Bob Hampton of Placer

  CHAPTER II

  BECOMING ACQUAINTED

  Once within the cool shadows of the livingroom, Mrs. Herndon againbethought herself to kiss her niece in a fresh glow of welcome, whilethe latter sank into a convenient rocker and began enthusiasticallyexpressing her unbounded enjoyment of the West, and of the impressionsgathered during her journey. Suddenly the elder woman glanced aboutand exclaimed, laughingly, "Why, I had completely forgotten. You havenot yet met your room-mate. Come out here, Naida; this is my niece,Phoebe Spencer."

  The girl thus addressed advanced, a slender, graceful figure dressed inwhite, and extended her hand shyly. Miss Spencer clasped it warmly,her eyes upon the flushed, winsome face.

  "And is this Naida Gillis!" she cried. "I am so delighted that you arestill here, and that we are to be together. Aunt Lydia has written somuch about you that I feel as If we must have known each other foryears. Why, how pretty you are!"

  Naida's cheeks were burning, and her eyes fell, but she had never yetsucceeded in conquering the blunt independence of her speech. "Nobodyelse ever says so," she said, uneasily. "Perhaps it's the light."

  Miss Spencer turned her about so as to face the window. "Well, youare," she announced, decisively. "I guess I know; you 've gotmagnificent hair, and your eyes are perfectly wonderful. You justdon't fix yourself up right; Aunt Lydia never did have any taste insuch things, but I 'll make a new girl out of you. Let's go upstairs;I 'm simply dying to see our room, and get some of my dresses unpacked.They must look perfect frights by this time."

  They came down perhaps an hour later, hand in hand, and chattering likeold friends. The shades of early evening were already falling acrossthe valley. Herndon had returned home from his day's work, and hadbrought with him the Rev. Howard Wynkoop for supper. Miss Spencerviewed the young man with approval, and immediately became more thanusually vivacious in recounting the incidents of her long journey,together with her early impressions of the Western country. Mr.Wynkoop responded with an interest far from being assumed.

  "I have found it all so strange, so unique, Mr. Wynkoop," sheexplained. "The country is like a new world to me, and the people donot seem at all like those of the East. They lead such a wild,untrammelled life. Everything about seems to exhale the spirit ofromance; don't you find it so?"

  He smiled at her enthusiasm, his glance of undisguised admiration onher face. "I certainly recall some such earlier conception," headmitted. "Those just arriving from the environment of an oldercivilization perceive merely the picturesque elements; but my laterexperiences have been decidedly prosaic."

  "Why, Mr. Wynkoop! how could they be? Your work is heroic. I cannotconceive how any minister of the Cross, having within him any of theold apostolic fervor, can consent to spend his days amid the drearycommonplaces of those old, dead Eastern churches. You, nobly battlingon the frontier, are the true modern Crusaders, the Knights of theGrail. Here you are ever in the very forefront of the battle againstsin, associated with the Argonauts, impressing your faith upon thebold, virile spirits of the age. It is perfectly grand! Why the verymen I meet seem to yield me a broader conception of life and duty; theyare so brave, so modest, so active. Is--is Mr. Moffat a member of yourchurch?"

  The minister cleared his throat, his cheeks reddening. "Mr. Moffat?Ah, no; not exactly. Do you mean the mine-owner, Jack Moffat?"

  "Yes, I think so; he told me he owned a mine--the Golden Rule the namewas; the very choice in words would seem, to indicate his religiousnature. He 's such a pleasant, intelligent man. There is a look inhis eyes as though he sorrowed over something. I was in hopes you knewwhat it was, and I am very sure he would welcome your ministrations.You have the only church in Glencaid, I understand, and I wondergreatly he has never joined you. But perhaps he may be prejudicedagainst your denomination. There is so much narrowness in religion.Now, I am an Episcopalian myself, but I do not mean to permit that tointerfere in any way with my church work out here. I wonder if Mr.Moffat can be an Episcopalian. If he is, I am just going to show himthat it is clearly his duty to assist in any Christian service. Is n'tthat the true, liberal, Western spirit, Mr. Wynkoop?"

  "It most assuredly should be," said the young pastor.

  "I left every prejudice east of the Missouri," she declared,laughingly, "every one, social and religious. I 'm going to be a trueWesterner, from the top of my head to the toe of my shoe. Is Mr.McNeil in your church?"

  The minister hesitated. "I really do not recall the name," heconfessed at last, reluctantly. "I scarcely think I can have ever metthe gentleman."

  "Oh, you ought to; he is so intensely original, and his face is full ofcharacter. He reminds me of some old paladin of the Middle Ages. Youwould be interested in him at once. He is the foreman of the 'Bar V'ranch, somewhere near here."

  "Do you mean Billy McNeil, over on Sinsiniwa Creek?" broke in Herndon.

  "I think quite likely, uncle; would n't he make a splendid addition toMr. Wynkoop's church?"

  Herndon choked, his entire body shaking with ill-suppressed enjoyment."I should imagine yes," he admitted finally. "Billy McNeil--oh, Lord!There 's certainly a fine opening for you to do some missionary work,Phoebe."

  "Well, and I 'm going to," announced the young lady, firmly. "I guessI can read men's characters, and I know all Mr. McNeil needs is to havesome one show an interest in him. Have you a large church, Mr.Wynkoop?"

  "Not large if judged from an Eastern standpoint," he confessed, withsome regret. "Our present membership is composed of eight women andthree men, but the congregational attendance is quite good, andconstantly increasing."

  "Only eight women and three men!" breathlessly. "And you have beenlaboring upon this field for five years! How could it be so small?"

  Wynkoop pushed back his chair, anxious to redeem himself in theestimation of this fair stranger.

  "Miss Spencer," he explained, "it is perhaps hardly strange that youshould misapprehend the peculiar conditions under which religious laboris conducted in the West. You will undoubtedly understand all thisbetter presently. My parish comprises this entire mining region, and Iam upon horseback among the foothills and up in the ranges for fully athird of my time. The spirit of the mining population, as well as ofthe cattlemen, while not actually hostile, is one of indifference toreligious thought. They care nothing whatever for it in the abstract,and have no use for any minister, unless it may be to marry theirchildren or bury their dead. I am hence obliged to meet with themmerely as man to man, and thus slowly win their confidence before Idare even approach a religious topic. For three long years I workedhere without even a church organization or a building; and apparentlywithout the faintest encouragement. Now that we have a nucleusgathered, a comfortable building erected and paid for, with anincreasing congregation, I begin to feel that those seemingly barrenfive years were not without spiritual value."

  She quickly extended her hands. "Oh, it is so heroic, soself-sacrificing! No doubt I was hasty and wrong. But I have alwaysbeen accustomed to so much larger churches. I am going to help you,Mr. Wynkoop, in every way I possibly can--I shall certainly speak toboth Mr. Moffat and Mr. McNeil the very first opportunity. I feelalmost sure that they will join."

  The unavoidable exigencies of a choir practice compelled Mr. Wynkoop toretire early, nor was it yet late when the more intimate family circlealso dissolved, and the two girls discovered themselves alone. Naidadrew down the shades and lit the lamp. Miss Spencer slowly divestedherself of her outer dress, replacing it with a light wrapper, encasedher feet snugly in comfortable slippers, and proceeded to let down herflossy hair in gleaming waves across her shoulders. Naida's dark eyesbespoke plainly her admiration, and Miss Spencer shook back her hairsomewhat coquettishly.

  "Do you think I look nice?" she questioned, smilingly.

  "You bet I do. Your hair is just beautiful, Miss Spencer."

  The other permitted the soft strands to slip slowly between her whitefingers. "You should never say 'you
bet,' Naida. Such language is notat all lady-like. I am going to call you Naida, and you must call mePhoebe. People use their given names almost entirely out here in theWest, don't they?"

  "I never have had much training in being a lady," the young girlexplained, reddening, "but I can learn. Yes, I reckon they do mostlyuse the first names out here."

  "Please don't say 'I reckon,' either; it has such a vulgar sound. Whatis his given name?"

  "Whose?"

  "Why, I was thinking of Mr. Wynkoop."

  "Howard; I saw it written in some books he loaned me. But the peoplehere never address him in that way."

  "No, I suppose not, only I thought I should like to know what it was."

  There was a considerable pause; then the speaker asked, calmly, "Is hemarried?"

  "Mr. Wynkoop? Why, of course not; he does n't care for women in thatway at all."

  Miss Spencer bound her hair carefully with a bright ribbon. "Maybe hemight, though, some time. All men do."

  She sat down in the low rocker, her feet comfortably crossed. "Do youknow, Naida dear, it is simply wonderful to me just to remember whatyou have been through, and it was so beautifully romantic--everybodykilled except you and that man, and then he saved your life. It's sucha pity he was so miserable a creature."

  "He was n't!" Naida exclaimed, in sudden, indignant passion. "He wasperfectly splendid."

  "Aunt Lydia did n't think so. She wrote he was a common gambler,--alow, rough man."

  "Well, he did gamble; nearly everybody does out here. And sometimes Isuppose he had to fight, but he wasn't truly bad."

  Miss Spencer's eyes evinced a growing interest.

  "Was he real nice-looking?" she asked.

  Naida's voice faltered. "Ye--es," she said. "I thought so. He--helooked like he was a man."

  "How old are you, Naida?"

  "Nearly eighteen."

  Miss Spencer leaned impulsively forward, and clasped the other's hands,her whole soul responding to this suggestion of a possible romance, avision of blighted hearts. "Why, it is perfectly delightful," sheexclaimed. "I had no idea it was so serious, and really I don't in theleast blame you. You love him, don't you, Naida?"

  The girl flashed a shy look into the beaming, inquisitive face. "Idon't know," she confessed, soberly. "I have not even seen him forsuch a long time; but--but, I guess, he is more to me than any oneelse--"

  "Not seen him? Do you mean to say Mr. Hampton is not here in Glencaid?Why, I am so sorry; I was hoping to meet him."

  "He went away the same night I came here to live."

  "And you never even hear from him?"

  Naida hesitated, but the frankly displayed interest of the other wonher complete girlish confidence. "Not directly, but Mr. Herndonreceives money from him for me. He does n't let your aunt knowanything about it, because she got angry and refused to accept any payfrom him. He is somewhere over yonder in the Black Range."

  Miss Spencer shook back her hair with a merry laugh, and clasped herhands. "Why, it is just the most delightful situation I ever heardabout. He is just certain to come back after you, Naida. I wouldn'tmiss being here for anything."

  They were still sitting there, when the notes of a softly touchedguitar stole in through the open window. Both glanced about insurprise, but Miss Spencer was first to recover speech.

  "A serenade! Did you ever!" she whispered. "Do you suppose it can behe?" She extinguished the lamp and knelt upon the floor, peeringeagerly forth into the brilliant moonlight. "Why, Naida, what do youthink? It's Mr. Moffat. How beautifully he plays!"

  Naida, her face pressed against the other window, gave vent to a singlenote of half-suppressed laughter. "There 's going to be somethinghappening," she exclaimed. "Oh, Miss Spencer, come here quick--someone is going to turn on the hydraulic."

  Miss Spencer knelt beside her. Moffat was still plainly visible, hispale face upturned in the moonlight, his long silky mustaches slightlystirred by the soft air, his fingers touching the strings; but back inthe shadows of the bushes was seen another figure, apparently engagedupon some task with feverish eagerness. To Miss Spencer all wasmystery.

  "What is it?" she anxiously questioned.

  "The hydraulic," whispered the other. "There 's a big lake up in thehills, and they 've piped the water down here. It 's got a force likea cannon, and that fellow--I don't know whether it is Herndon ornot--is screwing on the hose connection. I bet your Mr. Moffat gets ashock!"

  "It's a perfect shame, an outrage! I 'm going to tell him."

  Naida caught her sleeve firmly, her eyes full of laughter. "Oh, pleasedon't, Miss Spencer. It will be such fun. Let's see where it hitshim!"

  For one single instant the lady yielded, and in it all opportunity forwarning fled. There was a sharp sizzling, which caused Moffat tosuspend his serenade; then something struck him,--it must have beenfairly in the middle, for he shut up like a jack-knife, and wentcrashing backwards with an agonized howl. There was a gleam of shiningwater, something black squirming among the weeds, a yell, a volley ofhalf-choked profanity, and a fleeing figure, apparently pursued by ahuge snake. Naida shook with laughter, clinging with both hands to thesill, but Miss Spencer was plainly shocked.

  "Oh, did you hear what--what he said?" she asked. "Was n't it awful?"

  The younger nodded, unable as yet to command her voice. "I--I don'tbelieve he is an Episcopalian; do you?"

  "I don't know. I imagine that might have made even a Methodist swear."

  The puckers began to show about the disapproving mouth, under thecontagion of the other's merriment. "Wasn't it perfectly ridiculous?But he did play beautifully, and it was so very nice of him to come myfirst night here. Do you suppose that was Mr. Herndon?"

  Naida shook her head doubtfully. "He looked taller, but I could n'treally tell. He 's gone now, and the water is turned off."

  They lit the lamp once more, discussing the scene just witnessed, whileMiss Spencer, standing before the narrow mirror, prepared her hair forthe night. Suddenly some object struck the lowered window shade anddropped upon the floor. Naida picked it up.

  "A letter," she announced, "for Miss Phoebe Spencer."

  "For me? What can it be? Why, Naida, it is poetry! Listen:

  Sweetest flower from off the Eastern hills, So lily-like and fair; Your very presence stirs and thrills Our buoyant Western air; The plains grow lovelier in their span, The skies above more blue, While the heart of Nature and of man Beats quick response for you.

  "Oh, isn't that simply beautiful? And it is signed 'Willie'--why, thatmust be Mr. McNeil."

  "I reckon he copied it out of some book," said Naida.

  "Oh, I know he didn't. It possesses such a touch of originality. Andhis eyes, Naida! They have that deep poetical glow!"

  The light was finally extinguished; the silvery moonlight streamedacross the foot of the bed, and the regular breathing of the girlsevidenced slumber.