with:
"Now, Rance, you stop that!"
"We'll hear every word he has to say," insisted the Sheriff, doggedly.
"You bet!" affirmed Trinidad.
"Nick! Nick!" called the Girl once more, and while the little barkeeperwent over to admit her the Wells Fargo Agent took his leave, callingback after him:
"Well, boys, you've got him safe--I can't wait--I'm off!"
"Dep, untie the prisoner! Boys, circle round the bar! Trin, put a man atthat door! And Sonora, put a couple of men at those windows!" And soswift were the men in carrying out his instructions, that even as hespoke, everyone was at his post, the Sheriff himself and Sonoraremaining unseen but on guard at the doors, while the prisoner, edgingup close to the door, was not in evidence when the Girl entered.
"You can think of something to tell her--lie to her," had been theSheriff's parting suggestion.
"I'll let her think I risked coming back to see her again," had repliedthe prisoner, his throat trembling.
"She won't know it's for the last time--we'll be there," had comewarningly from the Sheriff as he pointed to the door that led to thebar-room.
* * * * * *
"Why, what have you got the door barred for?" asked the Girl as she cameinto the room; and then without waiting for an answer: "Why, where arethe boys?"
"Well, you see, the boys--the boys has--has--" began Nick confusedly andstopped.
"The boys--" There was a question in the Girl's voice.
"Has gone."
"Gone where?"
"Why, to the Palmetter," came out feebly from Nick; and then with asudden change of manner, he added: "Oh, say, Girl, I likes you!" Andhere he laid his hand affectionately upon her shoulder. "You've been myreligion--the bar an' you. Why, you don't never want to leave us--why,I'd drop dead for you."
"Nick, you're very nice to--" began the Girl, gratefully, and stopped,for at that instant a gentle tap came upon the door. Turning swiftly,she saw Johnson coming towards her.
"Girl!" he cried in an agony of joy, and held out his arms to receiveher.
"You? You?" she admonished softly.
"Don't say a word," he whispered hurriedly.
"You shouldn't have come back," she said with knitted brow.
"I had to--to say good-bye once more." And his voice was so filled withtenderness that she readily forgave him for the indiscretion.
"It's all right, it's all right," murmured Nick, his hand still on thedoor, which he had taken the precaution to bolt after the Girl hadpassed through it.
There was a moment's silence; then, going over to the windows, the Girlpulled down the curtains.
"The boys are good for quite a little bit," she said as she came back."Don't git nervous--I'll give you warnin' . . ."
Nick, unwilling to witness the heartrending scene which he foresaw wouldfollow, noiselessly withdrew into the bar-room, leaving the prisoneralone with the Girl.
"Don't be afraid, my Girl," said Johnson, softly.
But the Girl's one thought, after her first gladness, was of his safety:
"But you can't git away now without bein' seen?"
"Yes, there's another way out of Cloudy,--and I'm going to take it."
The grimness of his meaning was lost on the Girl, who answered urgently:
"Then go--go! Don't wait, go
now!"
Johnson smiled a sad little smile:
"But remember that I'm sorry for the past, and--and don't forget me," hesaid, with an odd break in his voice,--so odd that it roused the Girlinto startled wonderment.
"Forget you? Why, Dick . . .!"
"I mean, till we meet again," he reassured her hastily.
The Girl heaved a troubled sigh. Her fears for him were still on edge.Then, with a nervous start, she asked:
"Did he call?"
"No. He'll--he'll warn me," Johnson told her unsteadily.
"Oh, every day that dawns I'll wait for a message from you. I'll feelyou wanting me. Every night I'll say to-morrow, and every to-morrow I'llsay to-day . . . Oh, you've changed the whole world for me! I can't letyou go, but I must, Dick, I must . . ." And bursting into tears, sheburied her face on his shoulder, repeating piteously, between shakingsobs, "Oh, I'm so afraid,--I'm so afraid!"
He held her close, the strength of his arms around her reassuring hersilently. "Why, you mustn't be afraid," he said in tones that werealmost steady. "In a few minutes I'll be quite free, and then--"
"An' you'll make a little home for me when you're free--soon--will you?"asked the Girl, with a wan smile dawning on her trembling lips. She wasdrying her eyes and did not see how the light died out of the man'sface, as he gazed down at her hungrily, hopelessly. This time he couldnot trust himself to speak, but merely nodded "yes."
"A strange feelin' has come over me," went on the Girl, brokenly, "afeelin' to hold you--to cling to you--not to let you go. Somethin' in myheart keeps sayin', 'Don't let him go!'"
Johnson felt his knees sagging oddly beneath him. The Girl's sureinstinct of danger, the piteousness of their case, were making a cowardof him. He tore himself from her in a panic desire to go while he stillhad the manhood to play his part to the end; then suddenly broke downcompletely, and with his face buried in his hands, sobbed aloud.
"Why, Girl," he managed to say, brokenly, "it's been worth--the whole oflife just--to know you. You've brought me nearer Heaven,--you, to love aman like me!"
"Don't say that, Oh, don't say that," she hastened to say with a greattenderness in her voice. "S'pose you was only a road agent an' I was asaloon keeper. We both came out o' nothin' an' we met, but throughlovin' we're goin' to reach things now--that's us. We had to be liftedup like this to be saved."
Johnson tried to speak, but the words would not come. It was, therefore,with a feeling of relief that, presently, he heard Nick at the door,saying, "It's all clear now."
Johnson wheeled round, but Nick had flown. Turning once more to theGirl, he said with trembling lips:
"Good-bye!"
The Girl's face wore a puzzled look, and she told him that he acted asif they were never going to meet again.
"An' we are, we are, ain't we?" she questioned eagerly.
A faint little smile hovered about the corners of the road agent's mouthwhen presently he answered:
"Why, surely we are . . ."
His words cleared her face instantly.
"I want you to think o' me here jest waitin'," she said. "You was thefirst--there'll never be anyone but you. Why, you're the man I'd wantsittin' across the table if there was a little kid like I was playin'under it. I can't say no more 'n that. Only you--you will--you must getthrough safe an' come back--an' well, think o' me here jest waitin',jest waitin', waitin' . . ."
At these words a tightness gripped the man's throat, and in the silencethat followed the tears ran steadily down his cheeks.
"Oh, Girl, Girl," at last he said, "that first night I went to yourcabin I saw you kneeling, praying. Say that in your heart again for menow. Perhaps I believe it--perhaps I don't . . . I hope I do--I wantto--but say it, say it, Girl, just for the luck of it--say it . . ."
Quickly the Girl crossed herself, and while she sent a silent prayer toHeaven Johnson knelt at her knees, his head bowed low.
"God bless you," he murmured when the prayer was finished and arose tohis feet; then bending over her hand he touched it softly with his lips.
"Good-bye!" he said chokingly and started for the door.
"Good-bye!" came slowly in return, her face no less moist than his.Presently she murmured like one in a dream: "Dick, Dick!"
The man hastened his steps and did not turn. At the door, however, heburst out in an agony of despair: "Girl! Girl . . .!"
But when the Girl looked up he had reached the open. She listened amoment to the retreating steps, then raising her tear-stained face aboveher arms, she sobbed out: "He's gone--he's gone--he's gone . . .!" Shestarted in pursuit of him, but half-way across the room she fell intoNick's arms, crying out:
"He's gone, he's gone, he's gone! Dick! Dick! Dick . . .!"
Terribly affected at the sight of the Girl's sorrow, the littlebarkeeper did his best to soothe her, now patting her little blonde headas it rested upon his arm, now murmuring words of loving tenderness.
Suddenly she raised her head, and then it was that she saw for the firsttime the men standing huddled together near the door. In a flash thetruth of the situation dawned upon her. With a look of indescribablehorror upon her face she turned upon Nick, turned upon them all with:
"You knew, Nick--you all knew you had 'im! You knew you had 'im an'you're goin' to kill 'im! But you shan't--no, you shan't kill 'im--youshan't--you shan't . . .!"
Once more she started in pursuit of her lover, but only to fall with herface against the door, sobbing as if her heart would break.
Outside there was nothing in the enchanting scene to suggest finality.Nature never was more prodigal of her magic beauties. The sun stillshone on the winter whiteness of the majestic mountains; the great archof sky was still an azure blue; the wild things still roamed the greatforest at will.
Life indeed was very beautiful.
Minutes passed and still the Girl wept.
A wonderful thing happened then--and as suddenly as it wascharacteristic of these impulsive and tender-hearted men. In thinkingover their action long afterwards the Girl recalled how for an instantshe could believe neither her ears nor her eyes. With Sonora it wascredible, at least; but with Rance--it seemed wonderful to her even whenobserved through the vista of many years. And yet, men like Rance moreoften than not exhibit to the world the worst side of their nature. Itis only when some cataclysm of feeling bursts that their inner soul isdisclosed and joyously viewed by eyes which have long been accustomed tojudging them solely from the icy and impenetrable reserve which theyinvariably wear.
And so it came about that Sonora--first of the two--went over to herand laid an affectionate hand upon her shoulder.
"Why, Girl," he said, all the kindliness of his gentle nature floodinghis eyes, "the boys an' me ain't perhaps realised jest what Johnsonstood for you, an' hearin' what you said, an' seein' you prayin' overthe cuss--"
Rance's face lit up scornfully.
"The cuss?" he cut in, objecting to a term which is not infrequentlyused affectionately.
"Yes, the cuss," repeated Sonora, all the vindictiveness gone from hisheart now. "I got an idee maybe God's back of this 'ere game."
The Girl's heart was beating fast; she was hoping against hope when, amoment later, she asked:
"You're not goin' to pull the rope on 'im?"
"You mean I set him free," came from Rance, his tone softer, gentlerthan anyone had heard it in some time.
"You set 'im free?" repeated the Girl, timidly, and not daring to meethis gaze.
"I let him go," announced the Sheriff in spite of himself.
"You let 'im go?" questioned the Girl, still in a daze.
"That's our verdict, an' we're prepared to back it up," declared Sonorawith a smile on his weathered face, though the tears streamed down hischeeks.
The Girl's face illumined with a great joy. She did not stop now todissipate the tears which she saw rolling down Sonora's face, as was herwont when any of the boys were grieved or distressed, but fairly flewout of the cabin, calling half-frantically, half-ec
statically:
"Dick! Dick! You're free! You're free! You're free . . .!"
The minutes passed and still the miners did not move. They stood with anair of solemnity gazing silently at one another. Only too well did theyrealise what was happening to them. They were inconsolable. Presently,Sonora, all in a heap on a bench, took out some tobacco and began tochew it as fast as his mouth would let him; Happy, going over to theteacher's desk, picked up the bunch of berries which he had presentedher at the opening of the school session and began to fondle them; whileTrinidad, too overcome to speak, stood leaning against the door, gazingsadly in the direction that the Girl had taken. As for Rance, aftercalling to Nick to bring him a drink, he quietly brought out a pack ofcards from his pocket and, seemingly, became absorbed in a game ofsolitaire.
A little while later, his eyes still red from weeping, Nick remarked:
"The Polka won't never be the same, boys--the Girl's gone."
XVIII.
The soft and velvety blackness of night was giving place to a pearlygrey, and the feathery streaks of a trembling dawn were shootingheavenward when a man, whose head had been pillowed on a Mexican saddle,rose from the ground in front of a tepee, made of blankets on crossedsticks, and seated himself on an old tree-stump where he proceeded tolight a cigarette.
In the little tepee, sheltered by an overhanging rock, the Girl wasstill sleeping; and the man, sitting opposite the mound of earth androck on which it was built, was Johnson.
A week had passed since the lovers had left Cloudy Mountain, and eachday, at the moment when the sun burst above the snow-capped mountains,found them up and riding slowly eastward. No attempt whatever was madeat haste, but, instead, now climbing easily to the top of the passes,now descending into the valleys, they rode slowly on, ever loathe toleave behind them the great forests and high mountains.
Noon of each day found them always resting in some glen where the sunmade golden lacework of the branches over their heads; while at theapproach of night when the great orb was no longer to be seen throughthe tree-tops and twilight was fast settling upon the woods, they wouldhalt near a pool of a dancing brook where, with the relish of fatigue,they would partake of their rations; and then, when the silences cameon, Johnson would proceed to put up with loving skill the Girl's rudequarters and, stretching himself out on a gentle slope, covered withpine needles matted close together, the man and the Girl would go tosleep listening to the music of the stream as it gurgled and dashedalong, foaming and leaping, over the rocks and beneath the littlepatches of snow forgotten by the sun. And to these two, whether in thedepths of the vast forest or, as now, at the edge of the mercilessdesert, stretching away like a world without end, their environmentseemed nothing less than a paradise.
There were moments, however, in the long days, which could be devoted toreflection; and often Johnson pondered over the strange fate that hadbrought him under the influence--an influence which held him now andwhich he earnestly prayed would continue to hold him--and into closerelationship with a character so different from his own. A contemplationof his past life was wholly unnecessary, for the realisation had come tohim that it was her personality alone that had awakened his dormantsense of what was right and what was wrong, and changed the course ofhis life. That his future was full of possibilities, evil as well asgood, he was only too well aware; nevertheless, his faith in himself wasthat of a strong man whose powers of resistance, in this case, would beimmeasurably strengthened by constant association with a strongercharacter.
It was while he was in the midst of these thoughts that the Girl,without letting him see her, quietly drew the blankets of the tepee alittle to one side and peered out at him. She, too, had not been withouther moments of meditation. Not that she regretted for an instant thatshe had committed herself to him irrevocably but, rather, because shefeared lest he should find it difficult to detach himself, soul andbody, from the adventurous life he had been leading. Such painfulcommunings, however, were rare and quickly dismissed as unworthy of her;and now as she looked at him with faith and joy in her eyes, it seemedto her that never before had she seen him appear so resolute and strong,and she rejoiced that he belonged to her. At the thought a blush spreadover her features, and it was not until she had drawn the blankets backinto their place that she called from behind them:
"Are you awake, Dick?"
At the sound of her voice the man quickly arose and, going over to thetepee, he parted the blankets and held them open. And even as she passedout the greyness of dawn was replaced by silver, and silver by pinktints which lighted up the pale green of the sage brush, the dwarfshrubs and clumps of Buffalo grass around them as well as the darkergreen of the pines and hemlocks of the foothills in the near distance.
"Another day, Girl," he said softly. "See, the dawn is breaking!"
For some moments they stood side by side in silence, the man thinking ofthe future, the woman serenely happy and lost in admiration of the calmbeauty of the scene which, in one direction, at least, differed greatlyfrom anything that she had ever beheld. Every night previous to the onejust passed they had encamped in the great forests; but now they lookedupon a vast expanse of level plain which to the north and east,stretched trackless and unbroken by mountain or ravine to aninfinitude--the boundless prairies soon to be mellowed and turned to agolden brown by the shafts of a burning sun already just below the edgeof an horizon aglow with opaline tints.
The Girl had ever been a lover of nature. All her life the mystery andsilences of the high mountains had appealed to her soul; but never untilnow had she realised the marvellous beauty and glory of the greatplains. And yet, though her eyes shone with the wonder of it all, therewas an unmistakably sad and reminiscent note in the voice that presentlymurmured:
"Another day."
After a while, and as if under the spell of some unseen power, sheslowly turned and faced the west where she gazed long and earnestly atthe panorama of the snow-capped peaks, rising range after range, alltipped with dazzling light.
"Oh, Dick, look back!" she cried in distress. "The foothills are growin'fainter." She paused, but suddenly with a far-off look in her eyes shewent on: "Every dawn--every dawn they'll be farther away. Some nightwhen I'm goin' to sleep I'll turn an' they won't be there--red an'shinin'." Again she paused as if almost overwhelmed with emotion, sayingat length with a deep sigh: "Oh, that was indeed the promised land!"
Johnson was greatly moved. It was some time before he found his voice.At length he chided her softly:
"We must always look ahead, Girl--not backwards. The promised land isalways ahead."
It was perhaps strange that the Girl failed to see the new light--thelight that reflected his desire for a cleaner life and an honoured placein another community with her ever at his side--the hope and faith inhis eyes as he spoke; but still in that sad, reminiscent mood, with hereyes fixed on the dim distances, she failed to see it, though shereplied in a voice of resignation:
"Always ahead--yes, it must be." And then again with tears in her eyes:"But, Dick, all the people there in Cloudy, how far off they seemnow--like shadows movin' in a dream--like shadows I've dreamt of. Only afew days ago I clasped their hands--I seen their faces--their dearfaces--I--" She broke off; then while the tears streamed down hercheeks: "An' now they're fadin'--in this little while I've lost'em--lost 'em."
"But through you all my old life has faded away . . . I have lostthat . . ." And so saying he stretched out his arms towards her; butvery gently she waved him back with a murmured:
"Not yet!"
For a little while longer her gaze remained on the mountains in thewest. The mist was still over her eyes when she turned again and sawthat the sun was clearing the horizon in opulent splendour.
"See," she cried with a quick transition of mood, "the sun has risen inthe East--far away--fair an' clear!"
Again Johnson held out his arms to her.
"A new day--a new life--trust me, Girl."
In silence she slipped one hand into his;
then she bowed her head andrepeated solemnly:
"Yes--a new life."
Suddenly she drew a little away from him and faced the west again.Clinging tightly now to him with one hand, and the other raised highabove her head, she cried in a voice that was fraught with suchpassionate longing that the man felt himself stirred to the very depthsof his emotions:
"Oh, my mountains, I'm leavin' you! Oh, my California--my lovelyWest--my Sierras, I'm leavin' you!" She ended with a sob; but the nextmoment throwing herself into Johnson's arms she snuggled there,murmuring lovingly: "Oh, my home!"
A little while later, happy in their love and fearlessly eager to meetthe trials of the days to come in a new country, they had mounted theirmustangs and were riding eastward.
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