The train rattles out of New York, and crossing the Harlem, skirts that pretty little salt water river; as Miss Travenion settles herself lazily in her seat, with a graceful ease peculiar to her, for the girl has a curious blending of both style and beauty, giving her a patrician elegance of manner that makes gracious even the slight tendency tohauteurin her manner and voice.
The sun shines upon her face, and she turns it from the morning beams, and gazing towards the West, thinks of her father. Her eyes grow gentle, her mobile features expectant with hope, and tender with love; and Oliver Livingston, who is reading a New York journal, glances up from it, and noting Erma's face thinks, "She really does love me, dear girl, though she is so cold, which is much better form till we are regularly engaged," and decides to give her a chance to admit her affection to him formally before the end of their summer tour, for this prim gentleman actually adores the young lady he is looking at as much as his diminutive soul can love anything, except himself.
At present he does not know how small his soul is, but rather thinks it is large and noble and very magnanimous. He has had no occasion so far to test its dimensions, his life up to this time having been quite narrow; and though he has travelled, it has not brought much into his brain, save some strong, high church notions he has imported from Oxford, to which university this young gentleman had been sent to complete his education after Harvard; his mother having an idea it might get him into English society, and perhaps permit him to make a great European match. This was before Erma's father had made his million dollar settlement upon her; Mrs. Livingston having been one of the first of those pioneers from New York who passed over to England and replaced the social chains of the Mother Country upon her,—those her grandfather and other American patriots had fought to throw off, together with the political ones of George the Third, his Majesty of glorious memory.
Upon his return to New York, Mr. Ollie had signalized his advent by dragging his mother and sister to Saint Agnes's from their old pew at Grace Church, the ritual of that place not being sufficiently Puseyitic for his views; his father, the elder Livingston, who had no religion to mention save certain maxims of business and the rules of his club, being, fortunately for his son's high church movement, dead.
This performance of the heir of the house had made his mother think him a saint; as, indeed, to do the young man justice, he wished to be; and had Ollie Livingston elected to follow any profession, he would doubtless have turned to the ministry; but his million of dollars perhaps dulled his incentive for work, and after his return from England, the young man had done nothing; but as Ferdie had irreverently expressed it, "had done that nothingGrandly."
And why should he work? He had money enough to command any ordinary luxury of life. As for position, was he not a Livingston, and could he add additional honor to that old Knickerbocker name? thought his mother.
There was only one trouble in all their family affairs, and that was removed by the settlement Mr. Travenion had made upon Ollie'sfiancée, for as such Mrs. Livingston already regarded Erma. In order to make the settlement upon his son, the elder Livingston had culled his best securities and most gilded collaterals; those left for the support of his widow and daughter, not being so stable, had depreciated in the last few years, and Mrs. Livingston's income had dwindled until it was not what she considered it should be for a lady of her station. Now, of course, if Ollie married a very rich wife, he could be very liberal to his mother and sister, and that point had been happily settled by the million-dollar settlement upon Miss Travenion.
It is some thought of this that is in Erma's mind once or twice in her first day's journey towards the West. The girl loves Mrs. Livingston, who had been a companion of Erma's mother, and had been very kind to the child even after her father's reverses, and had frequently visited Miss Hines' Academy in Gramercy Park, and had the little Erma, now wholly orphaned by her mother's death and father's absence, to her great house on Madison Square, where she had been regaleden princessand sent back to the boarding school made happy with good things to eat and presents that make children's hearts glad.
This, Miss Travenion does not forget, now that her father's settlements upon her have made her probably as great an heiress in her own right as any girl of her circle in Manhattan society.
This peculiar position of Mrs. Livingston had been pretty well known to Erma, and it seemed to compel her to make no protest when the widow had taken her from the seclusion of Miss Hines' Academy at the beginning of the winter and brought her out, with much blowing of social trumpets and flowers and fiddling at Mrs. Livingston's Madison Square mansion—and also had chaperoned her at Newport.
Therefore, she has rather grown to consider herself set apart for Oliver's wife, and as such has turned a deaf ear to the many men who, on slight encouragement, would be more than happy and more than ready to woo a young lady who has gorgeous beauty, a million of dollars of her own and a father of indefinite Western wealth, which, magnified by distance, has increased to such Monte Cristo proportions, that it has gained for her the title, among her set, of "Miss Dividends."
Besides any notion of gratitude to Mrs. Livingston, Erma knows that this match with Ollie is her father's wish. On one of his visits to New York, she had once hinted her desire to visit and live with him in the West, and had been promptly refused in terms as stern as Ralph Travenion could bring himself to use to his daughter, for whom he seemed to have a very tender love, and in doing so he had indicated that his wishes were that she fulfil the arrangement he had made with his old-time friend, the elder Livingston.
"Marry Oliver," he had said. "He is in your rank—the position to which you were born, Erma. Live in the East. The West is, perhaps, the best place to make money, but New York ispar excellencethe place to enjoy it. Some day—perhaps sooner than you expect, I shall join you here, and settle down to my old life as club man again," and Ralph Travenion looks towards the Unity Club, upon whose lists his name still stands, and of whose smoking-room he is still anhabituéon his visits to Manhattan, rather longingly from his parlor in the Brevoort House, at which hotel he always stopped, in contradistinction to most of his comrades from the Plains, who are more apt to register at the Fifth Avenue or the Hoffman.
It was on one of these visits at the Brevoort that Erma had chanced to meet Mr. Lot Kruger, and circumstances compelling the same, had received introduction to him.
"Ha! a new convert to Zion!" the Westerner had cried out, looking rather curiously at the beautiful girl of nineteen, who had entered unannounced into Ralph Travenion's apartments.
But her father had simply said: "My daughter, Miss Erma, let me present Mr. Kruger, a business associate of mine," and had so dismissed the affair, though several times afterward the Westerner had chanced to be at Travenion's apartments when Erma called, and once or twice he had appeared at Miss Hines' Academy, bearer, as he said, of news from her father to Miss Travenion, to the amusement, astonishment and giggles of her fellow-pupils and the dismay of the schoolmistress, who thought Mr. Kruger a species of Western border ruffian or bandit.
However, as she sits and meditates, the thought that she is drawing nearer and nearer to her loved father, drives all else out of Erma Travenion's head, and she watches the wave-washed banks of the beautiful Hudson, and as they pass by says, "One more tree nearer papa—one more island nearer papa—one more town nearer papa," and later in the day, they having got off the New York Central, she murmurs "One more railroad nearer papa," and grows happier and happier as the cars bear her on.
So the day passes. Her companions have settled down to their journey, and are passing their time in cards or novel reading, and Miss Travenion has plenty of opportunity for reflection, for Ollie notices that the girl seems to wish to be left to herself, and only ventures occasional remarks when passing objects demand them.
Mr. Kruger, awed perhaps by the private car, which was much more of a rarity and luxury in 1871 than it is to-day, does not intrude upon the young lady or her party, though Erma notices when she gets off at the large stations for exercise that Lot's eyes seem to follow her about, as if he were interested in her for her father's sake.
Thus the night comes and goes, and during the next day, the 1st of October, the party pass through Chicago, just then waiting to be burned in order that it may become great.
So, running over the prairies two days and a few hours after leaving New York, they arrive at Council Bluffs, and take ferry across the Missouri River, no bridge at this time crossing that great but uncertain and shifting stream.
During this two days' journey from New York to the Missouri, a considerable change has taken place in the minds of some of the members of the party as to their proposed jaunt to the Rocky Mountains and beyond. This has chiefly been brought about by Mr. Ferdie, who, having purchased a book entitled "Facts About the Far West," has been regaling himself with the same, and devoting a considerable portion of his time explaining and elucidating the knowledge he thinks he has gained from it to Mrs. Livingston, producing a very distressing effect upon that plump lady's nervous system.
These "Facts About the West" consist chiefly of anecdotes of the border ruffian kind, descriptions of various atrocities, Indian massacres, Mormon outrages and vigilance committees, and are of such a very highly colored and blood-curdling description that Mr. Chauncey himself remarks, as he finishes the volume: "If these arefactsabout the West, I think thefictionwill be too rich for my blood!" Though half-believing the same, this young gentleman imagines he has acquired in his two days between New York and Council Bluffs, considerable knowledge of the manners of the Western frontiersman, border-ruffians, stage-drivers, Indians, Mormons, and buffaloes.
A number of the more blood-curdling anecdotes he has detailed to Mrs. Livingston at odd times, enjoying her shudderings at such stories as that of the waiter in the New Mexico hotel, who shot the Chicago drummer to death because he declined to eat the eggs and said they were incipient chickens; also, a few of the more cruel exploits of celebrated Johnnie Slade, the murderous superintendent of a division of the Ben Holliday's stage line, together with a full, true and accurate account of the atrocious butchery of one hundred and thirty three men, women and children by the notorious John D. Lee, of Utah, the Mormon bishop, and a portion of the Mormon militia, disguised as Indians, that occurred in 1857, and now known under the head of the Mountain Meadow Massacre; "The Last Shot of Joaquin, the California Bandit," etc., etc.
These revelations of Western atrocity Mr. Ferdinand is delighted to see produce upon the nerves of Mrs. Livingston effects more demoralizing than the morphine habit. And he would continue his narrations, with muchgusto, to the agitated Mrs. Livingston, did not Erma, who has been listening indifferently to his tales of blood, suddenly, at her first opportunity, lead the chuckling Ferdie aside, and, placing two flaming eyes upon him, whisper: "Not another of your Western horrors to your aunt!" Then her voice grows pathetic, and she mutters: "Would you frighten her so that she retreats from her journey and takes me back to New York, and deprives me of seeing my father—the joy I am looking forward to minute by minute, and hour by hour."
This oration, emphasized by savage glances and made pathetic by flashing eyes, has a great effect on Mr. Ferdinand, and he promises silence, remarking to himself: "What a stunner that Erma is, and only out of boarding school ten months."
As it is, when Ferdie first looks upon the Missouri River and utters, "The West is now before me. I feel as if I knew it very well from my guide-book," tapping his blood-curdling volume. "Now for a practical experience of the same," adding to this one or two attempts at Indian war-whoops, the effect of his narratives has been so great on Mrs. Livingston that she puts her plump hands over her pale blue eyes and shudderingly mutters: "The West—shall I ever live to come out of it?" and would take train immediately for Eastern civilization, were it not that she fears the laughter of her daughter, Louise, and the sneers of Oliver, her son, who has several times pooh-poohed Ferdie's anecdotes of Rocky Mountain life, and once or twice, during his more atrocious recitals, has ejaculated "Bosh!"
As she descends from her car at Council Bluffs, she lays one trembling hand on her son's arm, and makes one half-hearted expostulation, "Don't you think, since we are compelled to leave our private car here, we had better end the trip and return to New York immediately?"
This Mr. Oliver silences by a stern "What! Our tickets already bought for San Francisco? Besides that, Van Wyke Stuyvesant has just come back with his mother and sisters, and pronounces the trip delightful, and I don't wish Van Wyke, who is something of a braggart, to be able to talk of the Yosemite and Big-trees and I be unable to say I have been there also. Besides, Erma is looking forward to meeting her father."
Thus compelled, Mrs. Livingston nervously accepts her son's escort to the ferry boat, and the party cross the Missouri River to take cars at Omaha on the Union Pacific Railway—Mr. Oliver, calmly indifferent to his mother's feelings, and only intent upon using some of the chances of the journey for making his romantic declaration to Miss Travenion.
It will give that young lady, he imagines, the opportunity she is anxiously awaiting, to accept his distinguished name, large fortune and small heart; though did he but guess it, Miss Travenion has but one thought in her soul—fifteen hundred miles nearer papa!
Mr. Chauncey, however, is very anxious for the wonders of the border land he has read about, crazy to see a herd of buffaloes, and determined to investigate Western matters for himself generally, in order to have some rare stories of frontier life with which to make his Eastern college chums open their eyes over social spreads at the "D. K. E.," for this young gentleman will enter Harvard as freshman next term. An Alma Mater of which he is already very proudin futuro, and in which he is very anxious to distinguish himself, not as a reading man, but as a Harvard man—a being, who, this young gentleman fondly imagines, has the beauty of an Adonis, the muscle of a Sullivan, the pluck of a bull-terrier, the brain of a Macchiavelli, and the morals of a Don Juan, disguised by the demeanor and bearing of a Lord Chesterfield.
So the young man springs eagerly ashore on the Nebraska side of the Missouri, and cries out in a laughing voice: "Omaha! All aboard for the Rockies and buffaloes and Indians and scalpings!" exclamations which make the widow's nerves tingle and the widow's plump hands shake a little, as her son assists her across the gang-plank.
Then, his mother being landed, Ollie turns to offer the same attention to Erma, but to his astonishment he is anticipated in his act of gallantry by the Western Mr. Kruger.
This gentleman, apparently, near his native heath, has grown bolder, and as he expresses it to himself, "has been do'en the perlite" to Miss Travenion, indicating to her the various points of interest in Omaha as seen from the river, together with the Union Pacific Railway bridge, which is at this time in process of construction.
"Your daddy and I once spent four hours in winter trying to get across this river, Sissy, and were mighty nigh froze to death doing it, and if it had not been for my U. S. blanket overcoat that I picked up when Johnston was out thar invadin' us"—he checks himself shortly here and mumbles: "I reckon your old man would have given in. But here we air—Permit the hand of fellowship over the step-off!"
This allusion to her father is received by a grateful "thank you" from the young lady, who, if she has read of Albert Sydney Johnston's campaign in Utah has forgotten the same, and she accepts Mr. Kruger's aid across the gang-plank in so easy and affable a manner that Lot proffers his further escort to the omnibus waiting to bear this young lady up the hill toward what is called the railroad depot in Omaha. Having assisted her into the 'bus with rather effusive gallantry, and noting during his attentions a ravishing ankle in silken hose that makes his fatherly eyes grow red and watery, he remarks with a chuckle to himself as he sees the New York beauty drive off: "If Miss High-Fallutin' should come to Zion in the Far West, oh Saints of Melchisedec!" and is so overcome by his emotions that he almost misses the last transfer omnibus.
So, it comes to pass that in the course of a few minutes they all find themselves at that ramshackle affair that was, and is now, for that matter, termed the Western Union Depot in Omaha. Here the train is drawn up, ready for its race towards the West. Attached to it are two Pullman cars, in one of which Erma's party have engaged their accommodations, which consist of a rear stateroom, occupied by Mrs. Livingston and her daughter, a forward stateroom, which has been engaged for Miss Travenion and her maid. The section next his mother's being occupied entirely by Oliver, that young man always looking after his own comfort and luxury very thoroughly; while a section in the forward end of the car, next Miss Travenion's stateroom, has been set apart for Mr. Ferdinand Chauncey in order that he may be situated so as to give Erma any masculine assistance or protection she may require.
Of course, this is by no means so convenient for the New York party as the private car, which had been placed at their service by a relative of Mrs. Livingston, one of the magnates of the Pennsylvania Railway, but it had been considered by Mr. Oliver best to submit to the more contracted accommodations found upon a general sleeping car than to the exorbitant charges of the Western railways.
Miss Travenion has already made herself comfortable in her stateroom by the aid of her maid, a pretty French girl, who is about as useless a one as could have been selected for this trip, save in the matter of feminine toilet; when glancing into the open portion of the sleeping car, Erma gets a little surprise. She sees Captain Harry Storey Lawrence entering the same, and placing hisimpedimentain the section opposite Ferdie's, which from its location is also next to her stateroom. She gives the young man a slight bow, which he acknowledges with military courtesy, a little red showing under the tan of the sun upon his hardy cheeks; but thinks only passingly of the matter, judging it a mere chance of travel, she having already heard the gentleman state that he was returning to Utah.
She would probably pay more attention to the affair did she know that what she considers a mere accident of travel, has been brought about on the part of the young man by deliberate design.
Lawrence having finished his business in Chicago, and his telegrams from Southmead received at the Sherman House indicating that there was no immediate hurry for his presence in Salt Lake, that young gentleman had said to himself, "Why not travel withher? Three days in a Pullman sleeper are equal to a voyage at sea. Before my arrival at Salt Lake,sheshall have better acquaintance with me than a few words in a Delmonico supper room can produce." Actuated by this idea, the captain had journeyed leisurely to Omaha, and discovering the location of Erma's stateroom, had promptly selected the section next to it for the trip to the West.
Very shortly after this, with much ringing of bell and much blowing of whistle, the train gets into motion, and passing out of the Omaha depot, in a few minutes is climbing a little ascent over which it will pass into the valley of the Platte, to run along endless plains till the snowy summits of the Rocky Mountains come into view on the Western horizon.
To the south, a low range of hills is bordering the river; to the north prairies, nothing but prairies; to the west nothing but prairies, save two long lines of rails that run straight as an arrow towards the setting sun till they seem to come together and be one.
Gazing at these, her eyes full of expectant happiness and hope, Miss Travenion murmurs, "At the end of these, one thousand and odd miles away, my father," and the green prairies of Nebraska grow very beautiful to her, and the soft southern wind, as it enters the car windows, seems very pleasant to her, and the rays of the setting sun make the green grass lands and the long reaches of the Platte River flowing over its yellow quicksands and dotted with its little cottonwood islands seem like a landscape of Heaven to her.
Then Ferdie comes in, looking eagerly out of the car window, and whispers: "Do you see any buffaloes yet? I have got a revolver and a sporting rifle to kill them." A second after he ejaculates, "What's that!"
And Erma starts and echoes "What's that?"
For it is a sound these two have never heard the like of before—the shriek of the Western train book agent—not the pitiful note of the puny Eastern vender, but the wild whoop of the genuine transcontinental fiend, who in the earlier seventies went bellowing through a car like a calliope on a Mississippi River boat.
"Bre-own'sprize candies! Twenty-five cents a box, warranted fresh and something that'll make you feel pleased and slick in every one of 'em—Bre-own's prize candies."
Being of a speculative turn of mind, Ferdie invests in one or two of these, and he and Erma open them together and laugh at their bad luck, for Ferdie has won a Jew's harp, worth about a cent, and she is the happy possessor of a brass thimble, and the candies, apparently, have been manufactured before Noah's Ark put to sea. While joking about this, a new idea seems to strike Ferdie.
The news-boy, who has gathered up his packages after making his trades on the sharpest of business principles, is leaving the car. Mr. Chauncey asks him if he has any Western literature.
"I always have everything," cries the young man. "Give you 'The Scout of the Plains,' or 'Long Har, the Hermit of the Rockies,' for twenty-five cents."
"I don't want fiction; facts are what I'm after," says Ferdie, interrupting him.
"Then I'll accommodate also," remarks the youth, and going away, he returns after a few minutes bearing four or five bound volumes, entitled, "The Oatman Girls' Captivity among the Apaches," "The Construction of the Union Pacific Railway," "The Life and Adventures of Jim Beckworth, the Naturalized Crow Chief," "Kit Carson, the Pioneer," "Fremont's Explorations" and "Female Life among the Mormons, by the Wife of an Elder of the Latter-Day Saints."
"Facts come higher," he says, "than lies. These are bound books, and will cost you all the way from $1.50 up to $4. But you can turn 'em in at the end of the trip, if you want, and I will let you have fifty per cent. on them. I had sooner you did it that way, because thenI'llbag the profit, not my boss."
Whereupon, Ferdie selects "Kit Carson," "The Building of the Union Pacific Railway," and "Female Life among the Mormons," tendering a ten-dollar bill, for which he receives very little change, but making the agreement for the return of the books on arrival at Ogden, much to the delight of the news-agent, who remarks oracularly, "Buck Powers is never quite left."
"Oh, that is your name, is it?" says Mr. Chauncey. "Probably you know a good deal about the West yourself?"
"I was born in Chicago," answers the boy proudly, "and railroaded ever since I was corn high."
"Ah, a railroad man?"
"You bet! I've run on the C. B. & Q., I have," remarks Buck, his voice growing proud, "and any man that has run on de boss road of the West out of Chicago, can call himself a railroad man and nothin' else."
In this exaltation of the Chicago, Burlington & Quincy, Buck was by no means alone in the early seventies, for somehow that was considered the great road west of the Mississippi, and all who were connected with it from a switchman up, seemed to be very proud of the C. B. & Q., and to run upon it into Chicago, appeared to them to be the acme of railroad bliss and happiness, which was the acme of all happiness. So they kicked off tramps with a proud kick, and they coupled freight cars with a self-satisfied air, and they received deaths with complaisance as defective couplings broke and box cars crashed together, and they made up passenger trains and ran locomotives with the haughty air of men belonging to the most prominent road in that great country which centred in Chicago, to which the rest of America, especially the East, was but an attachment.
"Oh, you are a railroad man—aWesternrailroad man. Perhaps you can tell me about the Rocky Mountains?"
"What I can't tell you about the Rockies and the U. P. ain't worth knowing," remarks Buck. "After I get through with this candy trip, and give 'em a rattle or two on books, notions and fruit, I'll come back and give you some eye-openers, because I can see you're going to be a good trader." Thus tagging on business with pleasure and self-glorification, Buck Powers proceeds on his way through the cars, shouting in a voice that drowns the roll of the wheels and the tooting of the locomotive:
"Bre-own'sprize candies! Twenty-five cents a package! Warranted fresh andgenuine, and each package guaranteedto contain a donation! It is your last chance to-night! Last chance to-night forBre-OWN's prize candy and Chicago chewing gum!"
During this interview, Miss Travenion has looked on with an amused glance. She is astounded that one so small can make so great a noise, for Mr. Buck Powers is but five feet and five inches high, and rather slight, skinny, and wiry of frame, but his voice is like that of Goliath of Gath, with occasional staccatos stolen from the midnight yelp of the coyote of the plains.
As the boy's howls die away in the next car, she says suddenly to Ferdie, "What are you going to do with those books?"
"Amuse auntie with them."
"That I forbid you to do. No more fibs about the West to Mrs. Livingston. Do you want her to have a nervous fever?"
"Very well," remarks Ferdinand, contemplatively. "If you object to my instructing auntie, I will keep them for my own amusement and knowledge." Then he cries suddenly, "By George, wasn't that a buffalo?" and throws up the car window, and looks out excitedly, to the serious danger of his caput, for the train is running through a small town.
And Erma laughs and says, "No, it's a cow."
Just here the conductor comes in and makes everybody on the car alert and happy, for he cries: "Grand Island! Thirty minutes for supper!"
But with this announcement comes another sensation to Miss Travenion.
Ollie Livingston has been engaged most of the afternoon trying to make the trip comfortable for his mother, for, whatever may be his other failings, he certainly is a dutiful and attentive son.
As the train slackens its speed, he passes to Miss Travenion's stateroom, and remarks: "You have heard the conductor announce supper. Ferdie, take care of Louise and her mother. I will see to Erma." A moment after he ejaculates nervously: "I'll just wash my hands, and be with you in a moment," and moves hurriedly back to the gentlemen's wash-room at the rear of the car, leaving Erma alone.
Miss Travenion makes her own preparations in the privacy of her stateroom, and steps out to find herself cut off from the rest of her party by her fellow-passengers, who have risen hurriedly, and are crowdingen massethrough the aisles, anxious to get to their evening meal as rapidly as possible, most of them being old Western travellers and knowing that if they wish to get a good supper, it is best for them to be among the first rush upon the viands of a Pacific railroad eating-house.
The train has stopped, and caught in the crowd, Miss Travenion finds herself swept out upon the front platform of the car; a couple of stout Western women crowd past her, shoving her nearly off the platform. The Pullman porter shouts to her to look out. She has a hurried vision of Mr. Lot Kruger rushing to her assistance in the next car, and blocked in the aisle and struggling to squeeze past Buck Powers, who has been caught in the supper rush and who is dashing about like a fiend to save his wares from destruction.
She hears a voice that is half-way familiar say incisively: "This way, Miss Travenion, at once!" and looking down, sees Harry Lawrence's stalwart arm uplifted to assist her from the car. She puts out two little gloved hands. These are eagerly seized upon, and in an instant she is lifted lightly to the ground.
Here, blushing very slightly, she murmurs, "Thank you, Captain Lawrence!"
"I am glad you remember my name," answers the young man in a very happy voice.
Then he continues rapidly, "Excuse me a second. Your maid does not appear to know what to do." And he assists the French abigail to alight with as much care, if perhaps not as much ceremony, as he did the mistress.
"Yes," replies Erma. "We travelled by a private car as far as Omaha, and, of course, had our meals on board of it. Therefore, Marie was rather disconcerted—as, to tell the truth, so was I."
"Ah, then, youdoneed my assistance, if you want a meal," says Harry quickly, for the gong is sounding very wildly outside the eating-house, and the throng from the long train of cars is moving bodily upon it.
Noting this, the young man cries shortly: "Indecision means hunger—at all events, the leavings. Come with me!"
Then, perceiving that Erma is hesitating and looking towards the car from which Ferdie and Louise are just appearing, and which still conceals Mrs. Livingston and her son, he says hurriedly: "Quick; I'll reserve a table for your party and get them a first chance at the meal. Come at once if you want your supper!"
"Of course I want my supper," cries Miss Travenion with a laugh; for the brisk Nebraska air, which is quite often cool toward evening, in October, has stimulated the young lady's appetite, which, like that of most healthy girls of her age, is generally a good one.
So the young lady, placing her hand upon his arm and followed by her maid, turns away from the crowd and is led to a side door, Lawrence seeming to know the by-ways of the hotel pretty well.
In front of this are lounging the station master and two or three railroad employees. These spring up with ejaculations of welcome and delight! One cries, "God bless you, Cap!" and another, "Harry, you're doing well." A third guffawssotto voce, "You bet he is."
Returning their salutes, he says shortly, "Please let me in at the side door—before the rush. This young lady is hungry." A moment after they are in the dining-room of the railroad hotel before the crowd of passengers have entered by the main portal.
This is a large apartment filled with tables, each of which will accommodate six people, and each presided over and waited upon by a brisk moving, calico-clothed Nebraska maiden.
A moment after, Erma's escort says to a bright-eyed prairie-girl who is flourishing a feather duster to keep the flies off an as yet unoccupied table: "Sally, reserve this table for myself and party."
Then to Miss Travenion's astonishment the maid answers, giving him a look of open-eyed admiration, "Yes, Cap!"
The next instant she finds herself seated beside him, and her maid, under his direction, taken to another table and made comfortable by another brisk Nebraska girl, who also answers deferentially, "Yes, Cap!" Then the one employed at their table calmly but uncompromisingly waves off both flies and passengers from the tempting seats with her feather duster, remarking, "This 'ere table's engaged! This 'ere table's engaged," to applying drummers and hungry cattlemen who would make a raid upon the precious vacant chairs; for all the other seats in the room are by this time in use and the viands are flying off the tables in a manner peculiar to Western appetites; while over all this comes in continual chorus from the waiting-girls: "Steaks—chops—ham and eggs—tea or coffee—pie or pudding," with an occasional variation of "stewed prunes or fruit."
In this chorus their attendant maid has already joined, singing out in a business way, "Steaks, chops or ham and eggs," when to Miss Travenion's awful blushes, the girl suddenly stops her song and giggles, after the free and easy manner of the prairies, "I know what's the matter with you, Cap; you've been going and gitting married, and are bringing your wife West!" casting a look of identification on Erma as the imported bride.
To this Harry, choking down a rising curse, mutters in a very hoarse voice, "Steaks for two, and ham and eggsturned!"
Then Ferdie inserts himself into this scene of embarrassment to the young lady, and from which she has half risen to fly in a sudden bashful spasm, and says: "Erma, what the deuce have you been doing? Mrs. Livingston is almost hysterical, and thinks the Indians have got you, when it is only Captain Lawrence and—supper."
"Yes," answers Harry, who blesses the boy for his interruption; "I know more about Western eating-houses than you do. I have rescued Miss Travenion from the crowd, and reserved a table for the rest of your party. Just bring them along, will you—that's a good fellow?"
To this, Mr. Chauncey, who has already met Lawrence upon the train during the afternoon, answers: "Won't I? I have been hunting everywhere for a place for our ladies. It was these vacant chairs that attracted me."
Then the young New Yorker, having gone in search of his party, Miss Travenion once more finds herself subject to the attentions of the gentleman beside her. But these are so very respectful that her embarrassment gradually vanishes, and she devotes herself with considerable comfort of mind to the supper which has just been placed before her, for Captain Lawrence is particularly careful from now on that his attentions to her, though effective as regards her wants, shall have not the slightest affectation of familiarity in them.
So the girl, looking at him, thinks: "Some men who might consider themselves of perhaps higher breeding than this one beside me, would have made a joke out of that awfulcontretemps, but Captain Lawrence is a gentleman, and gentlemen are very much the same all the world over," and once or twice, when he does not notice it, she turns grateful eyes upon him during pauses in the meal.
A moment after, Mr. Chauncey re-appears, followed by the Livingstons.
Mrs. Livingston mutters: "Good gracious, Erma, how you frightened me. My heart is beating yet. If anything had happened to you, what would I have said to your father?"
She would continue her emotion, did not Miss Travenion quietly say, "You owe your supper this evening to Captain Lawrence, who was kind enough to take charge of me in the crush, and also to look after your interests in the matter of chairs and vacant table."
To which Miss Louise ejaculates: "Oh, how good of you. I'm dying of hunger!" and the widow, who still remembers the fortunate compliment of the young man, remarks: "Captain, as I owe my meal to you, I will sit beside you," giving him a grateful glance and taking the chair on the young man's left hand.
Then, being compelled to it, Mr. Oliver Livingston suddenly remembers that he has met the Westerner before,—a thing he has forgotten, though he has passed him several times upon the train, and suddenly says: "How are yer?" in an absent-minded sort of way, and seating himself enjoys the pleasures of gastronomy.
As the party's appetites become satisfied, their tongues begin to move in conversation, and Harry, taking advantage of the situation, proceeds to make himself very agreeable to Mrs. Livingston; for this young man has been thinking the matter over during his three or four hours on the train, and has concluded that to be a friend of the chaperon's will be very useful to him in his intercourse with Miss Travenion.
"I was afraid," says the New York widow, "that Erma had been carried off by Indians."
"Indians," remarks Lawrence, "were plentiful enough about here four or five years ago, but the railroad, with its settlements, has swept them back. In 1867 there were too many of them at times," and the young man's brow grows dark and his lips compressed with some recollection of the past. Throwing this off, he explains lightly to Mr. Ferdie, who begins eagerly questioning him on the point, that any buffalo that may be seen will be probably far to the West of where they are now; their best hope of catching sight of them being during the next day's journey. "If you had wanted to see buffalo in quantities," he continues, "you should have journeyed on the K. P., one hundred and fifty to two hundred miles south of here. There they graze, sometimes, even now, in droves of ten thousand by the side of the railway track."
"By Jove!" cries Ferdie to this information, looking with longing eyes to the South. "But we will return by the K. P., auntie, won't we?" Then he questions suddenly: "You have killed buffalo, haven't you, Captain Lawrence?"
"A few," remarks the Westerner quietly, and from that time on he is a hero in Ferdie's eyes.
Mr. Ollie having by this time finished his meal,—a business that he has interspersed with a few curt remarks about the badness and greasiness of Western cooking and the general inefficiency of frontier waiter-girls, he arises and suggests, "If you wish to miss this train, you had all better linger a little longer over the table."
To this, Mrs. Livingston suddenly gasps, "Hurry! The passengers are all leaving the room!"
"Oh, no hurry! They are only gentlemen anxious to get at their cigars," says Harry, to whom the meal has been a very pleasant one, Miss Travenion having made it brilliant by one or two glances from her bright eyes and a few vivacious remarks.
But the chaperon suddenly cries in a voice of terror, "If we miss the train, we are here on the prairies, unprotected andalone!"
This pathetic remark, in a rising young frontier city of two thousand inhabitants, produces a giggle from Miss Louise. She titters, "Pooh, ma! This is a metropolis. I saw a dozen trainmen, half a hundred loafers and one or two tramps on the platform as we drew up."
But Mrs. Livingston having risen, the party saunter towards the door, that lady thanking Lawrence for some information he has given, tending to dissipate her fears of wild Western adventure on the railroad. She concludes this by saying, "You must give us a little of your aid and protection, we have had so little frontier experience, Captain,"—a request that gentleman is very glad to accede to, and he promises that he will look after them all, especially the widow, very thoroughly and very faithfully during their journey.
Harry in conversation with Mrs. Livingston has left the room, so have Ferdie and Louise, and Ollie is employed settling the score; Erma finds herself alone. Actuated, perchance, by a wish to learn more of the gentleman who has been kind to her this afternoon, and perhaps prompted by some curiosity to know why he is treated with so much respect under the familiar appellation of "Cap" by the Western waiter-girls, she turns back, and walking up to the bright-eyed abigail who has waited on them, says, "You seem to know the gentleman who brought me into supper this evening very well."
"Oh, Cap Lawrence?" answers the girl. "I should think so; we all have a pretty powerful liking and respect for him about this portion of the country."
"And why?"
"Why?" cries the Western girl. "Don't you know? Well, five years back, when this 'ere hotel was nothin' but a log cabin and I worked giving meals to our section men, the Indians made a raid up thar at Elm Creek," she points towards the west, "and if it hadn't been for the Cap taking a hand-car and going up the track they would have wiped out every section hand to the last man. As it was, they killed five of them, and it ain't every man out here that wants to run into a lot of Sioux on the war-path, in an open hand-car, but Cap Lawrence is the man to do it. You are married to him, ain't you, Missus?"
"No," replies Erma, growing very red. "I am married to no man," and striding away from the girl joins Ollie, though she catches a prophetic, "Wa-al, perhaps some day you will be. I seed him look at you once or twice, and you'll be mighty lucky if you catch him."
The subject of this colloquy is standing on the platform smoking his cigar; he sees Miss Travenion pass him upon the arm of Mr. Oliver Livingston, and wonders why the girl blushes so deeply, though she gives him a pleasant nod. Then he suddenly thinks, "It is that accursed remark of that red-headed Sally in the eating-house," and does not know that Sally has done him one of the best turns that have as yet come to him. She has set the mind of the girl he loves running upon a subject that had not as yet occurred to her. As it is, Erma gives a glance at the stalwart figure of the Westerner as he stands, in athletic ease, puffing his cigar, then catching sight of Ollie's rather diminutive figure, compares the two, perhaps not altogether to the advantage of Mr. Livingston.
As Miss Travenion is assisted into the train by her escort, Lawrence looking at her himself hears a low but resonant whisper at his side, "By Jove, Cap, ain't she purty? Reckon she must come from Chicago." Looking around he sees Buck Powers standing at his side, gazing in admiration at the beauty who has caught and entranced the engineer's soul. This would make Harry angry did he not notice that the news-agent is very young, though his face has that peculiar precocity that comes from an early struggle with the world and an early battle for life and bread, and notes that the tone of the boy is as respectful and loving as his would be did he happen to speak of his divinity.
A moment after, Mr. Livingston returning from the car, Captain Lawrence accosts him and offers him a cigar.
"Awh! thanks," remarks Ollie, being compelled to the same, and accepting it, he finds it to his astonishment to be a very good one,—much better than the average weed he would get in a New York club: for this young man does not know that the Western mining man and speculator uses the very best of cigars, wines, and all creature comforts, even when his luck is hard and his pocket almost empty.
A moment after Mr. Lot Kruger passes the two, and gives Harry a by no means kindly glance, for he has noticed the attentions of this gentleman to the daughter of his old friend, and does not like them.
This feeling is perhaps also felt, though at this time in a lesser degree, by Mr. Oliver Livingston, who somehow or other has arrived at the conclusion that Miss Travenion likes to listen to the conversation of this gentleman from the West, and does not like it very much more than Mr. Kruger.
Consequently, when the engineer rings the bell and the conductor cries, "All aboard!" Harry Lawrence has made one active and one at present passive enemy, though he is rapidly growing to be a hero in Mr. Ferdie's imagination; and as for Buck Powers, he has loved and admired this young engineer of the Pacific Railway for years, as nearly every other employee of the same, especially those engaged in its early building, have done ever since he ran the lines in Nebraska when that State was a howling wilderness of Indians, wild animals, trappers and prairies.
Then the train, getting under headway, passes with illuminated Pullmans and flashing headlight into the night of the plains. Miss Travenion, with a new interest in her mind as to this Western gentleman chance seems to have thrown into her way, looks out of her stateroom—the car is half empty, most of its male passengers being in the smoking room with their after-dinner cigars. Among them, Ferdie and Ollie.
Captain Lawrence is at the other end of the car, conversing with Mrs. Livingston and Louise.
Erma carelessly picks up a book,—one of Ferdie's purchases, the volume on the Union Pacific Railway; and glancing languidly over its pages, sees a picture of Indians attacking a hand-car, and reads, "Elm Creek Massacre" in large type. Beneath it is an account of the heroism of Captain Harry Storey Lawrence.
Then the brakeman cries out "Elm Creek." The train pauses for a moment, and gazing out, she can see the station house on the side track. A moment after, the locomotive dashing on again, she finds herself peering into the darkness that lies upon the low stretch of prairie, and wondering exactly whereabouts the man sitting so quietly and conversing with Mrs. Livingston, made his fight; and her imagination getting the better of her, she seems to see the stalwart figure, which is commencing to interest her, standing on a little hand-car on that lone prairie, surrounded by Indians and fighting them off, and saving the section men surprised at their work, as they drop their tools and run from their labor; and she sees his dark eyes, that she has commenced to know very well, flashing with determination as he encourages the fleeing laborers, and getting them on the car, they make their running fight towards the station, and hears the cracking of the deadly rifles and the whoops of the pursuing savages.
She is interrupted in this fantasie by Mr. Livingston's placid voice, saying, "What are you reading, Erma?" for she still has the volume in her hand.
"Only an account of the construction of this railway," says the young lady, and she passes him the volume.
Looking over the account of the "Elm Creek Massacre," Ollie's eyes open rather widely; but, a moment after, he remarks sneeringly: "This fiction of the Rocky Mountains seems to make quite a hero of your friend Lawrence. I wonder if he wrote the book himself?" And the gentleman chuckles to himself, imagining he has been rather witty.
Miss Travenion's reply rather disconcerts him.
"I am glad you call him my friend," answers the girl, a gleam of admiration in her blue eyes. "Any man who could do what is written there, is worthy to be any woman's friend."
"Oh, indeed," says Mr. Livingston, rather nettled at this; partly because he thinks his joke is not appreciated, and partly because he does not care about Erma Travenion showing an interest in any other man save his own small self. "I suppose you will soon make a first-class border ruffian out of your hero?" Then he utters oracularly: "I wonder how it is that some girls seem to take such interest in 'men of blood.'"
"I don't take interest in 'men of blood,'" cries Miss Travenion, rather warmly, for this remark about border ruffians is not pleasing to her; "but I do take interest in the men of courage, determination and manhood, who are risking their lives to make this country a greater America."
But here she gets a surprise from Ollie, who, incited by the beauty of the girl, which is made greater by her enthusiasm, replies suddenly: "If I thought you would like it, Erma, I myself would become a pioneer."
The idea of Mr. Ollie's turning frontiersman, proves too much for Miss Travenion's control; she bursts into a fit of laughter, which disconcerts the young man, and makes him retreat from her, with a plaintive, "I meant what I said. I didn't believe you would treat my expression of regard for you with a jeer."
Left to herself, however, Erma goes into more thought about this man who has risked his life for others, and even after she has gone to bed, as she turns upon her pillow, visions of Captain Harry Storey Lawrence, fighting Indians, come to her, and she wakes up with a suppressed scream, for he is about to be scalped, and finds that it is only the shriek of the locomotive, and the war-whoops of the Indians are only the outcries of the porter, announcing that they are approaching Sydney, where they have thirty minutes for an early breakfast.
So, making a hasty toilet, Miss Travenion steps out of her stateroom to find the car empty, it having already arrived at the eating-station, and the passengers having departed from it.
On the platform, however, she is greeted by Ferdie, who cries out: "Come along, Miss Lazy Bird. All the rest are in at breakfast. I have got some news for you."
"News about whom?" says the girl lightly.
"About the Indians. There's some off there. You needn't be afraid! I've got my revolver on, and if they act nasty, I'll fix 'em as Cap Lawrence does," says the boy, and he leads her a few steps to one side, where Erma sees a Sioux buck, two squaws and a pappoose—the warrior on a pony and flourishing about in a red blanket and soldier hat, though his leggings are of the scantiest proportions.
The squaws, as is their wont, extend their hands for stray coins, though the Sioux are by no means such beggars as their more degraded cousins, the Piutes on the Central Pacific in Nevada. Looking at these unedifying redskins, Miss Travenion finds that Cooper's novels, which she had once regarded as facts, have immediately become fictions.
"I was going to get my rifle," babbles Ferdie at her ear, "but Buck Powers told me I'd be jugged if I shot at 'em. They're at peace now." Then he goes on confidentially: "I have interviewed Buck about Cap Lawrence, and it cost me about two dollars in indigestible candies and peanuts, but I got the information. Buck says the Cap is a snorter on Injuns."
"Don't use such language in my presence, Mr. Chauncey," cries Erma sternly.
"Oh, I am only quoting Buck," answers Ferdinand. "Buck says the Cap has killed hundreds of buffalo and rafts of Indians—heaps of them. Say! What's the matter with you? I thought you'd like to listen to the history of your Indian killer," continues Ferdie, surprised; for the girl has turned suddenly away from him and is passing on towards the eating-house.
Then he suddenly ejaculates, "Well, I'm blizzarded!" a queer wild notion having got into his brain. And he has guessed very nearly the truth; for Miss Travenion, for some reason, which is at present indefinite to herself, is not altogether pleased at hearing this Western gentleman's name always connected with deeds of blood.
In the dining-room she finds her party seated at a table, at which a chair has been reserved for her, but Captain Lawrence is not with them, and looking about, she sees him at another table.
Then Ferdie, bolting his food, finishes his breakfast in about five minutes, and departs in search of Western adventure and information, not on the main platform of the station, but in out-of-the-way saloons and shanty barrooms; methods of frontier slumming that are productive during his trip of one or two decided sensations to this young gentleman, as well as the rest of his party.
Shortly after Mr. Chauncey's departure, the meal being finished, Miss Travenion wanders with Mr. Ollie to the platform, and notices Harry smoking his cigar, and surrounded by a lot of the train men and station officials, who seem to crowd around him at every stop they make, as if anxious to do him honor, Buck Powers among the number.
A moment after, Mr. Livingston having left her, the news-boy sidles up to her and remarks, having an eye to both business and pleasure, "I've got some prime California peaches saved up for you. You weren't out when I come through the train before breakfast—two dandies at ten cents apiece. The Cap chewed one this morning and said it was fine. Ain't he a stem-winder, though?" goes on the boy. "He was the most popular man on the line when it was built. You needn't pay for them peaches unless they're good."
"Thank you, Mr. Powers," answers the girl, giving the boy a bright smile, for somehow she is quite pleased to note that Captain Lawrence seems so well liked by all who know him.
"Call me Buck! Side-track the Mr. Powers! You make me feel as if you were offish," says the youthful news-agent, giving Erma a glance of admiration.
"Very well, Buck," laughs the girl. "You may bring me the peaches," and would perhaps say more to him, did not Mr. Lot Kruger, who seems somehow to always have his eyes upon her, casting a quid of tobacco out of his ample mouth, approach her and suggest affably, "Prairie air seems to bloom you up this morning, Miss."
Then her party being about her, Erma finds herself compelled to introduce the Western Lot to them all. These introductions are very affably received by Mr. Kruger, who insists on shaking hands with the whole party, an attention not very well received by Oliver, though Mrs. Livingston, thinking from his peculiar toilet he is in some degree a Western border ruffian, and it will be best for her personal safety to be very polite to him, receives him with effusive but nervous politeness, to the joy of Lot's soul. So he seats himself beside her, and goes into a free and easy conversation with the widow, giving her his views of things in general and the West in particular.
Turning from them towards her own stateroom, Erma chances to meet Captain Lawrence, who is just entering the car. Allured by the bright nod she gives him, this gentleman ignores the pleasure of an after-breakfast cigar, and sits down to a long conversation with the young lady, which is interrupted by occasional visits from Mr. Oliver Livingston, who comes up at odd times to ask Miss Travenion if he can do anything for her comfort, for he is getting annoyed at Erma's giving her time to an outsider, as he terms the engineer, and were it not that Oliver Ogden Livingston has such an appreciation of his own charms, intellect and social position, he would be jealous, which would be a fearful tax on his placid nerves, that are not accustomed to violent emotions.
As the train passes along, the captain incidentally mentions a few things of interest in sight from the cars, stating to Miss Travenion that they will soon be in sight of the Rockies, and this leads to the girl's asking him about the "Elm Creek" affair, which he puts away, saying that it was not much, though there were a great many wild doings, both by the Indians and the whites, during the construction of the road, and some recollection coming upon him from the past, the young man's face grows dark, and he suddenly changes the subject, saying that Indian fights are not generally half so desperate as some affairs that took place in the late war.
This produces questions from Erma, and she learns a good deal of Lawrence's early life; how his father emigrated from Massachusetts, being a nephew of that celebrated seaman Lawrence, whose words are still remembered—"Don't give up the ship"—and of this relationship and memory the young man seems very proud.
He tells her that his father is now a large farmer in Eastern Iowa, and the girl drawing him out by deft suggestions, learns that he was educated for a civil engineer, but at the breaking out of the war, left college and went to soldiering, and became, after a year or two of fighting, captain of an Iowa battery.
The conversation goes on very pleasantly until he suddenly cries out, "The Rocky Mountains!" and shows her snow-clad peaks looming up amid the blue sky to the west, just as the train is running into Cheyenne, where something occurs that gives Miss Travenion a great shock, and makes her change her opinion considerably about this young gentleman, to whom she has devoted so much of her thoughts in the last twenty-four hours.
Like most of the sensations of this life, it comes unexpectedly.
She has just finished a comfortable sort of dinner in the Cheyenne eating-house, and is sauntering about, watching the change of locomotives, and trying to get a good look at Long's Peak, which is so distant that she can hardly tell whether it is snow or cloud, when she is joined by Mr. Ferdinand, who shocks her by whispering these astonishing words: "Come around the corner and I'll show you a telegraph pole where Captain Lawrence hung a man."
"Hung a man? You are crazy," returns the young lady indignantly; then she sneers, "Buck Powers invents silly stories to incite you to buy more candy."
"Not at all crazy, but rather up to the snuff," retorts Ferdie, who apparently is strongly excited and profoundly impressed. "Besides, Buck didn't tell me this. I have just met a gambler in that barroom over there"—he points to a shanty drinking saloon, some hundred yards down the track—"and he says Cap Lawrence hung his pard, Nebraska Bill, to a telegraph pole."
"Impossible," remarks Erma in angry scorn.
"So I thought at first, but the man showed me the telegraph pole and said that was where Lawrence had murdered his pard."
"And you believe this gambler's likely story," sneers Miss Travenion.
"Of course I do. I am prepared for anything out here. I have been making inquiries since I got the information, and they tell me around here that Captain Lawrence was at the head of the Vigilantes out here four years ago, and used to hang up gamblers in rows, at the rate of about half-a-dozen a night," asserts Mr. Ferdie confidently. "What do you say to that?"
"What do I say to it?" cries Miss Travenion with indignant eyes. "I say that I will never believe such a thing until I have proof of it."
"And have not I proved it?" says Ferdie. "How can you prove it any better?"
"By asking Captain Lawrence," cries Erma. Then, not heeding Mr. Chauncey's expostulations that he does not think any less of the captain, and that every one around says the Vigilantes were a necessity, Miss Travenion goes hurriedly into her car and shuts herself in her stateroom, for she is very much shocked at this revelation, as any girl, brought up far away from the scenes of blood and combat and swift justice of the frontier, would be.
A few moments after this, the train, drawn by two giant locomotives, gets under way, and leaving Cheyenne, begins to ascend the Black Hills towards Sherman.
As it does so, Miss Erma's privacy is invaded by Mrs. Livingston and Ollie.
"You have heard Ferdie's awful tale?" gasps the widow.
"About the murderer you picked up on the train," interjects Mr. Livingston, waving his white cuffs, as if throwing off all responsibility in the matter.
"Picked up on the train?" cries Erma, very sternly, rising from her seat, her figure growing more erect, and her eyes becoming burnished steel. "What do you mean to insinuate?"
"Oh, nothing, of course, as regards you," replies Ollie, who is somewhat quick of speech and also hasty of retraction. "Of course you did not know who he was any more than I did when that duffer, Southmead, brought him into our supper party at Delmonico's."
"Ah, you are referring to Captain Lawrence, Mr. Livingston," says the girl, haughtily.
"Certainly. Mr. Kruger, that friend of your father, who seems very affable and pleasant, though not a highly cultured man, confirms Ferdinand's information," answers Mrs. Livingston, taking this interview out of her son's hands, as he does not seem to be succeeding very well. "This Mr. Kruger, who is acquainted with the West, has informed us that this Captain Lawrence is a very blood-thirsty individual; that he is, in fact, amenable to the laws of this country for the crime of murder."
"Yes, cold-blooded, deliberate assassination," interjects Ollie, anxious to impress the girl. "Captain Lawrence headed the Vigilance Committee, and hung up a number of unoffending citizens."
To this Miss Travenion says shortly, "I don't believe you."
"Not even your father's friend?" cries Mrs. Livingston.
"No, neither he nor any man else who would say such awful things of Captain Lawrence. Oh, I cannot believe it!" Then she mutters, "The tones of his voice are as gentle as a child's," and turns away.
"So were Johnny Slade's," inserts Ferdie, who has just now joined the party and conversation. "Besides, Buck Powers says the Cap was a terror to gamblers and desperadoes out here,—though I like him all the better for it."
But here Miss Travenion astonishes them all. She says calmly, though there is a tremor in her voice:
"I refuse to give any opinion of Captain Lawrence's conduct until I have spoken to him."
"What! You are going to—to speak to that awful man again?" gasps the widow, turning pale. Then she suddenly whispers, "Don't tell him what I said about him. He might murder us." And seemingly frightened at the thought of the blood-thirsty captain's vengeance, she takes her departure hurriedly for her own stateroom, and locks herself in.
She is very shortly followed by Ferdie and her son, to whom his half-way sweetheart says as he departs: "Permit me to satisfy myself upon this affair in my own way!"
Then, they having gone from her, she sinks down and shudders, though all the time she does justice to the man of her thoughts, and defends him, and says, "I don't believe it. He is too gentle," and finally, having persuaded herself that it is all a tissue of falsehoods, unlocks her door and steps out into the main car, to find herself face to face with this so-called desperado, who is calmly reading one ofHarper's Monthlies, his "deeds of blood" not seeming to hang very heavily on his conscience.
A moment after, Miss Travenion remarks suddenly: "Captain Lawrence, will you pardon me if I ask you a question?" and her eyes grow bright, but her cheeks are pale, and her lips tremble as she speaks.
"Certainly," says Harry.
As he turns to her, the girl hesitates and falters, for it has suddenly come to her, if this man is innocent, he will not forgive; but forcing herself to the ordeal, she falters out: "People tell me what I will not believe, that—that—you, while occupied here in the arts of peace, have hung up men by the dozens to telegraph poles? Is it true, Captain Lawrence?"
And he, some strange fear in his eyes, rises to her question, and though he stands apparently calm, the strong fingers of his hand tremble a little as they grasp the arm of the seat, and his face grows also pale, and there is a slight twitch on one corner of his moustache as he murmurs sadly: "And they say that of me?"
"Yes!—Is it true?"
Then, after a moment's pause, the young man answers firmly and perhaps proudly: "In the troublous times of 1867 and '68, surrounded by gamblers, desperadoes and cut-throats, who daily sacrificed the lives of innocent men and made a mockery of both law and justice, I did what I considered my duty as a good citizen. Do you blame me for it?"
"You—you hung men without trial by law?"
"Yes—do you blame me?"
But her only answer is a frightened, "Oh! how could you?" and Erma has swept past him into her stateroom, the door of which closes suddenly after her.
He makes one step after her, as if to say words of vindication or defence; then bows his head and moves slowly out of the car, steadying himself with his hand. So, standing upon the front platform, Harry Lawrence looks down on the Laramie Plains, to which the train is descending, and there are tears in his eyes. For the strong man is thinking of the last words of Curley Jack just before they strung him up for the murder of an unfortunate creature of whom he was jealous. "Some day, Cap, some woman will make you crazy with misery as I was when I shot Kansas Kate," and he wonders if the prophecy of the dying desperado is coming home to him.
His meditation must be potent, for two hours afterwards, when the train stops at Laramie for supper, and his old-time railroad friends gather around him, they wonder what has happened, and the station agent remarks, "The Cap looks as busted up as if he had lost on four aces," for he goes about in a broken kind of a way, and once or twice, seeing some neighboring telegraph poles, turns from them with a shudder.
As for Miss Travenion, she has perhaps a harder two hours of it than Harry Lawrence, for some indefinite emotion is in her mind that makes her wildly nervous and extraordinarily excitable. Three or four times she says to herself, "Why should I care if this man has all the crimes of the Decalogue on his soul? A week ago I did not know him. Twenty-four hours back I had seen his face but once. He shall pass out of my life as quickly as he entered it." Next she remarks, "He said he did his duty as a citizen." Then she laughs: "Pshaw, I am growing nervous! I am defending this man!" and grows very angry at, and perchance unjust to, Lawrence on account of this idea.
Anxious to get away from the subject, she comes out and joins the Livingston party, and laughs and jokes with them, apparently in high spirits, though there is a feverish flush upon her cheeks; and once to the widow's remark, "Did he admit his crimes?" and Ferdie's laughing inquiry, "How many did the Cap acknowledge to swinging up?" she replies shortly:
"Enough for me to drop his acquaintance as rapidly as I made it. From this time on I shallcut him!" emphasizing the last with a wave of her hand and an excited laugh, in so vigorous a manner that Ollie is quite delighted and happy, thinking that Erma will have no further thoughts of the man whom he has grown to imagine his rival—a conclusion he would not so hastily have come to had he studied Miss Travenion in particular, or the sex in general.
So the party stroll out to supper, but Erma, apparently gay, has no appetite further than a cup of tea, and hardly tastes her supper.
Declining attendance, she walks back to her car, and, seated by an open window, looks out upon the beautiful scene, gazing toward the north, where the Black Hills fade away in the distance, and wonders, as the setting sun shines upon her face, how this land, which seems to her so peaceful and which might be so happy, is the home of men who regard human life so lightly.
But even as she does so, as luck will have it, additional evidence on the subject that is racking her brain and making her head ache, though she will not admit it, comes to her.
Two men beside the track are in conversation. The breeze wafts their words into the car.
One remarks: "Cap Lawrence came in from the East to-night, and I reckon every gambler in town is hunting his hole."
"Why, are they afraid of him yet?"
"You bet! He put his mark on 'em so heavy they don't forget him. Why, I remember one morning, three years ago, seeing Little Jimmie, the bartender, hanging up as graceful as life to that telegraph pole, with his natty white handkerchief tucked in his hip-pocket, and his white sleeves, with rubber bands on 'em which held them up while he was mixing drinks. He looked so all-fired natural that I called out: 'Give me a whiskey cocktail, Jim.' You see, they took James from behind his bar so quick he had no time to let down his sleeves and prepare himself for the future."
But the girl hears no more; she has hurried to the other end of the empty car.
Had she remained to listen, she would have also heard that Little Jimmie, the barkeeper, was as bad a man as had lived or died in the West, and the night before his sudden demise he had murdered and robbed two railroad men who had just been paid off.
But not knowing this, Erma has a very stern look on her face a few minutes after, when she sees Harry enter the car. He makes a movement as if to approach and address her, but the young lady turns her head away with a sudden shudder.
Noting this, the Westerner leaves the car and commences to walk about the platform, chewing nervously the end of a cigar he has forgotten to light. Then, curiously enough, the girl peeps after him, and stands aghast, for there is indignation in his look as he strides about, his athletic figure well displayed by a loose shooting coat, and he tosses his brown locks back from his forehead, as if he were facing an enemy, and his dark eyes are gleaming so potently that Erma gasps, "Why, he looks like a Vigilantenow!"
Soon the train is crowded once more, and they begin to run over the Laramie Plains, where Ferdie excites them all by seeing a buffalo, and would get his gun to shoot at it, did not Mr. Kruger remark: "The critter is nigh onto three miles off, and you will throw away your lead, sonny."
As for Captain Lawrence, he has not entered their car, and is now in a forward smoker, puffing away desperately, and thinking with some regrets of the early days of the building of the Union Pacific Railway, those times which tried men's souls; but after turning over the matter in his mind he exclaims to himself: "By Heaven! I am glad I did my duty, even if it loses me—" Here he clenches his teeth, and a little spot of blood comes upon his lip, where he has bitten it.