CHAPTER VII
"MISS HAZEL"
Gordon was in no mood to take things easily. Something of theatmosphere of the place had already got into his blood. His wassimilar to the mood of those whom he had seen hurrying unnecessarily inthe town. Those whom he had seen exchanging hurried words and passingon.
Although he lived in the age of automobiles and aeroplanes, nothing ofhis education had been forgotten by his father. He was a perfect whipwith a four-in-hand, and now, as he handled a "bright" team of liveryhorses, it was child's play to him. He bustled his horses until he hadleft the ragamuffin town behind him, then he settled down to a steady,round gait, and gave himself up to the prospect of the contemplation ofthose scenes of industry which he shortly hoped to discover.
Within ten minutes of leaving the town he discovered the first signs.Men and horses appeared in the distance upon the hills. At one pointhe discerned a traction engine hauling a string of laden wagons. Itwas the first breaking up of the monotonous green of the low hills.And it promptly suggested that, in the hidden hollows, he wouldprobably discover far more energetic signs of the work of the coalcorporation, which doubtless must have already begun in real earnest.
Things were becoming interesting. He wondered how much work had beendone. There was no sign of the coal itself yet. He remembered to havevisited coal mines once, and then everything had been black and gloomy.Vast heaps of slack had been piled everywhere, and the pit heads hadbeen surmounted by hauling machinery. There had been great blackwastes dotted by houses and streets, which seemed to have taken tothemselves something of the hue of the deposits which had brought theminto existence. Even the men and women, and particularly the children,had been living advertisements for the great industry which supportedthem. Here, as yet, there were no such signs. However, doubtlessfurther on there would----
All in a moment his thoughts of coal were broken off, and all hisinterest vanished like a puff of that coal's smoke in a gale. Coal nolonger meant anything to him. He didn't care if the whole wide worldstarved for coal for all eternity. A chestnut horse was on the trailahead, and a figure was stooping beside it examining its nearsideforefoot. The figure was clad in a _fawn-colored riding-costume_.
The electric current of his feelings communicated itself to his teamthrough the whip as its conductor. The team reared and plunged, then,under his strong hands, they bowled merrily along the dusty trail at agreat though well-controlled speed towards the distant figures.
The girl dropped the horse's hoof and straightened herself abruptly.She turned with a quick movement, and gazed back over the trail, hereyes alert and questioning. Her wide prairie hat was thrust slightlyfrom her forehead, and a coil of abundant auburn hair was displayedbeneath its brim. Her finely penciled eyebrows were drawn together inan unmistakable question, and her pretty eyes were obviouslyspeculative.
She waited while the buggy drew nearer. She recognized the team asfrom Mike Callahan's barn, but the occupant of the vehicle was astranger to her.
The latter fact drew her attention more closely. For a moment she hadhoped that it was someone she knew. She needed someone she knew justnow. Anyway, a stranger was always interesting, even though he couldnot afford her the assistance she just now happened to need.
She descried a boyish, eager face on the top of a pair of wonderfulshoulders. But that which made a strong appeal to her was the mannerin which he was handling his horses. There was nothing here of theslovenly prairie teamster. The stranger, whoever he was, was a masterbehind a good team of horses. She delighted in a horseman, whether hewere in the driving-seat or the saddle.
But all of a sudden she became aware that her regard had been observed,and, with a little smile twinkling in the depths of her hazel eyes, shepicked up her horse's forefoot again, and once more probed with hergauntleted finger for the cause of the desperate lameness with which hehad been suddenly attacked.
She heard the buggy come up. She was aware that the team had swung outto avoid collision. Then a cheery voice greeted her ears with itspleasant and welcome inquiry--
"You seem to be in a fix. Can I help any?"
Before the girl looked round she was aware that the teamster hadalighted. Then when she finally released her hold of the injured hoof,and stood up, she found herself confronted by Gordon's smiling blueeyes, as he stood bare-headed before her.
Somehow or other a smiling response was unavoidable.
"That's real kind of you," she said, "but I don't guess you can. Yousee, poor Sunset's dead lame with a flint in his frog, and--and I justcan't get the fool thing out."
Gordon endeavored to look serious. But the trouble was incomparable inhis mind with the delightful charm of this girl, in her dividedriding-suit. However, his effort to conceal his admiration was notwithout some success.
"I don't guess we can stand for any old thing like an impertinentflint," he said impulsively. "Sunset must be relieved. Sunset must beput out of pain. I'm not just a veterinary surgeon, but I'm aspecialist on the particular flint which happens to annoy you. Justgrab these lines while I have a look."
The frank unconventionality of the man was wholly pleasing, and thegirl found herself obeying him without question.
"It's the nearside," she explained.
Then she remained silent, watching the assured manner in which thestranger set about his work. He picked up the hoof and examined itclosely. Then he drew out a folding button-hook from a trouser pocket.Then, for a few moments, she watched his deft manipulation of it.
Presently he stood up holding a long, thin, sharp splinter of flintbetween finger and thumb.
"Say," he remarked, as he returned the buttonhook to his pocket, whilehis eyes shone merrily, "I believe if some bright geologist were to setout chasing these flints to their lair, I've a notion he'd pull upin--in--well, aspirate a certain measure in cloth and I'd guess you getthe answer right away. It's paved with 'em. That's my secret belief.I could write a treatise on 'em. I've discovered every breed and everyspecies. I tell you if you want to study these rocks right, you needto run an automobile, and find yourself in a hurry, having forgotten tocarry spare tires. Ugh!" He flung the stone away from him and turnedagain to the horse.
Still watching him, the girl saw him deliberately tear off a piece ofhis handkerchief, and, with the point of his pocket-knife, stuff itinto the jagged gash in poor Sunset's frog.
"That'll keep out some of Snake's Fall," he observed, returning therest of his handkerchief to his pocket. "We'll take it out when we gethim home." Then he deliberately turned to his team and tied Sunsetalongside. After that, in the most practical manner, he moved thewheels of the buggy apart. "Jump right in. Guess you know the way, soyou can show it me. You see, I'm a stranger. Say, it's an awful thingto be a stranger. Life's rotten being a stranger."
The girl was gazing at him with wide, wondering eyes that were halfinclined to resentment. She was not accustomed to being ordered aboutin this cavalier fashion. She had no intention of being incontinentlyswept off her feet.
"Thanks," she said, with an assumption of hauteur. "If you'll untieSunset I'll ride home."
"Ride home? Say, you're joking. Why, you can't ride Sunset with thatgash in his frog. Say, you couldn't be so cruel. Think of the poorfellow silently suffering. Think of the mute anguish he would endureat each step. It--it would be a crime, an outrage, a--a----" He brokeoff, his eyes twinkling merrily.
The girl wanted to be annoyed. She told herself she was annoyed, butshe nevertheless began to laugh, and Gordon knew he was to have his way.
"I really couldn't think of accepting your---- Besides, you weren'tgoing to Buffalo Point. You know you weren't."
"Do I?" Gordon's eyes were blankly inquiring. "Now how on earth do Iknow where I was going? Say, I guess it's true I had in my mind avision of the glinting summer sun, tinting the coal heaps with itswonderful, golden, ripening rays--though I guess it would be some workripening stove coal--but as to my
ever getting there--well, that justdepended on the trail I happened to take. As I said, I'm a stranger.And I may as well admit right here that I've a hobby getting mussed upwith wrong trails."
The girl's laughter dispelled her last effort at dignity.
"I knew you were a stranger. You see, I get to know everybody here--bysight."
Gordon made a gesture of annoyance.
"There," he exclaimed in self-disgust, "I ought to have thought of thatbefore. How on earth could I expect you to ride in a stranger's buggy,with said stranger on the business end of the lines? Then the hillsare so near. Why, you might be spirited off goodness knows where, andyour loving relatives never, never hear of you no more, and---- Say,we can easily fix that though. My name's--Van Henslaer. Gordon VanHenslaer from New York. Now if you tell me--what's the matter?"
A merry peal of laughter had greeted his announcement, and Gordonlooked on in pretended amazement, waiting for her mirth to subside.
"Oh dear, oh dear," the girl cried at last. "I might have known. Say,of course I ought to have known. You came here yesterday on thetrain--by mistake. You----"
"That's so. I'd booked through to Seattle, but--some interfering packof fools guessed I'd made a--mistake,"
The girl nodded. Her pretty eyes were still dancing with merriment.
"Father came by the same train, and told me of someone who got mixed upin--in a fight, and they threw----"
"Don't say another word," Gordon cried hurriedly. "I'm--I'm the man.And your father is----?"
"Mallinsbee--Silas Mallinsbee!"
"Then you are Hazel Mallinsbee."
"How do you know my first name?"
"Why, I saw you in town, and the livery man told me you were 'MissHazel.' Say, this is bully. Now we aren't strangers, and you can ridein my buggy without any question. Jump right in, and I'll driveyou--where is it?"
Hazel Mallinsbee obeyed without further demur. She sprang into thevehicle, and Gordon promptly followed. The next moment they weremoving on at a steady, sober pace.
"It's Buffalo Point," the girl directed. "It's only four miles. Thenyou can go on and enjoy your beautiful pathetic picture of the coalworkings. But you won't have much time if we travel at this gait," sheadded slyly.
Gordon shook his head.
"It's Sunset," he said. "We must consider his poor foot."
There was laughter in Hazel's eyes as she sighed.
"Poor Sunset. Perhaps--you're right."
"Without a doubt," Gordon laughed. "He might get blood poisoning, orcancer, or dyspepsia, or something if we bustled him."
Hazel pointed a branching trail to the north.
"That's the trail," she said. "Father's at home. He'll be real gladto see you. Say, you know father ought to know better--at his age.He--he just loves a scrap. He was telling me about you, and saying howyou 'hammered'--that's the word he used--the 'sharp.' He was mostupset that the train crew spoiled the finish. You know father's agreat scallywag. I don't believe he thinks he's a day over twenty.It's--it's dreadful--with a grown-up daughter. He's--just a great bigboy for all his gray hair. You should just see him out on the range.He's got all the youngsters left standing. It must be grand to growold like he does."
Gordon listened to the girl's rich tones, and the enthusiasm lyingbehind her words, and somehow the whole situation seemed unreal. Herehe was driving one of the most perfectly delightful girls he had evermet to her home, within twenty-four hours of his absurd arrival in astill more absurd town. Nor was she any mere country girl. Her wholestyle spoke of an education obtained at one of the great schools in theEast. Her costume might have been tailored on Fifth Avenue, New York.Yet here she was living the life of the wonderful sunlit prairie, thedaughter of an obscure rancher in the foothills of the Rockies.
"Say, your father is just a bully feller," he agreed quickly. "Hedidn't know me from--a grasshopper, but he did me all sorts of a goodservice. It don't matter what it was. But it was one of those thingswhich between men count a whole heap."
The girl's enthusiasm waxed.
"Father's just as good as--as he's clever. But," she added tenderly,"he's a great scallywag. Oh dear, he'll never grow up." A few minuteslater she pointed quickly ahead with one gauntleted hand.
"That's Buffalo Point," she said. "There where that house is. That'sour house, and beyond it, half a mile, you can see the telegraph polesof the railroad track."
Gordon gazed ahead. They still had a good mile to go. The lonelyhouse fixed his attention.
"Say, isn't there a village?" he inquired. "Buffalo Point?"
The girl shook her head.
"No. Just that little frame house of ours. Father had it built as--asort of office. You see, we're both working hard on his land scheme.You see, it's--it's our hobby, the same as losing trails is yours."
Gordon laughed.
"That's plumb spoiled my day. I'd forgotten the land business. Nowit's all come over me like a chill, like the drip of an ice wagon downthe back of my neck. I s'pose there'll always be land around, andwe've always got to have coal. It seems a pity, doesn't it. Say,there hasn't been a soul I've met in twenty-four hours, but they'vebeen crazy on--on town sites. They're most ridiculous things, townsites. Four pegs and four imaginary lines, a deal of grass with asubstrata of crawly things. And for that men would scrap, and cheat,and rob, and--and graft. It's--a wonder."
Hazel Mallinsbee checked her inclination to laugh again. Her eyes weregazing ahead at the little frame house, and they grew wistfully serious.
"It isn't the land," she said simply. "The scrap, and cheat, and rob,and graft, are right. But it's the fight for fortune. Fortune?" shesmiled. "Fortune means everything to a modern man. To some women,too, but not quite in the way it does to a man. You see, in olden dayscompetition took a different form. I don't know if, in spite of whatfolks say about the savagery of old times, they weren't more honest andwholesome than they are now. However, nature's got to compete forsomething. Human nature's got to beat someone. Life is just oneincessant rivalry. Well, in old times it took the form of bloodshedand war, when men counted with pride the tally of their victories. Nowwe point with pride to our civilization, and gaze back in pity upon ourbenighted forefathers. Instead of bloodshed, killing, fighting,massacring and all the old bad habits of those who came before us, wepoint our civilization by lying, cheating, robbing and grafting."
Gordon smiled.
"Put that way it sounds as though the old folks were first-class saintscompared with us. There's a deal of honesty when two fellers get rightup on their hind legs and start in to mush each other's faces to apulp. But it isn't just the same when you creep up while the otherfeller isn't wise and push the muzzle of a gun into his middle andriddle his stomach till it's like a piece of gruyere cheese."
Hazel shook her head. Her eyes were still smiling, but Gordon detectedsomething of the serious thought behind them. He vainly endeavored tosober his mood in sympathy.
"Guess it's the refinement of competition due to the claims of our muchproclaimed culture and civilization. I think civilization is a--adreadful mockery. To call it a whitewash would be a libel on aperfectly innocent, wholesome, sanitary process. That's how I alwaysfeel when I stop to think. But--but," her eyes began to dance with ajoyous enthusiasm, "I don't often think--not that way. Say, I justlove the battle, I mean the modern battle for fortune. It's--it'salmost the champagne of life. I know only one thing to beat it."
Gordon had forgotten the team he was driving, and let them ambleleisurely on towards the house, now so rapidly approaching.
"What's--the real champagne?" he inquired.
The girl turned and gazed at him with wide eyes.
"Why," she cried. "Life--just life itself. What else? Say, think ofthe moment your eyes open to the splendid sunlight of day. Think ofthe moment you realize you are living--living--living, after a long,delicious night's sleep. Think of all the perfect moments awaiting youbefor
e night falls, and you seek your bed again. It is just the veryessence of perfect joy."
"It's better after breakfast, and you've had time to get around some."
The ardor of the girl's mood received a sudden douche. Just for amoment a gleam of displeasure shadowed her eyes. Then a twinklingsmile grew, and the clouds dispersed.
"Isn't that just a man? Where's your enthusiasm? Where's your joy oflife? Where's your romance, and--and spirit of hope?"
A great pretense of reproach lay in her rapid questions.
"Oh, they're all somewhere lying around, I guess," returned Gordonsimply. "Those things are all right, sure. But--but it's a mightytough proposition worrying that way on--on an empty stomach. It seemsto me that's just one of life's mistakes. There ought to be a law inCongress that a feller isn't allowed to--to think till he's had hismorning coffee. The same law might provide for the fellow who fancieshimself a sort of canary and starts right in to sing before he's hadhis bath. I'd have him sent to the electric chair. That sort offellow never has a voice worth two cents, and he most generally has arepertoire of songs about as bright as Solomon's, and a mighty dealolder. Sure, Miss Mallinsbee, I haven't a word to say against life ina general way, but it's about as wayward as a spoilt kid, and needs asmuch coaxing."
Hazel Mallinsbee watched the play of the man's features while hetalked. She knew he meant little or nothing of what he said. Thefine, clear eyes, the smiling simplicity and atmosphere of virile youthabout him, all denied the sentiments he was giving vent to. She noddedas he finished.
"At first I thought you meant all--that," she said lightly. "But now Iknow you're just talking for talking's sake." Then, before he couldreply, she pointed excitedly at the house, now less than a hundredyards away. "Why, there's father, standing right there on theveranda!" she exclaimed.
Gordon looked ahead. The old man was waving one great hand to hisdaughter.