CHAPTER XVI.
As the quondam class-mates disappeared together down the winding road, Houston gave his friend, as succinctly as possible, an explanation of his presence there in the capacity of clerk, briefly outlining his plans, and stating what he had been able so far to accomplish.
Van Dorn was intensely interested, and through his own practical knowledge and experience, was able to give Houston some valuable information, and to make some important suggestions.
Houston was quick to see that here was just the help he would need a little later; he also knew that opportunities for seeing his friend would be limited, he must act promptly.
“Arthur,” he asked rather abruptly, “how soon do you go east?”
“In about two weeks.”
“Any special engagements for this summer?”
“Nothing particularly important at present.”
“You remember my uncle, don’t you?”
“I remember Mr. Cameron perfectly, though I have not seen him for a number of years.”
“I suppose, for a sufficient consideration, you would come out here on business for us, at any time?”
“Like Lindlay, ‘just to accommodate,’ I suppose,” laughed Van Dorn, and continued, “Everard, old boy, I am at the service of yourself and your uncle, and we’ll say nothing about ‘considerations’ until afterward; then arrange it between yourselves.”
“We will not require your time and services without ample compensation,” returned Houston, “but you will be just the man I will need later; an expert, familiar with this locality, in whom my uncle will repose perfect confidence, and whom the company here will not suspect.”
“But Mr. Cameron may not place much confidence in the harum-scarum sophomore that visited his home a few years since, if he remembers him at all,” said Van Dorn, with a little laugh.
“My word will be enough for that,” said Houston, “I will write a letter this afternoon for you to take to him. There are the gentlemen now, coming down the road; I will see you again this evening, and probably to-morrow. I wonder what has become of Mr. Winters?”
“Probably he is taking his afternoon smoke,” said Van Dorn. “I think the old gentleman would throw up the whole mining deal rather than sacrifice that. After what you’ve told me of this mining concern out here, I’ve considerable curiosity to see this famous mine they’ve been writing about. I’ve got an idea just about how it will pan out, but I’ll say nothing till I’ve seen it.”
“Let me know your impressions, later,” said Houston.
“Agreed,” answered Van Dorn, and the party outside having nearly reached the door, the subject was dropped.
Meanwhile, Mr. Winters, seated in the rustic porch, his attention divided between the picturesque scenery surrounding him, and the spirals of blue smoke which he loved to watch, was in no hurry to exchange his present enjoyment for subterranean explorations; the rest and solitude seemed doubly welcome after the last few weeks of travel.
Rutherford, who lingered a few moments after the others had gone, did not find him very socially inclined, and picking up his magazine from the floor, where it had reposed since Van Dorn’s appearance, he started up the canyon for a stroll among the rocks by the lake.
It is to be feared that Mr. Winters, under the combined influence of his pipe and the warm sunshine, was very nearly asleep. It is certain that he never heard the sound of soft, trailing garments beside him, nor did he appear to be in full possession of all his faculties, until two arms rested lightly on his shoulders, and a pair of small, white hands were clasped across his eyes.
Such a proceeding, under such circumstances, naturally had the effect of very quickly restoring his faculties to their normal condition, but on trying to turn his head, he found it held as firmly as in a vise, by the hands which had been quickly removed from his eyes, while a mischievous voice announced imperiously:
“Guess who it is, and you are free!”
“Guess!” exclaimed the old gentleman in some perplexity, “why, if I were at home, I would know this was one of my little girl’s tricks, but I cannot imagine who it is here.”
There was a musical, rippling laugh, as the hands were withdrawn, and Mr. Winters, turning quickly, came near losing his pipe in astonishment.
“Bless my soul, Leslie! what does this mean? Well, well! so it was my little girl after all, up to her old tricks; but, child, how came you out here, in such a place as this?”
At that moment, Houston or Rutherford would scarcely have recognized Miss Gladden, could they have seen her seated beside Mr. Winters with all the careless abandon of a child, laughing merrily in answer to his numerous questions, while he playfully pinched her cheek, or pulled her ear. To Mr. Winters, however, she seemed like one of his own children, for Leslie Gladden was an orphan, and Mr. and Mrs. Winters, having been deeply attached to her parents, and having no daughter of their own, had always regarded her as a daughter, and much of her life had been passed in their home.
“Well, puss,” said Mr. Winters, having answered her inquiries regarding his family, “seems to me it’s about time you gave an account of yourself; what are you doing here? and what have you been doing since last Easter? and where are Helen and her husband?”
“One question at a time, if you please, sir,” said Miss Gladden.
“That’s right, giving the old man orders, as usual; we always spoiled you, Leslie. Well, in the first place, what possessed you to leave us in the way you did? We understood you had gone to spend Easter with Helen; and the next we heard, Helen wrote her sister that they were going to spend the summer traveling in the west, and that you were to accompany them.”
“I will explain that a little later; what is the next in order?”
“Is Helen here with you?”
“No, sir, she and George are in Denver.”
“And who is stopping here with you?”
“No one; do you think I need a guardian, or a chaperon?”
The old man’s eyes twinkled; “You always were an independent sort of a girl, and pretty level-headed, too, I must admit; but, my dear child, is it safe for you to be out here alone among the miners, and this rough class of people?”
Miss Gladden laughed; “Did you see any very rough people to-day at dinner?”
“Why no, to be sure, I did not, but then, there must be many of them out here in this neighborhood.”
“I never see them,” said Miss Gladden, “I associate only with the people you met to-day; no one here knows that I have wealth; so really, I am safer here than at home, where I am known.”
“But there is no society here,” protested the old gentleman.
“I came here to get away from society; there is plenty of refined and pleasant companionship, and if I have friends here, I know they are sincere friends, not money worshipers, or fortune hunters.”
“Oh, I see,” said Mr. Winters, “the princess is out here in disguise, seeking some knight who will love her for herself alone, and not for her fortune.”
“No,” said Miss Gladden gravely, “I have not come out here seeking for any knight, but to escape from a base, dishonorable and cowardly knave.”
“Has your cousin Humphrey been annoying you again?”
“Yes, he and his mother made life a burden to me, that was my reason for leaving home as I did. Humphrey has sunk nearly every dollar of their property by his profligacy, and now, he and his mother are determined to have my fortune. Aunt exhausted all her stock of melodramatic and sentimental language and her tears in trying to get me to fulfill what she called my father’s ‘dying wish,’ by marrying that debauchee and libertine; then she tried threats, and finally became so wild with rage, that she reminded me of the will, and told me I should never marry any one else; that Humphrey should have the property, as my father intended, sooner or later, if not with me, then without me. I knew Helen intended to come west, and I went to her and asked to let me travel with them. Now, you know my reason for leaving so suddenly, and for not writing. We have all enjoyed our trip very much; you know George came out on business, and when he was occupied, of course it was pleasanter for Helen that I was with her. While we were at St. Paul, George met some mining men, and he immediately began to have symptoms of mining fever, and hearing of the mines out here, he brought us out, among the mountains and miners. We came out when the weather was warm and delightful, and Helen and I roamed over the mountains while George explored the mines. Then he decided to go to Denver, and I would probably have accompanied them, though I had become attached to this place, but just then I heard that my cousin had traced me to St. Paul, and was in pursuit, to renew his attentions to me, so I decided to remain here where he will be less likely to find me. Helen and her husband are in Denver, sworn to secrecy regarding my whereabouts.”
“Well, well!” exclaimed the old gentleman, meditatively, “I wouldn’t have thought your aunt would so far have forgotten herself. It was unfortunate that your father made such a will, leaving everything to Humphrey in case of your dying unmarried, but that was when you were both children, and he was very fond of the little fellow. Leslie, my dear, I wish you were married.”
“But I am not, and perhaps never likely to be,” Miss Gladden answered merrily.
“Yes, and you might have been married twenty times over,” said Mr. Winters, shaking his head, “and my own boy, Harry, among the lot.”
“Once is enough for me, papa dear,” said Miss Gladden lightly, yet in a more tender tone, “when the right one comes; but it could never have been Harry, any more than his brother, Richard; you and mamma were like parents to me, and the boys both seem like brothers.”
“Have you found the right one, yet?” asked the old gentleman, watching her keenly.
“As I told you, I am not looking for a knight,” she answered brightly, but the color deepened on her cheek, “if he ever comes, he must find me.”
Mr. Winters noted the telltale flush, and slowly shaking his head, remarked, “I don’t know, Leslie, about the advisability of leaving you here; you were always inclined to be very philanthropic, and it would be like you to adopt some young man out here, thinking you had money enough for yourself and him, too; that clerk down at the office, for instance, or this kid that was prancing around in eye-glasses.”
“The ‘kid’ as you call him,” Miss Gladden answered demurely, “has plenty of money of his own, and Mr. Houston seems abundantly able to take care of himself; if I adopt any one, it will be that beautiful girl who waited on you at dinner.”
“What is that, my dear?” said the old gentleman, brightening, “I noticed that girl at the table to-day; she is remarkably fine looking, and seemed to conduct herself like a perfect lady; who is she?”
Miss Gladden, in her enthusiastic manner, began telling him of Lyle, and of the interest she had taken in her, but before she had proceeded very far, the team appeared at the junction of the roads, the men calling Mr. Winters.
“Bless my stars, if there isn’t the team!” he exclaimed, “well my little girl, good-bye for the present, you will see us both this evening,” and having given Miss Gladden a promise that neither he nor his son would betray her secret, he hastened down the road to the waiting team.
“Well, boys,” he said, stopping to carefully empty the ashes from his pipe on a projecting ledge of rock, “I will have to give you credit for being on hand very promptly; that was about the shortest half hour that I can remember.”
A loud, ringing laugh greeted this remark, which caused Mr. Winters, who was replacing his pipe in its case, to look up in mild wonder.
“That’s one on you, father,” called his son, while Mr. Blaisdell remarked, “The time evidently has passed very pleasantly.”
“What is the origin of all this mirth?” demanded Mr. Winters, as he seated himself with considerable dignity.
“It seems,” said Mr. Rivers, in explanation, “to be because you were so unconscious of the lapse of time; we were delayed in getting together our papers, and it is over an hour since we left the house.”
“I looked for you at every turn of the road,” said his son.
“I didn’t,” said Van Dorn, “I thought he had fallen asleep over his pipe; I never dreamed he was disgracing the whole crowd of us by such open flirtation as that,––I wish we had brought along a chaperon.”
“Well, gentlemen,” said Mr. Winters very deliberately, “all I have to say is, that had you been in my place, the time would have seemed equally short to you, and I don’t think there’s one of you but would have been mighty glad to have been in my place.”
“Mr. Winters,” said Mr. Blaisdell, “I begin to think you’re the youngest man of our party.”
CHAPTER XVII.
With many jokes and much hilarity, the mining party proceeded on their way. Arriving at the mines, they found Morgan and Haight awaiting them, who were duly introduced to the party, the English expert looking at Haight with much the same expression with which a mastiff might regard a rat terrier.
Everything being in readiness, they began the descent of the long incline shaft, Mr. Blaisdell and Haight leading the way with Mr. Lindlay, while Mr. Rivers followed with Mr. Winters and his son and Van Dorn, Morgan bringing up the rear.
It was nearly three hours before they reappeared at the surface, and to a physiognomist, their faces, as they emerged from the mouth of the shaft, would have furnished an amusing study.
Mr. Blaisdell looked irritated and annoyed, but jubilant. He had been thoroughly disgusted by the conduct of the English expert. Instead of taking Mr. Blaisdell’s word regarding the mine, corroborated as it was by undisputable evidence in the shape of mining reports, surveyor’s notes, and maps, he had insisted on ascertaining for himself the important data, the width, dip and course of the vein, and the measurement of various angles and distances, with a persistency and accuracy that was simply exasperating. He also picked up samples of ore in the most unexpected places which he examined with the closest scrutiny. But having taken his measurements and made his examinations, the results were immediately jotted down in his note book, and the samples dropped in his pockets, without a word, which convinced Mr. Blaisdell that the expert knew very little of his business, and was probably either doing this to keep up appearances, or to gain a little information for his own benefit. Not a word had been said contradicting the statements he had made, not a question raised implying any doubt of their correctness;––evidently they were just the kind of purchasers he wanted, and his firmly set jaws and tightly compressed lips expressed his satisfaction.
Mr. Rivers scanned the company keenly with his ferret-like glances; such unexpected acquiescence on their part made him slightly suspicious and very watchful. The thought uppermost in his mind was, “Either these people know absolutely nothing about mining, or they know too much for our good.” He had intended going back to the city that evening, but he now decided to remain over.
Mr. Winters, senior, reappeared, wearing the same expression of benevolence and dignity with which he had entered the mine. He seemed serenely unconscious of the existence of deceit or fraud in business transactions generally, and in mining negotiations in particular. Only those well acquainted with him could detect from the exaggerated twinkle of his eyes, that something had more than ordinarily amused him.
Van Dorn and Lindlay had agreed before hand that they would keep entirely separate, and each pursue his own course of investigation independently of the other,––Van Dorn of course not being able to take any measurements, as he was not supposed to be an expert,––and compare notes later. As the two emerged into daylight and their eyes met, Van Dorn’s laughing, blushing face would have betrayed him, had any one known his real business there, but a young inventor, exploring mines just for the fun of the thing, is supposed to find plenty of amusement. Under the big, blond mustache of the Englishman, a pair of lips curled scornfully, and his eyes rolled wildly for a moment, but that was all.
As the gentlemen gathered around the dump, the last vestige of Mr. Blaisdell’s irritation seemed to have disappeared, as he blandly expatiated upon the quantity and quality of the ore.
Van Dorn’s eyes sparkled as he saw the shining lumps from the Yankee Boy, and he and Lindlay exchanged quick glances.
“Look at that,” said the latter, quickly extracting from his pocket a sample of the Sunrise ore and placing it beside a piece taken at random from the dump; “does any one pretend to tell me that those are from the same vein?”
“It is a different class of ore altogether,” replied Van Dorn, “such ore as that never would be found under the conditions existing in that mine, but I’ll be blest if I wouldn’t like to see the mine it did come from.”
Mr. Rivers had observed this little side conversation and Van Dorn’s close scrutiny of the samples, and was at his side in a moment, inquiring in his smoothest tones:
“What do you think of that ore, Mr. Van Dorn?”
“Very fine ore, so far as I can judge,” said Van Dorn carelessly, “I would like to see it run through that concentrator and amalgamator of mine; if these men ever get through talking about mines, Mr. Rivers, I must get you and Mr. Blaisdell interested in my machinery.”
At the suggestion of Mr. Lindlay, the party next paid a visit to the Morning Star mine, that being the one which Mr. Blaisdell had declared was on the same lead as the Sunrise. This they found to be a valuable mine, but there was not the slightest indication of the vein being identical with that of the Sunrise, its strike carrying it in a totally different direction, and its characteristics being wholly dissimilar.
As it was too late for any further mining explorations, the team was ordered, and preparations made for a return to the house.
Lindlay and Van Dorn, by mutual agreement, started up the canyon road together, in advance of the others.
“Boys, where are you going?” called Mr. Winters.
“Going to walk on ahead,” answered Van Dorn.
“Just as cheap to ride,” said Mr. Winters.
“Plenty of room,” added Mr. Blaisdell.
“We can’t wait for you, you’re too slow,” laughed Van Dorn.
“Give our places to those gentlemen,” said Lindlay, indicating Haight and Morgan, and with rather a painful emphasis on the word “gentlemen.”
“Egad!” he exclaimed a few moments later, “Van Dorn, what do you think of that for a mining proposition?”
“It’s pretty tough, in fact, about the toughest I ever saw,” replied Van Dorn, “but then, you remember we got a hint at Silver City that they were sharpers.”
“Sharpers!” exclaimed Lindlay, “but I don’t call them sharpers; I can admire a good, genuine piece of keen rascality, don’t you know, for I can play just as sharp a game myself as the best of them, but w’en it comes to such downright, beastly work as this, so blundering and bungling you know, w’y it looks too much as though they thought we were all born idiots, to be very complimentary.”
“I’ll admit it looks that way,” said Van Dorn, laughing, “it doesn’t look as though they had a very flattering opinion of our acquirements, or our natural penetration, if they suppose we can be gulled in this way. They are about the worst set of mining sharks I’ve ever had the pleasure of meeting, and I shall tell Houston so.”
“By the way, that Mr. ’Uston seems a very decent sort of a man,” commented Lindlay.
“He’s a fine fellow,” responded Van Dorn warmly, “you see I know him, he’s a friend of mine, but don’t say anything till we get out of here.”
“A friend of yours! and w’at in the deuce is he doing out ’ere, among such a beastly lot?”
“He is out on a piece of detective work on his own account,” and Van Dorn briefly gave Lindlay an outline of what Houston had told him. A prolonged “Ah––h” from Lindlay was the only response.
“I thought I’d better tell you,” said Van Dorn, “for fear you would include him in the lot out here, and be down on him with the rest. He is a splendid fellow, and I want you to know him.”
“That I will,” responded the Englishman, “’ere, give ’im my card, and tell ’im I’ll be very glad to ’elp ’im out a bit any time if he needs it later, you know; I would like to see ’im get the best of these fellows.”
“I will tell him,” replied Van Dorn, “he may give you a letter of introduction to his uncle. They are all fine people, and, as you say, I would like to see Houston get the best of these rascals; I believe he will, too, though he will have to lay low for a while yet, and there may be some pretty dangerous work for him before he gets through.”
The pedestrians and the remainder of the party reached the house at nearly the same time, the latter having been slightly delayed in starting. Although a little late, Houston and Rutherford, with Miss Gladden and Lyle, were awaiting them in the porch. The rare beauty of the two ladies elicited expressions of admiration from both Lindlay and Van Dorn, the latter exclaiming:
“They evidently have some fine specimens of ladies out here, and no mistake; there seems to be no fraud in that direction. No wonder the old gentleman was so indifferent as to whether we called for him or not!”
Miss Gladden extended a welcome, both cordial and graceful, to Mr. Winters and his son, and also to Van Dorn, whom Rutherford introduced as an old friend. Other introductions followed, and the entire company entered the long, low dining room, whither Lyle had already preceded them to see that everything was in perfect readiness. Exclamations of surprise and pleasure were heard on all sides, as the table had been tastefully decorated by the skillful fingers of the ladies, with wild flowers, and their beauty and fragrance filled the room. A very social meal followed, interspersed with jokes and repartee, and pleasant reminiscences. Toward the close, Mr. Blaisdell entertained them with amusing sketches of western life, and soon was relating some of his first mining experiences, when he had just come from the east, a newly fledged mining expert.
“I was asked, in company with another expert, a western man, much older than I, to examine some properties for some mining men. They were all experienced miners, old hands at the business, and they regarded me, a young graduate from an eastern mining school, with no practical knowledge that they knew of, as totally incompetent to advise them, and, I think, invited me more out of courtesy than anything else; perhaps also, out of benevolent intention to give me an opportunity to learn something about mines.
“The evening previous to the day the examination was to be made, they met for a little conversation regarding the history of the mine, and to make plans for the following day. Of course, our talk was principally of mining in general. Well, didn’t I play ‘green’ that evening. You can bet your sweet life that I did!”
Here Lindlay elbowed Houston, who in turn nudged Van Dorn. The last named gentleman telegraphed across to the younger Winters and Rutherford, and there seemed imminent danger of a general explosion; however, Mr. Blaisdell thought it was all in appreciation of his story, and blandly continued:
“I think when we broke up that night, the rest of them must have wondered among themselves why they had been such fools as to invite me. But I was only anxious for the time to come to go down into that mine. It was a property which the company had bought when it was nothing but a prospect, but which had then possessed every indication of being a wonderful producer of very rich ore, and it was supposed that with a little further development it would make a very fine property. The company had immediately proceeded to develop the mine, following the vein, as they supposed, for several hundred feet, but it did not amount to anything worth speaking of. Occasionally they would find croppings of very rich ore, but no true vein, and they had finally determined to call in one or two experts, and after an examination, decide whether it was worth the expenditure of any more money, or whether it had better be abandoned.
“Well, aside from having received a fine education in this branch of science, I had worked a good deal in some of old Nature’s laboratories, and was more familiar with these things than they thought. I knew, from their talk, that they were not following the course of the vein, though they thought they were, but of course, I said nothing of that kind; I was playing green.
“The next day we went down into the mine, and I found just what I expected to find; that they were simply following a false lead, and in reality, going farther and farther from the vein every move they made. There was the original vein to start with, and they had struck a false lead close beside it, and were going down; digging down lower and lower, while the true vein was right over their heads, and those miners and that confounded expert that knew so much more than I did, didn’t any of them know enough just to look up there and see it. Why, near the point where they had first started, I could see the ore shining in places over my head, and there were croppings of it all along.
“Well, to make a long story short, I advised them to stick to the mine, and the expert advised them to abandon it. A little while afterward, I asked them what they would take for the mine; of course they thought that an additional proof of my greenness that I should talk of buying it, but I hung on, not appearing very anxious about it of course, for then they might suspect something. You won’t believe me, but I bought that mine for five hundred dollars, cash, and they thought I was the biggest fool and tenderfoot that ever came out here. I tell you, I made sure of a good, clear title to that property, and then I went to work. I followed the old, original vein, and in less than six weeks I had gold just a pouring out of that mine. My! but didn’t that company try to get back then! but I wouldn’t have anything to do with them; I told them I was a greenhorn and a tenderfoot, and they had better let me alone. Well, sir, I worked that mine eighteen months, and cleared, over and above all expenses, one hundred and fifty thousand dollars, and then I sold it for half a million, and those other fellows have been kicking themselves ever since.”
There was a hearty laugh at the termination of the story, and the company adjourned to the porch and the open space surrounding the house, for the evening.
Taken all in all, there was in that little company sheltered under the old house that night, a strange combination of plots and counter plots, secrets and mysteries; and to Houston himself, as he sat a little apart from the others, watching the group with thoughtful eyes, it seemed a curious coincidence, that, on that evening, and at that place, there should be assembled so many of the principal actors in the drama which he knew must ere long be enacted, and he was unable to shake off a vague presentiment that this was the opening scene. Just what would that drama be, he wondered, would it be comedy or tragedy? never, with all his foresight, dreaming the depth of tragedy so soon to follow, or recognizing as such, some of the chief actors, even then passing within his ken.
On one side of the low porch was seated Miss Gladden, entertaining Mr. Winters and his son, while behind her, Lyle was standing with unconscious grace, and a far-away, dreamy look in her eyes. Just across the entrance, on the other side, were Lindlay, Van Dorn and Rutherford, the last two engaged in animated conversation regarding old times, Lindlay occasionally joining with them, but most of the time watching Miss Gladden, with much admiration expressed in his usually critical face. Mr. Rivers sauntered back and forth before the house, smoking, while, at a little distance, Mr. Blaisdell, Haight and Morgan were talking together. Jim Maverick, coming from behind the house, touched his hat as a salute to Mr. Blaisdell, and after a quick glance of suspicious distrust at the elder Mr. Winters, shuffled off in the direction of the miners’ quarters. A little later, a man with powerful, athletic frame, who walked with quick, elastic step, and yet as though conscious of his power, passed the house, followed by a fine collie. His hat was drawn low over his eyes, partly concealing his face, but this did not prevent his watching the group on the porch with close, keen scrutiny. Houston and Rutherford started slightly, and exchanged glances, for they had recognized their fellow passenger from Valley City, and they would doubtless have made some comment, but that just then Miss Gladden spoke:
“Lyle, dear, I wonder who that can be; he is dressed like a miner, but his carriage and appearance is that of a gentleman.”
“That,” answered Lyle, in a low tone, “is Jack; he is a miner, and he is also a gentleman.”
CHAPTER XVIII.
Several days had elapsed since the eastern party, accompanied by Mr. Blaisdell and Mr. Rivers, had returned to the city, and, as yet, nothing had been learned of their decision regarding the mine. The extra force of men on the Sunrise had returned to their regular shifts, and the work at the mining camp was going forward in the old routine, with the monotonous precision of clock-work.
Houston was quietly pursuing his own way, conscious that the task before him involved difficulty and danger. He was aware that Haight, notwithstanding his obsequious politeness, was one of his worst enemies, and would injure him in every underhanded way within his power, as, beneath the smooth, smiling exterior, Houston could detect a deep, subtle malignity toward himself; and he rightly judged that Jim Maverick, the tool of the mining company, would be the instrument Haight would use when he was ready to work his revenge.
Maverick, from the first, had hated Houston with that instinctive hatred which such vile natures, groveling in their own degradation, always feel toward those moving on a higher plane, in an atmosphere untainted by the putrescence which is their natural element. Maverick knew that, to a man like Houston, his own baseness and villainy were written in his face, and even in his slouching, cringing gait, as plainly as though branded in letters of fire, and this was sufficient to kindle his anger against him, and Haight, by his talk, added fuel to the slowly smoldering fire. At home, but more particularly among the miners, in the camp or at the Y, Maverick expressed his views regarding Houston in language abounding with profanity and obscenity, and many were the muttered threats of what he would do should the object of his hatred ever cross his path.
Houston, meanwhile, was quick to discern the danger signals, and was laying his plans wisely and well. His own work in the office of the mining camp was nearly completed; there remained yet the information to be gathered from the Silver City office, to which he was now expecting to be called any day, and then the work of familiarizing himself with the mines. When this should be accomplished, the end, for which he was working and waiting, would be very near.
As he sat in the office one afternoon, reviewing the past few weeks, he felt that he had succeeded thus far, even beyond his hopes. The coming of Van Dorn and the acquaintance formed with Lindlay would be of untold value to him in his work. A little later, Van Dorn would come to his assistance without arousing suspicion, not being known as a mining expert, and when the time came for the final denouement, Lindlay would accompany Mr. Cameron to the mines, as he was a skilled expert, and having already visited the mines, could furnish testimony as to the fraud practiced by the company.
Thus far, everything had gone well, and the weeks of work in a secluded mining camp, to which he had looked forward with anything but pleasurable anticipations, had in reality proven,––he was surprised to admit to himself,––among the pleasantest of his life. He would really have many regrets on leaving the mountains to return to his old home, he had formed such pleasant associations; and then, he suddenly became conscious that, of his life among the mountains, there was little he would miss, excepting a pair of dark, soulful eyes, in whose depths he had failed to detect the least shadow of falseness or unworthiness; mirrors of a sweet, womanly nature, strong, pure and beautiful, which with a quick, ready sympathy entered into his feelings, and often seemed to fathom his unspoken thoughts, and clothe them with language of her own.
Houston started in astonishment, and, locking the office, took a circuitous and little traveled road, determined to fully understand his own heart before he again looked into those eyes with their depths of sincerity and truth.
For many years he had been the recipient of flattering attentions from fond papas and aspiring mammas. Invitations to club dinners, banquets and the most recherche lunches, on the one hand, were evenly balanced by cards to receptions, soirees and afternoon teas, on the other. Had he passed heart-whole through all these sieges, only to fall a victim, here and now?
He had admired Miss Gladden from the first; then, in their mutual sympathy for Lyle, they had been drawn closer together, and since that time,––yes, he could see it all now.
Of Miss Gladden herself he knew very little, except that she was a true, noble woman; he needed no words to tell him that. Rutherford had learned from conversation with her, that she was an orphan, and had been traveling with friends because her home was made unpleasant by some of her relatives; and both had judged that she was probably, in a measure, dependent upon wealthy relatives.
This much Houston did know, however, that he loved Leslie Gladden, that she was worthy of his love, and that life without her would not seem worth the living. He believed that she loved him, and his heart thrilled with the thought, that if so, it was for himself, not his wealth, that she cared. Before he reached the house, his mind was fully decided:
“I love her for herself,” he soliloquized, “not caring whether she is rich or poor, and I believe she does, or will, love me in like manner. In any event, I must learn my fate before the arrival of my uncle.”
As Houston approached the house, Miss Gladden and Lyle were standing together in the porch. He greeted both ladies with even more than his usual courtesy, but as his eyes met those of Miss Gladden, there was that in his glance, which in itself, was a declaration of his love for her. Lyle, with her quick intuition, read the meaning, and with her natural sense of delicacy, as quickly withdrew, leaving them together. For an instant, Miss Gladden’s eyes dropped before Houston’s glance, while a lovely color suffused her cheek; then she raised her eyes, meeting his with an answering glance, and in that mutual recognition, though no word was spoken, they knew that they were lovers, and that was enough for the present.
Of late, the four friends had spent much time together; sometimes climbing the mountains, to watch from their lofty summits the setting sun, slowly descending amid clouds of flame, whose glowing colors were reflected from the surrounding peaks in ever varying tints; the rose changing to amethyst and violet, and the violet deepening to purple; while far below, the canyon lay wrapped in soft, gray twilight. Or, sometimes, taking one or two boats from the little boat-house built for the accommodation of summer tourists, they rowed about the lake in the moonlight.
On this particular night, Rutherford proposed a row, in one of the larger boats, the entire length of the lake, to the cascades, to which the rest readily acceded. The ladies soon appeared in light, fleecy wraps, Miss Gladden carrying a fine guitar, which called forth exclamations of pleasure from the gentlemen.
“Good!” said Rutherford, “that will be just the thing; now we will have some music.”
“Miss Gladden,” said Houston, “why have we not been favored in this way earlier?”
“Oh,” she replied, archly, “it has never been a necessity until to-night, but a long row in the moonlight would not be perfect without music.”
This was their first trip to the end of the lakes, and they found the scene beautiful beyond description. On one side an almost perpendicular wall of rock; in the opposite direction, the mountain ranges stretching far away in the distance, with snowy peaks gleaming here and there, like watch towers; while just before them, the shimmering cascades in the wondrous beauty of the moonlight, the deep, unceasing roar seeming to rise and fall with a rhythm of its own.
For the first few moments, they sat in silent admiration of the beauty around them; then Miss Gladden touched the strings of the guitar, and began singing in a rich contralto, in which Houston joined with a fine baritone, while Rutherford added a clear, sweet tenor. Their voices blended perfectly, and accompanied by the sweet notes of the guitar, the music floated out over the lake, the lingering echoes dying away, in the distance.
Lyle took no part in the song, but sat listening with parted lips and dreamy eyes. When the song was finished, she exclaimed:
“Oh, please do not stop, I love to listen to you; it reminds me of something I have heard long ago, I don’t know when or where.”
“Do you never sing, Miss Maverick?” asked Rutherford.
“Only sometimes for myself,” she said, “I know only two or three songs that I have heard others sing.”
“But you have a sweet voice,” said Houston, “will you not sing for us?”
“If you will overlook any mistakes, I may,” answered Lyle, “for I probably do not sing correctly, as I know nothing of music.”
“Certainly, Lyle, we would like to hear you,” said Miss Gladden.
As simply, and as free from self-consciousness as a child, Lyle began her song, her eyes fixed on the distant shining peaks, and her only accompaniment the music of the cascades.
“Love is come with a song and a smile,Welcome love with a smile and a song;Love can stay but a little while:Why can not he stay?They call him away;Ye do him wrong, ye do him wrong,Love will stay for a whole life long.”
Whether Lyle sang correctly that night was never known; even the beautiful words of the old song that seemed so appropriate to the occasion, were forgotten before she had sung more than two or three lines, and her listeners sat entranced, spell-bound, by the voice of the singer; a voice of such exquisite sweetness and clearness, and yet possessing such power and depth of expression, that it thrilled the hearts of her listeners, seeming to lift them out of all consciousness of their surroundings, and to transport them to another world; a world
“Where the singers, whose names are deathless,One with another make music, unheard of men.”
As the last note died away, a long, deep sigh from Houston seemed to break the spell, and Miss Gladden looking up, her eyes shining with unshed tears, said, as she pressed Lyle’s hand:
“My dear, we have found our song-queen, our nightingale. We can all learn of you, and never equal you.”
Houston had been strangely moved, and as he spoke, there was a slight tremor in his voice.
“I have heard, in all my life, but one voice like that, and that was one who died when I was a child.”
Lyle looked surprised.
“Has no one ever told you you could sing?” asked Miss Gladden.
“I never sang for any one, excepting once, for Jack,” answered Lyle.
“What did he say of your voice?” inquired Miss Gladden.
“He said, like Mr. Houston, that he had heard but one voice like mine, but that he did not like to hear me, so I have never sung since, excepting by myself.”
“Lyle,” said Miss Gladden suddenly, “how old is this man whom you call Jack?”
“Possibly forty, perhaps a little less,” she answered indifferently.
A new thought had flashed into Miss Gladden’s mind. For some time she had doubted whether Lyle were really a child of Maverick and his wife, she was so utterly unlike them; could it be possible that Jack, whose life seemed so much a mystery, was the father of Lyle? Was that the reason for his interest in her? and had Lyle had some beautiful mother,––unfortunate perhaps,––whose life had suddenly gone out, as the little life had just begun, and whose memory was recalled too vividly by Lyle’s song? Miss Gladden determined, if possible, to find a clue to this mystery.
The boat was now on its homeward way, and a song with which all were familiar having been found, the four voices blended in exquisite harmony.
“It seems to me there are some rare treats in store for us,” was Rutherford’s comment, as the friends separated for the night; then, a few moments later, when alone with Houston, he exclaimed:
“By Jove, Houston! but what a voice that girl has! I never heard anything like it in my life. I didn’t say much before Miss Gladden, for fear she might think I didn’t appreciate her singing, and I certainly did, for she sings magnificently.”
“You need have no fear of any sensitiveness on Miss Gladden’s part,” said Houston quickly, “in the first place, their voices are altogether different, there is no comparison between them; and in addition, Miss Gladden’s regard for Lyle is so disinterested and unselfish, there would be no room for any feeling of that kind. We must all acknowledge that Lyle certainly has a wonderful voice; as I said before, I have heard but one like it.”
“Great Heavens!” said Rutherford, with more feeling than Houston had ever seen him manifest, “I’m sorry for that girl, Houston.”
“Why?” asked Houston quietly.
“Why, only to think of her beauty and intellect, and such a voice as that, and then think of her parents, and the life to which she is tied down here.”
“Granting the parents and present life,” said Houston, “is that any argument that she will always be ‘tied down here’ as you say?”
“I think it would always fetter her in a measure; it will leave its imprint upon her mind, or at least her memory, and although she is not in her proper sphere here, yet her life here, and all its associations, would be likely to make her feel out of place in a higher sphere,”
“I think not,” said Houston, watching Rutherford closely, “I think if she could be removed from here, and given a thorough education, there would remain no trace whatever of the early life.”
“But what about the question of heredity?” asked Rutherford, “there must be bad blood there, when and where would it make its appearance?”
“That would be a serious question,” replied Houston, “providing she is the child of these people; I have always had grave doubts of that, and Miss Gladden has often expressed the same.”
“By Jove! I never thought of that! It seems likely enough, too. What do you think, that she was stolen?”
“No,” said Houston slowly, “that does not seem so probable as that she may have been some child that they were hired to take.”
“In that case,” said Rutherford, “I should think the uncertainty regarding her family and origin, would be almost as bad as the certainty in the other case.”
“It might seem so to some people,” Houston replied, adding with a smile, “especially to a Bostonian, who prided himself upon his ‘blue blood’.”
“Oh,” said Rutherford, coloring, “I’m not pursuing this inquiry on my own account at all, I was only thinking of her prospects generally. I’m not interested in that direction.”
“In what direction are you interested, if I may ask?” said Houston, experiencing, for the first time, a little twinge of jealousy.
“In the direction of the ‘Hub,’ my dear boy,” Rutherford replied, with another blush.
“Spoken like a true Bostonian!” said Houston approvingly.
“Yes, sir,” continued Rutherford, “there’s a little girl belongs back there in Boston, that’s more to me than all the ladies you can produce in this part of the country, or any other, no matter how beautiful they may be; and she’s not bad looking either. Her parents took her to Europe for a little trip this spring, and Boston seemed so lonesome, that was the reason I came west.”
“Good for you, Ned, you have my best wishes,” said Houston, shaking hands with his friend, “but really, you and Lyle had seemed so fond of each other’s society lately, that I thought perhaps it was to be your destiny to rescue her from her unhappy fate.”
“Well, as to each other’s society,” said Rutherford, very slowly, “of late we have been restricted to that or none, for you and Miss Gladden have been growing so unconscious of us, that we’ve had to console with each other; but then, I understood how ’twas, for I’ve been there myself, you know, and I’m ready to offer congratulations and all that sort of thing, whenever they are in order.”
Houston appeared very unconscious of Rutherford’s meaning, as he inquired, “How does Lyle herself regard your attentions? There must be no trifling with her, I have too much regard for her myself, for that.”
“Miss Maverick is not a girl to be trifled with,” replied Rutherford, “I think a good deal of her, since I am better acquainted with her, and respect her and she knows it, but I think she realizes the sort of anomalous position that she occupies, and that is why I say I am sorry for her. She is far too brilliant for her surroundings, and yet not fitted for a much higher place.”
“Not at present,” replied Houston, “but with her natural endowments and her innate delicacy and refinement, comparatively little training and culture would be necessary to fit her for almost any position in life.”
“I wonder what will be her fate.”
“Time will tell,” replied Houston, who had his own plans.