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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Angel of the Gila:, by Cora Marsland
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: The Angel of the Gila:
+       A Tale of Arizona
+
+Author: Cora Marsland
+
+Release Date: October 14, 2011 [EBook #37746]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE ANGEL OF THE GILA: ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Roberta Staehlin, Jen Haines, David Garcia and
+the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at
+http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images
+generously made available by The Internet Archive/American
+Libraries.)
+
+
+
+
+
+Transcriber's notes are at end of text.
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration: _She forgot the flowers in her arms, forgot
+the sunset, and stood entranced in prayer._]
+
+
+
+
+THE ANGEL OF THE GILA
+
+_A Tale of Arizona_
+
+CORA MARSLAND
+
+_With Illustrations by
+S. S. HICKS and GEM VAUGHN_
+
+[Illustration]
+
+RICHARD G. BADGER
+
+THE GORHAM PRESS
+
+BOSTON
+
+
+
+
+COPYRIGHT, 1911, BY RICHARD G. BADGER
+
+_All Rights Reserved_
+
+_THE GORHAM PRESS, BOSTON, U. S. A._
+
+
+
+
+TO MY MOTHER
+
+
+
+
+     CONTENTS
+
+
+     CHAPTER                               PAGE
+
+        I THE MINING CAMP                   11
+
+       II THE DAWN OF A NEW DAY             19
+
+      III CLAYTON RANCH                     30
+
+       IV THE ANGEL OF THE GILA             41
+
+        V THE ROCKY MOUNTAIN BALL           57
+
+       VI A SOUL'S AWAKENING                78
+
+      VII THE GILA CLUB                     89
+
+     VIII THE COW LASSES                   107
+
+       IX A VISIT AT MURPHY RANCH          117
+
+        X CARLA EARLE                      132
+
+       XI AN EVENTFUL DAY                  140
+
+      XII CHRISTMAS DAY                    154
+
+     XIII THE ADOPTION OF A MOTHER         167
+
+      XIV THE GREAT TRANSFORMATION         182
+
+       XV SOME SOCIAL EXPERIENCES          194
+
+      XVI OVER THE MOUNTAINS               205
+
+     XVII THE GREAT RACE                   217
+
+    XVIII NIGHT ON THE RANGE               225
+
+      XIX INASMUCH                         238
+
+       XX A WOMAN'S NO                     241
+
+      XXI THE VALLEY OF THE SHADOW         248
+
+     XXII THE GREATEST OF THESE IS LOVE    265
+
+    XXIII AT SUNSET                        271
+
+     XXIV AFTERMATH                        278
+
+
+
+
+THE ANGEL OF THE GILA
+
+
+
+
+The Angel of The Gila
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER I
+
+THE MINING CAMP
+
+
+It was an October day in Gila,[1] Arizona. The one street of the
+mining camp wound around the foothills, and led eastward to Line
+Canyon, which, at that point, divides Arizona from New Mexico. Four
+saloons, an opium den, a store of general merchandise,--owned and
+operated by the mining company,--a repair shop, one large, pretentious
+adobe house,--the headquarters of the company, where superintendent,
+assayers, and mining engineers boarded,--several small dwelling
+houses, and many miners' shacks, constituted the town.
+
+[1] Pronounced hé la.
+
+A little further to the eastward, around a bend in the foothills, and
+near Line Canyon, lay Clayton Ranch,--the most historic, as well as
+the most picturesque spot in that region. Near the dwelling house, but
+closer to the river than the Clayton home, stood a little adobe
+schoolhouse.
+
+The town, facing south, overlooked Gila River and its wooded banks.
+Beyond the Gila, as in every direction, stretched foothills and
+mountains. Toward the south towered Mt. Graham, the highest peak of
+the Pinaleno range, blue in the distance, and crowned with snow.
+
+Up a pathway of the foothills, west of the town, bounding forward as
+if such a climb were but joy to her, came a slight, girlish figure.
+She paused now and then to turn her face westward, watching the
+changing colors of sunset.
+
+At last she reached a bowlder, and, seating herself, leaned against
+it, removed her sombrero hat, pushed back the moist curls from her
+forehead, and turned again to the sunset. The sun, for one supreme
+moment, poised on a mountain peak, then slowly sank, flashing its
+message of splendor into the majestic dome of the sky, over
+snow-capped mountains, over gigantic cliffs of red sandstone, over
+stretches of yellow foothills, and then caught the white-robed figure,
+leaning against the bowlder, in its rosy glow. The girl lifted her
+fine, sensitive face. Again she pushed the curls from her forehead. As
+she lifted her arm, her sleeve slipped back, revealing an arm and hand
+of exquisite form, and patrician to the tips of the fingers.
+
+She seemed absorbed in the scene before her, unconscious that she was
+the loveliest part of it. But if she was unconscious of the fact, a
+horseman who drew rein a short distance away, and who watched her
+intently a few moments, was not. At last the girl stirred, as though
+to continue on her way. Instantly the horseman gave his horse a sharp
+cut with his whip, and went cantering up the ascent before her.
+
+The sudden sound of a horse's hoofs startled her, and she glanced up
+to see the horseman and his thoroughbred speeding toward the town.
+
+She swung her sombrero hat over her shoulder, and gathered up her
+flowers; then, with a lingering glance to westward, turned and walked
+rapidly toward Gila.
+
+By the time she had reached the one long street, many cowboys and
+miners had already congregated about the saloons. She dreaded to pass
+there at this hour, but this she must do in order to reach Clayton
+Ranch, nearly a mile beyond.
+
+As she drew near one saloon, she heard uproarious laughter. The voices
+were loud and boisterous. It was impossible for her to escape hearing
+what was said. It was evident to her that she herself was at that
+moment the topic of conversation.
+
+"She'll git all the Bible school she wants Sunday afternoon, or my
+name's not Pete Tompkins," ejaculated a bar-tender as he stepped to
+the bar of a saloon.
+
+"What're ye goin' ter do, Pete?" asked a young miner. "I'm in f'r y'r
+game, or my name ain't Bill Hines."
+
+"I?" answered the individual designated as Pete Tompkins, "I mean ter
+give 'er a reception, Bill, a _reception_." Here he laughed
+boisterously. "I repeat it," he said. "I'll give 'er a reception, an'
+conterive ter let 'er understan' that no sech infernal business as a
+Bible school 'll be tol'ated in these yere parts o' Arizony. Them as
+wants ter join me in smashin' this cussed Sunday business step ter the
+bar. I'll treat the hull blanked lot o' ye."
+
+The girl passing along the street shuddered. The brutal voice went on:
+
+"Set up the glasses o' whiskey, Keith. Here, Jess an' Kate. We want
+yer ter have a hand in smashin' this devilish Bible school. Another
+glass fur Jess, Keith, an' one fur Kate."
+
+The pedestrian quickened her pace, but still the voice followed her.
+
+"Here's ter y'r healths, an' ter the smashin' o' the Bible school, an'
+ter the reception we'll give the new schoolma'am."
+
+The stranger heard the clink of glasses, mingled with the uproar of
+laughter. Then she caught the words:
+
+"Ye don't jine us, Hastings. P'r'aps y're too 'ristercratic, or
+p'r'aps y're gone on the gal! Ha-ha-ha-ha!"
+
+The saloon rang with the laughter of the men and women.
+
+The girl who had just passed quickened her pace, her cheeks tingling
+with indignation. As she hastened on, the man addressed as Hastings
+replied haughtily:
+
+"I am a _man_, and being a man I cannot see insult offered to any
+woman, especially when that woman is making an effort to do some good
+in this Godless region."
+
+"He's gone on 'er, sure, Bill. Ha-ha-ha-ha! Imagine me, Pete Tompkins,
+gone on the schoolma'am! Ha-ha-ha-ha!"
+
+His companions joined in his laughter.
+
+"What'ud she think o' my figger, Bill?" he asked, as he strutted
+across the saloon. "How 'ud I look by 'er side in Virginny reel, eh?
+I'm afeared it 'ud be the devil an' angel in comp'ny. Ha-ha-ha!"
+
+"Y're right thar," replied one of the men. "Ye certain are a devil,
+an' she do look like a angel."
+
+"Say, fellers," said Bill Hines, "me an' Pete an' all o' ye ought ter
+git some slime from the river, an' throw on them white dresses o'
+hern. I don't like nobody settin' theirselves up to be better'n we be,
+even in clo'es, do ye, Jess?"
+
+Jess agreed with him.
+
+"What's all this noise about?" interrupted a new comer.
+
+"Hello, Mark Clifton, is that you? Well, me an' Bill an' Jess an' the
+other kids is plannin' ter smash schoolma'am's Bible school, Sunday.
+We're goin' ter give 'er a reception."
+
+"What do you mean by that?" asked Clifton.
+
+"Ye kin jine the party an' we'll show yer."
+
+"Let me urge you to leave Miss Bright alone. She has not harmed you.
+Leave the Bible school alone, too, and attend to your own business."
+
+"Oh, he's a saint, ain't he! He is!" sneered Pete Tompkins. "What about
+this gal as he has with him here? More whiskey! Fill up the glasses,
+Keith. Come, Jess. Come, Kate Harraday." And the half-intoxicated man
+swung one woman around and tried to dance a jig, failing in which, he
+fell to the floor puffing and swearing.
+
+Mark Clifton's face darkened. He grasped a chair and stepped forward,
+as if to strike the speaker. He hesitated. As he did so, a handsome
+cowboy entered, followed by a little Indian boy of perhaps six years
+of age.
+
+"What's the row, Hastings?" asked the cowboy in a low voice.
+
+"Pete Tompkins and Bill Hines and their ilk are planning to give Miss
+Bright, the new teacher, some trouble when she attempts to start a
+Bible school to-morrow afternoon. Clifton remonstrated, and they
+taunted him about Carla Earle. That enraged him."
+
+"What do they plan ter do?"
+
+"I fancy they'll do every blackguard thing they can think of. They are
+drunk now, but when they are sober they may reconsider. At any rate,
+the decent men of the camp ought to be on the spot to protect that
+girl, Harding."
+
+"I'll be there fur one, Hastings. Have yer seen 'er?"
+
+"Yes. As I rode into camp just now I passed someone I took to be Miss
+Bright."
+
+"Pretty as a picter, ain't she?" said Jack Harding.
+
+"Look, there she goes around the bend of the road towards Claytons'.
+There goes y'r teacher, Wathemah."
+
+The Indian child bounded to the door.
+
+"Me teacher, _me_ teacher," he said over and over to himself, as he
+watched the receding figure.
+
+"_Your_ teacher, eh, sonny," said Kenneth Hastings smiling. He laid
+his hand on the child's head.
+
+"Yes, _me_ teacher," said the boy proudly.
+
+His remark was overheard by Pete Tompkins.
+
+"Lookee here, boys! There goes Wathemah's teacher. Now's y'r chance,
+my hearties. See the nat'ral cur'osity as is to start a religion shop,
+an' grind us fellers inter angels. Are my wings sproutin'?"
+
+As he spoke the words, he flapped his elbows up and down. Kenneth
+Hastings and Jack Harding exchanged glances. Mark Clifton had gone.
+
+Pete Tompkins hereupon stepped to the door and called out:
+
+"Three cheers fur the angel o' the Gila, my hearties. One, two, three!
+Now! That's it. Now! Death to the Bible school!"
+
+"Death to the Bible school!" shouted they in unison.
+
+The little Indian heard their words. He knew that insult and,
+possibly, injury threatened his teacher, and, stepping up to Pete
+Tompkins, he kicked his shins with all his childish strength, uttering
+oaths that drew forth hilarious laughter from the men.
+
+"Y're a good un," said one.
+
+"Give 'im a trounce in the air," added another.
+
+In a moment, the child was tossed from one to another, his passionate
+cries and curses mingling with their ribald laughter. At last he was
+caught by John Harding, who held him in his arms.
+
+"Never mind, Wathemah," he said soothingly.
+
+Hoarse with rage, the child shrieked, "You blankety blanked devils!
+You blankety blanked devils!"
+
+A ruffian cursed him.
+
+He was wild. He struggled to free himself, to return to the fray, but
+Jack Harding held him fast.
+
+"You devils, devils, devils!" he shrieked again. His little frame
+trembled with anger, and he burst into tears.
+
+"Never mind, little chap," said his captor, drawing him closer, "ye go
+with me."
+
+For once John Harding left the saloon without touching liquor. The
+Indian child was clasped in his arms. When he reached a place beyond
+the sound of the men's voices, he set the little lad on his feet. He
+patted him on the head, and looked down compassionately into the
+tear-stained face.
+
+"Poor little chap," he said, "poor little chap. Y're like me, ain't
+ye? Ye ain't got nobody in the world. Let's be pards, Wathemah!"
+
+"Pards?" repeated the child between sobs.
+
+"Yes, pards, sonny. That's what I said."
+
+Wathemah clasped his arms about Jack's knees.
+
+"Me _teacher_ pard too?" he asked, trying bravely to stop crying.
+
+"Yourn, not mine, sonny," answered Harding, smiling. Then hand in hand,
+they strolled toward Clayton Ranch. And this was the strengthening of
+the comradeship between the two, which was as loyal as it was tender.
+
+Kenneth Hastings overtook them, then passed them. He reached Clayton
+Ranch, hesitated a moment, then walked rapidly toward Line Canyon.
+
+For some indefinable reason he did not call that evening at Clayton
+Ranch as was his custom, nor did he knock at that door for many days.
+On the following Monday, he was called to a distant mining camp, where
+he was detained by business. So it happened that he was one of the
+last to meet the new teacher whose coming was to mean so much to his
+life and to the people of Gila.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II
+
+THE DAWN OF A NEW DAY
+
+
+For many days, public attention had been centered upon Esther Bright,
+the new teacher in Gila. Her grasp of the conditions of the school,
+her power to cope with the lawless element there, and her absolute
+mastery of the situation had now become matters of local history. Her
+advent in Gila had been a nine days' wonder to the Gilaites; now, her
+presence there had come to be regarded as a matter of course.
+
+Every new feature introduced into the school life, every new
+acquaintance made, deepened her hold upon the better life of the
+community. Moreover, her vital interest in the people awakened in them
+a responsive interest in her.
+
+Fearlessly she tramped the foothills and canyons, returning laden with
+flowers and geological specimens. Learning her interest in these
+things, many people of the camp began to contribute to her
+collections.
+
+Here in the Rockies, Nature pours out her treasures with lavish hand.
+White men had long dwelt in the midst of her marvelous wealth of
+scenic beauty, amazingly ignorant of any values there save that which
+had a purchasing power and could be counted in dollars and cents.
+
+The mountains were ministering to the soul life of Esther Bright. The
+strength of the hills became hers. Nature's pages of history lay open
+before her; but more interesting to her than cell or crystal, or tree
+or flower, or the shining company of the stars, were the human beings
+she found fettered by ignorance and sin. The human element made
+demands upon her mind and heart. Here was something for her to do. If
+they had been a colony of blind folk or cripples, their condition
+could not have appealed more strongly to her sympathy. Profanity,
+gambling, drunkenness and immorality were about her everywhere. The
+vices of the adults had long been imitated as play by the children. So
+one of Esther Bright's first innovations in school work was to
+organize play and teach games, and be in the midst of children at
+play. She was philosopher enough to realize that evil habits of years
+could not be uprooted at once; but she did such heroic weeding that
+the playground soon became comparatively decent. How to save the
+children, and how to help the older people of the community were
+absorbing questions to her. She was a resourceful woman, and began at
+once to plan wisely, and methodically carried out her plans. In her
+conferences with Mr. Clayton, her school trustee, she repeatedly
+expressed her conviction that the greatest work before them was to
+bring this great human need into vital relation with God. So it came
+about very naturally that a movement to organize a Bible school began
+in Gila.
+
+Into every home, far and near, went Esther Bright, always sympathetic,
+earnest and enthusiastic. Her enthusiasm proved contagious. There had
+been days of this house to house visitation, and now the day of the
+organization of the Bible school was at hand.
+
+In the morning, Esther went to the schoolhouse to see that all was in
+readiness. She paused, as she so often did, to wonder at the glory of
+the scene. The schoolhouse itself was a part of the picture. It was
+built of huge blocks of reddish brown adobe, crumbled at the corners.
+The red tile roof added a picturesque bit of color to the landscape.
+Just above the roof, at the right, rose an ample chimney. At the left,
+and a little back of the schoolhouse, towered two giant cactuses. To
+the north, stretched great barren foothills, like vast sand dunes by
+the sea, the dreariness of their gray-white, or reddish soil relieved
+only by occasional bunches of gray-green sage, mesquite bushes, cacti
+and the Spanish dagger, with its sword-like foliage, and tall spikes
+of seed-pods.
+
+Beyond the foothills, miles away, though seeming near, towered rugged,
+cathedral-like masses of snow-capped mountains. The shadows flitted
+over the earth, now darkening the mountain country, now leaving floods
+of light.
+
+All along the valley of the Gila River, stretched great fields of
+green alfalfa. Here and there, above the green, towered feathery
+pampas plumes.
+
+The river, near the schoolhouse, made a bend northward. Along its
+banks were cottonwood trees, aspen, and sycamore, covered with green
+mistletoe, and tangles of vines. No wonder Esther paused to drink in
+the beauty. It was a veritable garden of the gods.
+
+At last she entered the schoolhouse. She carried with her Bibles, hymn
+books, and lesson leaves, all contributions from her grandfather.
+Already, the room was decorated with mountain asters of brilliant
+colors. She looked around with apparent satisfaction, for the room had
+been made beautiful with the flowers. She passed out, locked the door,
+and returned to the Clayton home.
+
+In the saloons, all that morning, the subject of gossip had been the
+Bible school. John Harding and Kenneth Hastings, occasionally
+sauntering in, gathered that serious trouble was brewing for the young
+teacher.
+
+The hour for the meeting drew near. As Esther approached the
+schoolhouse, she found perhaps forty people, men, women and children,
+grouped near the door. Some of the children ran to meet her, Wathemah,
+the little Indian, outrunning all of them. He trudged along proudly by
+his teacher's side.
+
+Esther Bright heard groans and hisses. As she looked at the faces
+before her, two stood out with peculiar distinctness,--one, a proud,
+high-bred face; the other, a handsome, though dissipated one.
+
+There were more hisses and then muttered insults. There was no
+mistaking the sounds or meaning. The Indian child sprang forward,
+transformed into a fury. He shook his little fist at the men, as he
+shouted, "Ye Wathemah teacher hurt, Wathemah kill ye blankety blanked
+devils."
+
+A coarse laugh arose from several men.
+
+"What're yer givin' us, kid?" said one man, staggering forward.
+
+"Wathemah show ye, ye blankety blanked devil," shrieked he again.
+
+Wild with rage, the child rushed forward, uttering oaths that made his
+teacher shudder. She too stepped rapidly forward, and clasped her arms
+about him. He fought desperately for release, but she held him,
+speaking to him in low, firm tones, apparently trying to quiet him. At
+last, he burst into tears of anger.
+
+For a moment, the mutterings and hisses ceased, but they burst forth
+again with greater strength. The child sprang from his teacher, leaped
+like a squirrel to the back of one of the ruffians, climbed to his
+shoulder, and dealt lightning blows upon his eyes and nose and mouth.
+The man grasped him and hurled him with terrific force to the ground.
+The little fellow lay in a helpless heap where he had fallen. Esther
+rushed to the child and bent over him. All the brute seemed roused in
+the drunken man. He lunged toward her with menacing fists, and a
+torrent of oaths.
+
+"Blank yer!" he said, "Yer needn't interfere with me. Blank y'r hide.
+Yer'll git out o' Gila ter-morrer, blank yer!"
+
+But he did not observe the three stern faces at the right and left of
+Esther Bright and the prostrate child. Three men with guns drawn
+protected them.
+
+The men who had come to insult and annoy knew well that if they
+offered further violence to the young teacher and the unconscious
+child, they would have to reckon with John Clayton, Kenneth Hastings
+and John Harding. Wordless messages were telegraphed from eye to eye,
+and one by one the ruffians disappeared.
+
+Esther still knelt by Wathemah. He had been stunned by the fall. Water
+revived him; and after a time, he was able to walk into the
+schoolhouse.
+
+Oh, little child of the Open, so many years misunderstood, how
+generously you respond with love to a little human kindness! How
+bitterly you resent a wrong!
+
+Afterwards, in describing what Miss Bright did during this trying
+ordeal, a Scotch miner said:
+
+"The lass's smile fair warmed the heart. It was na muckle, but when
+she comforted the Indian bairn I could na be her enemy."
+
+As Esther entered the door, she saw two middle-aged Scotch women clasp
+hands and exchange words of greeting. She did not dream then, nor did
+she know until months after, how each of these longed for her old
+home in Scotland; nor did she know, at that time, how the heart of
+each one of them had warmed towards her.
+
+Several women and children and a few men followed the teacher into the
+schoolroom. All looked around curiously.
+
+Esther looked into the faces before her, some dull, others hard; some
+worn by toil and exposure; others disfigured by dissipation. They were
+to her, above everything else, human beings to be helped; and
+ministration to their needs became of supreme interest to her.
+
+There were several Scotch people in the audience. As the books and
+lesson leaves were passed, Esther gave out a hymn the children knew,
+and which she fancied might be familiar to the Scotch people
+present,--"My Ain Countrie."
+
+She lifted her guitar, played a few opening chords, and sang,
+
+     "I am far frae my hame, an' I'm weary aftenwhiles
+     For the longed-for hame-bringin', an' my Faither's welcome
+         smiles;
+     An' I'll ne'er be fu' content, until mine een do see
+     The gowden gates o' Heaven, an' my ain countrie."
+
+At first a few children sang with her, but finding their elders did
+not sing, they, too, stopped to listen.
+
+The two Scotch women, who sat side by side, listened intently. One
+reached out and clasped the hand of the other; and then, over the
+cheeks furrowed by toil, privation and heart-hunger, tears found their
+unaccustomed way.
+
+The singer sang to the close of the stanza, then urged all to sing
+with her. A sturdy Scotchman, after clearing his throat, spoke up:
+
+"Please, Miss, an' will ye sing it all through y'rsel? It reminds me
+o' hame."
+
+Applause followed. The singer smiled, then lifting her guitar, sang in
+a musical voice, the remaining stanzas.
+
+When she prayed, the room grew still. The low, tender voice was
+speaking as to a loving, compassionate Father. One miner lifted his
+head to see the Being she addressed, and whose presence seemed to fill
+the room. All he saw was the shining face of the teacher. Months
+later, he said confidentially to a companion that he would acknowledge
+that though he had never believed in "such rot as a God an' all them
+things," yet when the teacher prayed that day, he somehow felt that
+there was a God, and that he was right there in that room. And he
+added:
+
+"I felt mighty queer. I reckon I wasn't quite ready ter have Him look
+me through an' through."
+
+From similar testimony given by others at various times, it is clear
+that many that day heard themselves prayed for for the first time in
+their lives. And they did not resent it.
+
+The prayer ended. A hush followed. Then the lesson of the day was
+taught, and the school was organized. At the close, the teacher asked
+all who wished to help in the Bible school to remain a few moments.
+
+Many came to express their good will. One Scotch woman said, "I dinna
+wonder the bairns love ye. Yir talk the day was as gude as the sermons
+i' the Free Kirk at hame."
+
+Then another Scotch woman took both of Esther Bright's hands in her
+own, and assured her it was a long day since she had listened to the
+Word.
+
+"But," she added, "whatever Jane Carmichael can dae tae help ye,
+Lassie, she'll dae wi' a' her heart."
+
+The first of the two stepped forward, saying apologetically, "I forgot
+tae say as I am Mistress Burns, mither o' Marget an' Jamesie."
+
+"And I," added the other, "am the mither o' Donald."
+
+Mr. Clayton, elected superintendent at the organization of the Bible
+school, now joined the group about the teacher. At last the workers
+only remained, and after a brief business meeting, they went their
+several ways. Evidently they were thinking new thoughts.
+
+Mrs. Burns overtook Mrs. Carmichael and remarked to her, "I dinna ken
+why the Almighty came sae near my heart the day, for I hae wandered.
+God be thankit, that He has sent the lassie amang us."
+
+"Aye," responded Mrs. Carmichael, "let us be thankfu', an' come back
+hame tae God."
+
+Esther Bright was the last to leave the schoolhouse. As she strolled
+along slowly, deep in thought over the events of the day, she was
+arrested by the magnificence of the sunset. She stopped and stood
+looking into the crystal clearness of the sky, so deep, so
+illimitable. Across the heavens, which were suddenly aflame with
+crimson and gold, floated delicate, fleecy clouds. Soon, all the
+colors of the rainbow were caught and softened by these swift-winged
+messengers of the sky. Away on the mountains, the snow glowed as if on
+fire. Slowly the colors faded. Still she stood, with face uplifted.
+Then she turned, her face shining, as though she had stood in the very
+presence of God.
+
+Suddenly, in her path, stepped the little Indian, his arms full of
+goldenrod. He waited for her, saying as he offered the flowers:
+
+"_Flowers_, me teacher."
+
+She stooped, drew him to her, and kissed his dirty face, saying as she
+did so, "Flowers? How lovely!"
+
+He clasped her hand, and they walked on together.
+
+The life story of the little Indian had deeply touched her. It was now
+three years since he had been found, a baby of three, up in Line
+Canyon. That was just after one of the Apache raids. It was believed
+that he was the child of Geronimo. When the babe was discovered by the
+white men who pursued the Indians, he was blinking in the sun. A
+cowboy, one Jack Harding, had insisted upon taking the child back to
+the camp with them. Then the boy had found a sort of home in Keith's
+saloon, where he had since lived. There he had been teased and petted,
+and cuffed and beaten, and cursed by turns, and being a child of
+unusually bright mind, and the constant companion of rough men, he had
+learned every form of evil a child can possibly know. His naturally
+winsome nature had been changed by teasing and abuse until he seemed
+to deserve the sobriquet they gave him,--"little savage." Now at the
+age of perhaps six years, he had been sent to the Gila school; and
+there Esther Bright found him. The teacher was at once attracted to
+the child.
+
+Many years after, when Wathemah had become a distinguished man, he
+would tell how his life began when a lovely New England girl, a
+remarkable teacher, found him in that little school in Gila. He never
+failed to add that all that he was or might become, he owed entirely
+to her.
+
+The Indian child's devotion to the teacher began that first day at
+school, and was so marked it drew upon him persecution from the other
+children. Never could they make him ashamed. When the teacher was
+present, he ignored their comments and glances, and carried himself as
+proudly as a prince of the realm; but when she was absent, many a boy,
+often a boy larger than himself, staggered under his furious attacks.
+The child had splendid physical courage. Take him for all in all, he
+was no easy problem to solve. The teacher studied him, listened to
+him, reasoned with him, loved him; and from the first, he seemed to
+know intuitively that she was to be trusted and obeyed.
+
+On this day, he was especially happy as he trudged along, his hand in
+that of his Beloved.
+
+"Did you see how beautiful the sunset is, Wathemah?" asked the
+teacher, looking down at the picturesque urchin by her side. He gave a
+little grunt, and looked into the sky.
+
+"Flowers in sky," he said, his face full of delight. "God canyon put
+flowers, he Wathemah love?"
+
+"Yes, dear. God put flowers in the canyon because he loves you."
+
+They stopped, and both looked up into the sky. Then, after a moment,
+she continued:
+
+"You are like the flowers of the canyon, Wathemah. God put you here
+for me to find and love."
+
+"Love Wathemah?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+Then she stooped and gathered him into her arms. He nestled to her.
+
+"You be Wathemah's mother?" he questioned.
+
+She put her cheek against the little dirty one. The child felt tears.
+As he patted her cheek with his dirty hand, he repeated anxiously:
+
+"Me teacher be Wathemah mother?"
+
+"Yes," she answered, as though making a sacred covenant, "I,
+Wathemah's teacher, promise to be Wathemah's mother, so help me God."
+
+The child was coming into his birthright, the birthright of every
+child born into the world,--a mother's love. Who shall measure its
+power in the development of a child's life?
+
+They had reached the Clayton home. Wathemah turned reluctantly,
+lingering and drawing figures in the road with his bare feet, a
+picture one would long remember.
+
+He was a slender child, full of sinuous grace. His large, lustrous
+dark eyes, as well as his features, showed a strain of Spanish blood.
+He was dressed in cowboy fashion, but with more color than one sees in
+the cowboy costume. His trousers were of brown corduroy, slightly
+ragged. He wore a blue and white striped blouse, almost new. Around
+his neck, tied jauntily in front, was a red silk handkerchief, a gift
+from a cowboy. He smoothed it caressingly, as though he delighted in
+it. His straight, glossy black hair, except where cut short over the
+forehead, fell to his shoulders. Large loop-like ear-rings dangled
+from his ears; but the crowning feature of his costume, and his
+especial pride, was a new sombrero hat, trimmed with a scarlet ribbon
+and a white quill. He suddenly looked at his teacher, his face
+lighting with a radiant smile, and said:
+
+"Mother, _me_ mother."
+
+"Tell me, Wathemah," she said, "what you learned to-day in the Bible
+school."
+
+He turned and said softly:
+
+"Jesus love."
+
+Then the little child of the Open walked back to the camp, repeating
+softly to himself:
+
+"Jesus love! Mother love!"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III
+
+CLAYTON RANCH
+
+
+Early traders knew Clayton Ranch well, for it was on the old stage
+route from Santa Fe to the Pacific coast.
+
+The house faced south, overlooking Gila River, and commanded a
+magnificent view of mountains and foothills and valleys. To the
+northeast, rose a distant mountain peak always streaked with snow.
+
+The ranch house, built of blocks of adobe, was of a creamy cement
+color resembling the soil of the surrounding foothills. The building
+was long and low, in the Spanish style of a rectangle, opening on a
+central court at the rear. The red tile roof slanted in a shallow
+curve from the peak of the house, out over the veranda, which extended
+across the front. Around the pillars that supported the roof of the
+veranda, vines grew luxuriantly, and hung in profusion from the strong
+wire stretched high from pillar to pillar. The windows and doors were
+spacious, giving the place an atmosphere of generous hospitality.
+Northeast of the house, was a picturesque windmill, which explained
+the abundant water supply for the ranch, and the freshness of the
+vines along the irrigating ditch that bordered the veranda. The
+dooryard was separated from the highway by a low adobe wall the color
+of the house. In the yard, palms and cacti gave a semi-tropical
+setting to this attractive old building. Port-holes on two sides of
+the house bore evidence of its having been built as a place of
+defense. Here, women and children had fled for safety when the Apache
+raids filled everyone with terror. Here they had remained for days,
+with few to protect them, while the men of the region drove off the
+Indians.
+
+Senor Matéo, the builder and first owner of the house, had been slain
+by the Apaches. On the foothills, just north of the house, ten lonely
+graves bore silent witness to that fatal day.
+
+Up the road to Clayton Ranch, late one November afternoon, came Esther
+Bright with bounding step, accompanied, as usual, by a bevy of
+children. She heard one gallant observe to another that their teacher
+was "just a daisy."
+
+Although this and similar compliments were interspersed with miners'
+and cowboys' slang, they were none the less respectful and hearty, and
+served to express the high esteem in which the new teacher was held by
+the little citizens of Gila.
+
+As the company neared the door of the Clayton home, one little girl
+suddenly burst forth:
+
+"My maw says she won't let her childern go ter Bible school ter be
+learned 'ligion by a Gentile. Me an' Mike an' Pat an' Brigham wanted
+ter go, but maw said, maw did, that she'd learn us Brigham Young's
+'ligion, an' no sech trash as them Gentiles tells about; 'n' that the
+womern as doesn't have childern'll never go ter Heaven, maw says. My
+maw's got ten childern. My maw's Mormon."
+
+Here little Katie Black paused for breath. She was a stocky,
+pug-nosed, freckle-faced little creature, with red hair, braided in
+four short pugnacious pigtails, tied with white rags.
+
+"So your mother is a Mormon?" said the teacher to Katie.
+
+"Yep."
+
+"Suppose I come to see your mother, Katie, and tell her all about it.
+She might let you come. Shall I?"
+
+Her question was overheard by one of Katie's brothers, who said
+heartily:
+
+"Sure! I'll come fur yer. Maw said yer was too stuck up ter come, but
+I said I knowed better."
+
+"Naw," said Brigham, "she ain't stuck up; be yer?"
+
+"Not a bit." The teacher's answer seemed to give entire satisfaction
+to the company.
+
+The children gathered about her as they reached the door of Clayton
+Ranch. Esther Bright placed her hand on Brigham's head. It was a
+loving touch, and her "Good night, laddie," sent the child on his way
+happy.
+
+Within the house, all was cheer and welcome. The great living room was
+ablaze with light. A large open fireplace occupied the greater part of
+the space on one side. There, a fire of dry mesquite wood snapped and
+crackled, furnishing both light and heat this chill November evening.
+
+The floor of the living room was covered with an English three-ply
+carpet. The oak chairs were both substantial and comfortable. On the
+walls, hung three oil paintings of English scenes. Here and there were
+bookcases, filled with standard works. On a round table near the
+fireplace, were strewn magazines and papers. A comfortable low couch,
+piled with sofa pillows, occupied one side of the room near the
+firelight. Here, resting from a long and fatiguing journey, was
+stretched John Clayton, the owner of the house.
+
+As Esther Bright entered the room, he rose and greeted her cordially.
+His manner indicated the well-bred man of the world. He was tall and
+muscular, his face, bronzed from the Arizona sun. There was something
+very genial about the man that made him a delightful host.
+
+"Late home, Miss Bright!" he said in playful reproof. "This is a rough
+country, you know."
+
+"So I hear, mine host," she said, bowing low in mock gravity, "and
+that is why we have been scared to death at your long absence. I
+feared the Indians had carried you off."
+
+"I was detained unwillingly," he responded. "But, really, Miss Bright,
+I am not joking. It _is_ perilous for you to tramp these mountain
+roads as you do, and especially near nightfall. You are tempting
+Providence." He nodded his head warningly.
+
+"But I am not afraid," she persisted.
+
+"I know that. More's the pity. But you ought to be. Some day you may
+be captured and carried off, and no one in camp to rescue you."
+
+"How romantic!" she answered, a smile lurking in her eyes and about
+her mouth.
+
+She seated herself on a stool near the fire.
+
+"Why didn't you ask me why I was so late? I have an excellent excuse."
+
+"Why, prisoner at the bar?"
+
+"Please, y'r honor, we've been making ready for Christmas." She
+assumed the air of a culprit, and looked so demurely funny he laughed
+outright.
+
+Here Mrs. Clayton and Edith, her fifteen-year-old daughter, entered
+the room.
+
+"What's the fun?" questioned Edith.
+
+"Miss Bright is pleading guilty to working more hours than she
+should."
+
+"Oh, no, I didn't, Edith," she said merrily. "I said we had been
+making ready for Christmas."
+
+Edith sat on a stool at her teacher's side. She, too, was ready for a
+tilt.
+
+"You're not to pronounce sentence, Mr. Judge, until you see what we
+have been doing. It's to be a great surprise." And Edith looked wise
+and mysterious.
+
+Then Esther withdrew, returning a little later, gowned in an old-rose
+house dress of some soft wool stuff. She again sat near the fire.
+
+"Papa," said Edith, "I have been telling Miss Bright about the annual
+Rocky Mountain ball, and that she must surely go."
+
+John Clayton looked amused.
+
+"I'm afraid Edith couldn't do justice to that social function. I am
+quite sure you never saw anything like it. It is the most primitive
+sort of a party, made up of a motley crowd,--cowboys, cowlassies,
+miners and their families, and ranchmen and theirs. They come early,
+have a hearty supper, and dance all night; and as many of them imbibe
+pretty freely, they sometimes come to blows."
+
+He seemed amused at the consternation in Esther's face.
+
+"You don't mean that I shall be expected to go to such a party?" she
+protested.
+
+"Why not?" he asked, smiling.
+
+"It seems dreadful," she hastened to say, "and besides that, I never
+go to dances. I do not dance."
+
+"It's not as bad as it sounds," explained John Clayton. "You see these
+people are human. Their solitary lives are barren of pleasure. They
+crave intercourse with their kind; and so this annual party offers
+this opportunity."
+
+"And is this the extent of their social life? Have they nothing
+better?"
+
+"Nothing better," he said seriously, "but some things much worse."
+
+"I don't see how anything could be worse."
+
+"Oh, yes," he said, "it could be worse. But to return to the ball. It
+is unquestionably a company of publicans and sinners. If you wish to
+do settlement work here, to study these people in their native haunts,
+here they are. You will have an opportunity to meet some poor
+creatures you would not otherwise meet. Besides, this party is given
+for the benefit of the school. The proceeds of the supper help support
+the school."
+
+"Then I must attend?"
+
+"I believe so. With your desire to help these people, I believe it
+wise for you to go with us to the ball. You remember how a great
+Teacher long ago ate with publicans and sinners."
+
+"Yes, I was just thinking of it. Christ studied people as he found
+them; helped them where he found them." She sat with bent head,
+thoughtful.
+
+"Yes," John Clayton spoke gently, "Christ studied them as he found
+them, helped them where he found them."
+
+He sometimes smiled at her girlish eagerness, while more and more he
+marveled at her wisdom and ability. She had set him to thinking; and
+as he thought, he saw new duties shaping before him.
+
+It may have been an hour later, as they were reading aloud from a new
+book, they heard a firm, quick step on the veranda, followed by a
+light knock.
+
+"It's Kenneth," exclaimed John Clayton in a brisk, cheery tone, as he
+hastened to open the door. The newcomer was evidently a valued friend.
+Esther recognized in the distinguished looking visitor one of the men
+who had protected her the day of the organization of the Bible school.
+
+John Clayton rallied him on his prolonged absence. Mrs. Clayton told
+him how they had missed him, and Edith chattered merrily of what had
+happened since his last visit.
+
+When he was presented to Esther Bright, she rose, and at that moment,
+a flame leaped from the burning mesquite, and lighted up her face and
+form. She was lovely. The heat of the fire had brought a slight color
+to her cheeks, and this was accentuated by her rose-colored gown.
+Kenneth Hastings bowed low, lower than his wont to women. For a moment
+his eyes met hers. His glance was keen and searching. She met it
+calmly, frankly. Then her lashes swept her cheeks, and her color
+deepened.
+
+They gathered about the hearth. Fresh sticks of grease woods, and pine
+cones, thrown on the fire, sent red and yellow and violet flames
+leaping up the chimney. The fire grew hotter, and they were obliged to
+widen their circle.
+
+What better than an open fire to unlock the treasures of the mind and
+heart, when friend converses with friend? The glow of the embers seems
+to kindle the imagination, until the tongue forgets the commonplaces
+of daily life and grows eloquent with the thoughts that lie hidden in
+the deeps of the soul.
+
+Such converse as this held this group of friends in thrall. Kenneth
+Hastings talked well, exceedingly well. All the best stops in his
+nature were out. Esther listened, at first taking little part in the
+conversation. She was a good listener, an appreciative listener, and
+therein lay some of her charm. When he addressed a remark to her, she
+noticed that he had fine eyes, wonderful eyes, such eyes as belonged
+to Lincoln and Webster.
+
+One would have guessed Kenneth Hastings' age to be about thirty. He
+was tall, rather slender and sinewy, with broad, strong shoulders. He
+had a fine head, proudly poised, and an intelligent, though stern
+face. He was not a handsome man; there was, however, an air of
+distinction about him, and he had a voice of rare quality, rich and
+musical. Esther Bright had noticed this.
+
+The visitor began to talk to her. His power to draw other people out
+and make them shine was a fine art with him. His words were like a
+spark to tinder. Esther's mind kindled. She grew brilliant, and said
+things with a freshness and sparkle that fascinated everyone. And
+Kenneth Hastings listened with deepening interest.
+
+His call had been prolonged beyond his usual hour for leave-taking,
+when John Clayton brought Esther's guitar, that happened to be in the
+room, and begged her for a song. She blushed and hesitated.
+
+"Do sing," urged the guest.
+
+"I am not a trained musician," she protested.
+
+But her host assured his friend that she surely could sing. Then all
+clamored for a song.
+
+Esther sat thrumming the strings.
+
+"What shall I sing?"
+
+"'Who is Sylvia,'" suggested Mrs. Clayton.
+
+This she sang in a full, sweet voice. Her tone was true.
+
+"More, more," they insisted, clapping their hands.
+
+"Just _one_ more song," pleaded Edith.
+
+"Do you sing, 'Drink to me only with thine eyes'?" asked Kenneth. For
+answer, she struck the chords, and sang; then she laid down the
+guitar.
+
+"Please sing one of your American ballads. Sing 'Home, Sweet Home,'"
+he suggested.
+
+She had been homesick all day, so there was a home-sigh in her voice
+as she sang. Kenneth moved his chair into the shadow, and watched her.
+
+At last he rose to go; and with promises of an early return, he
+withdrew.
+
+Not to the saloon did he go that night, as had been his custom since
+coming to the mining camp. He walked on and on, out into the vast
+aloneness of the mountains. Once in a while he stopped, and looked
+down towards Clayton Ranch. At intervals he whistled softly.--The
+strain was "Home, Sweet Home."
+
+John Clayton and his wife sat long before the fire after Esther and
+Edith had retired. Mary Clayton was a gentle being, with a fair, sweet
+English face. And she adored her husband. They had been talking
+earnestly.
+
+"Any way, Mary," John Clayton was saying, "I believe Miss Bright could
+make an unusually fine man of Kenneth. I believe she could make him a
+better man, too."
+
+"That might be, John," she responded, "but you wouldn't want so rare a
+soul as she is to marry him to reform him, would you? She's like a
+snow-drop."
+
+"No, like a rose," he suggested, "all sweet at the heart. I'd really
+like to see her marry Kenneth. In fact, I'd like to help along a
+little."
+
+"Oh, my dear! How could you?" And she looked at him reproachfully.
+
+"Why not?" he asked. "Tell me honestly." He lifted her face and
+looked into it with lover-like tenderness. "You like Kenneth, don't
+you? And we are always glad to welcome him in our home."
+
+"Y-e-s," she responded hesitatingly, "but--"
+
+"But what?"
+
+"I fear he frequents the saloons, and is sometimes in company totally
+unworthy of him. In fact, I fear he isn't good enough for Miss Bright.
+I can't bear to think of her marrying any man less pure and noble than
+she is herself."
+
+He took his wife's hand in both of his.
+
+"You forget, Mary," he said, "that Miss Bright is a very unusual
+woman. There are few men, possibly, who are her peers. Don't condemn
+Kenneth because he isn't exactly like her. He's not perfect, I admit,
+any more than the rest of us. But he's a fine, manly fellow, with a
+good mind and noble traits of character. If the right woman gets hold
+of him, she'll make him a good man, and possibly a great one."
+
+"That may be," she said, "but I don't want Miss Bright to be that
+woman."
+
+"Suppose he were your son, would you feel he was so unworthy of her?"
+
+"Probably not," came her hesitating answer.
+
+"Mary, dear," he said, "I fear you are too severe in your judgment of
+men. I wish you had more compassion. You see, it is this way: many who
+seem evil have gone astray because they have not had the influence of
+a good mother or sister or wife." He bent his head and kissed her.
+
+A moment later, he leaned back and burst into a hearty laugh.
+
+"Why, what's the matter?" she asked. "I don't think it's a laughing
+matter."
+
+"It's so ridiculous, Mary. Here we've been concerning ourselves about
+the possible marriage of Kenneth and Miss Bright, when they have only
+just met, and it isn't likely they'll ever care for each other,
+anyway. Let's leave them alone."
+
+And the curtain went down on a vital introductory scene in the drama
+of life.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV
+
+THE ANGEL OF THE GILA
+
+
+Days came and went. The Bible school of Gila had ceased to be an
+experiment. It was a fact patent to all that the adobe schoolhouse had
+become the social center of the community, and that the soul of that
+center was Esther Bright. She had studied sociology in college and
+abroad. She had theorized, as many do, about life; now, life itself,
+in its bald reality, was appealing to her heart and brain. She did not
+stop to analyze her fitness for the work. She indulged in no morbid
+introspection. It was enough for her that she had found great human
+need. She was now to cope, almost single handed, with the forces that
+drag men down. She saw the need, she realized the opportunity. She
+worked with the quiet, unfailing patience of a great soul, leaving the
+fruitage to God.
+
+Sometimes the seriousness in Esther's face would deepen. Then she
+would go out into the Open. On one of these occasions, she strayed to
+her favorite haunt in the timber along the river, and seated herself
+on the trunk of a dead cottonwood tree, lying near the river bank.
+Trees, covered with green mistletoe, towered above her. Tremulous
+aspens sparkled in the sunshine. The air was crystal clear; the vast
+dome of the sky, of the deepest blue. She sat for a long time with
+face lifted, apparently forgetful of the open letter in her hand. At
+last she turned to it, and read as follows:
+
+     LYNN, MASS., Tenth Month, Fifth Day, 1888.
+
+     MY BELOVED GRANDDAUGHTER:
+
+     Thy letter reached me Second Day. Truly thou hast found
+     a field that needs a worker, and I do not question that
+     the Lord's hand led thee to Gila. What thou art doing
+     and dost plan to do, interest me deeply; but it will
+     tax thy strength. I am thankful that thou hast felt a
+     deepening sense of God's nearness. His world is full of
+     Him, only men's eyes are holden that they do not know.
+     All who gain strength to lead and inspire their
+     fellows, learn this surely at last:--that the soul of
+     man finds God most surely in the Open. If men would
+     help their fellows, they must seek inspiration and
+     strength in communion with God.
+
+     To keep well, one must keep his mind calm and cheerful.
+     So I urge thee not to allow the sorrowfulness of life
+     about thee to depress thee. Thou canst not do thy most
+     effective work if thy heart is always bowed down. The
+     great sympathy of thy nature will lead thee to sorrow
+     for others more than is well for thee. Joy is necessary
+     to all of us. So, Beloved, cultivate joyousness, and
+     teach others to do so. It keeps us sane, and strong and
+     helpful.
+
+     I know that the conditions thou hast found shock and
+     distress thee, as they do all godly men and women; but
+     I beg thee to remember, Esther, that our Lord had
+     compassion on such as these, on the sinful as well as
+     on the good, and that He offers salvation to all. How
+     to have compassion! Ah, my child, men are so slow in
+     learning that. Love,--compassion, is the key of
+     Christ's philosophy.
+
+     I am often lonely without thee; but do not think I
+     would call thee back while the Lord hath need of thee.
+
+     Thy Uncle and Aunt are well, and send their love to
+     thee.
+
+     I have just been reading John Whittier's 'Our Master.'
+     Read it on next First Day, as my message to thee.
+
+     God bless thee.
+
+     Thy faithful grandfather,
+
+     DAVID BRIGHT.
+
+As she read, her eyes filled.
+
+In the veins of Esther Bright flowed the blood of honorable,
+God-fearing people; but to none of these, had humanity's needs called
+more insistently than to her. Her grandfather had early recognized and
+fostered her passion for service; and from childhood up, he had
+frequently taken her with him on his errands of mercy, that she might
+understand the condition and the needs of the unfortunate. Between the
+two there existed an unusual bond.
+
+After reading the letter, Esther sat absorbed in thought. The present
+had slipped away, and it seemed as though her spirit had absented
+itself from her body and gone on a far journey. She was aroused to a
+consciousness of the present by a quick step. In a moment Kenneth
+Hastings was before her; then, seated at her side.
+
+"Well!" he began. "How fortunate I am! Here I was on my way to call on
+you to give you these flowers. I've been up on the mountains for
+them."
+
+"What beautiful mountain asters!" was her response, her face lighting
+with pleasure. "How exquisite in color! And how kind of you!"
+
+"Yes, they're lovely." He looked into her face with undisguised
+admiration. Something within her shrank from it.
+
+Three weeks had now passed since the meeting of Kenneth Hastings and
+Esther Bright. During this time, he had become an almost daily caller
+at Clayton Ranch. When he made apologies for the frequency of his
+calls, the Claytons always assured him of the pleasure his presence
+gave them, saying he was to them a younger brother, and as welcome.
+
+It was evident to them that Kenneth's transformation had begun. John
+Clayton knew that important changes were taking place in his daily
+life; that all his social life was spent in their home; that he had
+ceased to enter a saloon; and that he had suddenly become fastidious
+about his toilet.
+
+If Esther noted any changes in him, she did not express it. She was
+singularly reticent in regard to him.
+
+At this moment, she sat listening to him as he told her of the
+mountain flora.
+
+"Wait till you see the cactus blossoms in the spring and summer." He
+seemed very enthusiastic. "They make a glorious mass of color against
+the soft gray of the dry grass, or soil."
+
+"I'd love to see them." She lifted the bunch of asters admiringly.
+
+"I have some water colors of cacti I made a year ago. I'd like to show
+them to you, Miss Bright, if you are interested."
+
+She assured him she was.
+
+"I was out in the region of Colorado River a year ago. It is a
+wonderful region no white man has yet explored. Only the Indians know
+of its greatness. I have an idea that when that region is explored by
+some scientist, he will discover that canyon to be the greatest marvel
+of the world. What I saw was on a stupendous, magnificent scale."
+
+"How it must have impressed you!"
+
+"Wonderfully! I'll show you a sketch I made of a bit of what I found.
+It may suggest the magnificence of the coloring to you."
+
+"How did you happen to have sketching materials with you?"
+
+"I agreed to write a series of articles for an English magazine, and
+wished illustrations for one of the articles."
+
+"How accomplished you are!" she exclaimed. "A mining engineer, a
+painter, an author--"
+
+"Don't!" he protested, raising a deprecatory hand.
+
+Having launched on the natural wonders of Arizona, he grew more and
+more eloquent, till Esther's imagination made a daring leap, and she
+looked down the gigantic gorge he pictured to her, over great acres of
+massive rock formation, like the splendor of successive day-dawns
+hardened into stone, and saw gigantic forms chiseled by ages of
+erosion.
+
+"Do you ride horseback, Miss Bright?" he asked, suddenly changing the
+conversation.
+
+"I am sorry to say that I do not. I do not even know how to mount."
+
+"Let me teach you to ride," he said, with sudden interest.
+
+"You would find me an awkward pupil," she responded, rising.
+
+"I am willing to wager that I should not. When may I have the pleasure
+of giving you the first lesson?"
+
+"Any time convenient for you when I am not teaching." She began to
+gather up her flowers and hat.
+
+Then and there, a day was set for the first lesson in horsemanship.
+
+"Sit down, please," said Kenneth. "I want you to enlighten me. I am
+painfully dense."
+
+She seated herself on the tree trunk again, saying as she did so:
+
+"I had not observed any conspicuous signs of density on your part, Mr.
+Hastings, save that you think I could be metamorphosed into a
+horsewoman. Some women are born to the saddle. I was not. I am not an
+Englishwoman, you see."
+
+"But decidedly English," he retorted. "I wish you would tell me your
+story."
+
+Her face flushed.
+
+"I beg your pardon," he hastened to say. "I did not mean to be rude.
+You interest me deeply. Anything you think or do, anything that has
+made you what you are, is of deep interest to me."
+
+"There is nothing to tell," she said simply. "Just a few pages, with
+here and there an entry; a few birthdays; graduation from college;
+foreign travel; work in Gila; a life spent in companionship with a
+wonderfully lovely and lovable grandfather; work at his side, and
+life's history in the making. That is all."
+
+"All?" he repeated. "But that is rich in suggestion. I have studied
+you almost exclusively for three weeks, and I know you."
+
+She looked up. The expression in his eyes nettled her. Her spinal
+column stiffened.
+
+"Indeed! Know a woman in three weeks! You do well, better than most of
+your sex. Most men, I am told, find woman an unsolvable problem, and
+when they think they know her, they find they don't."
+
+This was interesting to him. He liked the flash in her eye.
+
+"Some life purpose brings you to Gila, to work so unselfishly for a
+lot of common, ignorant people."
+
+"What is that to you?"
+
+Her question sounded harsh in her own ears, and then she begged his
+pardon.
+
+"No apology is necessary on your part," he said, changing from banter
+to a tone of seriousness. "My words roused your resentment. I am at
+fault. The coming of a delicately nurtured girl like you into such a
+place of degradation is like the coming of an angel of light down to
+the bottomless pit. I beg forgiveness for saying this; but, Miss
+Bright, a mining camp, in these days, is a hotbed of vice."
+
+"All the more reason why people of intelligence and character should
+try to make the life here clean. I believe we can crowd out evil by
+cultivating the good."
+
+"You are a decided optimist," he said; "and I, by force of
+circumstances, have become a confirmed pessimist."
+
+"You will not continue to be a pessimist," she said, prophetically,
+seeing in her mind's eye what he would be in the years to come. "You
+will come to know deep human sympathy; you will believe in the
+possibility of better and better things for your fellows. You will use
+your strength, your intellect, your fine education, for the best
+service of the world about you."
+
+Somehow that prophecy went home to him.
+
+"By George!" he exclaimed, "you make a fellow feel he _must_ be just
+what you want him to be, and what he ought to be."
+
+The man studied the woman before him, with deep and increasing
+interest. She possessed a strength, he was sure, of which no one in
+Gila had yet dreamed. He continued:
+
+"Would you mind telling me the humanitarian notions that made you
+willing to bury yourself in this godless place?"
+
+She hesitated. The catechism evidently annoyed her, for it seemed to
+savor of impertinent curiosity. But at last she answered:
+
+"I believe my grandfather is responsible for the humanitarian notions.
+It is a long story."
+
+She hesitated.
+
+"I am interested in what he has done, and what you are doing. Please
+tell me about it."
+
+"Well, it goes back to my childhood. I was my grandfather's constant
+companion until I went to college. He is a well-known philanthropist
+of New England, interested in the poor, in convicts in prison and
+out, in temperance work, in the enfranchisement of woman, in
+education, and in everything that makes for righteousness."
+
+She paused.
+
+"And he discussed great questions with you?"
+
+"Yes, as though in counsel. He would tell me certain conditions, and
+ask me what I thought we had better do."
+
+"An ideal preparation for philanthropic service." He was serious now.
+
+"There awoke within me, very early, the purpose to serve my fellow men
+in the largest possible way. Grandfather fostered this; and when the
+time came for me to go to college, he helped me plan my course of
+study." She looked far away.
+
+"You followed it out?"
+
+"Very nearly. You see, Mr. Hastings, service is no accident with me.
+It dates back generations. It is in my blood."
+
+"Your blood is of the finest sort. Surely service does not mean living
+in close touch with immoral, disreputable people."
+
+Her eyes kindled, grew dark in color.
+
+"What _does_ it mean, then? The strong, the pure, the godly should
+live among men, teach by precept and example how to live, and show the
+loveliness of pure living just as Jesus did. I have visited prisons
+with grandfather, have prayed with and for criminals, and have sung in
+the prisons. Is it not worth while to help these wretched creatures
+look away from themselves to God?"
+
+"Oh, Miss Bright," he protested, "it is dreadful for a young girl like
+you even to hear of the wickedness of men."
+
+"Women are wicked, too," she responded seriously, "but I never lose
+hope for any one."
+
+"Some day hope will die out in your heart," he said discouragingly.
+
+"God forbid!" she spoke solemnly. In a moment she continued:
+
+"I am sure you do not realize how many poor creatures never have had a
+chance to be decent. Just think how many are born of sinful, ignorant
+parents, into an environment of sin and ignorance. They live in it,
+they die in it. I, by no will or merit of my own, received a blessed
+heritage. My ancestors for generations have been intelligent, godly
+people, many of them people of distinction. I was born into an
+atmosphere of love, of intelligence, of spirituality, and of
+refinement. I have lived in that atmosphere all my life. My good
+impulses have been fostered, my wrong ones checked."
+
+"I'll wager you were painfully conscientious," he said.
+
+"Why should I have been given so much," she continued, "and these poor
+creatures so little, unless it was that I should minister to their
+needs?"
+
+"You may be right." He seemed unconvinced. "But I am sure of one
+thing. If I had been your grandfather, and you my grandchild, I never
+would have let you leave me."
+
+He was smiling.
+
+"You should know my grandfather, and then you would understand."
+
+"How did you happen to come to Gila?" he asked.
+
+"I met Mr. and Mrs. Clayton in the home of one of their friends in
+England. We were house guests there at the same time. We returned to
+America on the same steamer. Mrs. Clayton knew I was to do settlement
+work, and urged me to come to Gila a while instead. So I came."
+
+How much her coming was beginning to mean to him, to others! Both were
+silent a while. Then it was Kenneth who spoke.
+
+"Do you know, Miss Bright, it never occurred to me before you came,
+that I had any obligations to these people? Now I know I have. I was
+indifferent to the fact that I had a soul myself until you came."
+
+She looked up questioningly.
+
+"Yes, I mean it," he said. "To all intents and purposes I had no soul.
+A man forgets he has a soul when he lives in the midst of vice, and no
+one cares whether he goes to the devil or not."
+
+"Is it the environment, or the feeling that no one cares?" she asked.
+
+"Both." He buried his face in his hands.
+
+"Did you feel that no one cared? I'm sure your mother cared."
+
+She had touched a sore spot.
+
+"My mother?" he said, bitterly. "My mother is a woman of the world."
+Here he lifted his head. "She is engrossed in society. She has no
+interest whatever in me, and never did have, although I am her only
+child."
+
+"Perhaps you are mistaken," she said softly. "I am sure you must be
+mistaken."
+
+"When a mother lets year after year go by without writing to her son,
+do you think she cares?"
+
+"You don't mean to say that you never receive a letter from your
+mother?"
+
+"My mother has not written to me since I came to America. Suppose your
+mother did not write to you. Would you think she had a very deep
+affection for you?"
+
+Esther's face grew wistful.
+
+"Perhaps you do not know," she answered, "I have no living mother. She
+died when I was born."
+
+"Forgive my thoughtless question," he said. "I did not know you had
+lost your mother. I was selfish."
+
+"Oh, no," she said, "not selfish. You didn't know, that was all. We
+sometimes make mistakes, all of us, when we do not know. I lost my
+father when I was a very little child."
+
+"And your grandfather reared you?"
+
+"Yes, grandfather, assisted by my uncle and auntie."
+
+"Tell me about your grandfather, I like to hear."
+
+"He was my first playfellow, and a fine one he was, too."
+
+"How I envy him!"
+
+"You mustn't interrupt me," she said demurely.
+
+"I am penitent. Do proceed."
+
+Then she told him, in brief, the story of her life, simple and sweet
+in the telling. She told him of the work done by her grandfather.
+
+"He preaches, you tell me."
+
+"Yes," she said, rambling on, "he is a graduate of Yale, and prepared
+to be a physician. But his heart drew him into the ministry, the place
+where he felt the Great Physician would have him be. Grandfather is a
+Friend, you know, a Quaker."
+
+"So I understood."
+
+"He had a liberal income, so it was possible for him to devote his
+entire time to the poor and distressed. He has been deeply interested
+in the Negro and American Indian, and in fact, in every one who is
+oppressed by his stronger brother."
+
+"An unusual man."
+
+"Very."
+
+"How could you leave him? Did you not feel that your first duty was to
+him?"
+
+"It _was_ hard to leave him," she said, while her eyes were brimming
+with tears; "but grandfather and I believe that opportunity to serve
+means obligation to serve. Besides, love is such a spiritual thing we
+can never be separated."
+
+"Love is such a spiritual thing--" he repeated, and again,
+"Spiritual."
+
+He was silent a moment, then he spoke abruptly.
+
+"You have already been the salvation of at least one soul. I owe my
+soul to you."
+
+"Oh, no, not to me," she protested. "That was God's gift to you from
+the beginning. It may have slumbered, but you had it all the while."
+
+"What did your grandfather say to your coming to Gila?"
+
+"When I told him of the call to come here, told him that within a
+radius of sixty miles there was no place of religious worship, he made
+no response, but sat with his head bowed. At last he looked up with
+the most beautiful smile you ever saw, and said, 'Go, my child, the
+Lord hath need of thee.'" Her voice trembled a little.
+
+"He was right," said Kenneth earnestly. "The Lord has need of such as
+you everywhere. I have need of you. The people here have need of you.
+Help us to make something of our lives yet, Miss Bright." There was no
+doubting his sincerity.
+
+She had again risen to go.
+
+"Don't go," he said. "I would like to tell you _my_ story, if you care
+to hear."
+
+"I shall be glad to hear your story. I know it will not be as meager
+as mine."
+
+"I wish," he said earnestly, "that I might measure up to your ideal of
+what a man should be. I cannot do that. But I can be honest and tell
+you the truth about myself.
+
+"I belong to a proud, high-strung race of people. My father is like
+his forbears. He is a graduate of Cambridge; has marked literary
+ability.
+
+"My mother is a society woman, once noted as a beauty at court. She
+craves admiration and must have it. That is all she cares for. She has
+never shown any affection for my father or me.
+
+"I left England when I was twenty-two,--my senior year at Cambridge.
+I've been in America eight years, and during that time I have received
+but two letters from home, and those were from my father."
+
+"You must have felt starved."
+
+"That's it," he said, "_starved_! I did feel starved. You see, Miss
+Bright, a fellow's home has much to do with his life and character.
+What is done there influences him. Wine was served on our table. My
+parents partook freely of it; so did our guests. I have seen some
+guests intoxicated. We played cards, as all society people do. We
+played for stakes, also. You call that gambling. My mother's men
+admirers were mush-headed fools."
+
+"Such conditions obtain in certain circles in this country, too. They
+are a menace to the American home," she said gravely.
+
+"I was sent to Cambridge," he continued, "as my father and his father,
+and father's father before him, had been sent. I was a natural student
+and always did well in my work. But my drinking and gambling finally
+got me into trouble. I was fired. My father was so incensed at my
+dismissal he told me never to darken his doors again. He gave me
+money, and told me to leave at once for America.
+
+"I went to my mother's room to bid her good-by. She stood before a
+mirror while her maid was giving the final touches to her toilet. She
+looked regal and beautiful as she stood there, and I felt proud of
+her. I told her what had happened, and that I had come to bid her
+good-by. She turned upon me pettishly, and asked me how I could mar
+her pleasure just as she was going to a ball. Her last words to me
+were, 'I hate to be disturbed with family matters!'"
+
+"Did she bid you good-by?"
+
+"No."
+
+"Forget it," she urged. "All women are not like that. I hope you will
+find some rare woman who will be as a mother to you."
+
+"Forget it!" he repeated bitterly. "I can't."
+
+"But you will sometime. You came to America. What next?"
+
+"Then I entered the School of Mines at Columbia, and took my degree
+the following year, after which I joined Mr. Clayton here. That was
+seven years ago."
+
+"Did you know him in England?"
+
+"Yes. During these intervening years I have frequented the saloons. I
+have drank some, gambled some, as I did at home. And I have mingled
+with disreputable men here, but not to lift them up. I have not cared,
+chiefly because I knew no one else cared."
+
+His companion was silent.
+
+"You despise me, Miss Bright," he continued. "I deserve your contempt,
+I know. But I would do anything in the power of man to do now, if I
+could undo the past, and have a life as blameless as your own."
+
+He glanced at his companion.
+
+"What a brute I have been," he exclaimed, "to pour my ugly story into
+your ears!"
+
+"I am glad you told me," she assured him. She looked up with new
+sympathy and understanding. "You are going to live down your past now,
+Mr. Hastings. We'll begin here and now. You will not speak of this
+again unless it may be a relief to you. The matter will not cross my
+lips."
+
+She flashed upon him a radiant smile. She believed in him. He could
+hardly comprehend it.
+
+"You do not despise me? You forgive my past?" He looked into her face.
+
+"It is God who forgives. Why should I despise whom God forgives?"
+
+"If ever I find my way to God," he said in a low voice, "it will be
+through you."
+
+She quoted softly:
+
+"'Though your sins be as scarlet, they shall be as white as snow;
+though they be red as crimson, they shall be as wool.'" Then she
+added, "I must go home now."
+
+They walked on to Clayton Ranch. After a few commonplaces, Kenneth
+lifted his hat, and turning, walked swiftly toward the company's
+headquarters.
+
+Esther stood a moment, watching the easy, graceful stride of the young
+engineer. His words then, and long afterwards, rang in her
+ears,--"Help us to make something of our lives yet." And as the words
+echoed in her heart, a voice aged and full of tender love, came to her
+like an old refrain,--"Go, my child, the Lord hath need of thee."
+
+She lifted her face and looked into the sky. Suddenly she became
+conscious of the beauty of the hour. The violet light of evening
+played about her face and form. She forgot the flowers in her arms,
+forgot the sunset, and stood absorbed in prayer.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V
+
+THE ROCKY MOUNTAIN BALL
+
+
+It was the day of the ball. Parties of mountaineers, some on
+horseback, some in wagons, started for Jamison Ranch.
+
+In the early evening, a wagon load made up of the members of the
+Clayton household, Kenneth Hastings and some Scotch neighbors, started
+for the same destination.
+
+The road skirted the foothills for some distance, then followed the
+canyon several miles; and then, branching off, led directly to Jamison
+Ranch. As the twilight deepened into night, Nature took on a solemn
+and mysterious beauty. The rugged outline of the mountains, the valley
+and river below,--were all idealized in the softening light. The New
+England girl sat drinking in the wonder of it all. The mountains were
+speaking to her good tidings of great joy.
+
+In the midst of merry chatter, some one called out:
+
+"Sing us a song, Miss Bright."
+
+It was Kenneth Hastings. Hearing her name, she roused from her
+reverie.
+
+"A song?"
+
+"Yes, do sing," urged several.
+
+"Sing 'Oft in the Stilly Night,'" suggested Mrs. Clayton.
+
+"All sing with me," responded Esther.
+
+Then out on the stillness floated the beautiful old Irish song. Other
+voices joined Esther's. Kenneth Hastings was one of the singers. His
+voice blended with hers and enriched it.
+
+Song after song followed, all the company participating to some extent
+in the singing.
+
+Was it the majesty of the mountain scenery that inspired Esther, that
+sent such a thrill of gladness into her voice? Or was it perhaps the
+witchery of the moonlight? Whatever may have been the cause, a new
+quality appeared in her voice, and stirred the hearts of all who
+listened to her singing; it was deep and beautiful.
+
+What wonder if Kenneth Hastings came under the spell of the song and
+the singer? The New England girl was a breath of summer in the hard
+and wintry coldness of his life.
+
+"Who taught you to sing?" he asked abruptly.
+
+"The birds," she answered, in a joyous, laughing tone.
+
+"I can well believe that," he continued, "but who were your other
+instructors?"
+
+Then, in brief, she told him of her musical training.
+
+Would she sing one of his favorite arias some day? naming the aria.
+
+She hummed a snatch of it.
+
+"Go on," he urged.
+
+"Not now; some other time."
+
+"Won't you give us an evening recital soon?" asked John Clayton.
+
+And then and there the concert was arranged for.
+
+"Miss Bright," said Mrs. Carmichael, "I am wondering how we ever got
+on without you."
+
+Esther laughed a light-hearted, merry laugh.
+
+"That's it," Kenneth hastened to say. "We 'got on.' We simply existed.
+Now we live."
+
+All laughed at this.
+
+"You are not complimentary to our friends. I protest," said Esther.
+
+"You are growing chivalrous, Kenneth," said Mrs. Clayton. "I'm glad
+you think as we do. Miss Bright, you have certainly enriched life for
+all of us."
+
+"Don't embarrass me," said Esther in a tone that betrayed she was a
+little disconcerted.
+
+But now they were nearing their journey's end. The baying of hounds
+announced a human habitation. An instant later, the house was in
+sight, and the dogs came bounding down the road, greeting the party
+with vociferous barks and growls. Mr. Jamison followed, profuse in
+words of welcome.
+
+As Kenneth assisted Esther from the wagon, he said:
+
+"Your presence during this drive has given me real pleasure."
+
+Her simple "Thank you" was her only response.
+
+At the door they were met by daughters of the house, buxom lasses, who
+ushered them into an immense living room. This opened into two other
+rooms, one of which had been cleared for dancing.
+
+Esther noted every detail,--a new rag carpet on the floor; a bright-colored
+log-cabin quilt on one of the beds; on the other bed, was a quilt of white,
+on which was appliqued a menagerie of nondescript animals of red and green
+calico, capering in all directions. The particular charm of this work of
+art was its immaculate quilting,--quilting that would have made our
+great-grandmothers green with envy.
+
+Cheap yellow paper covered the walls of the room. A chromo, "Fast
+Asleep," framed in heavy black walnut, hung close to the ceiling. A
+sewing machine stood in one corner.
+
+At first, Esther did not notice the human element in the room.
+Suddenly a little bundle at the foot of the bed began to grunt. She
+lifted it, and found a speck of humanity about three months old. In
+his efforts to make his wants known, and so secure his rightful
+attention, he puckered his mouth, doubled up his fists, grew red in
+the face, and let forth lusty cries.
+
+As she stood trying to soothe the child, the mother rushed in,
+snatched it from the teacher's arms, and gave it a slap, saying as she
+did so, "The brat's allus screechin' when I wanter dance!"
+
+She left the babe screaming vociferously, and returned to dance. Four
+other infants promptly entered into the vocal contest, while their
+respective parents danced in the adjoining room, oblivious of
+everything save the pleasure of the hour. Then it was that the New
+England girl became a self-appointed nurse, patting and soothing first
+one, then another babe; but it was useless. They had been brought to
+the party under protest; and offended humanity would not be mollified.
+
+The teacher stepped out into the living room, which was in festive
+array. Its picturesqueness appealed to her. A large fire crackled on
+the hearth, and threw its transforming glow over the dingy adobe
+walls, decorated for the occasion with branches of fragrant silver
+spruce. Blocks of pine tree-trunks, perhaps two feet in height, stood
+in the corners of the room. Each of these blocks contained a dozen or
+more candle sockets, serving the purpose of a candelabrum. Each of the
+sockets bore a lighted candle, which added to the weirdness of the
+scene.
+
+The room was a unique background for the men and women gathered there.
+At least twenty of the mountaineers had already assembled. They had
+come at late twilight, and would stay till dawn, for their journey
+lay over rough mountain roads and through dangerous passes.
+
+The guests gathered rapidly, laughing and talking as they came.
+
+It was a motley crowd,--cowboys, in corduroy, high boots, spurs,
+slouch hats, and knives at belt, brawny specimens of human kind;
+cowlasses, who for the time, had discarded their masculine attire of
+short skirts, blouse, belt and gun, for feminine finery; Scotchmen in
+Highland costume; Mexicans in picturesque dress; English folk, clad in
+modest apparel; and Irishmen and Americans resplendent in colors
+galore.
+
+For a moment, Esther stood studying the novel scene. Mr. Clayton,
+observing her, presented her to the individuals already assembled. The
+last introduction was to a shambling, awkward young miner. After
+shaking the hand of the teacher, which he did with a vigor quite
+commensurate to his elephantine strength, he blurted out, "Will yez
+dance a polky wid me?"
+
+She asked to be excused, saying she did not dance.
+
+"Oh, but I can learn yez," he said eagerly. "Yez put one fut so, and
+the other _so_," illustrating the step with bovine grace as he spoke.
+
+His efforts were unavailing, so he found a partner among the
+cowlasses.
+
+Again Esther was alone. She seated herself near one of the improvised
+pine candelabra, and continued to study the people before her. Here
+she found primitive life indeed, life close to the soil. How to get at
+these people, how to learn their natures, how to understand their
+needs, how to help them,--all these questions pressed upon her. Of
+this she was sure:--she must come in touch with them to help them.
+Men and women older and more experienced than she might well have knit
+their brows over the problem.
+
+She was roused to a consciousness of present need by a piercing cry
+from one of the infants in the adjoining room. The helpless cry of a
+child could never appeal in vain to such a woman as Esther Bright. She
+returned to the bedroom, lifted the wailing bundle in her arms, seated
+herself in a rocker, and proceeded to quiet it. Kenneth Hastings stood
+watching her, while an occasional smile flitted across his face. As
+John Clayton joined him, the former said in a low tone:
+
+"Do you see Miss Bright's new occupation, John?"
+
+"Yes, by George! What will that girl do next? Who but Miss Bright
+would bother about other people's crying infants? But it's just like
+her! She is true woman to the heart. I wish there were more like her."
+
+"So do I, John. I wish I were more like her myself in unselfish
+interest in people."
+
+"She has done you great good already, Kenneth."
+
+"Yes, I know."
+
+Then a shadow darkened Kenneth's face. He moved toward the outer door
+that stood open, and looked out into the night.
+
+At last Esther's task was accomplished, the babe was asleep, and she
+returned to the scene of the dancing. Kenneth sought her and asked her
+to dance the next waltz with him. She assured him, also, that she did
+not dance.
+
+"Let me teach you," he urged. But she shook her head.
+
+"You do not approve of dancing?" he asked, lifting his brows.
+
+"I did not say I do not approve of dancing; I said I do not dance. By
+the way," she said, changing the subject of the conversation, "my
+lessons in riding are to begin to-morrow, are they not?"
+
+"To-morrow, if I may have the pleasure. Do you think riding wicked,
+too?"
+
+This he said with a sly twinkle in his eye.
+
+"Wicked, too?" she echoed. "What's the 'too' mean?"
+
+"Dancing, of course."
+
+"But I didn't say I thought dancing wicked. I said I do not dance."
+
+"Oh, well, you think it wicked, or you would dance."
+
+She looked amused.
+
+"What would you say if I should tell you I learned to dance years
+ago?"
+
+"That you are strait-laced obstinacy personified. Why not dance? It
+could do you no harm."
+
+"It is not expedient, that is all. Let me tell you I really did learn.
+I am not an accomplished dancer, though. I was taught to dance in a
+school I attended. But I have never danced in social life."
+
+"Why not put aside your scruples for once," he urged, "and dance the
+next waltz with me? You don't know what pleasure it would give me."
+
+But she still refused. He saw that to pursue the matter further would
+be useless. The conversation was interrupted by the entrance of
+cowboys and cowlasses, who, as they filed past, were presented to her
+by Kenneth Hastings.
+
+"How are ye?" asked one husky fellow, gripping Esther's hand like a
+vise.
+
+"Happy ter know yer acquaintance," said another.
+
+The girls snickered and looked foolish, keeping time to the music with
+the tapping of their feet.
+
+"You like to dance, I see," said Esther to one girl.
+
+"You bet I do!"
+
+The girl's jaws kept time to the music as she vigorously chewed gum.
+
+"Come, Jim," said another loud-voiced cowlass, "that's our set."
+
+And away they went, hand in hand, edging their way through the crowded
+rooms. Soon they were in the midst of the boisterous dancers.
+
+Kenneth joined the human fringe around the dance room. He stood
+watching as though what he saw amused him.
+
+"Swing y'r pardners," shouted the fiddler, above the din of voices.
+Down came the bow across the strings, that responded in shrill,
+piercing notes. Around flew the dancers, their cheeks growing redder
+and redder. The clatter of the cowboys' spurs, and the tapping of the
+fiddler's foot kept time to the music.
+
+While watching the dancers, Kenneth discovered Jessie Roth, a young
+Scotch girl, in from the range. As soon as he could do so, he
+presented her to Esther Bright. Jessie responded to the introduction
+awkwardly and shyly; but as she looked into Esther's face, she seemed
+to gain confidence. It was such a kindly, such a sympathetic face.
+
+Jessie was a girl Esther had long been wishing to meet, and to
+interest in better things. She was at heart good, and if wisely
+directed would undoubtedly exercise a wholesome influence over other
+girls. As the teacher expressed her interest in her, and what they
+might do together, Jessie's face beamed.
+
+"Mr. Hastings telt me aboot y'r Bible school, an' how ye wantit me tae
+come. Did ye?"
+
+"Indeed I did."
+
+"Dae ye want mony mair tae come?"
+
+"Yes, as many as you can bring, Jessie."
+
+Then the two took seats in the corner of the room, and Esther gave her
+an enthusiastic account of her plans for the Gila girls. The Scotch
+girl listened, with an occasional comment.
+
+"Do you like the life on the range, Jessie?"
+
+"Rael weel! Y're as free as the air!"
+
+Here the girl gave her body and arms a swing, as though ready to leap
+to the back of a running horse. She seemed all muscle.
+
+"My mustang's the best friend I hev. I broke 'er mysel'. My! She can
+gae like the wind!"
+
+"You!" said the astonished teacher. "Can you break a horse?"
+
+"Can I?" she repeated in amusement. "I'd like tae show ye. I wad like
+tae tak ye oot on the range wi' me. My, but ye'd like it!"
+
+"No doubt. What do you do out on the range?"
+
+"Oh, we rides an' rides an' looks after the cattle; we cooks, an'
+plays cards, an' joshes the boys."
+
+Here Jessie laughed.
+
+"What a dreary life this must be," thought Esther. She said aloud,
+"You must find the life monotonous and lonely."
+
+"Never lonely, schoolma'am. It's full o' excitement. There's somethin'
+doin' all the time. Sometime ye sees herds o' antelope, or ye meets a
+grizzly. It's better'n a dance tae bring down a grizzly."
+
+"A bear?" the teacher exclaimed in astonishment. "You don't mean to
+say you ever killed a bear?"
+
+The cowlass's eyes sparkled as she said proudly:
+
+"I've shot several, an' other big game too. But the greatest thing on
+the range is tae see a stampede o' cattle. It's as much as y'r life's
+worth tae be in their way."
+
+The girl, though rough, had a vitality and picturesqueness attractive
+to the polished New Englander.
+
+It was equally certain that Esther was attractive to the cowlass.
+Jessie left her for a moment, but soon returned, bringing three others
+with her. After presenting them, she said:
+
+"Tell 'em, schoolma'am, what ye telt me."
+
+"Tell what, Jessie?"
+
+"Oh, aboot the Bible school an' the parties, an' how ye wants tae dae
+somethin' fer the lasses."
+
+Then Esther briefly outlined her plans, during which they occasionally
+interrupted her by questions or comments.
+
+"Do you mean, schoolma'am, that y're willin' to learn us outside o'
+school hours?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Y're mighty good. I love ye already," said one lass.
+
+"But we're sae auld," said Jessie.
+
+"No, you're not. You're not old,--not too old to study."
+
+"Yes, schoolma'am, that's what mother used tae say," said Jessie in a
+softer tone. She turned her face aside. Another girl whispered to
+Esther, "Her father killed her mother when he was drunk."
+
+Esther slipped her arm around Jessie's waist, and continued to speak
+her plans, and how much their co-operation would mean to her.
+
+"Git y'r pardners!" shouted the fiddler.
+
+Soon the lasses were led away to the dance; and for the time, nothing
+more was said of their plans; but Esther Bright knew that of all the
+days' work she had done in Gila, this would probably count the most.
+
+The rooms were now crowded with people. The huge candles burned lower;
+the air grew more stifling; the noise more tiring.
+
+As she looked up, she met the gaze of a young English girl, who
+flushed and turned her eyes away. An instant later, Kenneth Hastings
+seated himself by Esther and began speaking.
+
+"I was glad to see you talking with the cowlasses, for they need the
+gentle, refining influence that you can bring them." He was evidently
+deeply in earnest. "You have no idea how full of peril their life is.
+You see there is something in this bold, free life of exposure that
+almost unsexes a woman. Some of the cowlasses are good-hearted, honest
+girls, but many are a hard lot. Your womanly influence would help
+them."
+
+As he spoke, he caught sight of the girl who, a moment before, had
+attracted Esther's attention.
+
+"Do you see that girl with the cameo-like face?" he asked.
+
+"Yes."
+
+"I have been hoping you could save that child. She can't be more than
+seventeen, if she is that. What her previous history is I do not know;
+but it is evident she has had gentle breeding."
+
+"What a sweet face she has!"
+
+"Yes. Lovely, isn't it? Like a flower."
+
+"What is her name?" Esther looked sympathetically at the girlish
+figure.
+
+"Earle--Carla Earle. She lives at Keith's. I see her often with Mark
+Clifton, a young Englishman here. He is a wild fellow. She is shy of
+everyone else."
+
+"Poor child!" said Esther, glancing toward her.
+
+"I made bold to speak to her one day, and invited her to come to your
+Bible school. I believe if you could meet her you would be her
+salvation."
+
+Esther looked up with a grave question in her eyes.
+
+"Well?" he asked.
+
+"You invite her to come to the Bible school, but do not come yourself,
+do not offer to help."
+
+"It does seem inconsistent, doesn't it? I will try to explain."
+
+He studied the cracks in the floor.
+
+"You see, I have felt that I would be a hypocrite if I came. I know
+nothing about religion; at least, I knew nothing about it until I
+began to find it in you."
+
+"And yet religion is the great question of life. I wonder that, with
+your habit of thought, you have not been attracted to the study of
+philosophy and religion."
+
+"Some of the most materialistic men I have known," he replied, "have
+been students of philosophy and religion. They seemed anything but
+religious. But your religion is practical. You live it. You make men
+believe in your religion, make them believe it is the one real thing
+of life. I need to be taught of you."
+
+"Please bring this young girl to me, or take me to her," she
+responded.
+
+Together they sought Carla Earle. As Esther was introduced, she
+clasped Carla's hand, and began to talk to her of England. Kenneth
+excused himself, and the two girls took seats in the corner where he
+had left them. At first Carla avoided looking into the face of her
+companion. When she did gain courage to look up, she saw that Esther's
+face was full of tenderness. What could it mean? Sympathy for her?
+Carla Earle? Her chest rose and fell. Suddenly she hid her face in
+her hands, while suppressed sobs shook her frame.
+
+Quickly, Esther slipped her arm about her, and drew her to the open
+door, and out into the clear night air. There, Nature seemed full of
+peace. Up and down, the two walked in the moonlight, talking in low,
+earnest tones. Often they paused and looked up into the heavens. Once
+the English girl bowed her head on the New England girl's shoulder,
+and wept bitterly. The teacher listened, listened to a story whose
+pathos touched her heart. Then she said gently:
+
+"You know right from wrong. Leave the wrong life. Come to me for
+shelter, until I can find a home for you where you will be safe, and I
+hope, contented."
+
+"Oh, I can't," sobbed Carla, "I am so unhappy!"
+
+"I know you can leave if you will," Esther said firmly. "You will have
+strength and courage given you to do right. It is wrong for you to
+continue in the life you are now living."
+
+Carla shuddered. She was still weeping.
+
+"God will never forgive me," she said. "He has forsaken me."
+
+She seemed utterly hopeless.
+
+"God always forgives those who come to Him penitent, Carla. He has not
+forsaken you; you have forsaken Him. I am glad you and I have found
+each other. Perhaps I can help you find your way back to God."
+
+Carla gripped her hand. When they re-entered the house, the English
+girl slipped into the bedroom.
+
+"Fust couple forrerd an' back!" called out the fiddler, keeping time
+with his foot.
+
+There were bows, differing more in quality than in kind; bows
+masculine, with spurred foot to rearward; bows feminine, quite
+indescribable.
+
+"Swing y'r pardners!" shouted the fiddler, flourishing his bow. Around
+flew the lasses, with skirts and ribbons flying; down came the boots
+of the cowboys, their spurs clanking time to the music. The room grew
+more stifling.
+
+Among the late-comers was a middle-aged woman, immaculately clean. Her
+snapping black eyes were set close to her nose, which was sharp and
+thin. Her lips closed firmly. Her thin black hair, drawn tightly back,
+was fastened in a tight wad at the back of her head. She wore an
+antiquated black alpaca dress, sans buttons, sans collar, sans cuffs;
+but the crowning glory of her costume, and her particular pride, was a
+breastpin of hair grapes. She was accompanied by an easy-going, stubby
+little Irishman, and a freckle-faced, tow-headed lad of ten.
+
+"Maw, Maw!" said the child, "there's my teacher!"
+
+"Mind y'r mannerses," said the woman, as she cuffed him on the ear.
+
+"I am mindin' my mannerses," he said sulkily.
+
+The teacher saw the shadow on the child's face, stepped forward to
+greet him, then extended her hand to the mother, saying:
+
+"Good evening, Mrs. Black. I am Brigham's teacher."
+
+But Mrs. Murphy was on the warpath.
+
+"I'm not Miz. Black," she snapped, assuming an air of offended
+dignity; "I'm Miz Murphy, the wife o' Patrick Murphy. This is my man,"
+pointing to the stubby Irishman, with the air of a tragedy queen. The
+teacher thereupon shook hands with Patrick. Mrs. Murphy continued:
+
+"My first husband were a Young, my second a Thompson, my third a
+Wigger, my fourth a Black, and my fifth a Murphy."
+
+"I wonders who the nixt wan will be," said Patrick, grinning from ear
+to ear. "My woman lived wid the Mormons."
+
+Mrs. Murphy's eyes looked daggers. He continued:
+
+"An' she thought if it were good fur wan man to marry many women, it
+were equally good fur wan woman ter have many husbands, even if she
+didn't have all of thim ter onct." He chuckled.
+
+"Mind y'r bizness!" snapped the irate Mrs. Murphy.
+
+"An' so it came my turrhn, schoolma'am, an' she were that delighted
+wid me she have niver tried another man since. Eh, mavourneen?"
+
+Saying which, Patrick made his escape, shaking with laughter.
+
+Then Esther poured oil on the troubled waters, by telling Mrs. Murphy
+how interested she was in what Brigham had told her of his little
+sisters, Nora and Kathleen.
+
+"Won't you sit down, Mrs. Murphy?"
+
+Esther's voice and manner were very charming at that moment, as she
+drew a chair forward for her companion.
+
+Somewhat mollified, Mrs. Murphy seated herself.
+
+"Oh, I don't mind ef I do set down. I'm that tuckered out with
+scrubbin' and washin' an' cookin', I'm afeared I can't dance till
+mornin'."
+
+As she talked, she fanned herself with her red cotton handkerchief.
+
+"You enjoy dancing, don't you, Mrs. Murphy?" asked the teacher, with
+apparent interest.
+
+"Enjoy dancin'? I should say I did!" She suddenly assumed an air of
+great importance. "Back East where I was riz, I went ter all the barn
+raisin's, an' was accounted the best dancer in the county."
+
+She showed sudden interest in the fiddler, and tapped time to the
+music with her foot.
+
+"Then I joined the Mormons. When I lived in Utah, there was plenty o'
+dancin', I can tell you."
+
+"You are from New York, Mrs. Murphy, I think you said."
+
+"Yep," complacently. "I was riz in York State, near Syrycuse. My folks
+was way up, my folks was. Why, my aunt's husband's sister's husband
+kep' a confectony, an' lived on Lexity Street, York City. She were
+rich, she were,--an' dressed! My landy! How she dressed! Always latest
+style! Ye didn't know her, I s'pose. Miz Josiah Common was her name,
+lived at 650 somethin' Lexity Street. Wisht you'd a knowed her."
+
+Here she mopped her face again.
+
+It was not often that Mrs. Murphy found herself in society, and in
+society where she wished to make an impression. Her voice rose higher
+and shriller.
+
+"Yep," she continued, in a tone of supreme satisfaction, "I'm 'lated,
+as it were, to Miz Josiah Common. She gimme this here pin."
+
+Here she took off a hair grape pin, and held it up for inspection. "A
+bunch o' grapes, yer see, hereditaried in the family, descended from
+father to son, yer know, in memory of the departed."
+
+All this in a tone of one who gives information, and commiserates the
+ignorance of the listener. Suddenly Esther Bright lifted her
+handkerchief to her eyes.
+
+"Got pink eye?" asked Mrs. Murphy with sudden sympathy. But at this
+moment Patrick Murphy joined them, and Mrs. Murphy rose to dance with
+him.
+
+As the two left her, Esther saw John Clayton edging his way through
+the crowd. An instant later, he presented Lord Kelwin, of Dublin,
+Ireland.
+
+"Really," said the newcomer, "I had no idea I should meet an American
+lady on the frontier. I am charmed. So delighted, Mr. Clayton, to meet
+Mrs. Clayton and Miss Bright. I had anticipated meeting Indians,
+Indian princesses, don't you know, like the people we see in the shows
+you send us."
+
+"It is too bad you should be disappointed, Lord Kelwin," said the New
+Englander, smiling. "There are princesses galore in the southwest, and
+a little search will reward you."
+
+"Beg pardon, I did not intend to give the impression that I was
+disappointed; rather, I am surprised that here out of civilization,
+ah--ah--I should find a lady,--_two_ ladies. I count myself most
+fortunate."
+
+John Clayton's eyes twinkled. At the first opportunity he drew Lord
+Kelwin aside, and whispered in his ear. The Irishman looked
+astonished.
+
+"An Indian princess, did you say? By Jove!"
+
+"Yes, of the blood royal," replied John Clayton, with gravity.
+
+"And possessed of untold wealth? What was it you said?"
+
+"Of untold wealth. I'd rather have her wealth than the crown jewels of
+any royal house."
+
+"By George! A fortune and a pretty girl thrown in!"
+
+It was evident that this bit of information was not without effect
+upon Lord Kelwin, for he turned to Esther Bright effusively.
+
+"It is such a pleasure, such a great pleasure, to meet one who so
+charmingly represents her race."
+
+He bowed deferentially.
+
+Esther looked mystified. Before she could frame a reply, their
+conversation was interrupted.
+
+Lord Kelwin drew John Clayton aside.
+
+"An American princess, did you say?"
+
+"Yes, by divine right," responded the older man.
+
+The Irishman adjusted his monocle, to view Esther more critically.
+
+"She looks more like an English woman," he said meditatively. "Rather
+too slender to be a beauty."
+
+"She was born on the free soil of America," continued his companion,
+"and has some ideas of her own."
+
+The Irishman smiled cynically.
+
+"As if a pretty girl ever had ideas of her own! She usually knows just
+what her mamma or governess teaches her. I always find a pretty girl
+an easy victim. I've broken more than one innocent's heart." He
+twirled his moustache.
+
+"You'll not get on so well with Miss Bright. You see, she is used to
+meeting _men_." John Clayton looked a trifle wicked, as he continued,
+"She might take you for a long-headed animal with long ears."
+
+But the last remark was lost upon the Irishman, whose attention was
+fixed upon Esther Bright.
+
+"You say her ancestors were savages, Mr. Clayton?"
+
+"I suppose they _were_ savages, same as ours. She has the best
+heritage the ages can give,--a healthy body, a beautiful mind, and a
+heroic soul."
+
+John Clayton's voice, half ironical, had an undertone of seriousness.
+
+"A heroic soul! A heroic soul!" The Irishman raised his monocle again.
+"I didn't suppose savages had souls. I've always imagined this fad
+about souls came with civilization."
+
+"I have begun to think," answered his companion, "that with much of
+the so-called civilization, men and women are losing their souls. Miss
+Bright is a remarkable woman. She believes in the possibilities of
+every man and woman. It is her purpose in life to awaken the soul
+wherever she finds it dormant or atrophied."
+
+"Indeed!"
+
+Again the monocle was raised, and the Irishman's curious gaze was
+fixed upon the American girl, then engaged in conversation with a
+cowboy.
+
+Patrick Murphy now interrupted this dialogue.
+
+"Lord Kelwin, we wants yez ter dance an Irish jig."
+
+The lord lifted his eyebrows.
+
+"There's no one to dance an Irish jig with me unless you do it
+yourself, Patrick."
+
+Here there was a general laugh.
+
+"Come along wid yez," persisted Patrick, half carrying him toward the
+dance room.
+
+"Here," he said to Lord Kelwin, "here's light-footed Janette O'Neil
+will dance this wid yez."
+
+There was a stir. The center of the room was cleared, then out stepped
+Lord Kelwin, leading rosy, graceful Janette. She was lithe and dainty.
+
+The fiddler flourished his bow, drew it across the strings, and
+brought forth the strains of "Soldier's Joy,"--a melody that sets an
+Irishman's feet flying.
+
+Janette's short, red skirt showed her trim feet and ankles. Down the
+room came the two dancers, side by side, their feet fairly flying.
+Backward, again they danced, the length of the room, still keeping up
+the feathery rapidity of flying feet. Then Lord Kelwin swung his
+partner around and around; then facing each other, they danced apart.
+Expressions of admiring approval were heard.
+
+"Them's fine dancers!"
+
+"Go it, Kelwin! I'll bet on you."
+
+"Three cheers for ould Ireland!"
+
+Down again the full length of the room sped the flying feet; then back
+again. Then, whirling as birds in flight, they faced each other once
+more, and danced apart, and finished the dance amid deafening
+applause. As it continued, Lord Kelwin raised his hand for attention.
+
+"Give us the Highland fling. Here, Burns, you and Jessie Roth dance
+the Highland fling."
+
+"Highland fling! Highland fling!" echoed many voices.
+
+Again the center of the room was cleared, and Robert Burns led forth
+Jessie Roth.
+
+In a moment the air of "Bonnie Woods and Braes" shrieked from the
+fiddle. With rhythmic swing of body and limb, the graceful Scotch
+dancers kept time to the music. Up rose the arm of the girl, with
+inimitable grace; forward came one foot, daintily touching the floor.
+It was the very poetry of motion. At the close of this dance, the
+applause was again deafening.
+
+"Git y'r pardners fer Virginny reel!" shouted the weary fiddler.
+
+In the rush of the dancers, John Clayton was jostled against Esther
+Bright and Kenneth Hastings.
+
+"Well!" said he, "I believe we'd better go out to supper, and then
+start homeward."
+
+A brief search brought the other members of the party. They seated
+themselves at a long improvised table, covered with red tablecloths.
+There was but one course, and that included everything from roast
+venison and Irish stew, hot biscuit and honey, to New England
+doughnuts, hot tamales and whiskey.
+
+Near by sat an Indian half-breed, who, discovering a large plate of
+doughnuts, greedily devoured every one. As he had been drinking
+heavily, no one interfered, or made audible comments. When the Clayton
+party were about to withdraw, there were sounds of scuffling, oaths
+and cries, from the adjoining room, followed by a heavy thud. Some one
+had fallen. John Clayton rushed out, and finding one of his own
+cowboys in the fight, dragged him out into the open air. To keep him
+out of the mêlée, he sent him for their team, and he himself returned
+to the house for the members of his party. The leave-taking over, the
+spirited team dashed away from Jamison Ranch. The lights of the house
+grew fainter and fainter, then disappeared. The babble of voices, the
+clink of glasses, the clatter of spurs, the sound of dancing feet,
+were far behind. To the New England girl, the experience of the night
+seemed a strange dream; and the reality, the solemn hush of the
+midnight sky brooding over all.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI
+
+A SOUL'S AWAKENING
+
+
+The next evening, as the Claytons gathered about the fire, heavy
+footsteps were heard on the veranda.
+
+"The cowboys are just in from the range," explained the host.
+
+The door opened, and four cowboys entered. Abashed at the presence of
+a stranger, they responded awkwardly to the introduction. They were a
+picturesque group in the flickering firelight. All were dressed in
+corduroy jackets, belted with heavy leather belts, each of which held
+a gun and a sharp knife. Each man wore leather trousers, fringed at
+the bottom, high boots, with clanking spurs, and sombrero hats that no
+one deigned to remove on entering the room. They were brawny specimens
+of human kind, with faces copper-colored from exposure.
+
+The Claytons welcomed them to a place before the fire. Many a curious
+glance wandered toward Esther. She listened intently to their tales of
+hair-breadth escapes, of breaking bronchos, of stampedes of cattle, of
+brandings and round-ups, of encounters with Indians and wolves, and of
+perilous feats of mountain climbing. Noticing her interest, their
+tongues were loosened, and many a half-truth took on the color of
+whole truth.
+
+One of the cowboys had been so absorbed in watching her that he had
+taken no part in the conversation. His steady, persistent gaze finally
+attracted her attention. She was perplexed as to where she could have
+seen him. His face looked strangely familiar to her. Then it came to
+her in a flash that it was at the schoolhouse the day of the
+organization of the Bible school. He was one of the men who had
+protected her. She saw he could not be measured at a glance.
+
+His face, though strikingly handsome, was one men feared. Yet there
+were those who could tell of his deeds of gentleness and mercy. These
+were in his better moments, for he had better moments.
+
+Many tales were told of his courage and daring. Mr. Clayton sometimes
+expressed the belief that if this cowboy had been reared in the right
+kind of atmosphere, he would have achieved distinction. His eagle eye
+and powerful jaw indicated a forceful personality.
+
+As Esther felt his magnetic gaze, she turned and asked:
+
+"Were you not at the schoolhouse the day we organized the Bible
+school?"
+
+"I was there a few minutes," he responded. But he did not add that he
+had gone away with the ruffians to prevent their disturbing her.
+
+She expressed the wish that he would visit the Bible school.
+
+"Oh, I haven't been in a church since I was a kid," he blurted out.
+"Then my stepfather turned me out ter earn my livin'. I'm now
+twenty-eight, an' I don't know nothin' but cattle, an' bears, an'
+wolves an' Indians."
+
+"It is sad not to have a home, isn't it?" she said.
+
+"Oh, I don't know 'bout it's bein' sad," he answered, as though
+embarrassed. There was a change of expression in his face.
+
+"But then your being thrown upon your own resources has made you
+brave, and self-reliant, and strong."
+
+He squared his shoulders.
+
+"In some ways, you have had great opportunities, Mr. Harding,--"
+
+"Oh, don't call me 'Mr. Harding,'" he interrupted, "Call me 'Jack.'"
+
+"I'll try to remember." Her face lighted. "These opportunities have
+given you magnificent physical strength. I know people who would give
+a fortune just to have your superb strength."
+
+He straightened up.
+
+"Well, I'd be glad to give it to 'em, if I could only have a chance to
+know somethin'."
+
+"Know what?"
+
+"Know how a man ought ter live." There was in his voice a deep,
+vibrant undertone of earnestness.
+
+"It's a great thing to live, isn't it?" She spoke as though pondering
+some vital question. Jack Harding watched her curiously.
+
+"Some jest half live, schoolma'am."
+
+"That is probably true," she responded, "but God created us capable of
+something better. He has given us His world to know, and the people in
+it."
+
+"The people in it," he repeated contemptuously. "Some people are a bad
+lot, schoolma'am, an' I'm one of 'em."
+
+"You must not speak so of yourself. A man who will protect a woman, in
+order that she may continue her work unmolested, is not a bad lot. Now
+I should call you a pretty _good_ sort of a man." A luminous smile.
+Almost any man would have become her willing slave for that smile.
+
+As her voice gave special emphasis to the word "good," he squared his
+shoulders again. She continued:
+
+"A man doesn't know how good he really is until he begins to try to
+help some one else up. Then he finds out."
+
+"I need to be helped," he said, in a tone that seemed to be intended
+for her ear alone. "I am ignorant,--don't know nothin'. Can't hardly
+read, or write, or cipher. Could yer learn me?"
+
+She looked at the strong man before her, touched by his appeal.
+
+"What do you wish to learn?"
+
+"First readin' an' writin' an' cipherin'."
+
+"What next?"
+
+"Oh, everythin', I guess."
+
+The others had caught fragments of the conversation, and now joined
+in. Mike Maloney spoke first.
+
+"Do yez think yez are a kid again, Jack, that yez are sthartin' wid
+book learnin'?"
+
+"No, Mike, not a kid, but a dunce."
+
+Before the teacher could protest, he continued:
+
+"Ye'll find me an ignoramus, schoolma'am. A fellow out on the range, or
+in a minin' camp, don't git much schoolin'. But sometimes when ye're
+alone under the open sky, an' the stars come out, there's somethin' in
+here" (striking himself on the chest) "that is--is--unsatisfied. I want
+somethin'. I don't know what it is I want, but I believe you can help
+me find out."
+
+Let those scoff who will; there is such a thing as divine unrest; and
+when this takes possession of a man, his evolution has begun.
+
+John Harding went on with increasing earnestness.
+
+"Yer see, schoolma'am, this not knowin' is awful. Y're not all a man
+should measure up to. Y're in prison like, hide bound. It's come ter
+me ter-night, all ter onct, that an ignoramus is in bondage, an' that
+only education can set him free."
+
+The tide of his feeling gave him a rough eloquence. It was evident his
+words found a responsive echo in the other cowboys' hearts.
+
+The teacher had listened with deepening interest. John Harding had set
+her a task,--the greatest task, nay, the greatest pleasure man or
+woman can know, of leading a human soul out of bondage into freedom.
+
+One of the cowboys, Jimmie Smith by name, nudged Mike Maloney, and
+whispered:
+
+"Ask her to learn us, too."
+
+Mike readily assented.
+
+"Would yez be willin' ter bother wid us too?"
+
+"It would be no bother. I'd be glad to help you."
+
+There was no doubting her sincerity.
+
+In a few moments, the men were seated around the dining table, each
+with pencil and paper, and a lesson in penmanship had begun.
+
+"Gosh!" said Jimmie. "Ef that don't look like the rail fences back in
+Indianny!"
+
+As he said this, he held up to view the very best he could do after
+repeated efforts. He laughed uproariously at himself, the others
+joining from pure sympathy, for Jimmie's laugh was contagious.
+
+But Mike worked as though entered for a race. He seemed to need an
+astonishing amount of the teacher's attention, especially after she
+commended his work.
+
+"Schoolma'am," he called out, beckoning to her with his dirty hand,
+"would yez be showin' me the nixt?"
+
+She bent over him, naming principles, explaining slant and spacing, as
+she made a group of letters.
+
+"Stim letthers, did yez say? Stim? Stim?"
+
+He held up his work and looked at it critically. "Manin' no disrespict
+to yez, schoolma'am, I'll jist call 'em, not stim letthers, but fince
+posts."
+
+After the laughs and gibes had ceased, he listened to her a moment,
+and then remarked, "The stims should all be sthandin' the same way,
+did yez say?"
+
+He grinned as he viewed his writing o'er. It was clear to him, even at
+that early stage of the work, that he was not cut out for an expert
+penman. Yet his last effort that evening he seemed to regard with
+special pride and satisfaction, and this is what the teacher found on
+his paper when she returned to observe his work:
+
+     klass
+       jimme Smith
+       mike maloney
+       john harding
+       bill weeks
+     teecher
+       the angle of the gila
+
+Night after night, these cowboys gathered for an hour or more at the
+Clayton home for study with Esther Bright. Reading, and arithmetic,
+and talks on physical geography followed. The cowboys did not suspect
+it, but she was fighting the degrading influences of the saloon.
+
+Days came and went. The interest in the night school increased; so did
+the interest in the Bible school. But for some indefinable reason,
+John Harding had not visited it.
+
+One Saturday morning, when Esther sought the schoolhouse to do some
+work there, he joined her, entered the building, and built a fire for
+her. While observing the decorations of the room, he saw on the walls
+the words, "God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten
+Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have
+everlasting life."
+
+He read and reread the words. What could it mean? He was ashamed to
+ask. At last his great dark eyes sought the teacher's face. She saw a
+question in them.
+
+"What is it?" she asked.
+
+"What does it mean?"
+
+"What does what mean?"
+
+"Them words,--'God so loved the world', an' so on."
+
+"What don't you understand?"
+
+"I don't understand none of it. Yer see, us fellers uses 'God' as a
+cuss-word. That's all I know 'bout God."
+
+"Have you never read in the Bible about Jesus?"
+
+"Bible? I ain't seen one sence I was a kid, 'n' I never read it then,
+'n' ef God is a father 'n' anythin' like my stepfather, I reckon I
+don't care ter make his acquaintance."
+
+"He is not like your stepfather, for Jesus never turns anyone away. He
+invites people to come to Him. Would you like to hear about this,
+John?"
+
+"Yes, mum."
+
+"Well, sit down and I'll tell you."
+
+So they sat down near the desk. Then the woman of twenty-four told the
+Christ-story to the man of twenty-eight as to a little child. He
+listened intently, with the eagerness of a man in whom the passion to
+know has just been born. The teacher's words thrilled her listener.
+She pictured Jesus a child. Jesus a young man in Nazareth, working
+among his fellows, tempted, victorious; Jesus healing the sick and
+afflicted, mingling with sinful men, and freeing them from their
+bondage to sin. The expression of the man's face was indescribable. As
+she reached the story of the Crucifixion, he asked huskily:
+
+"Why did God let the Jews kill him?"
+
+"Many have asked that question. All we know about it is what the Bible
+tells us. I used to wonder if there could not have been some other way
+of salvation than through the suffering and death of Jesus."
+
+Her look was far away, as of one thinking of things eternal. Again she
+read aloud:
+
+"And while they abode in Galilee, Jesus said unto them, 'The Son of
+Man shall be betrayed into the hands of men, and they shall kill him,
+and the third day he shall be raised again.' And they were exceeding
+sorry."
+
+"He knew it, then, that they would kill him?"
+
+"It seems so." She read on:
+
+"He taught his disciples and said unto them, 'The Son of Man is
+delivered into the hands of men, and they shall kill him; and after
+that he is killed, he shall rise the third day.'"
+
+She turned the leaves and read again: "'As Moses lifted up the serpent
+in the wilderness, even so must the Son of Man be lifted up: that
+whosoever believeth on him should not perish, but have eternal life.
+For God so loved the world that he gave his only begotten Son, that
+whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting
+life. For God sent not his Son into the world to condemn the world,
+but that the world through Him might be saved.'"
+
+"He died for us?"
+
+She nodded, and continued: "'I tell you the truth; it is expedient for
+you that I go away: for if I go not away the Comforter will not come
+unto you; but if I depart, I will send him unto you.'"
+
+"The Comforter!"
+
+"Listen, John. 'Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay
+down his life for his friends.'"
+
+Then she closed the book.
+
+"Greater love hath no man than this," he repeated. She took up the
+words, "'that a man lay down his life for his friends.'"
+
+"He--gave--his--life--for--us!"
+
+John Harding spoke slowly. The great truth that has comforted the
+human heart for ages had at last reached his dormant soul. The eagle
+eye seemed looking inward; the iron jaw set; the strong hand clinched.
+In this deep inward look, the man seemed to have forgotten the
+presence of the teacher. At last into the hard face flashed a
+comprehending light, and he spoke.
+
+"I would give my life for you."
+
+"I believe you would," she said, never doubting. "Just so Jesus gave
+his life for all mankind."
+
+He looked up.
+
+"I begin to understand."
+
+"He taught men how to live," explained the teacher. "He taught that
+great and worthy love means sacrifice, and that all who would truly
+love and serve their fellow men must cease to think about self, and
+must get about doing kind, helpful things for other people."
+
+"I have never known the meaning of love or sacrifice," he said. "I
+don't know no more about them things than I do about God. But tell me
+about Jesus. What happened after they had crucified him?"
+
+He listened with intense interest as she told the story.
+
+"I want ter know more," he said. "I never knowed sech things was in
+the Bible. Ef I'd knowed it when I was a kid, I'd a lived a differ'nt
+life. I s'pose it's too late now."
+
+"No; not too late." Her voice was low and gentle.
+
+"I don't know how ter begin," he said helplessly. "Tell me how."
+
+"One way is to feel deeply sorry for anything wrong in one's past; to
+repent of wrong thoughts, wrong words, wrong deeds."
+
+"But, schoolma'am, my wrong deeds has been so many," and he bowed his
+head on his arms on the desk before him.
+
+"Not so many--" her voice was comforting--"but God will forgive them,
+if you are truly sorry. Pray every day, pray many times a day, that
+God will not only forgive you, but help you become a better man."
+
+He raised his head.
+
+"I don't know how ter pray. I'm afraid ter pray. Do you know," he said
+desperately, "I've committed about every crime but murder?"
+
+Again he bowed his head on his arms. His frame shook with sobs. The
+calm, well-poised girl had never before seen such a stirring of the
+deeps. A strong man in tears is not an easy thing to witness.
+
+"Will yer pray fur me?" he said at length; but he did not lift his
+head.
+
+Then upon his ears fell the comforting voice of the teacher. It was
+the first time in all his life anyone had prayed for him. Something
+choked him. At last he looked up into her eyes.
+
+"Learn me ter pray," he said huskily.
+
+"Say this, John, _now_: 'Jesus, Son of God, have mercy on me.'"
+
+He repeated, "'Jesus, Son of God, have mercy on me!'"
+
+It was the first prayer John Harding had ever prayed. He rose to go.
+
+"I wisht--." He hesitated.
+
+"What do you wish?"
+
+She reached out a delicate, expressive hand, and laid it gently on his
+brawny arm. It came to him, at that hour, like a benediction from God.
+
+"_What_ do you wish?" she repeated.
+
+"I wisht you'd give me a Bible."
+
+She lifted the Bible from her desk, one long used by her and carefully
+marked, and placing it in his open hand, she said:
+
+"Never forget, John, that Jesus, the Christ, the Son of God, has
+bought your soul with a great price, and that it belongs to God."
+
+He tried to thank her. Then turning, without a vocal word of thanks,
+he left the room; and with long, easy, rapid strides, sought the
+solitude of the mountains.
+
+The something within him that had long been beating to be free, now
+asserted itself. It _would_ have way. It seemed to be his real self,
+and yet a new man, risen up out of his dead and fruitless past. It
+seemed to sing within him, yet it sorrowed. And in the midst of the
+sorrow, a great hope was born. He knew it now,--this Something was his
+own Soul!
+
+There, on the heights of the rugged foothills, he stood alone. Only
+the fathomless deeps of the sky saw the struggle of that human soul.
+For a while he seemed to be passing through the tortures of the
+damned. He fought his way inch by inch. Great beads of sweat covered
+his forehead; then, lifting one clenched hand high in the air, as
+though he had burst forth from a dungeon of death into the light of
+day, he said:
+
+"God! God!"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII
+
+THE GILA CLUB
+
+
+The class of cowboys soon outgrew the living room at Clayton Ranch,
+and now occupied the schoolhouse three consecutive evenings a week.
+Although the class had organized as the Gila Club, for study and
+social life, the meetings thus far had been for the purpose of study
+only.
+
+From the inception of the club, it had met with popular favor. For
+many a day, nothing had been so much talked of, and talked of with
+such unqualified approval. The knowledge of the teacher, her unselfish
+interest in the men, her goodness and kindness, were themes upon which
+many a rough man grew eloquent. Had Esther Bright been a Sister of
+Mercy, in the sacred garb of the Church, she could hardly have been
+revered more than she was. It never occurred to her as she went and
+came among them, that she needed a protector. Before the year was
+over, many a one in that group would have risked his life to save
+hers.
+
+And yet, Esther Bright was not such an unusual woman. Such as she may
+be found almost anywhere in this land, sanctifying the home; rearing
+children to be true men and women; teaching in the schools;
+ministering to the sick; protecting the pure; rescuing the fallen; and
+exemplifying in every act of their lives, Christ's teachings of love
+and mercy. And the work of this great sisterhood goes quietly,
+unfalteringly on, making, as no other force does, for the real
+progress of the race.
+
+An Esther Bright is never written up in glaring headlines of yellow
+journalism; an Esther Bright is never offered in barter for a foreign
+title and a degenerate husband; such as she are never seen at the
+gaming table, nor among the cigarette and cocktail devotees. We find
+her in places where the world's needs are great, calm, well-poised,
+intelligent, capable, sympathetic; the greatest moral force of the
+age.
+
+The common man, if decent, always respects such a woman. She becomes
+to him a saint, an ideal; and in proportion to his respect for her, is
+his own moral uplift possible.
+
+So those rough men of Gila, in those days of long ago, came to look
+upon Esther Bright as a sort of saint, their Angel, as they called
+her; and with this deepening respect for her, there gradually grew up
+in them, faint at first, but sure at last, a wholesome respect for all
+womankind. Such was the atmosphere of the Gila Club.
+
+Among the first to attend the meetings, after the organization of the
+club, was Patrick Murphy, whom Esther had not seen since the night of
+the ball. He came with John Harding, and as he entered the room, he
+took his pipe from his mouth, jerked his slouch hat from his head, and
+gave a queer little duck in lieu of a bow.
+
+"I am plazed to be wid yez, Miss." He smiled broadly.
+
+She assured him of a cordial welcome from all, extending her hand as
+she spoke. He gripped it till she winced, and became so engrossed in
+hearing himself talk that he forgot to release it.
+
+"The byes has been tellin' av me as yez learn 'em ter git on. Now
+that's what Oi allus preach,--git on. There's no use allus bein' wid
+yer nose ter the grindstone."
+
+He released her hand to stuff more tobacco in his pipe. After a puff
+or two, he continued his remarks:
+
+"The childthren has been gittin' on so well, Oi sez to mesilf, sez Oi,
+p'raps the schoolma'am can learn me ter figger, an' read an' write. So
+here Oi am," (slapping his chest heartily, as that portion of his
+anatomy rose an inch higher) "here Oi am!"
+
+Just then Esther's attention was sought by a group of newcomers.
+Kenneth watched her attitude towards the people. She was gracious and
+cordial, but there was about her a fine reserve that the commonest man
+felt, and tacitly respected.
+
+At first, this young Englishman had been attracted to the young New
+England girl by the delicate loveliness of her face, and the elegance
+of her manner. He had felt, from the first, that in his social
+intercourse with her, he must rise above the empty platitudes of
+society. There were times when he flattered himself he had made
+progress in her favor. Then, when he presumed upon this, he was met by
+a strong wall of reserve.
+
+Here she was now, bestowing smiles and gracious words upon just common
+men. He was filled with disgust. Then he, gentleman as he was, man of
+the world, university graduate, engineer, felt his self-love wounded;
+and he thereupon had an acute attack of sulks.
+
+What was she to him, anyway?
+
+The stern patrician face looked coldly, cynically on at the men around
+him. The "vulgar herd," he called them.
+
+Just in the midst of his morbid reflections, he heard a merry,
+contagious laugh from Esther. He did not glance up. But, in an
+instant, she was at his side, telling with great glee the skit that
+had provoked the laughter. It was so irresistibly funny, Kenneth
+laughed with them, and the ice was broken.
+
+To be sure, he did not know Esther Bright as he did the alphabet, but
+what of that? Who could sound the deeps of such a rare woman's soul?
+She _was_ a rare woman. He conceded that every time he held an
+argument with himself, when she was the question of the argument.
+Always in her life, he was sure, there would be a reserve, through
+which no one could pass, unless it might be the ordained of God. She
+fascinated him more and more. One moment, in his adoration, he could
+have humbled himself to the dust to win one gracious word from her; at
+other times, his pride made him as silent and immovable as a sphinx.
+
+On this particular night at the club, Kenneth was in one of his moods.
+If Esther saw, she did not betray it. She came to him, telling in a
+straightforward way, that the work had grown so she could not do it
+all herself, and do justice to the men? Would he help her? There was a
+class in arithmetic. Would he kindly teach that for her to-night?
+Kenneth looked savage.
+
+"Oh, don't say no," she urged appealingly. "They are working in
+compound numbers and are doing so well. _Won't_ you take the class?"
+she urged, again. And Kenneth consented.
+
+It is but justice to say that the selection of the teacher proved
+wise. What this did for Kenneth himself is not the least part of the
+good resulting therefrom.
+
+Soon the click of pencils, and occasional questions and answers
+indicated that the arithmetic classes were at work. In one corner, the
+dignified and scholarly John Clayton sat helping a young miner learn
+to write. By her desk, sat Esther Bright, teaching Patrick Murphy to
+read.
+
+Learning to read when a man is forty-five is no easy task. Patrick
+Murphy did not find it so. He found it rather humiliating, but his
+unfailing good humor helped him out.
+
+The teacher began with script sentences, using objects to develop
+these. She wrote the sentences on the blackboard. Again and again the
+sentences were erased and then rewritten. But the pupil at last
+remembered.
+
+One sentence was, "I am a man." Patrick hesitated; then solemnly said,
+as though reading:
+
+"Oi certainly am not a woman, manin' no disrespict to women folk,
+Miss."
+
+She read quietly from the blackboard again, "I am a man."
+
+"Perhaps, Miss, it would be more intilligint fur me ter say, 'Oi am an
+Oirishman.'"
+
+"Very well," she said, smiling, "I will write the sentence that way."
+
+"You see, Miss," he continued, with droll seriousness, "it is ividint
+Oi am a man. Let me read the sintinces agin!" And he read them
+correctly.
+
+Here the classes changed, each teacher helping a group of men with a
+simple reading lesson. Then followed the lesson in penmanship, taught
+by Esther Bright, and the work of the evening was over.
+
+As the three teachers left the schoolhouse door, Mr. Clayton laid his
+hand on Kenneth's shoulder, and said:
+
+"Come over to see Mrs. Clayton a little while. It's still early."
+
+Kenneth hesitated.
+
+"Yes, do," urged Esther. "We have some plans to work out for the club,
+you know, and we need your help."
+
+Again there was an appeal in her voice. What a brute he had been! What
+a fool! So he strolled along with the two. As they stepped on the
+veranda, they heard a deep voice.
+
+"Lord Kelwin!" exclaimed John Clayton.
+
+The greetings over, the meeting of the club and its possibilities
+became the subject of discussion.
+
+"Why can't you join us, Lord Kelwin?" questioned the host.
+
+"Yes, why not?" said Esther, with sudden animation.
+
+Kenneth Hastings' face darkened.
+
+"Ah--I--well--" stammered Lord Kelwin. "I didn't suppose my
+services--ah--would--ah--would be agreeable to the _teacher_,"--and he
+looked first at Esther Bright, and then at Kenneth Hastings.
+
+A single, hectic flush suddenly appeared in one of Esther's cheeks.
+Then Mr. Clayton spoke.
+
+"You do not seem to understand, Lord Kelwin, that Miss Bright's class
+has grown so rapidly she has had to have assistance, and Mr. Hastings
+and I, for lack of better material, have been pressed into service.
+Come, yourself, and you'll want to help the good work on." Lord Kelwin
+raised his monocle.
+
+Esther spoke quickly, with more enthusiasm than usual.
+
+"The girls have been seeking the same opportunity we are giving the
+men. They need help just as much, and so we must plan to help them
+too!"
+
+"Yes, and kill yourself!" growled Kenneth Hastings.
+
+John Clayton smiled.
+
+"Not if Miss Bright has sufficient help. If she will organize the
+work, we can surely assist her."
+
+For a time, it seemed as though a club for girls was doomed. Then Mrs.
+Clayton came to Esther's rescue.
+
+"Miss Bright is already in touch with the girls, and knows something
+of their great need."
+
+"But they're such a tough lot," rejoined Lord Kelwin.
+
+"Then they need her influence all the more. She can help them if
+anyone in the world can." Again Mrs. Clayton had helped her out. The
+hectic flush deepened. Esther's eyes grew brilliant. Her voice, when
+she spoke, was low, calm, sweet, but vibrating with an earnestness the
+group about her had occasionally heard in her voice before. She spoke
+with decision:
+
+"I shall help the girls!"
+
+"That settles it!" responded Kenneth, half in admiration, half in
+disgust. He could not understand what it was that could make a girl of
+her fine and sensitive nature, a girl of her beauty and culture and
+great attainments, not only willing, but eager, to help a group of
+coarse, uncouth men and women, of doubtful reputation, and who, to his
+mind, were utterly incapable of appreciating her.
+
+John Clayton spoke again.
+
+"Won't you join us, Lord Kelwin?"
+
+Again the Irishman looked at the teacher, but her eyes were fixed on
+the glowing fire.
+
+"I--well--I suppose--I could."
+
+"Suppose we have a joint meeting of the men and women next Saturday
+evening," said Esther. "Have a programme that would not be very long,
+but interesting. Then let them have a social time, and treat them to
+some cake and coffee."
+
+"That is a happy thought, Miss Bright," said Mrs. Clayton in hearty
+approval.
+
+Now plans began to be discussed in earnest. And before the guests
+departed, it had been decided that the first social function ever
+given by the people of Gila should be given in the schoolhouse the
+following Saturday night.
+
+As the two men walked toward the camp, Lord Kelwin questioned his
+companion.
+
+"What did Clayton mean by Miss Bright's being of the 'blood royal'?"
+
+"That is what he meant."
+
+"Related to some royal house of Europe, some native ruler here, eh?"
+
+His companion stopped and laughed.
+
+"Royal by nature. It is such blood as hers that should flow in the
+veins of the rulers of the earth."
+
+"Then she has no vast estates coming to her?"
+
+The darkness concealed the contempt on Kenneth's face.
+
+"If there is a God, (and I begin to believe there is) she has a rich
+reward before her."
+
+"Poor in this world's goods, eh?"
+
+"_Rich_ as few women are."
+
+His companion whistled. Kenneth stopped. Lord Kelwin stopped too.
+
+"Deuced fine girl, isn't she?" said the Irishman. His companion made
+no reply. After another remark from Lord Kelwin, Kenneth said sharply:
+
+"I do not care to discuss Miss Bright."
+
+So the conversation ended. But something rankled in the heart of the
+Englishman.
+
+Saturday night came. Such jollity! Such overflow of spirits! The
+laughter was loud and frequent. People came in a steady stream until
+the little schoolhouse was full to overflowing.
+
+Among the first arrivals, were Patrick Murphy and his wife. He was
+beaming with good nature. But Mrs. Murphy had come (as she expressed
+it) "agin her jedgment." She viewed the company with a chilly glance.
+Patrick chuckled.
+
+"It's plazed Oi am wid this evint. Oi've persuaded me woman, here, as
+this is quoite equal ter anythin' she iver attinded in York State, not
+even barrin' a barrn raisin'."
+
+Mrs. Murphy's beady black eyes seemed to come closer together. Her
+mouth set. Her nose rose by gradual gradations into the air, and her
+spinal column stiffened. She delivered herself to the following
+effect:
+
+"I _will_ confess as I have never been at a club afore. Back in York
+State they was only fur men folks. But my 'lations as lives on Lexity
+Street, York City, knows what clubs be, an' parties too, I reckon."
+
+But here John Harding, the president of the club, called the meeting
+to order. He announced that the first number on the programme would be
+a talk on physics, by Mr. Hastings.
+
+After the applause, Patrick Murphy, in facetious mood, exclaimed:
+
+"Begorra, if yez are not commincin' wid physic fur our stomachs!"
+
+"No," responded the speaker, "but physics for your head, Patrick."
+
+When the laugh at Patrick's expense had subsided, Kenneth announced
+the subject of his talk as "Magnetism." He talked simply, illustrating
+as he talked. Occasionally he was interrupted by questions that showed
+a fair degree of intelligence, and a desire to know. At the close of
+his talk Patrick, the irrepressible, burst forth again:
+
+"Yez said that a natural magnit could magnetize a bar o' steel, makin'
+the steel a sthronger magnit than the iron, an' yit this natural
+magnit be jist as magnitic as it was before?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Begorra!" said Patrick, slapping his knee, "yez'll have a harrd toime
+makin' me belave that. The idea! that anythin' can give to another
+more nor it has itself, an' at the same toime have as much lift itself
+as it had before it gave away more nor it had!"
+
+Patrick drew himself up. He had assumed a sudden importance in the
+community. Did he not know?
+
+The teacher smiled indulgently. As she spoke, there was quiet,
+respectful attention.
+
+"You see, Mr. Murphy, the natural magnet is like a human being. The
+more strength a man puts forth, the more he will have. If we give of
+ourselves, of our talents, to help other people, we are enriched by
+it. So the magnet teaches us a lesson, don't you see?"
+
+Patrick scratched his head dubiously. The teacher continued:
+
+"A natural magnet may not have much power in itself, but when it
+shares its power with a steel bar, the bar can do vastly more than the
+piece of iron could. In the same way, the influence we exert, though
+it may not be great in itself, may enable other people to do greater
+things than we could possibly do."
+
+The lesson went home.
+
+Patrick shook his head approvingly.
+
+"All right, Miss, all right! Oi'll belave the sthory if yez say so. Oi
+foind it hard to understhand what makes a bit o' iron a natural
+magnit. What Oi does understhand is yez are loike the steel magnit,
+an' yez draws the rist av us to yez!"
+
+And having delivered himself of this compliment, which apparently met
+with the hearty approval of the company, he subsided.
+
+Then John Harding announced the next number on the programme,--a talk
+on Ireland by Lord Kelwin, illustrated by Mr. Clayton with his magic
+lantern. Again there was applause; and as the lights were put out, the
+giggling and laughter grew boisterous. In an instant, a picture
+flashed on the screen, and the laughter changed to quiet attention.
+
+Lord Kelwin's voice soon made itself heard. He was well-known in camp,
+and popular. He spoke in a bright, attractive way, with occasional
+flashes of Irish wit, when he provoked laughter and comment again. On
+one of these occasions, Patrick burst forth. Patrick was in fine
+spirits. He had stopped at the saloon on the way to the party.
+
+"Begorra, the ould counthry is all foine enough in a picture or
+lecture; but Oi loike the Imerald Oile on this soide betther. The
+Imerald Oile of Ameriky, bounded on the north, by the North Pole; on
+the east, by the Atlanthic; on the south, by the South Pole; on the
+wist, by the Pacific; an' on the top, by the rist o' the universe.
+Hoorah fur the Imerald Oile of Ameriky!"
+
+A howl went up, and a laugh from everyone, followed by much clapping.
+
+"Where did you learn so much geography?" asked one. Again there was a
+laugh.
+
+"And this," said the speaker, as a new picture flashed before their
+eyes, "is Blarney Castle. Here is where Patrick learned his blarney."
+
+But Patrick was not to be outdone. He chuckled.
+
+"The blairney stone was all roight whin Oi was at Blairney Castle in
+the ould counthry; but whin Oi landed in Ameriky, Oi wint to Plymouth,
+an' there Oi found an Oirish saint holdin' a rock. Oi sez ter him, sez
+Oi, 'Phat do yez call the rock where the Pilgrims landed'? An' he
+looks at me scornful loike, an' sez he ter me, sez he, 'Y're
+mishthaken', sez he, 'this is the blairney stone of Killairney.
+Ameriky imports all the bist things from the ould counthry."
+
+The people fairly howled.
+
+"Includin' you, eh, Patrick?" shouted an Englishman, above the uproar
+of laughter.
+
+The address held everyone's attention, and at its close, both Lord
+Kelwin and Mr. Clayton were loudly applauded.
+
+"This closes our programme," said John Harding. "We hope ye'll talk
+an' have a good time, an' look about the room ter see what the
+children of the school have been doin'. Then the women folks will feed
+yer cake an' coffee."
+
+This announcement, too, was applauded.
+
+Mrs. Murphy, belle of the back East barn raisings, separated herself
+from the company. She came upon a good-sized play house, neatly
+painted and papered. It was furnished tastefully with little woven
+rugs, wire furniture, and crocheted window curtains. Over different
+articles, were placed the names of the children who had made them.
+Mrs. Murphy stood in amazed admiration, for her own children had been
+among the most skilled workers. She found simple garments, neatly
+made, and here and there bits of sewing, clumsy, and botched in some
+cases, because baby fingers had been at work.
+
+The teacher joined Mrs. Murphy, who said to her:
+
+"You don't say, schoolma'am, as you learns the young uns to do sich
+things as this?"
+
+"Yes. Don't you like it?"
+
+"Like it! I should say! Why, fust I know, they'll be makin' their own
+cloes, an' their pap's an' mine!"
+
+"Perhaps."
+
+But in another part of the room, a different conversation was going
+on.
+
+"I tell ye," said Jessie Roth, who was talking to Bobbie Burns,
+"schoolma'am kens an awfu' lot."
+
+"How dae ye ken?" he asked with an air of scorn, "ye dinna ken muckle
+yirsel'."
+
+"Ye jist shut up, Bob Burns," she replied testily. "I may not ken
+muckle, neither do ye. Ye has no manners. I tell ye I want ter learn.
+I'm a mind ter quit the range an' go ter school."
+
+"What's the matter, Jessie?" asked the teacher, coming up at this
+moment, and slipping her arm about the girl's waist. "I believe Bob
+has been teasing you. Make up, children;" and smiling kindly, and with
+a reassuring grasp of Jessie's hand, she passed on.
+
+"What'd I tell ye?" asked the girl.
+
+"Oh, she's only a woman. Anyway, she don't care much for you lasses,
+or she'd had a club for girls."
+
+This was more than Jessie could stand.
+
+"A woman, did ye say? A woman?" Jessie's eyes flashed with anger. "An'
+wasna' y'r mither a woman, Bob Burns?"
+
+"I believe she was," answered the boy with a broad grin. He was
+enjoying himself.
+
+"An' as fur the schoolma'am's not carin' fur the girls, y're mistaken.
+I'm sure she will have a club fur us."
+
+"Yes," taunted the burly fellow, "to hammer things into y'r heads
+with."
+
+At this Jessie left him in high dudgeon. She sought Esther and asked:
+
+"_Don't_ ye like we girls as much as the boys?"
+
+"Just a little bit better, perhaps. Why, Jessie?"
+
+"Bob Burns says ye don't care fur the girls, an' he knows ye don't
+'cause ye hain't made no club fur them."
+
+"Bob's mistaken, isn't he? We girls," and the teacher paused and
+smiled into several faces, "we girls are to have a club soon. Don't
+you say so?"
+
+The girls gathered about her. Bob's remark, repeated by Jessie, had
+been most timely, and crystallized what had been in the girls'
+minds,--to organize such a club for women as had been organized for
+the men.
+
+They talked rapidly, several at a time; but at last they listened to
+Esther, as she asked them to visit the school at an hour they could
+agree upon, on the following Monday. This they promised to do. But at
+this juncture, John Harding interrupted the conversation.
+
+"They want ter know as will yer tell 'em a short story, Miss Bright."
+
+"A story? Let--me--see--! What shall I tell them, Jack?"
+
+"Tell 'em about Abraham Lincoln, as didn't have no chance till he made
+it hisself."
+
+So she told them a story of a hero, a plain, simple man, a man of
+toil, a man of great heart. She pictured his faithfulness to simple
+duties, his rise to the highest position his countrymen could bestow
+upon him, his death and the nation's sorrow.
+
+As she finished, a cowboy asked, "Did yer say that Abraham Lincoln was
+onct president of the United States?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"My!" he exclaimed, "I wisht I'd 'a knowed him! I wisht I could 'a fit
+on his side!"
+
+"It is not too late to fight on his side," she said. "Every time you
+try to live a more sober, honest, decent life, every time you try to
+be more manly and true, you are fighting on the same side he did."
+
+"Gosh!" he said. "I didn't know that. I thought fightin' meant jest
+killin' off the other fellers."
+
+While the refreshments were being served, John Harding extended an
+invitation to the men to attend the club regularly, and suggested that
+the girls see Miss Bright about a club for girls, adding:
+
+"I believe a club fer women is in the air."
+
+Vociferous applause. Patrick Murphy stepped forward.
+
+"John Harding, y'r honor, I jist wish ter say as this is the foinest
+toime Oi've had in Ameriky; an' I tells yez all this: that if any
+young feller wishes ter git on, he will have a chance here in this
+club. Schoolma'am learns us a lot (the Saints bliss her!). She's a
+foine lady! She believes in givin' a man a chance ter be a man. Instid
+o' wastin' our earnin's in the saloons Saturday nights, let's come
+here t' the club, an' learn how ter git on. Save y'r money, lads. Now
+who'll give three cheers f'r Miss Bright?"
+
+The room rang with the cheers.
+
+The festivities were over, the last guest, gone. The officers had
+taken their leave, and the Claytons walked on ahead, leaving Kenneth
+Hastings to escort Esther Bright home.
+
+"It was a great success," he said enthusiastically.
+
+When Esther spoke, there was an expression of weariness in her voice.
+
+"Tired?" he asked gently, with sudden sympathy.
+
+"A little."
+
+She looked so slight, so fragile, to shoulder a man's work in the
+world, he felt a sudden shame at the insignificance of what he had
+done. He would stand between her and the world, this he would do.
+
+"You gave an instructive and interesting talk," she was saying. He
+recalled his wandering thoughts.
+
+After thanking her, he said he had liked Patrick's remarks about her
+being a magnet.
+
+"Patrick's great fun, isn't he?" she laughed.
+
+"Yes, but he usually hits the right nail on the head. It is true, as
+he said, you _do_ draw people to you. You draw me to you as no one has
+ever done."
+
+"Don't!" she began.
+
+"You have taught me to believe in true womanhood. I used to despise
+women. I thought they were a vain, frivolous lot, at the bottom of all
+the wrong-doing of the world."
+
+"Indeed! I understand that some Englishmen have very little respect
+for woman; that she is regarded as the inferior of man, a little
+higher in the scale of intelligence than a horse or dog."
+
+"How sarcastic we are to-night!" he said ironically.
+
+"The Englishwoman trains her daughters to wait on their father and
+brothers."
+
+"How extensive has your acquaintance been with the English?"
+
+"Many American men grow up as their fathers have done before them,
+chivalrous toward the women of their families, and often chivalrous to
+women everywhere."
+
+"Indeed! A paragon of animals, the American man!"
+
+"England kept her universities closed to women, because English men
+were afraid bright English women would carry off scholastic honors,
+if admitted to the universities."
+
+"What remarkable wisdom you possess in the matter!"
+
+"I read the magazines."
+
+"Indeed!"
+
+"And the daily papers," she added, chuckling.
+
+"Remarkable!"
+
+"I read several English periodicals. I am interested in English
+politics."
+
+"The deuce!"
+
+"The--what?" she asked, with a suggestion of suppressed mirth in her
+voice.
+
+"The gentleman with horns."
+
+"Ah, yes," she said. "I have heard something of the gentleman. A very
+bad-tempered fellow, isn't he? Have you known him long?"
+
+"By George, you think you're funny, don't you?" But by this time he
+laughed, too.
+
+"Come in, Kenneth," called John Clayton, when they reached the
+veranda.
+
+"No, I thank you," said Kenneth. "Miss Bright has been abusing men,
+and Englishmen in particular."
+
+"Well," responded John Clayton laughingly, "you stood up for our sex,
+I hope."
+
+"I tried to, but Miss Bright came out ahead. Good night, Miss Bright.
+I hope you'll change your opinion of the Englishman, and that he will
+not always suffer when compared with your pink of perfection, the
+American man."
+
+When he had gone a short distance, she called him back.
+
+"Well?" he said, turning.
+
+"I just wished to remind you that it isn't becoming to you to be
+grouchy."
+
+"You wretch!" And he turned on his heel and stalked away.
+
+"What's the matter with Kenneth?" asked John Clayton.
+
+"Oh," said Esther, indifferently, "he thinks altogether too much of
+Mr. Kenneth Hastings. He must learn there are other people in the
+world besides K.H."
+
+"Don't be too hard on him," said her host warningly.
+
+"No," she said, "I won't. I'll teach him to respect the human being,
+irrespective of sex, color or previous condition of servitude.
+Good night."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII
+
+THE COW LASSES
+
+
+It was clear that the character of the work for the Gila girls should
+differ from that for the men. Esther Bright had thought it all out,
+but she resolved to let the girls themselves determine, in large
+measure, what it should be. So they came to visit the school that
+bright December day to observe.
+
+School! Could this be school? Not school as they recalled it, hours of
+dull monotonous tasks, where punishment, merited or unmerited, stood
+out in conspicuous boldness. As they now listened, every moment seemed
+to open the door to knowledge, and a wonderland of surprising interest
+spread before them. The dull drone of the old-time reading lesson had
+given place to conversational tones. The children were reading aloud
+from a bright, vivacious story that caught and held the attention of
+these untutored girls. To learn to read like the teacher became the
+proud ambition of these seven visitors.
+
+With a simple lesson in physics the interest deepened. Then came the
+lesson in manual training. The deft fingers of the boys and girls were
+busy learning the mysteries of tailoring. How to darn a rent in cloth
+is no easy thing for untrained fingers to learn. Little fingers, big
+fingers, busily plied the needle. The boys were learning how to repair
+their clothing. The teacher passed from one to another, helping,
+encouraging, commending. She held up a beautiful piece of work for the
+visitors to see.
+
+When the school was dismissed for the noon hour, they gathered around
+Esther.
+
+"My!" said one, "I wisht I knowed as much as you do, schoolma'am."
+
+"Do you?" asked the teacher, as if to know as much as she did were the
+easiest thing in the world.
+
+"You bet I do!" answered the girl.
+
+"Schoolma'am," asked Jessie Roth, "do ye s'pose ye could learn us tae
+read as good as them kids did this mornin'?"
+
+"Oh, yes. Even better."
+
+"Better nor them?"
+
+"Indeed, yes, if you will study as hard as they do. One's progress
+depends upon one's interest and one's application."
+
+"Oh, we'll study all right," said Kate Keith, "if you'll give us the
+chance."
+
+"You bet we will!" said another.
+
+Then Esther told them the history of the Gila Club for men, how it had
+begun, how she had taught the men, how the class had grown until it
+had seemed imperative to meet in the schoolhouse, and how they
+organized as a club.
+
+"Did _you_ learn all them men yourself?" asked a girl just in from the
+range. She was a veritable Amazon.
+
+"Yes," was the answer, "until we began to meet in the schoolhouse.
+Then I had help."
+
+Esther stood looking into this raw girl's face as though she saw there
+the loveliest being on earth. What the teacher really saw there was an
+awakening mind and soul.
+
+The girl, rough and uncouth as she was, admired the teacher, and
+longed to be like her.
+
+"What can we dae?" asked Jessie Roth, eager to perfect plans for
+study.
+
+"That is just what I wish you girls to decide. What would you like to
+do?"
+
+In response to the teacher's question, all of them spoke at once.
+
+"One at a time, please, one at a time," Esther said. "Suppose, we
+commence with Jessie. What do you wish to do, Jessie?"
+
+"Oh, I'd like tae dae cipherin' an' readin' an' writin'. I wisht I
+could read like you, schoolma'am!"
+
+"Could she ever?" questioned Kate Keith, a young English girl.
+
+"Certainly." She showed such belief in them and what they might do
+that their enthusiasm rose still higher. Then Kate said impulsively:
+
+"I wisht ye'd learn us to sew. I've been wishin' to know how."
+
+She held up her big, coarse hands, looked at them a moment, and
+laughed as she said:
+
+"I don't know as I could handle such a little thing as a needle."
+
+"You wish to learn to sew? I am so glad."
+
+This was just the turn Esther had been hoping would come. "Every
+woman," she continued, "ought to know how to sew. I like to sew,
+myself. What next?"
+
+A comely maid spoke. "My name's Mandy Young. Me an' Marthy thought
+we'd like ter learn ter write letters an'--"
+
+Here she blushed furiously.
+
+"That's good," said the teacher. "What else?"
+
+"Me an' Marthy wanted ter learn ter sing like you do, schoolma'am."
+
+"Now, Martha, it is your turn," said the teacher with an encouraging
+smile.
+
+Martha was a great, brawny specimen of humankind. "My name's Miss
+Lieben," she said.
+
+"Lieben! Lieben! That's a good name. It means _love_." The cowlass
+blushed and snickered. "And Martha's a good name too. There was once a
+very careful housekeeper named Martha."
+
+"Oh, I ain't no housekeeper," responded the girl, "but I want ter be.
+I want ter learn readin' an' writin', an' cookin', too."
+
+"Cooking! Well! Next?" said Esther, looking into the face of the next
+girl.
+
+"My name's Mary Burns."
+
+Mary had a more modest way. "I hardly know what I dae want. I think ye
+could plan for us better nor we could plan for oursels. An' we'd a' be
+gratefu'."
+
+"Sure," said one.
+
+"That's right," added another. They all nodded their heads in
+approval. Then up spoke Bridget Flinn:
+
+"Shure, an' she's on the right thrack. When we can do housework, we
+can command a high wage, an' git on. My cousin gits five dollars a
+week in New York, an' she says she has mere nothin' ter do, an'
+dthresses as good as her misthress. Oi'd loike ter learn ter write
+letthers, so as ter wroite ter Pat, an' Oi'd loike ter learn
+housekapin', so's I could go out ter sarvice."
+
+Then a pretty Mexican girl, with a soft voice, spoke:
+
+"Martha Castello is my name. I want to learn to read an' write an'
+sing."
+
+The teacher stepped to the blackboard, and wrote the following:
+
+     Reading      Arithmetic     Sewing
+     Writing      Singing        Housekeeping
+
+The girls watched her intently.
+
+"An' letthers," suggested Bridget.
+
+"To be sure--letters," said Esther, writing the word.
+
+Then followed the organization of the girls' club, resulting in the
+election of Jessie Roth as president. It was agreed that for the
+present the girls should enter school, and occasionally meet with the
+teacher outside of school hours.
+
+That day proved a red-letter day for them. They had come in touch with
+an inspiring personality, and their education had begun.
+
+Years have come and gone since that day; but the people of Gila still
+tell how a young girl, the sweetest soul that ever lived, came and
+dwelt among them, and brought God into their lives. Even the roughest
+old men will pause, and say with reverence:
+
+"The Angel of the Gila! God bless her!"
+
+The afternoon session of the school passed quickly. Then followed a
+bit of kindly talk with the seven new pupils. Then Esther Bright
+walked homeward. She was overtaken by Brigham Murphy and Wathemah.
+Something mysterious seemed in the air.
+
+"Miss Bright," blurted out Brigham, "Maw says as will yer come home
+with us ter-morrer, ter visit. We're goin' ter have chicken an' lots
+o' good things ter eat, ain't we, Wathemah? An' he's comin', too,
+ain't yer, Wathemah?"
+
+The Indian child gave an affirmative grunt, and trudged along close to
+his teacher. It was a way he had of doing since she had promised to be
+his mother.
+
+"Will yer come?" eagerly questioned the representative of the Mormon
+household.
+
+"I shall be happy to if you will show me the way."
+
+"Oh, we'll 'scort yer!" And Brigham turned several somersaults, and
+ran like a deer along the road leading to the Murphy ranch.
+
+Such a flutter of excitement as the prospective visit brought to the
+Murphy household!
+
+"Maw," said Brigham in the midst of his mother's volley of directions
+on household arrangements, "Ain't yer goin' ter ask schoolma'am ter
+stay all night?" He seemed suddenly interested in social amenities.
+
+"Of course I be! Landy! Don't yer s'pose y'r maw's got no p'liteness?
+I told schoolma'am 'bout my 'lations as lives on Lexity Street, York
+City, an' keeps a confectony, an' she'll 'spect yer ter be jest as
+p'lite an' 'ristercratic as they be. I'll sleep on the floor, an' Kate
+an' Kathleen an' Wathemah kin sleep with schoolma'am. She'll think it
+a great come-down, Pat Murphy, fur one as is a 'lation, so ter speak,
+of Miz Common of Lexity Street, York City, she'll think it's a great
+come-down, I say, fur one with sech folks ter live in a common adobe.
+Y'r not ter let on y're Irish, but speak as though yer was French
+like."
+
+She had given emphasis to her remarks with more and more energetic
+movements of her arm, as she washed off the furniture. At last she
+paused, and her husband ventured a reply.
+
+"Begorra! An' would yez be afther changin' me mouth to the Frinch
+stoile?"
+
+He sidled toward the door, and grinned as he caught the reflection of
+himself in the dirty piece of mirror that still remained in the old
+black frame on the wall.
+
+There was no denying the fact that Patrick bore unmistakable evidence
+of his Irish origin. He realized that he had ventured his remarks as
+far as was consistent with peace and safety; so he walked from the
+house, chuckling to himself as he went, "Relations on Lexington
+Street! Frinch stoile! Begorra!" And he laughed outright.
+
+"Patrick Murphy," his spouse called after him. "This is the first time
+a friend o' my 'lations in York City (so ter speak) has visited me.
+Patrick Murphy, what _do_ yer s'pose Josiah Common done when my sister
+visited there? He took her ter a theatre an' after that he took her
+ter a resternt, an' treated her. That's what he done! The least yer
+can do is ter scrub up, comb yer har an' put on a clean shirt
+ter-morrer. Yer ter clean up, do yer hear?" All this in a high treble.
+
+"Frinch stoile?" inquired Patrick, with a broadening grin. But this
+was lost upon Mrs. Murphy, engrossed in plans for the reception of the
+coming guest. She smoothed down her hair with both hands.
+
+"Here, Mandy," she called abruptly, "wash out the tablecloth. Sam, you
+clean the winders. Jo, you run over to Miz Brown's an' say as y'r
+Maw's goin' ter have comp'ny ter-morrer as must have knowed her
+'lations as lived on Lexity Street, York City, an' kep' a confectony.
+Tell her y'r Maw wants a dozen eggs ter make a cake an' custard. Jake,
+oh, Jake!" she called in stentorian tones, "you go ketch them two
+settin' hens! The only way yer kin break up a settin' hen when yer
+don't want her ter set is jest to make potpie o' her. Y're goin' ter
+have a supper that yer'll remember ter y'r dyin' day. We uster have
+sech suppers at barn raisin's back East."
+
+The small boys smacked their lips in anticipation. The mother turned
+suddenly.
+
+"My landy!" she said. "I forgot somethin'."
+
+"What?" inquired Amanda.
+
+"A napting!"
+
+"A napting? What's that?"
+
+But Mrs. Murphy had begun on the floor, and was scrubbing so
+vigorously she did not hear the question.
+
+When order finally evolved from chaos, Mrs. Murphy, with her hair
+disheveled and arms akimbo, viewed the scene. Everything was so clean
+it was sleek,--sleek enough to ride down hill on and never miss snow
+or ice.
+
+"Come 'ere, childern," said Mrs. Murphy, mopping her face with a
+corner of her apron. "I want yer to stan' aroun' the room, the hull
+ten o' yer, all but the baby. Mandy, do take the baby an' stop her
+cryin'. Joseph Smith, stan' at the head, 'cause y're the oldest.
+That's the way I uster stan' at the head o' the spellin' class when we
+uster spell down 'fore I graduated from deestrict school back in York
+State. Y'r Maw was a good speller, ef I do say it. 'Range y'rselfs in
+order, 'cordin' to age."
+
+A tumultuous scramble followed. Maternal cuffs, freely administered,
+brought a semblance of order.
+
+"Now, childern," said the mother, in a hard shrill voice, "what is y'r
+'ligion? Speak up, or yer know what yer'll git!"
+
+"'Ligion o' the Latter Day Saints," answered Samuel.
+
+"An' who is the Prophet o' the Lord?" continued Mrs. Murphy.
+
+"Brigham Young," answered Amanda, assuming an air of conscious
+superiority.
+
+"No, he isn't neither," protested Brigham, "for my teacher said so.
+Jesus is the only prophet o' the Lord since Old Testament times."
+
+But the heretic was jerked from the line, to await later muscular
+arguments. Then the mother continued her catechism.
+
+"Who's another prophet o' the Lord as has had relevations?"
+
+"Joseph Smith," responded Kate, timidly.
+
+"That's right. What divine truth did Joseph Smith teach?"
+
+"That men should marry lots o' wives," said Jake, realizing that he
+had answered the most important question of the catechism.
+
+"Yes, childern," she said, with an air of great complacence, "I've
+obeyed the prophet o' the Lord. I've had five husbands, an' I've
+raised ten young uns. Now what I want yer to understan' is that yer
+Maw an' her childern has got all the 'ligion as they wants.
+Schoolma'am had better not persume to talk 'ligion to me." She drew
+herself up as straight as a ramrod, and her lips set firmly.
+
+"But I wanter show her I'm uster entertainin'. I'll give her the
+silver spoon. An' I do wisht I had a napting to put at her place."
+
+"What's that, Maw?" asked Samuel.
+
+"What's what?"
+
+"Why, what yer want ter put at schoolma'am's plate?"
+
+"Oh, a little towel, like. 'Ristercratic people uses them when they
+eats. They puts 'em on their laps."
+
+"Won't a dish towel do?"
+
+"Landy! No!"
+
+"Well, we ain't stylish, anyway," said Samuel, philosophically, "an'
+it's no use to worry."
+
+"Stylish? We're stylish when we wants to be, an' this is one o' them
+times."
+
+"Is it stylish ter go ter Bible school?" asked Brigham. He seemed
+greatly puzzled.
+
+"No, sir-ee, it ain't stylish, an' you ain't goin' thar," she said,
+giving him a cuff on the ear by way of emphasis.
+
+"She? What's she know 'bout _my_ 'ligion or _y'r_ 'ligion? She ain't
+had no relevations. But git off to bed, the hull lot o' yer."
+
+"It's only eight o'clock," said one, sullenly, dragging his feet.
+
+"Well, I don't care. The house is all red up, an' I wants it to stay
+red up till schoolma'am comes. Besides, y're all clean yerselfs now,
+an' yer won't have to wash an' comb to-morrer."
+
+At last they were driven off to bed, and gradually they quieted down,
+and all were asleep in the little adobe house.
+
+But Brigham tossed in terrifying dreams. The scene shifted. He was
+with Wathemah, who was telling him of Jesus. Then the teacher's life
+was in danger and he tried to save her. He felt her hand upon his
+head; a smile flitted across his face, his muscles relaxed; he was in
+heaven; the streets were like sunset skies. The teacher took him by
+the hand and led him to the loveliest Being he had ever beheld, who
+gathered him in His arms, and said, "Suffer little children to come
+unto Me."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IX
+
+THE VISIT AT MURPHY RANCH
+
+
+The hour hand of the clock was on three. Twenty pairs of restless eyes
+watched the minute hand as it drew close, very close to twelve. The
+books had been placed in the desks; there was a hush of attention. The
+children sang "America," saluted the flag, and marched out of the
+room. As Wathemah returned to visit with his teacher, she asked him
+what he had learned that day.
+
+"Country love!" answered the child. As he spoke, he stepped to the
+flag, that hung from the staff in graceful folds, and caressed it.
+
+"Oh, Miss Bright, Miss Bright!" shouted James Burns. "Brigham's come
+fur yer! He's brung his horse fur yer ter ride! Golly! But he looks
+fine! Come see!"
+
+And James led the way to Brigham and the horse. Sure enough! There
+they were. The little lad, radiant with pride, the huge bay horse,
+lean and gaunt and hairy, bedight as never was horse before. He seemed
+conscious that this was a gala day, and that it behooved him to deport
+himself as became a respectable family horse.
+
+Numerous small bouquets, tied to white muslin strings, adorned his
+bridle. The animal was guiltless of saddle, but there was an
+improvised cinch of white cotton cloth around him. This, likewise, was
+adorned with butterfly-like bouquets.
+
+"Ain't he some?" said one lad, admiringly.
+
+"Gee! but I'd like ter ride him!" shouted another.
+
+"Brigham dressed old Jim up just 'cause yer wuz goin' ter ride him,
+Miss Bright," said Donald.
+
+To the last remark, the teacher replied:
+
+"Ride him? I never rode bareback in my life. I am afraid to try it. I
+might slip off."
+
+"Oh, no, yer won't," said Brigham, who stood holding the horse's
+bridle. The teacher pretended to be greatly scared. The company grew
+hilarious.
+
+"Brigham," she said, "I am sure I can't stick on. I might go sliding
+over the horse's head and land in a heap. Then what would you do?"
+
+"Pick yer up."
+
+This reply increased the hilarity.
+
+Donald seemed to think it would be great sport to see the teacher's
+maiden effort at riding bareback.
+
+"Jest git on, Miss Bright, an' see how easy 'tis," he urged.
+
+"I don't know how to mount," she hastened to say. "I haven't learned
+even that much."
+
+"Oh, that's easy enough," said a muscular little chap. "I'll show
+yer."
+
+And he leaped like a squirrel to the horse's back.
+
+"Oh, I could never do that," said Esther, joining in the laughter of
+the children.
+
+"I'll tell yer what," said a large Scotch boy, "ye wait a bit, Miss
+Bright, an' I'll bring ye y'r chair, an' then 'twill be easy enough."
+
+So the chair was brought, and the teacher seated herself on the
+horse's back, sideways.
+
+"Oh, ye must ride straddles," insisted Donald, "or ye'll sure fall
+off."
+
+"Yes, straddles," echoed another; but Esther shook her head
+dubiously, and pointed to her full blue flannel walking skirt.
+
+"Oh, that's all right," said the tallest boy, "everybody rides
+straddles here."
+
+"Try it," urged Brigham.
+
+So she tried it. But she was not the only passenger who rode astride.
+Michael and Patrick, the little Murphy twins, were helped to a place
+behind her. Wathemah then climbed up in front of her.
+
+"Is this all?" she asked, laughingly.
+
+"I should think it was enough," said Kenneth Hastings, who at that
+moment joined the company.
+
+As he caught Esther's eye, both laughed, and the children joined from
+pure sympathy.
+
+When she recovered her composure, Esther said to Kenneth, "Nothing
+lacking but some white muslin harness and posies on me."
+
+At last, amid shouts and cheers, the much-bedecked horse and his human
+load started up the mountain road.
+
+By three o'clock, the pulse of the Murphy household beat faster. The
+temperature rose to fever heat. Three-fifteen, three-thirty; still no
+visitors; and what is more, no signs of visitors. Every five minutes,
+one of the children would run down the mountain road, and return
+disappointed.
+
+"Do yer s'pose they ain't comin'?" queried Kate, who had been kept at
+home that day to assist in the preparations.
+
+"Oh, yes, they're comin', I think likely," answered the hostess; "but
+I don't see where they're keepin' theirselves."
+
+She frequently straightened the chairs; once more she dusted the
+furniture with her clean apron; she straightened the pictures on the
+walls; she brought out an old and much-prized album, sacred to Mormon
+prophets and elders. The broken mirror, that adorned the wall, had
+been cleaned and decorated with tissue paper. Mrs. Murphy stood and
+looked in it. She saw reflected a sharp, severe face shining like the
+mirror.
+
+"I wisht I had a collar," she said. "I uster wear a collar back in
+York State."
+
+Suddenly, she heard a shout from the road.
+
+"They're comin'! They're comin'! Schoolma'am's with 'em! Quick, Maw,
+quick!"
+
+There was a rush down the path, Joseph Smith leading the line.
+
+All was expectation. The approaching horse started into a jolting
+trot. As he neared the barn he began to buck. The inevitable followed.
+Over the horse's head went the passengers in a heap. The twins quickly
+extricated themselves, and sprang up uninjured; but the two visitors
+lay unconscious.
+
+"Quick, Samuel, bring water!" directed Mrs. Murphy.
+
+In a few minutes, she dashed water in the unconscious faces, and
+watched anxiously. The water soon restored Esther, who had been
+stunned by the fall. At last Wathemah opened his eyes, and saw his
+teacher kneeling by his side. He tried to rise, but fell back with a
+cry of pain. One arm lay limp by his side. It was evident that his arm
+was broken.
+
+"Is there a surgeon anywhere near Gila?" she asked anxiously.
+
+"There's one about fifteen miles away," responded Joseph.
+
+"Then I'll try to set Wathemah's arm myself. Several times I have
+helped my uncle set broken bones. Could you bring me some flat
+splints about this size?" she asked, showing Joseph what she wanted.
+
+"Yes, mum," answered the boy, starting on his errand.
+
+"And some strips of muslin, and some pins, Mrs. Murphy?" she
+continued.
+
+In a few moments the articles were ready. By this time Wathemah had
+recovered consciousness.
+
+"You have broken your arm, dear," she said. "I am going to set it.
+It'll hurt you, but I want you to be brave and keep very still."
+
+The child smiled faintly. But as she lifted his arm, he again fainted.
+They lifted him, and carried him into the house. Then firmly, deftly,
+as though experienced in such work, Esther pulled and pressed the
+broken bone into place. The child roused with the pain, but did not
+cry out again. At last the arm was bandaged, and placed on a cushion.
+
+"You must be very careful of your arm, Wathemah," she said, patting
+his cheek, "until the broken bone grows together."
+
+Before the child could speak, there was a knock at the door. The
+children rushed to open it, and there stood Kenneth Hastings.
+
+"I came to see if the cavalcade reached here safely," he said,
+smiling. "I followed a short distance behind you, until--"
+
+Here his comprehending glance grasped the situation.
+
+"Wathemah hurt?" he asked in quick sympathy, striding to the child's
+side. "I feared something might happen."
+
+"Old Jim threw 'em," explained three or four eager voices.
+
+Kenneth looked inquiringly at Esther.
+
+"Were you hurt, too?" he asked in a low voice.
+
+"I think not," she said, looking intently at Wathemah.
+
+"I believe you _were_. Was she?" he asked, turning to Mrs. Murphy.
+
+"She were stunned like from the fall, but was so busy settin' the
+boy's arm, she didn't think of herself."
+
+"Ah." Then turning to Esther again, he questioned her.
+
+The family observed every tone in the questions and answers.
+
+During the setting of the arm, they had watched Esther with
+open-mouthed astonishment.
+
+"I tell yer, schoolma'am," remarked Joseph, "I bet yer life yer'll hev
+all yer kin do in Gila, now."
+
+"I should think she already had enough to do," suggested Kenneth.
+
+Here Mrs. Murphy, suddenly realizing that certain amenities had been
+omitted, blurted out:
+
+"This is my son, Joseph Young; my daughter, Mandy Young you've knowed
+already; my son Samuel Young, my son Jacob Black, yer've knowed at
+school, 'n' my daughter Kate Black, 'n' Brigham Murphy, aged six, 'n'
+Kathleen, aged four, 'n' Nora, aged two."
+
+Mrs. Murphy paused. Samuel at once took the floor.
+
+"We've knowed _you_ ever sence you come. They call you the angel o'
+the Gila." He seemed to swell with importance.
+
+"A queer name, isn't it?" said Esther.
+
+Samuel had combed his hair, and wore a clean shirt in honor of the
+occasion.
+
+"Miss Bright," said Kenneth, "I am fearful lest you _have_ been
+injured by the fall. Let me take you home."
+
+This she would not listen to.
+
+"Then let me call for you later in the evening and take you back with
+me. There may be something Mrs. Clayton can do for you." But there was
+a chorus of protests.
+
+Mrs. Murphy gave it as her opinion that the schoolma'am knew her own
+feelin's best; and it wasn't often they had comp'ny, goodness knows,
+especially comp'ny from back East. And Mr. Hastings should leave her
+be.
+
+Esther poured oil on the troubled waters; and Mrs. Murphy became so
+mollified she pressed Kenneth to stay to supper.
+
+At this juncture Patrick Senior's step was heard.
+
+"Good avenin'," he said, heartily, making a queer little bow. "It's
+proud I am ter welcome yez ter me home."
+
+He did not take off his hat nor remove the pipe from his mouth. Esther
+rose.
+
+"Kape y'r sate, Miss, kape y'r sate," he said, making a sweeping
+gesture. Then he gripped her hand.
+
+"An' Mr. Hastings! It's honored Oi am ter have yez enter me humble
+home."
+
+"He's goin' to stay to supper, Pop," said one of the little boys.
+
+Kenneth hastened to excuse himself, but Patrick would have none of it.
+Mr. Hastings must stay, and share the fatted calf.
+
+Kenneth laughed.
+
+"Which is the prodigal?" asked he, smiling towards Esther.
+
+"The prodigal? the prodigal?" repeated Mrs. Murphy mystified, and half
+resentful at Kenneth's smiles.
+
+"Oh, that's a Bible story, Mrs. Murphy," explained Esther. "A rich man
+had two sons. One son spent all he had in riotous living. When he
+finally repented and came back home to his father's house, they were
+very happy to see him and made a great feast for him. For this purpose
+they killed their fatted calf."
+
+"I see," said Mrs. Murphy with great dignity. "An' sence we are happy
+to see yer and have killed our fatted hens fur yer, we'll just call
+yer the Prodigal."
+
+"I always knew you were prodigal of your strength and talent," Kenneth
+said merrily. "Prodigal. That's a good name for you. That was a happy
+thought of yours, Mrs. Murphy."
+
+Mrs. Murphy still looked mystified.
+
+"Oi see me little girrls are plazed ter see yez," said Patrick,
+beaming proudly upon the little ones. Kathleen held up for his
+inspection some paper dolls Esther had brought her. Then the smile on
+his face broadened. He laid his pipe on the shelf and examined the
+dolls critically.
+
+"Did yez iver see the loike on it, now? Shure, an' did yez say 'Thank
+yez' ter the lady?"
+
+"Yep," answered Kathleen, and "Yep," echoed Nora.
+
+"An' phwat is the matther wid Wathemah?" asked Patrick, as he
+approached the little Indian.
+
+"Got hurted."
+
+"Broked his arm."
+
+"Fell off old Jim."
+
+"Miss Bright mended his arm," came in quick succession.
+
+"Poor little lad. Oi'm sorry yez got hurted."
+
+And the kind-hearted man patted the child on the head. He liked
+Wathemah. But the little visitor was intent on the two little girls
+and their gay paper dolls.
+
+Esther now expressed a wish to hear some of her host's stories of
+pioneer life in Arizona.
+
+Patrick drew himself up. He felt his self-respect rising.
+
+"Them wuz awful toimes," he said, puffing away at his pipe again; "but
+Oi wuz young an' sthrong. The Apaches wuz on the warpath most av the
+toime, an' we fellers didn't know but we'd be kilt ony minute. We
+slipt wid wan oi open, an' our guns by our soides."
+
+"It must have been very exciting," said Esther, with marked interest.
+
+"It certain wuz exciting. It wuz bad, too, ter come back ter y'r shack
+an' foind y'r rations gone, or no shack at all."
+
+"What would you do then?" she asked.
+
+"Oh, we wint hungry till we caught fish, or shot deer."
+
+Here he lighted his pipe again, and drew long whiffs.
+
+"What were you doing in those days?" questioned Kenneth.
+
+"Me business wuz always wid cattle. Sometoimes the Apaches would go
+off wid some o' me cattle."
+
+"Did you ever get them back?" asked Esther.
+
+"Sometoimes." He smoked in silence a few minutes.
+
+"I understand the Apaches are still treacherous," she said.
+
+Just then she felt Wathemah's hand on her arm.
+
+"Wathemah Apache," he said. "He no bad. He good."
+
+"Yes," she acknowledged, smiling, "you _are_ getting to be a pretty
+good boy, dear." Her smile did more for the child than did the words.
+
+"Pop," said Samuel, "them air Apaches we seen up canyon t'other day's
+ben skulkin' aroun'. Yer'd better carry a gun, schoolma'am."
+
+Supper was now announced, and discussion of the Indians ceased. The
+younger children, joyfully anticipating the feast before them, had
+forgotten all their mother's preliminary instructions on etiquette at
+table, and there was a tumultuous scramble.
+
+"Murphy!" called Mrs. Murphy in stentorian tones as she stood with
+arms akimbo, "seat schoolma'am at y'r right!"
+
+With a smile that would have done credit to the proudest son of Erin,
+Patrick waved his hand toward the place of honor. Patrick Junior and
+his twin Michael insisted upon sitting in the same seat by their
+visitor. What is more, Michael dealt his brother a severe blow in the
+mouth to settle his superior claims. To add to the clamor, Kathleen
+pressed her right to the same seat. She screamed lustily.
+
+Mrs. Murphy, family representative of law, started towards the
+disturbers of the peace. They dodged. The teacher hereupon made a
+suggestion that seemed to satisfy everyone, and so the matter was
+settled.
+
+"Set right down, Mr. Hastings, set right down," urged Mrs. Murphy. He
+seated himself at Patrick Senior's left. They were scarcely seated
+before Michael exclaimed, "Ain't we got a good supper!"
+
+He sprawled on the table, looking longingly at the huge dish of
+chicken potpie.
+
+"One'd think yer never had nothin' ter eat," observed Samuel. He
+seemed to think it devolved upon him to preserve the decorum of the
+family.
+
+While the children were waiting impatiently for their turns, a nudge
+started at Mrs. Murphy's right and left. Nine pairs of elbows were
+resting upon the table. Nine pairs of eyes were fixed longingly upon
+the platter of chicken. Suddenly, as the parental nudge passed along,
+nine pairs of elbows moved off the table, and nine figures sat erect.
+
+The family had been instructed to observe the teacher's manners at
+table, "fur," observed Mrs. Murphy, "there is no better way fur yer to
+learn eatin' manners than to notice how folks does. Ef she sets up
+straight-like, yer kin do the same. Jest watch her. Ef she takes her
+chicken bone in her hand, y' kin; but ef she cuts her chicken off,
+why, y' cut yourn off."
+
+Finally, all were served. In the preparation for the reception of the
+teacher, the offspring of Mrs. Murphy had been duly instructed by her
+to hold each little finger out stiff and straight while manipulating
+the knife and fork. To the dismay of all, Esther did not take her
+chicken bone in her hand, nor did she hold her knife and fork
+perpendicular, nor did she hold her little fingers out at a right
+angle.
+
+The children struggled with their refractory chicken bones, as they
+watched the teacher. Patrick Murphy's eyes were twinkling. But at this
+juncture, a nudge from Mrs. Murphy again passed around the table. Nine
+pairs of eyes were upon the knife and fork of the guest. Amanda was
+filled with admiration as she observed Esther Bright.
+
+In talking this over afterwards, Samuel said to his sister:
+
+"Schoolma'am wuz brung up better nor we be. Yer kin see it by the way
+she eats. Did yer see how dainty-like she held her knife and fork?"
+
+"Yer don't know nuthin' about it, Sam," said Mandy. "I guess I seen
+her myself."
+
+Just as the last nudge passed around, Patrick laughed outright.
+
+"Begorra childthren," he said, "is it Frinch stoile ter eat wid y'r
+fingers sthuck out? Phwat ails yez?"
+
+"Pat Murphy," said his wife, "yer never seen good eatin' manners in
+y'r life. I hev. Back in York State where I wuz riz, the very best
+people in the country come to them barn raisin's."
+
+Her sharp chin tilted upward; her black eyes grew brighter.
+
+"Where I growed up, folks set great store by p'liteness. They allus
+had clean plates fur pie when they wuz comp'ny. Yes, Pat Murphy, I wuz
+well trained, ef I do say it."
+
+The visitors remained silent. Patrick grinned.
+
+When the teacher's cup was again filled with tea, she stirred it
+longer than usual, thinking, possibly, how she could pour oil on
+troubled waters. Instantly, around the table nine other spoons were
+describing circles in the bottom of each cup. Again Patrick's eyes
+laughed. Mrs. Murphy glowered.
+
+The supper over, and all housewife duties of the day performed, Mrs.
+Murphy turned to her offspring, standing in line,--at her
+suggestion,--on one side of the room.
+
+"Schoolma'am," she said with an air of conscious superiority, "the
+childern told me yer wanted 'em to go to Bible school. Now me an' my
+childern has all the 'ligion as we wants. I'll show yer."
+
+"Childern, what is y'r 'ligion?"
+
+"Latter Day Saints," answered Joseph.
+
+"An' who is the prophet o' the Lord?"
+
+"Joseph Smith," piped Kate.
+
+"An' what wuz his relevations?"
+
+"That men should marry lots o' wives, an raise lots o' childern,"
+answered Jacob.
+
+"Shure, an' did he have rivelations that women should be marryin'
+lots o' husbands?" asked Mr. Murphy with a chuckle.
+
+This was an interruption Mrs. Murphy could ill brook. She was on the
+warpath; but Patrick, the good-natured, now took matters in his own
+hands, and spoke with firmness.
+
+"We'll have no more Mormon talk ter-night. Childthren, set down."
+
+They sat down. Mrs. Murphy's mouth shut like a spring trap. She was
+humiliated; she, a connection, so to speak, of the Commonses of
+"Lexity Street, York City!"
+
+"Whin me woman there," said Patrick, "was lift wid two babies, Jacob
+an' Kate, twelve year ago, lift 'way off in a lonesome place in Utah
+by her Mormon husband, Oi felt as though Oi would loike ter go wid
+some dacint man, an' give this Mormon who lift his wife an' babies fur
+the sake of goin' off wid another woman,--Oi repate it,--Oi'd 'a ben
+glad ter have give 'im sich a batin' as he'd remimber ter his dyin'
+day. He wuz kilt by the Indians. Whin Oi heerd he wuz kilt, an' knowed
+fur shure he wuz dead, Oi persuaded me woman here ter marry me, an'
+ter come let me give her an' all her childthren a dacint home in
+Arizony.
+
+"Oi don't want ter hear no more about Mormons. Oi know 'em root an'
+branch. Oi am a Catholic. Oi belave in the Holy Mither. Oi belave in
+good women. Oi belave as a man should have wan wife, a wife wan
+husband. Oi wants me childthren an' me woman's childthren too, ter
+come ter y'r Bible school. What's more, they shall come. Oi wants 'em
+ter learn about God an' the Blissed Virgin. Y're a good woman; that Oi
+know. An' yez are as good a Catholic as Oi want ter see. Yer kin jist
+count on me fur support in all the good yez are thryin' ter do in
+Gila."
+
+Mrs. Murphy's face was suppressed fury.
+
+The teacher spoke in a low, gentle voice:
+
+"So you are a Catholic, Mr. Murphy. Do you know, I have always admired
+the reverent way Catholics speak of the mother of Jesus."
+
+Then she turned to Mrs. Murphy, saying:
+
+"I know but little about the belief of the Mormons. Some day I wish
+you would tell me about it."
+
+"Mormons are a good sight better'n Catholics," snapped Mrs. Murphy.
+"Intelligent people should know about 'em, and what they've done fur
+the world. They are honest, they don't smoke, nor chew, nor drink.
+They are good moral people, they are."
+
+"Yes," said Esther, "I have heard some admirable things about them."
+
+Kenneth rose to go.
+
+"So you'll not return to Clayton Ranch with me, Miss Bright."
+
+He knew by the expression of her face that she preferred to go rather
+than to stay. But she spoke graciously:
+
+"I have not finished my visit yet."
+
+In a moment more Kenneth was gone.
+
+Then a new difficulty arose. Who was to sleep with the teacher? Kate,
+the twins, and Kathleen, all pressed their claims. After listening to
+the altercation, Esther suggested that it would be necessary for her
+to occupy the rocking chair by Wathemah, to see that he did not injure
+his broken arm, and asked that she be given the privilege of watching
+by him throughout the night.
+
+Then the family withdrew. Soon Esther pretended to be asleep.
+Occasionally the child reached out and touched her arm to make sure
+his Beloved was there. Then he fell asleep.
+
+But Esther was wakeful. Why had Kenneth come for her? Was she coming
+to care too much for him? How would it all end? When she at last fell
+asleep, her dreams were troubled.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER X
+
+CARLA EARLE
+
+
+School had been dismissed, and the shadows had begun to lengthen in
+the valley. Esther Bright sat in the doorway of the schoolhouse,
+leaning against the jamb of the door, her hands resting idly in her
+lap. At last she lifted a letter she held, and read over again the
+closing words, "Thy devoted grandfather, David Bright."
+
+She brushed her hand across her cheek more than once, as she sat
+there, looking off, miles away, to her New England home. She heard a
+step, and turning, saw Carla Earle approaching. Before she could rise,
+Carla was at her side, half shy, uncertain of herself. Without the
+usual preliminary of greeting, Carla said: "Are you homesick?"
+
+She had seen Esther wipe tears from her cheeks.
+
+"A little. I was thinking of my grandfather, and how I'd love to see
+him. I am always homesick when his letters come. One came to-day."
+
+"I am homesick, too," said Carla, "for my native land, its green turf,
+its stately trees, the hedges, the cottages, the gardens, the flowers
+and birds--and--everything!"
+
+"Sit down, Carla. Let's talk. You are homesick for your native land,
+and I am homesick for my grandfather."
+
+She took one of the English girl's hands in hers, and they talked long
+of England. At last Carla asked Esther to sing for her. For answer,
+Esther rose, entered the schoolroom, and returned, bringing her
+guitar. Then striking the chords of C Major, she sang softly, "Home,
+Sweet Home." As she sang, Carla watched her through tears.
+
+"An exile from home," the teacher sang; but at that moment she heard a
+sob. She stopped singing.
+
+"Go on, please," begged the English girl.
+
+Again the cords vibrated to the touch of Esther's fingers, and she
+sang the song that has comforted many a sorrowing heart.
+
+     "There were ninety and nine that safely lay
+       In the shelter of the fold;
+     But one was out on the hills away,
+       Far off from the gates of gold."
+
+On she sang, her voice growing more pitifully tender.
+
+     "But none of the ransomed ever knew
+       How deep were the waters crossed;
+     Nor how dark the night that the Lord passed through,
+       Ere He found His sheep that was lost.
+     Out in the darkness He heard its cry,--
+       Sick and helpless and ready to die."
+
+Then as she sang,
+
+     "And the angels echoed around the throne,
+       'Rejoice, for the Lord brings back His own!'"
+
+her voice thrilled with triumphant hope.
+
+Was she inspired, or was it simply that she was about her Master's
+business? Her voice seemed a message from God to the stricken girl who
+listened. Carla, looking into the face of Esther Bright, saw there a
+smile that was ineffably sweet; saw, too, the golden light of the
+setting sun playing about her face and form.
+
+Song after song was sung from one heart to the other. The guitar was
+laid aside. Then hand in hand, the two girls sat talking till the
+sunset faded, talking through falling tears, talking of ideals of
+life, and of how sweet and good life may be. Then Esther told of the
+Blessed One of Galilee whose love and compassion never fail. And at
+last Carla told her her whole sad story.
+
+"But you will leave the saloon, Carla, won't you? You will throw off
+Mr. Clifton's influence?" Esther said as they rose to go. "I can give
+you shelter until I can find a home for you, only leave that dreadful
+place."
+
+"I can't; I love him," she answered. Then, covering her face with her
+hands, she wept bitterly.
+
+"You _can_ leave him, I know, and you will in time. Come often to see
+me, as you have done to-day. Perhaps you and I together, with God's
+help, can find a way."
+
+They parted at the schoolhouse, Esther returning home, her heart
+sorrowful. She thought of One who centuries before had sought the
+mountains alone, the sorrow of a world upon His heart. She understood
+it now, understood at least something of the agony of that sorrow. She
+went to her room and prayed. When at last she rose from her knees, her
+face looked drawn. The feeling as of a heavy weight upon her heart
+increased. How helpless she seemed!
+
+She opened her window wider, and looked up into the fathomless blue.
+An overwhelming desire to save the tempted English girl had taken
+possession of her. What should she do?
+
+As she stood thus, she seemed conscious of a presence, and turned as
+though expecting to see some one; but no one was there. She heard no
+voice. Notwithstanding the evidence of her eyes, she could not shake
+off the feeling of another presence than her own. She turned again
+toward the window, and looked out into the crystal deeps. Then a
+strange peace came upon her. It seemed a foretaste of heaven. She
+threw herself on the lounge in her room, and fell into a refreshing
+sleep.
+
+But what of Carla Earle?
+
+On leaving Esther, she walked slowly toward Keith's saloon. Suddenly,
+she put her hand to her heart, staggered, and gave a sharp cry. Then
+trembling in every limb, she turned abruptly, and walked rapidly
+toward the canyon. She reached a place that seemed to have a
+fascination for her. She looked at the dark pool and wrung her hands.
+Her muscles gave way, and she sank on the bank, while great convulsive
+sobs shook her frame. She tried to rise, but her limbs refused to obey
+her will. Then it was that her agony of shame, and sorrow, and remorse
+burst forth in pitiful cries to God to let her die. She removed her
+hat and wrap, and crawled to the verge of the black pool. She
+shuddered as she looked. Then a great horror-stricken cry came from
+her white lips as she plunged into the seething waters.
+
+There was the sound of a human voice in answer; and a moment later,
+Patrick Murphy plunged after her, grasped and caught her floating
+skirt, pulled her by it to shore, and lifted her up the bank. He began
+to wring the water from her skirts.
+
+"Lass, lass," he said, kindly, "what made yez do it? What's the matter
+wid yez?"
+
+Great sobs were his only answer. It seemed as though the girl must die
+from the agony of her distress.
+
+Then he lifted her in his arms, and carried her to where he had left
+his horse. By the dim light, he had recognized Carla Earle, and he at
+once concluded that Mark Clifton was responsible for her deed. His
+first impulse, like all of his impulses, was a generous one. He
+resolved to take her to his home, and become her protector. As he was
+about to lift her to his horse's back, he discovered that she had
+fainted. He succeeded in lifting her to the saddle, mounted behind
+her, and rode directly to his home.
+
+A few words sufficed to explain to his wife the rescue of the girl,
+and the necessity of keeping her whereabouts a profound secret. Every
+member of the family was enjoined to strict silence about the presence
+of Carla Earle in their home.
+
+Mrs. Murphy undressed Carla and put her in her own bed. The
+helplessness of the unconscious girl appealed to her. After a time,
+Carla's eyes opened. She looked startled, and began to rave, writhing
+and twisting as one in mortal agony. Now she called on Mark Clifton to
+keep his promise to her; now she asked Wathemah to go for Miss Bright;
+now she begged God to take her; now she was on the brink of the pool,
+and in the dark water.
+
+So she raved, and the night passed. From time to time Mrs. Murphy laid
+wet cloths on Carla's head, or moistened her lips. The two faithful
+watchers did not close their eyes. The day dawned, and they were still
+watching; but at last their patient slept.
+
+When Carla finally wakened, she looked around, and seeing Mrs. Murphy,
+asked where she was.
+
+"With friends who are going to take good care of yer," answered her
+nurse.
+
+"How did I come here?"
+
+Mrs. Murphy explained that her husband had found her unconscious, and
+had brought her to his home. And, leaning down, she did an
+unprecedented thing. She kissed Carla Earle. At this Carla began to
+cry.
+
+"Don't cry, lass, don't cry," said Patrick, who entered just then. He
+turned away and blew his nose violently.
+
+"I must get up and help you," said the sick girl, trying to rise. But
+she did not rise that day nor for many days. Throughout her illness
+that followed, Mrs. Murphy's kindness was unstinted. She waited on the
+sick girl with unfailing patience. But Brigham was oftenest at her
+bedside when home, telling her of his beloved teacher and what she
+taught them. At last Carla begged to see her.
+
+That very day Patrick drove down for Esther, telling her on their way
+back to the ranch the particulars of his finding Carla Earle, and of
+her subsequent illness.
+
+"You dear, good people!" said Esther, deeply touched. "I feel so
+grateful to you."
+
+"Och! That's nothin', Miss," he responded awkwardly. "Whin Oi see the
+girl so near desthruction, Oi sez ter mesilf, sez Oi, what if me
+sisther or one of me little girrls wuz iver ter be in the clutches of
+a Mark Clifton? So Oi sez ter mesilf, sez Oi, Oi'll jist save her.
+That's all there wuz av it. My wife has taken care o' the lass. An'
+she has grown that fond av her! Beats all!"
+
+"God will bless you for saving her, you may be sure of that,"
+responded Esther heartily. "She must have gone directly from me to the
+canyon. I had urged her to leave Mr. Clifton and come to me, but she
+did not seem to have decision enough to promise then. The canyon must
+have been an after-thought, and the result of her despair."
+
+"Poor creetur!" said Patrick, huskily.
+
+When Carla saw Esther, she began to sob, and seemed greatly disturbed.
+Her pulse grew more rapid. Such remorse one seldom sees.
+
+Esther placed her own cool hand on the sick girl's forehead, and spoke
+to her in low, soothing tones. Carla grasped her hand and held it
+tightly.
+
+"I have wanted to see you and tell you--" But Esther interrupted her.
+
+"Yes, dear, you shall tell me by and by. Don't try to tell me now."
+
+"I must. The distress here" (placing her hand over her heart) "will
+never go until I tell you. After I left you at the schoolhouse, I was
+filled with despair. I felt so utterly strengthless. Then I prayed.
+Suddenly it came to me I must never again return to the saloon
+or--him. I seemed to have strength given me to go on and on in the
+opposite direction. All I remember now is that I resolved to make it
+impossible to return. Then I awakened here. They have been so kind to
+me, especially little Brigham. He comes in to see me as soon as he
+returns from school, and talks to me about you, and it comforts me."
+
+"God has been leading you, Carla," said Esther. "I am sure of that.
+And He raised up this kind friend to save you in your dark hour. But
+the dark hour is past now, and we are going to help you learn how to
+grow happy."
+
+"Can one learn how to grow happy who has made such a blunder of life?"
+
+"Oh, yes. And it is a blessed lesson to learn."
+
+When Esther left, she promised to return on the morrow.
+
+That evening, there was a family council at Clayton Ranch, and the
+result of it was that Mrs. Clayton herself soon went to see Carla,
+and invited her to make her home with them.
+
+So it came about that Carla Earle became one of the Clayton household;
+and in the loving, helpful atmosphere of that home, she began to lift
+up her lovely head, as does an early blossoming flower in the April
+sunshine after it has been nipped by an untimely frost. And life, with
+love enfolding her every hour of each happy day, began to grow worth
+while to the English girl.
+
+And Carla grew into the affection of the family, for she was a
+refined, winsome creature. She became as a daughter to Mrs. Clayton.
+
+One day Mrs. Clayton said to her husband:
+
+"Do you notice how much Carla is growing like our Miss Bright?"
+
+"Yes," he responded. "There is something very attractive about both.
+Only Miss Bright is a remarkably well-poised woman, and Carla is
+clinging and dependent. Poor Carla! How bitterly she has been wronged!
+I am glad she has found love and shelter at last."
+
+"So am I, John. Why, the poor child was just starved for love."
+
+"I believe, Mary, that she will develop into a strong character. What
+she has suffered has been a great lesson to her."
+
+"Poor child! Sometimes when I speak appreciative words to her, she
+breaks down, and says she doesn't deserve all our kindness. One day
+when she cried, she said, 'Why does God take mothers away from their
+children when they need them so?'"
+
+"Well," he responded, "she has at last found a good mother. God bless
+the mother and the unfortunate girl!"
+
+And stooping, the husband kissed his wife, and started on a long
+journey to a distant mine.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XI
+
+AN EVENTFUL DAY
+
+
+After Esther Bright and Wathemah returned from their visit at Murphy
+Ranch, he became a guest at the Clayton home, and there he remained
+until his arm was well.
+
+His sojourn with them strengthened his devotion to Esther Bright, and
+brought about several changes for the better in him.
+
+When he was allowed to run and play with the children again, he
+returned to school and to Keith's saloon.
+
+The men who had always called him the "little tough," now observed him
+with amazement. One observed:
+
+"I'll be blowed ef the Angel o' the Gila can't do anythin' she wants
+ter. See that kid? He used ter cuss like a pirate. Do ye hear him cuss
+now? No, sir! For why? 'Cause he knows she don't like it. That's why.
+Ef she wuz ter be turned loose among the Apaches, she'd civilize 'em.
+An' they're the blankedest Indians there be. I don't know what it is
+about her. She sort o' makes a feller want ter be somebody. I reckon
+God Almighty knows more about 'er nor we do, 'n' she knows more about
+us 'n' we do ourselves. Leastways, she do about me."
+
+Having delivered himself to this effect, he left the saloon, sober.
+
+There is no doubt Esther Bright had sown good seed broadcast, and some
+had fallen on good ground. The awakening of the cowlasses had been a
+continual joy to her. She marveled that some one had not found them
+before. Each successive day the little school reached out further to
+enrich the life of the community.
+
+One morning, while a class was in the midst of a recitation, there
+came a knock at the schoolhouse door.
+
+"I'm Robert Duncan," said a Scotch miner, as Esther opened the door.
+He held by the hand a little boy of about three years.
+
+"This is Bobbie," he continued. "I've brought me bairn tae school."
+
+Could the mother spare such a baby? Ah, could she?
+
+Esther stooped and held out her arms to the child, but he hid behind
+his father.
+
+"His mither died last week, Miss," he said with a choke in his voice.
+"I'd like tae leave him with ye."
+
+"I'm very sorry," she replied, with quick sympathy. Then she promised
+to receive Bobbie as a pupil, providing he would stay.
+
+"Oh, he'll stay," the father hastened to say, "if ye'll just call
+Donald."
+
+So Donald was called, and he succeeded in coaxing Bobbie into the
+schoolroom.
+
+When the child realized that his father had gone and left him, he ran
+to the door, crying, "Faither! Faither!" while tears rolled down his
+cheeks.
+
+Then the mother heart of Esther Bright asserted itself. She gathered
+him in her arms and soothed him, until he cuddled down contentedly and
+fell asleep.
+
+Soon after, Kenneth Hastings appeared at the open door, and saw Esther
+at her desk with the sleeping child in her arms. He heard her speaking
+in a soft tone to the children as she dismissed them for the morning
+recess; but Bobbie wakened frightened. At the moment Kenneth entered,
+Bobbie was carried out of the room by Donald, the other children
+following.
+
+"I came to see if you could go for a horseback ride this afternoon,"
+said Kenneth. "It's a glorious day."
+
+"Just delighted! Nothing would please me better."
+
+The two stood inside the open door. As Wathemah saw Kenneth talking to
+his teacher, he entered the door, pushed between them, nestled close
+to her, and said defiantly:
+
+"Miss Bright _me_ teacher; _mine_!"
+
+"Yours, eh, sonny?" said Kenneth, smiling. Then looking into Esther's
+face, he said:
+
+"I wish I could feel as sure that some day you will be mine."
+
+A delicate flush swept over her face. When he went on his way, life
+and vigor were in every step. He seemed to walk on air.
+
+The recess over, the children returned to their seats, and Patrick
+Murphy entered. The school, for the hour, was transformed into a place
+of general merchandise, for the teacher had promised that to-day they
+would play store, buy and sell. Business was to be done on a strictly
+cash basis, and accounts kept. Several children had been busy for
+days, making school money. Scales for weighing, and various measures
+were in evidence.
+
+Patrick watched the play of the children, as they weighed and
+measured, bought and sold.
+
+At the close of the exercises, he turned to Esther, saying:
+
+"Oi wisht Oi wuz young agin mesilf. Yez larn the chilthren more in wan
+hour, 'n' many folks larns in a loife toime. It's thankful Oi am that
+yez came ter Gila, fur the school is gittin' on."
+
+Having delivered himself of this compliment, he withdrew, highly
+pleased with himself, with the teacher, with the school, and the world
+generally. If there was one thing that met with Patrick's unqualified
+approval, it was "to git on."
+
+Near the close of the midday intermission, during the absence of
+Wathemah, Donald Carmichael said to the teacher, "Ye love Wathemah
+mair nor the rest o' us, don't ye?"
+
+"Why?" asked Esther, as she smiled down at the urchin.
+
+"Oh," hanging his head, "ye say 'Wathemah' as though ye likit him mair
+nor anybody else."
+
+"As though I loved him?"
+
+"Yep."
+
+"Well," she acknowledged, "I do love Wathemah. I love all the other
+children, too. Don't you think I ought to love Wathemah a little
+better because he has no father or mother, as you have, to love him?"
+
+Donald thought not.
+
+"You have no idea," said Carla, who now attended school, "what brutal
+treatment Wathemah used to receive at the saloon. I have seen him
+teased and trounced and knocked around till he was frantic. And the
+men took delight in teaching him all the badness they knew. I used to
+hear them while I was helping Mrs. Keith." Carla's eyes suddenly
+filled.
+
+"Poor little fellow!" said Esther, in response.
+
+"I shall never forget his happiness," continued Carla, "the first day
+he went to school. He came to me and said he liked his teacher and
+wanted to go live with her."
+
+"Did he? Bless his heart!"
+
+"After that," Carla went on to say, "he came to me every morning to
+see if he was clean enough to go to school."
+
+"So _you_ were the good fairy, Carla, who wrought the transformation
+in him. He certainly was a very dirty little boy the first morning he
+came to school, but he has been pretty clean ever since."
+
+Donald, who had been listening, now spoke up again.
+
+"Oh, Wathemah's all right, only I thocht ye likit him mair nor the
+rest o' us."
+
+"No, she don't, neither," stoutly maintained Brigham. "I guess I know.
+She's always fair."
+
+At this moment, Wathemah himself drew near. He had been to the timber
+for mistletoe, and returned with his arms full of sprays of green,
+covered with white waxen berries. He walked proudly to his Beloved,
+and gave her his offering. Then he stepped back and surveyed her.
+
+"Wathemah love he teacher," he said in a tone of deep satisfaction.
+
+"She ain't yourn, ye Apache savage," cried Donald. "She don't love ye;
+she said so," added the child, maliciously.
+
+Like a flash, Wathemah was upon him, beating him with all his
+strength. He took the law into his own hands, settled his score, and
+laid his opponent out before Esther could interfere. When she grasped
+Wathemah's arm, he turned upon her like a tiger.
+
+"Donald lie!" he cried.
+
+"Yes, Donald did lie," she conceded, "but _you_ should not punish
+him."
+
+"Donald call savage. Wathemah kill he!"
+
+The teacher continued to hold him firmly. She tried to reason with
+him, but her words made no impression.
+
+The child stood resolute. He lifted a scornful finger toward Donald,
+and said in a tone of contempt:
+
+"Donald lie. Wathemah no lie."
+
+The teacher released him, and told him to see her after school. Then
+the afternoon session began. But Wathemah's place was vacant.
+
+As the hours passed, it became evident that Donald was not as happy as
+usual. He was in disgrace. At last his class was called. He hung his
+head in shame. Esther did not press him to recite.
+
+The hour for dismissal came. The little culprit sat alone in the
+farther corner of the room. Carla started out to find Wathemah.
+
+The loud accusing tick of the clock beat upon Donald's ear. The
+teacher was busy, and at first paid no attention to him. She heard a
+sniffling in the corner. Still no attention. At last she sat down by
+the lad, and said very gently:
+
+"Tell me about it, Donald."
+
+No answer. He averted his face, and rubbed his dirty fists into his
+eyes.
+
+"Tell me why you lied to Wathemah, Donald."
+
+Still no answer.
+
+"How could you hurt his feelings so?"
+
+No answer.
+
+Then Esther talked to him till he buried his face in his arms and
+sobbed. She probed down into his heart. At last she asked him what he
+thought he should do. Still silence. She waited. The clock ticked
+louder and louder in the ears of the child: "Say it! Say it! Say it!"
+
+At last he spoke.
+
+"I ought tae tell Wathemah I lied; but I dinna want tae tell him afore
+the lads."
+
+"Ah!" she said, "but you said your untruthful words before them; and
+unless you are a coward, your apology ought to be before them."
+
+"I am nae coward," he said, lifting his head.
+
+"Then you must apologize to Wathemah before the children to-morrow."
+
+"Yes, mum."
+
+Then she dismissed him, telling him to remember what he had done, when
+he prayed to God that night.
+
+"Did God hear me lie?" he asked.
+
+"I think so, Donald."
+
+The child looked troubled.
+
+"I didna think o' that. I'll tell Him I'm sorry," he said as he left
+the schoolroom.
+
+He began to search for Wathemah, that he might make peace with him.
+
+At first Carla's search was fruitless. Then she sought him in a place
+she knew he loved, away up the canyon. There, sure enough, she found
+him. He sat on a bowlder near a cascade with his back toward her.
+Beyond him, on the other side of the stream, rose the overhanging
+cliffs. He did not hear her step as he listened to the music of the
+waters.
+
+"Wathemah!" she called. He started, then turned toward her. She saw
+that he had been crying. She climbed up on the bowlder and sat down
+beside him.
+
+"Donald lie!" he said, angrily.
+
+"Yes, Wathemah, but he is sorry for it, and I am sure will tell you
+so."
+
+She saw tears roll down the dirty little face. She had the wisdom to
+leave him alone; and walking a short distance up the canyon, sent
+pebbles skipping the water. After a while this drew him to her.
+
+"Shall we go up stream?" she asked.
+
+He nodded. They jumped from bowlder to bowlder, and at last stopped
+where the waters go softly, making a soothing music for the ear.
+
+"Carla!"
+
+"Yes, Wathemah."
+
+"Jesus forgive?"
+
+"Yes, dear, He does." Then Carla's self-control gave way, and she
+sobbed out her long-suppressed grief. Instantly the child's arms were
+around her neck.
+
+"No cry, Carla!" he said. "No cry, Carla!" patting her cheek.
+
+Then, putting his tear-stained cheek close to hers, he said:
+
+"Jesus love Carla."
+
+She gathered the little comforter in her arms; and though her tears
+fell fast, they brought relief to her heart.
+
+At last she persuaded him to return to school the following day, and
+to do all he could to atone for leaving it without permission.
+
+On their return, they sought the teacher in the schoolhouse, but she
+was gone, and the door was locked; neither was she to be found at the
+Clayton ranch. The little penitent lingered a long time, but his
+Beloved did not come. At last he walked reluctantly in to camp.
+
+Away up the mountain road, Esther Bright and Kenneth Hastings drew
+rein. The Englishman sat his horse well; but it was evident his
+companion was not a horsewoman. She might shine in a drawing-room or
+in a home, but not on a horse's back. If she had not been riding one
+of the finest saddle horses in the country, she would have appeared to
+greater disadvantage.
+
+The canter up the mountain road had brought the color to her cheeks.
+It had also shaken out her hairpins; and now her wavy brown hair,
+with its glint of gold, tumbled about her shoulders.
+
+"You look like a gypsy," Kenneth was saying.
+
+She laughed.
+
+"The last gypsies I ever saw," she said merrily, "were encamped along
+the road through Beekman's Woods, as you approach Tarrytown-on-Hudson
+from the north. The gypsy group was picturesque, but the individuals
+looked villainous. I hope I do not strongly resemble them," she said
+still laughing; then added, "They wanted to tell our fortunes."
+
+"Did you let them tell yours?"
+
+"Yes, just for fun."
+
+"What did they tell you?"
+
+"Oh, just foolishness."
+
+"Come, tell _me_ just for fun."
+
+"Well,"--here she blushed--"the old gypsy told me that an Englishman
+would woo me, that I'd not know my own mind, and that I would reject
+him."
+
+"Interesting! Go on."
+
+"That something dreadful would happen to the suitor; that I'd help
+take care of him, and after that, all was cloudland."
+
+"Really, this grows more interesting. The fortune teller realized how
+hard-hearted you were. Didn't she ask you to join their caravan? You'd
+make an ideal gypsy princess."
+
+Esther touched her horse with her whip. He gave a sudden lunge, and
+sped onward like mad. It was all she could do to sit her horse. Before
+her, to her dismay, yawned a deep gulch. She could not stop her horse
+now, of that she was sure. She tightened her grip, and waited. She
+heard the sound of hoofs behind her, and Kenneth's voice shouting
+"Whoa!" As well shriek at a tornado to stop. She seemed to catch the
+spirit of the horse. The pupils of her eyes dilated. She felt the
+quivering of the beast when, for a moment, he reared on his haunches.
+Then she felt herself borne through the air, as the animal took the
+gulch; then she knew that he was struggling up the bank. In a moment
+the beast stopped, quivering all through his frame; his nostrils were
+dilated, and his breath came hard.
+
+In a few minutes Kenneth Hastings overtook her. It was evident he had
+been alarmed.
+
+"You have done a perilous thing for an inexperienced rider," he said.
+"It is dumb luck that you have escaped unhurt. I expected to find you
+injured or dead."
+
+"I was dreadfully scared when we came to the gulch. I didn't know
+about it, you know; but I couldn't stop the horse then."
+
+"Of course not. What made the animal run? Did you cut him with the
+whip?"
+
+"Yes. I thought it'd be such fun to run away from you for calling me a
+gypsy."
+
+He laughed. Then he looked grave.
+
+Suddenly Esther Bright grew as cold as ice, and swayed in the saddle.
+At last she was forced to say she was ill. Her companion dismounted
+and lifted her from the saddle.
+
+"Why, how you tremble!" he was saying. "How cold you are!"
+
+"Just fright," she replied, making an effort to rally. "I am ashamed
+of being scared. The fright has made me deathly sick." Even her lips
+were white. He seemed deeply concerned.
+
+After a while her color returned, and she assured him that she was
+able to go on.
+
+"But are you sure?" he asked, showing the deepest concern.
+
+"Quite sure," she said, positively. "Come, let us go. I have given you
+enough trouble already."
+
+"No trouble, I assure you."
+
+He did not add that the very fact that she had needed a service from
+him was sufficient recompense.
+
+Then they walked their horses homeward, talking of many things of
+common interest to them.
+
+Down in the valley, the soft gray of the dead gramma grass was
+relieved by the great beds of evergreen cacti, yucca, and the greenery
+of the sage and mesquite. The late afterglow in the sky mingled with
+the purple haze that hung like an ethereal veil over the landscape.
+
+They stopped their horses at a turn of the road commanding a fine view
+of the mountains.
+
+"How beautiful the world is everywhere!" Esther said, half to herself.
+
+"Especially in Arizona," said Kenneth, as he drew a deep invigorating
+breath.
+
+Silence again.
+
+"Miss Bright," he hesitated. "I believe the world would be beautiful
+to me anywhere, if you were there."
+
+"You flatter," she said, lifting her hand as if to ward off what might
+follow.
+
+"No flattery. Since you came, the whole world has seemed beautiful to
+me."
+
+"I am glad if my coming has improved your vision," she said merrily.
+"Come, we must hasten, or we'll be late for dinner. You are to dine
+with us to-night, I believe."
+
+"Yes, Mrs. Clayton was so kind as to invite me."
+
+Again her horse took the lead. Kenneth touched his with the whip, and
+overtook her. For some distance, the horses were neck and neck. As
+they came to a steep ascent, they slackened their pace.
+
+Her eyes were sparkling, and she was in excellent spirits.
+
+"If I were a better horsewoman," she said gayly, "I'd challenge you to
+a race."
+
+"Why not, anyway?" he suggested. "There are no more gulches."
+
+"I might not be able to stick on."
+
+"We'll try it," he responded, encouragingly, "over the next level
+stretch."
+
+So try it they did. They flew like the wind. The cool evening air, the
+excitement of the race, the rich afterglow in the heavens,--all were
+exhilarating. On they sped, on and on, till they turned into the
+canyon road. Again Esther's horse led, but Kenneth soon overtook her,
+and then their horses walked slowly on together the rest of the way.
+
+"I wonder if you are as happy as I am," he said, as he assisted her
+from the saddle.
+
+"I am in the positive degree of happiness," she said, cheerily. "I am
+always happy except when shadowed by someone else's sorrow."
+
+He said something to her about bearing all her future sorrows for her,
+adding:
+
+"That is becoming the dearest wish of my heart."
+
+"All must meet sorrow sometime," she responded gravely. "I hope to
+meet mine with fortitude when it comes."
+
+She stood stroking the horse's neck.
+
+"I wish I might help you to bear it when it comes. Oh, Miss Bright,"
+he said, earnestly, "I wish I could make you realize how I honor
+you--and dare I say it?--how I love you! I wish you would try to
+understand me. I am not trifling. I am in earnest." He looked at her
+downcast face.
+
+"I will try," she said, looking up frankly, with no trace of coquetry
+in her voice or manner.
+
+There had been moments when Kenneth's love for Esther had led him to
+speak dearer words to her than her apparent interest in him would
+warrant. At such times she would retire within herself, surrounded by
+an impenetrable reserve. Kenneth Hastings was the only one she ever
+treated icily. One day he would be transported to the seventh heaven;
+another, he would sink to the deeps of gloom.
+
+It was several days after this ride that he chanced to meet Esther in
+the path along the river road. He stopped her, and asked abruptly:
+
+"Why do you treat me so frigidly sometimes?"
+
+"Do I?" she asked in surprise.
+
+He remained silent.
+
+"Do I?" she said, repeating her question.
+
+"Yes, you do. Why do you treat me so?"
+
+She looked distressed.
+
+"I didn't realize I had treated you discourteously, Mr. Hastings. If I
+did, it was because I am afraid of you."
+
+"Preposterous! Afraid of me!" Now he was smiling.
+
+"Perhaps--" As she hesitated, she looked up at him in an appealing
+manner.
+
+"Perhaps what?"
+
+"Perhaps it is because you have given me a glimpse of your own heart,
+and have--"
+
+"Have what?"
+
+"--asked me to reveal mine to you. I can't."
+
+"In other words, you do not love me?"
+
+"I honor you as I do several people I know. Nothing more."
+
+There was a long pause. Kenneth was the first to speak.
+
+"Your friendship! Am I to be deprived of that, too?"
+
+"My friendship is already yours," she said. "You know that."
+
+"I thank you. I need hardly tell you that your friendship is the
+dearest thing I know."
+
+Then Kenneth left her, and she walked on alone. But still those words
+kept repeating themselves in her mind like a haunting melody, "Your
+friendship is the dearest thing I know!" and, like Banquo's ghost,
+they would not down.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XII
+
+CHRISTMAS DAY
+
+
+It was Christmas morning, early. Not a leaf was stirring. The
+stillness seemed aware. The sun rose in solemn majesty, heralded by
+scarlet runners of the sky. Just as it burst forth from behind the
+sleeping mountains, a splendor of coloring beyond the power of man to
+describe flooded the earth and the covering dome of the heavens. Then
+the snowy mountain peaks, grim sentinels of the ages, grew royal in
+crimson and gold. And the far-stretching valley, where the soft gray
+of dead gramma grass was relieved by the yellowish tint of desert
+soil, took on the glory of the morning. From zenith to horizon, the
+crystal clearness seemed for one supreme moment ashine with sifted
+gold. But, as if to protect the eyes of man from the too great
+splendor of this anniversary of Christ's natal day, a faint purple
+veil of haze dropped over the distant mountains. The waters of the
+Gila caught the glory of the morning, and became molten gold.
+
+When the Gilaites awakened, the gladness of the morning was upon them;
+and men and women remembered, some of them for the first time in
+years, that it was Christmas day, and went about with "Merry
+Christmas" on their lips.
+
+To the children of Gila, the day that had heretofore been as all other
+days, now took on new meaning. They had come to associate it with a
+wonderful personality they were learning to know through their
+teacher. Christ's birthday she had called Christmas day, Christ their
+elder brother, Christ the lover of children.
+
+They had seen the splendor of the morning. What wonder that some of
+them were touched with a feeling of awe?
+
+For the first time in the history of Gila, Christmas day was to be
+observed, and every child had come to feel a personal interest in the
+celebration.
+
+The preparations for the evening exercises to be held in the
+schoolhouse had all been so new, so mysteriously interesting!
+Expectation ran high. Word had spread to the burro camps on the
+mountains, and to the Mexicans tending the charcoal pits up the
+canyon. Rumors had reached other camps also, miles away.
+
+The Mexicans, as was their custom, had prepared immense bonfires on
+the mountains and foothills for firing Christmas night. But hearing of
+the approaching entertainment at the schoolhouse, they caught the
+spirit of the hour and outdid themselves.
+
+The saguaro, or giant cactus, sometimes called the sentinel of the
+desert, is one of the most interesting varieties of the cactus family.
+Sometimes it grows in the form of a fluted column, many times reaching
+a height of sixty feet. Often at a distance of perhaps thirty feet
+from the ground, this cactus throws out fleshy arms at right angles,
+which, after a short distance, shoot upward in columns parallel to the
+main column, giving the cactus the appearance of a giant candelabrum.
+The saguaro has a skeleton of woody ribs bound together by tough,
+woody fibers. In the living cactus, this framework is filled and
+covered with green pulp; but when the cactus dies, the pulp dries and
+is blown away. The ribs are covered with quantities of resinous thorns
+that burn like pitch. The dead saguaro, therefore, when set on fire,
+becomes a most effective bonfire, having frequently been used by the
+Indians, in early days, as a signal fire.
+
+On this special occasion, the Mexicans had found several of these dead
+sentinels of the desert so nearly in the shape of a Roman cross that a
+few blows from an ax made them perfectly so. When lighted Christmas
+night, the burning crosses on the mountains loomed up against the sky,
+no longer symbols of triumphant hate, but of triumphant love.
+
+Early that day, what the Mexicans had done began to be noised abroad;
+and with every bulletin that passed from mouth to mouth, interest in
+the approaching service at the schoolhouse deepened. It looked as
+though the room could not hold all who would come.
+
+The young folk had been generous helpers, and had decorated the place
+with spruce, pine, cedar and mistletoe. The air was heavy with spicy
+fragrance. Around the room were huge altar candles in improvised
+candlesticks of wood. Across one end of the room, was stretched a
+large sheet of white cotton cloth.
+
+For many a day, John Clayton, Kenneth Hastings and Esther Bright had
+formed a mysterious triumvirate. The two men had been seen bringing
+packages from the distant station. What it might mean became an
+absorbing topic of conversation. One thing was certain, Gila was
+alive.
+
+On Christmas morning, these three, accompanied by Mrs. Carmichael, met
+at the schoolhouse to make their final preparations. The beautiful
+silver spruce, selected for the Christmas tree, stood out from the
+dark greenery of the room. It was a beautiful tree, exquisite in
+color, perfect in symmetry, spicy in fragrance. They decorated this
+with ornaments, then began to hang gifts on its branches. At one side
+of the tree, Esther stacked small pasteboard boxes close and high.
+What these contained, only she herself knew; and she preserved a
+mysteriously interesting silence.
+
+As the four busied themselves at their happy task, Mrs. Carmichael
+suddenly uncovered a huge basket she, thus far, had managed to
+conceal. She looked a culprit as she said:
+
+"An' whaur would ye be wishin' the cookies put?"
+
+"Cookies!" they all exclaimed, with one accord, "Cookies!"
+
+Esther sampled one.
+
+"They're just as good as they look!" she said. "What a lot of them!
+How did you come to think of it? How good of you!"
+
+"It was Donald. He telt me aboot y'r birthday cakes for the wains. So
+I thocht bein's it was the Maister's birthday, each should hae a
+birthday cake. A makit one hundred."
+
+"One hundred!" Kenneth whistled. "You know how to find the way to
+men's hearts," he laughed. "But you found your way to mine long ago."
+
+"Fie, fie," she said smiling. "I ken ye weel."
+
+When their preparations were completed, they looked about with an air
+of satisfaction. It was evident the spirit of Christmas had taken
+possession of them. Such kindness! Such good will!
+
+Jack Harding was the last to leave the room. Before he closed and
+locked the door, he deposited some packages in an obscure corner.
+
+An hour before the time for the entertainment, the little adobe
+schoolhouse was surrounded by people, and they continued to come even
+after the teacher, accompanied by the Claytons, opened the door. Soon
+every seat was filled; then, all standing space. Then the windows were
+crowded with faces. Still there were as many more outside who could
+not hope to see, but might possibly hear.
+
+Those fortunate enough to enter the room sniffed the fragrance of
+cedar and spruce. The burning mesquite wood in the fireplace snapped
+and crackled, and the soft light from the huge candles idealized the
+beauty of the tree and the woodsy decorations of the room. And there
+was the teacher also, _their_ teacher (for did she not belong to
+them?) young, lovely, doing all this for them! They noted every detail
+of her simple gray toilet, even to the soft lace at her throat. There
+was something exquisite about her that night as she stood before them
+in the yellow candle-light. Her face was luminous. Kenneth Hastings
+observed it, and said in a low tone to his friend John Clayton, "See
+Miss Bright's face! I never saw anything more lovely. The spirit of
+Christmas is in it."
+
+John Clayton placed his hand on his friend's shoulder as he responded,
+"Yes. It's all due to her beautiful, generous soul."
+
+After several Christmas carols were sung, he told them Miss Bright
+would now address them. There was an approving murmur.
+
+Then she told them the old, old story, dearest story of childhood, of
+the little child in the khan at Bethlehem, of the star, of the song of
+the angels, the coming of the shepherds, and the search by the Wise
+Men, as they came with their rich gifts of gold and frankincense and
+myrrh, to lay them at the Christ-child's feet. She told the story
+briefly and simply.
+
+Among those who listened there that night were Mexicans and
+half-breed Indians, Englishmen, Irishmen, Scotchmen and Americans.
+There were Catholics and Protestants, Mormons, and men of no faith
+whatever. There were four university-bred men; there were also men and
+women of deepest ignorance; and there were many others between these
+extremes.
+
+While the voice of the teacher still held their attention, John
+Harding and Kenneth Hastings put out the lights, and picture after
+picture, illustrating the early life of Christ (all copies of famous
+paintings), flashed upon the white screen. There were exclamations of
+approval such as these:
+
+"Did yez iver now?"
+
+"The Holy Mother! Bless her!"
+
+"Oh!--Oh!--Oh!" in faint whispers.
+
+When Murillo's "Holy Family" appeared, there was a hush. As it
+disappeared, some one asked for it again. After complying with this
+request, the candles were relighted, and the distribution of gifts
+began. There was a subdued hum of interest. These men and women,
+throwing aside care and toil for an hour, were as pleased as children.
+
+As gifts were passed, many began to realize what the extra meetings at
+the schoolhouse had meant. The children had been making things, and
+had made them well. They had been engaged in manual training, though
+the teacher had not called it that. She was in advance of the age, and
+was doing practical work in manual training years before the
+pedagogues of the land had wakened to the necessity of training the
+hand.
+
+The Gila children had made gingham aprons for mothers and sisters;
+they had crocheted lace and mats; they had made articles for domestic
+use, and so on.
+
+When a new blouse waist and a pair of suspenders were given to
+Wathemah, his delight knew no bounds. Kenneth and Jack Harding stood
+watching him. The child was a favorite with both.
+
+"Do you like your waist, little chap?" asked Kenneth.
+
+"Yes!--Me!--Pretty!" said the child, patting and smoothing his waist
+as if it were an object of affection. Then he held his suspenders up
+for his two friends to see.
+
+"Do you like 'em, sonny?" asked Jack Harding.
+
+"Mine! Mine!--S'penders!--Wathemah's s'penders!"
+
+The grown-ups smiled. The day had unlocked many a heart long barred
+and bolted against human sympathy.
+
+"Two dolls, one for Nora and one for Kathleen Murphy," called out the
+superintendent.
+
+"Did yez iver?" said Patrick, smiling with good humor, from the crown
+of his bristly head to the extremity of his bristly chin.
+
+Gifts were passed to right and left. It seemed wonderful so many
+should be remembered. Some received their gifts with undisguised
+pleasure,--pleasure so out of proportion to the intrinsic value of the
+gifts, it was pathetic. Esther felt her eyes brimming. More than one
+said to her that night that it was the first time he or she had ever
+received a Christmas present.
+
+As yet Brigham had received no gifts, but he sat by Wathemah,
+apparently enjoying what his friend had received as though it had been
+his own. But when his turn came, and his Beloved brought him three
+books about animals, he seemed embarrassed, and stammered out:
+
+"For me? All thim for me?"
+
+The teacher stood smiling.
+
+"Yes, for you, dear."
+
+In a short time he and Wathemah, with heads close together, were lost
+in one of these books.
+
+Esther watched them from time to time. It was evident to every one in
+Gila, that Brigham and Wathemah were very intimate friends of their
+teacher's. Brigham had confided to Kenneth that he was "intimater with
+her nor anybody else, 'cause she loved him, an' he loved her best of
+anybody in the world." He had likewise confided to Kenneth his great
+desire to have some animal books, as he called them. And Kenneth had
+seen to it that he should not be disappointed.
+
+Suddenly, to her surprise, Esther Bright was presented with a new
+chair, and was asked to be seated in it. The excitement of the
+children rose. This, to them, was the important moment of the evening.
+
+As one homely little gift after another was presented to her,--all the
+work of children's hands, she spoke homely, loving words out of her
+heart. Several coat sleeves were put to a new use, and some clean
+gingham aprons actually found their way to women's cheeks. A
+loving-hearted woman had entered their lives and found them worth
+while. What wonder that she became to them, more than ever, what they
+had called her at first in ridicule, but later in respect and
+affection and reverence,--the angel of the Gila?
+
+When Esther Bright's lap was full of gifts, she tried to express what
+she felt. Her words had vanished, and happy tears had taken their
+place.
+
+After her unsuccessful effort to speak, Wathemah, who could hardly
+comprehend her tears, ran to her, and began to wipe them away with a
+sleeve of his new waist. She slipped her arm about him and drew him to
+her. He looked up questioningly.
+
+"It's all right, Wathemah," she said, smiling. "I was so happy I
+couldn't help crying."
+
+"Now," said the superintendent, "you are each to receive from Miss
+Bright a Bible, a box of candy and a Christmas card; and from Mrs.
+Carmichael, some delicious Christmas cookies. Here, boys," he said,
+beckoning to some of them, "pass these, will you?"
+
+Esther Bright herself took a large panful of cookies to the people
+outside of the schoolhouse. As she approached a Mexican, she saw
+standing by him his wife, a blanket Indian, and on her back, a
+pappoose. As she passed the cakes to them, the squaw reached down and
+grabbed two handfuls of them, devouring them ravenously.
+
+Esther patted the child, and smiled into the squaw's face, which she
+could see distinctly in the light that streamed from the window.
+
+"Pappoose?" she said to the Indian.
+
+But there was no answering smile in the squaw's eyes. The "emptiness
+of ages" was in her face. It was a face Esther was to see again under
+very different circumstances; but no premonition warned her of the
+fiery ordeal through which she would be called to pass.
+
+Finally the multitude was fed. The boisterous laughter and the loud
+talk, within, seemed strangely out of harmony with the solemn
+stillness of the night. The moon sent a flood of silvery light over
+the scene before her; and, everywhere, the Christmas fires, built by
+the Mexicans, were leaping skyward. Esther stood watching; for on
+far away mountains and near by foothills, the sentinels of the desert
+had become gigantic burning crosses. She had heard that these were to
+be a unique feature of the Christmas celebration, but she was not
+prepared for the exceeding beauty of it all. The burning cross caught
+her fancy. Suddenly, she became aware of the presence of Kenneth
+Hastings.
+
+"Wonderfully beautiful,--the scene,--isn't it?" she said, without
+turning. "I think I have never seen anything more impressive."
+
+"Yes, beautiful. These Catholic Mexicans have a religious feeling that
+finds expression in splendor. Does the burning cross have any
+significance to you?"
+
+"Yes," she answered, speaking slowly, as she looked toward one of
+them; "the cross, once a symbol of ignominy; but now become, like the
+flaming cross on the mountains, a symbol of light."
+
+"Miss Bright," said John Clayton, from the doorway, "you are asked
+for."
+
+As she entered the room, Patrick Murphy stepped forward. He raised his
+hand for attention. After several gibes from the men, and witty
+retorts on his part, the company quieted down again.
+
+"Ladies an' gintlemin," he said, flourishing his empty pipe, as he
+made an elaborate gesture, "it's mesilf as feels as we have wid us a
+foine Christian lady. Ez Oi watched the picters av the Holy Mither
+this avenin', Oi sez ter mesilf, sez Oi, our teacher (the saints bliss
+her!) is as lovin' ter the children av this school, as is the blissid
+Virgin ter the child in thim picters. Oi sez ter mesilf, this lady is
+as good a Catholic as Oi wish ter see. An' she learns 'em all ter git
+on. Oi'll sind ivery child o' mine ter day school an' Bible school. Oi
+hope yez'll all do the same."
+
+Mrs. Murphy's face was a suppressed thunder-storm; but Patrick was
+oblivious of this as he talked on.
+
+"This was a godless region. Miss Bright come like a angel ter tell us
+av our sins. Oi belave the Lord sint her.
+
+"See what she done fur us! Her nate little talk ter us, the picters
+an' her prisints. All who wish ter thank our koind frind, join wid me
+in three cheers fur Miss Bright!"
+
+Then cheer on cheer rose from the people.
+
+As Patrick took his seat, John Clayton rose.
+
+"Now," said he, "three cheers for our good friend, Mrs. Carmichael,
+who made the Christmas cookies."
+
+Again the hearty cheers echoed on the still night air.
+
+But Mrs. Carmichael raised a protesting hand. She didn't deserve such
+a compliment, she said.
+
+Then the guests went their various ways. John Harding covered the
+embers of the fire and took from his teacher's hands whatever she had
+to carry, going directly to the Clayton home. She and Kenneth Hastings
+were the last to leave. Outside the door, they stood for a moment,
+watching the moonlit scene. In the distance, they heard a man's rich
+voice singing, "In the Cross of Christ I glory." They listened. Then
+they walked on in silence for some moments, the gaze of each fixed
+upon a colossal burning cross through whose yellow flames violet, and
+green, and red, and blue leaped and died away, then leaped again.
+
+"The cross!" he said at last. "How it has gone in the van of
+civilization!"
+
+She stopped and laid her hand on his arm. He, too, stopped and looked
+questioningly into her lifted face, which he could see but dimly.
+
+"The world for Christ!" she said, deeply moved. "It will surely be!
+Followers of the wonderful Nazarene, filled and actuated by His spirit
+of brotherhood, are reaching the uttermost parts of the earth. We
+shall live to see the awakening of nations. We shall live to see
+strong men and women enlisted on the side of Christ to bring right
+and justice and purity into life, God into men's lives."
+
+Again silence.
+
+"I know nothing of God," he responded, "save as I see power manifested
+in the physical world. I have read the Bible so little. I am not
+intimately familiar with the life and words of Jesus. Before meeting
+you, I had always thought of religion with more or less contempt. I
+confess my ignorance. But I am learning to know _you_. What you are
+and what you do convince me there is something in your religion I have
+not found. I am as untaught in spiritual truth as a babe. But now I
+want to learn."
+
+"I am glad you do. Will you study your Bible?"
+
+He did not tell her he had no Bible, but he promised to study one.
+
+"Will you pray too?" she asked, with a little choke in her voice.
+
+"Would you have me read the prayers of the church?"
+
+"No; the prayer of your own heart."
+
+Then the man became rash.
+
+"The prayer of my heart?" he repeated, with evident emotion. "The
+prayer of my heart? That prayer is that I may win your love, and your
+hand in marriage. That is my religion; you, I worship."
+
+"Don't! Don't!" she said, withdrawing her hand from his arm. "Don't;
+that seems blasphemous."
+
+"If you could only love me, I might begin to comprehend what you tell
+us of the love of God. I love _you_. That I _know_, I understand. You
+are the embodiment of all I hold sweet and dear. Can't you love
+me--sometime?"
+
+"I do not know," she responded. "What I _do_ know surely is that I do
+not love you now. I believe that love of the deep and abiding kind
+does not fall at man's feet as manna, nor does it grow like a mushroom
+in a night. It takes time for the mighty, resistless forces of nature
+to develop a single blade of grass. So love, I take it, must have time
+to grow."
+
+"Then I may hope to win your love?" he said eagerly.
+
+"Oh, no; don't think of love. You have my friendship; let us not spoil
+the friendship by dreaming of a love that I cannot give you."
+
+"Do you believe," he asked, "that you will never love any other man?"
+
+"I believe if such love ever grows in my heart, I shall walk in glory
+all my days. It is a sacred thing, and I could never speak of it
+lightly, as many do."
+
+"Good night," he said, "and God bless you."
+
+They had reached the Clayton home. The door closed, and Kenneth was
+alone. He turned; and before him, on the foothills, flamed the burning
+cross.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIII
+
+THE ADOPTION OF A MOTHER
+
+
+Bobbie had become a personality. What is more, he had adopted Esther
+Bright as his mother, without any formalities of the law. He had found
+a mother heart, and had taken his place there by the divine right of
+love. No one seemed to know how it had all come about; all anyone
+knew, positively, was that Bobbie suddenly began to call his teacher
+"Mither."
+
+At first the children laughed when Bobbie would call her by this new
+name; then the baby of the school was broken-hearted, until the
+teacher had mended the break with kisses and tender words.
+
+Sometimes at midday recess, the drowsy child would climb into Esther's
+lap; and when she would cuddle him, his great blue eyes would look up
+into hers with a look of content and trusting love. After a while the
+heavy lids would close, and the flaxen hair lie moist on the ruddy
+forehead. Then Bobbie would be laid on an improvised bed, to finish
+his siesta.
+
+Day after day went by, with increasing love on Bobbie's part, and
+deepening tenderness on the part of Esther Bright.
+
+He was not always good. Far from it. He was a healthy little animal,
+bright and attractive. His activity sometimes got him into trouble.
+Then to divert his mind, his teacher would tell him little stories.
+When she would finish, he would say coaxingly, "More."
+
+After a while, he would call for certain stories she had already told
+him, and interrupt her all the way along, his face alive with
+intelligent interest. At last he himself wanted to tell the stories to
+his teacher, with many interpolations and funny variations.
+
+But the funniest thing happened one day when he refused to go home,
+and announced that he would stay with his adopted mother.
+
+"Oh, no, Bobbie dear," she said, placing her hand on his shoulder.
+"What would your father do without you?"
+
+"He tan det another wain," he said, in a tone of satisfaction.
+
+"No, Bobbie," insisted the teacher; "you must go home."
+
+Still he refused. Then all his Scotch stubbornness asserted itself. He
+could not be driven or coaxed home. And when the older children tried
+to carry him, he kicked and screamed and fought, till he had freed
+himself. He ran to his teacher with heart-rending sobs. She sent the
+other children home, and took him in her arms. Gradually his sobs
+ceased and he fell asleep. His face was wet with tears. In his sleep,
+great sighs, the aftermath of the storm, seemed to come from his
+innermost heart.
+
+The adopted mother sat with her arms clasped about him. Such a look of
+tender love came into her face as one sometimes sees in the face of a
+young mother, bending over her sleeping babe. If ever Esther Bright
+was beautiful, it was at that moment. Kenneth Hastings stood a short
+distance away, watching her. He lifted his hat and stood with bowed
+head. At last he spoke her name. She turned, and nodded toward the
+sleeping boy in her arms.
+
+"Come sit down," she said, moving to make room for him on the
+doorstep.
+
+"You seem to be a good nurse, too," he responded, taking the proffered
+seat. "What's Bobbie doing here this time of day?"
+
+She told him of the child's decision to stay with her, and his refusal
+to go home, his fight, and his stormy sorrow. He listened, with an
+amused twinkle in his eyes.
+
+"Poor little chap," he said; "he has my sympathy in refusing to be
+parted from you."
+
+She flushed slightly.
+
+"Don't waste your sympathy," she replied saucily. Somehow that
+provoking smile of his nettled her. He had found her vulnerable.
+
+"Bigger chaps than he feel the same way towards you," he said, smiling
+still.
+
+He saw that she was badly teased, and the spirit of mischief led him
+on.
+
+"Now _I'd_ like to stay with you always, myself."
+
+She looked as though she would annihilate him.
+
+"And what is more, I'd like to change places with Bobbie this very
+minute."
+
+She rose suddenly, but with some effort, for the child was stout and
+heavy for his years.
+
+"What are you going to do?" he asked, looking admiringly upon Bobbie.
+
+"I'm going to carry him home."
+
+"How cruel to Bobbie!" he said, stepping near her and extending his
+arms for the child. "Let _me_ carry him, do."
+
+"I can carry him myself, thank you," she said, with a sudden air of
+independence.
+
+Again she saw his look of amusement, and struggled with her heavy
+load, knowing full well that she could not carry him far.
+
+"No, you must not carry him," he said firmly. "He is too heavy for
+you." And without more ado, he took Bobbie from her arms.
+
+"Come," he said amicably, "we'll both take him home--to Mrs.
+Carmichael's."
+
+So on they trudged. Bobbie roused a moment, but seeing a familiar
+face, he reached up his grimy hand and patted the bronzed cheeks, then
+cuddled comfortably into the strong arms.
+
+"So Bobbie wanted to stay with you," he was saying.
+
+"Yes, he calls me mither, you know."
+
+"_I'd_ like to call you 'mither' myself some day. It's a beautiful
+name."
+
+She felt provoked with herself. Why in the world had she made that
+unfortunate remark?
+
+"You love children, don't you?" He was not smiling now.
+
+"Oh, yes; from my childhood up I have loved every child I have seen."
+
+"I see."
+
+But at this juncture Bobbie again roused, rubbed his eyes and demanded
+to be put down. So Kenneth set him on his feet. The little lad stood
+in sleepy bewilderment a moment, then with an engaging smile, offered
+one hand to Esther, and the other to Kenneth. He began to chatter.
+
+"Bobbie loves his mither."
+
+"So do I," responded Kenneth.
+
+Esther bit her lip. She would not look up. But she felt her cheeks
+flush.
+
+"Mr. Kenneth love Bobbie's mither?"
+
+Kenneth laughed, a free, happy laugh. It was contagious, and the
+child laughed too. So did Esther in spite of herself.
+
+"Mr. Kenneth tan't love Bobbie's mither."
+
+"Can't, eh?" Again the happy laugh. "Who says I can't?"
+
+"I do, his adopted mother," said the girl, demurely.
+
+"I'll just capture you the way Bobbie did, and you can't help
+yourself." And again the stern eyes that seldom smiled, were filled
+with laughter.
+
+Esther suddenly stopped.
+
+"_I_ can take Bobbie home."
+
+"So can I," he said carelessly, with a suggestion of laughter still in
+his voice.
+
+"I command you, Mr. Persistency, to turn about and leave me to take
+Bobbie home."
+
+"I refuse to obey, Miss Obstinacy." A low chuckle.
+
+"I suppose I'll have to endure you, then," she said, with mock
+seriousness.
+
+"I suppose you will," he said. He seemed to enjoy the tilt. "But Miss
+Bright--." He stood still and faced her. "--I didn't know you were
+such a fighter. Here I have been trying to make you understand how I
+appreciate you, and you almost give me a black eye."
+
+"You had two before--ever you saw me," she said.
+
+"You have looked into them, then," he said, maliciously, "so that you
+know their color?"
+
+He was, provokingly confident in his manner. Suddenly she stopped
+again. They were almost at Mrs. Carmichael's door, and Robert Duncan's
+shack was not far away.
+
+"Really, Mr Hastings," she said, resuming a serious tone, "I do wish
+you would leave me."
+
+"No," he persisted, "I am going to see you safely home."
+
+Mrs. Carmichael met them at the door. Donald had already reached home,
+and had told her of Bobbie's refusal to return with him. She patted
+the little one on the head. He was an attractive little boy, and it
+was evident Mrs. Carmichael loved him. She stooped and extended her
+arms, and the child ran into them.
+
+"So my Bobbie was nae coming home tae his auntie? What'd I dae wi'oot
+him?"
+
+Bobbie hung his head and then said softly:
+
+"Bobbie hae found a mither."
+
+The call was prolonged in order to get Bobbie into a staying frame of
+mind. At last they spied Robert Duncan approaching his shack, when
+Kenneth stepped over to tell him of Bobbie's decision and afternoon
+experience. At first the man smiled, then the tears trickled down his
+face.
+
+"Puir bairn, puir bairn," he said, huskily. Kenneth laid a kindly hand
+on his shoulder. He knew that Duncan was disheartened, and had spent
+much time, lately, in the saloons.
+
+"Come," he said. "Come get the little chap. It is evident he misses
+his mother."
+
+"Yes, he misses her, an' I miss her. I'll gie mair time tae him."
+
+So saying, he accompanied Kenneth to the Carmichael home and soon
+Bobbie was in his father's arms.
+
+The call of Kenneth and Esther drew to a close.
+
+As the two walked briskly toward the camp, Esther Bright paused from
+time to time to draw in great breaths of air, and to drink in the
+glory of the world about her.
+
+"Come," her companion said, "we shall be late to dinner. Did you know
+I am invited to dine with the Claytons to-night?"
+
+"Really!" She tossed back the curls the stiff breeze had blown across
+her eyes.
+
+"Really!" he echoed, in a tone of mockery. "Miss Bright, pardon me,
+but you--" He paused.
+
+"Well?" she said. "What about _you_?"
+
+"You look altogether charming."
+
+She stopped. He walked on.
+
+"You are perfectly incorrigible," she called. "Unless you promise to
+talk sense, I'll not go a step further with you."
+
+He turned.
+
+"Sense?" he said with mock seriousness, "that's what I have been
+talking when in your society all these weeks past. And here you make
+me play second fiddle to Jack Harding, Wathemah and Bobbie."
+
+"And you prefer to be _first_ fiddle?"
+
+"Of course!"
+
+She seemed in high spirits, ready for a tilt.
+
+"Do be sensible," she said gayly.
+
+"Sensible? I was never more sensible in my life." He made a long face.
+
+"Unfortunate man!" She sighed, as though his condition were utterly
+hopeless.
+
+He laughed.
+
+"Miss Bright!"
+
+"Mr. Hastings!"
+
+"I have been thinking!"
+
+"Marvelous!" She seemed like some mocking sprite.
+
+"Why don't you ask what I am thinking about?" He seemed provokingly
+cool.
+
+"Because you are just dying to tell me." She was piquant.
+
+"I vow I'm not. I won't tell you!"
+
+"All right," she returned, quickening her pace.
+
+"Really, now, _don't_ you wish to know what I have been thinking
+about?" He stepped nearer to her.
+
+"I'm not the least bit concerned," she answered with airy
+indifference. "I wouldn't know for anything."
+
+"Then I'll tell you. I was just thinking what fun it would be to meet
+you in society, and have a rattling flirtation with you."
+
+"Indeed!" She lifted her head. "You'd find Greek had met Greek."
+
+"I've no doubt. That would be the fun of it."
+
+"And you might die of a broken heart." Her tone was full of laughter.
+
+"That's what I'm doing already." He looked comical. "And you take no
+pity on me."
+
+"You might take a dose of soothing syrup." She looked extremely
+solicitous.
+
+"How extremely kind of you, Miss Bright. But my malady is in the
+region of the heart. I suspect you think I haven't a heart. But
+really, Miss Skeptic, a heart happens to be a part of my anatomy."
+
+"I thought we were to talk sense," she reminded him.
+
+Just then they heard a familiar call, and turning, saw Lord Kelwin
+hastening towards them.
+
+"By George!" he said, breathing hard. "I have been trying to overtake
+you two for a half mile. You seemed to be having a mighty good time."
+
+"Good time?" echoed Kenneth. "Miss Bright has been abusing me all the
+way." He assumed an injured air.
+
+"I have no doubt, Miss Bright, that Mr. Kenneth enjoyed the treatment
+he received," remarked Lord Kelwin.
+
+"Enjoyed it?" Kenneth interjected. "I have been a perfect martyr to
+feminine cruelty. And would you believe it? Miss Bright has been
+trying to palm off on me that she is not a daughter of Eve."
+
+"You are a veritable son of Adam," she rejoined, gayly. "And to think
+that I shall have to endure you at dinner!"
+
+"You'll have to endure another son of Adam, too," interjected Lord
+Kelwin, "for I am invited also."
+
+At once new light broke in upon Esther.
+
+"I believe you are letting the cat out of the bag," she said, "for I
+am sure this is intended to be a surprise for me. I have a birthday
+to-day."
+
+"A birthday?" Kenneth said. "Let me see--" he said with comic gravity,
+"--you are getting to be a venerable lady. I presume you'll never see
+fifty again?"
+
+"Oh, I assure you that is altogether too young." Then she turned to
+Lord Kelwin.
+
+"Do you think it proper to suggest such frivolity as a flirtation to
+one of my advanced years?"
+
+"Highly improper. Highly improper," said the Irishman, "but I'd like a
+hand in such a flirtation myself." He seemed to enjoy the nonsense.
+
+"Then there would be two victims."
+
+"You and I?" questioned Lord Kelwin.
+
+"No; you and Mr. Kenneth."
+
+"I was just thinking--." Lord Kelwin paused, to think of something
+that would make him a score.
+
+"Thinking! Thinking!" as though that were quite incomprehensible. "Mr.
+Hastings also claimed to be thinking."
+
+"Better leave her alone, Kelwin," laughed Kenneth. "She will have the
+last word. She's like the woman with the scissors."
+
+"Good avenin'," said a rich brogue just at hand.
+
+"How are you, Patrick?" said Kenneth.
+
+"Well, sir. How are yez, Miss?" He gave his slouch hat a jerk. "Good
+avenin', Lord Kelwin."
+
+They walked on together, and the talk drifted to the Gila Club.
+
+"I'm really surprised, don't you know," said Lord Kelwin, "at the
+interest these fellows take in the club."
+
+"It's the first dacint thing the byes has had ter go to. Look at that
+saloon there!" he said, pointing to an overgrown shack, where women of
+the coarsest type presided. "And look at that opium den," he said,
+indicating a small building at their right. "And see that haythen," he
+said, pointing to a female who stood in the door of a saloon, her
+cheeks painted, and puffing away at a cigarette. "Thim is the things
+as has sint the byes to desthruction."
+
+Kenneth Hastings and Lord Kelwin made no reply.
+
+"If yez kape on, schoolma'am," continued Patrick, "yez'll wipe out the
+saloons and opium places, an' make dacint min an' women out of these
+poor crathers." He nodded his head.
+
+"So pitifully sad!" Esther's vivacious mood suddenly vanished. She was
+again grave and thoughtful.
+
+"Aye," said Patrick, "but yez kin do it, Miss, niver yez doubt it. Yez
+can do it! Oi used ter go ter the saloon mesilf, but Oi'll go no more,
+no more. That's what yez has done fur me."
+
+Just then Wathemah came running and leaping from Keith's saloon. In a
+moment he spied them, and ran full tilt towards them.
+
+"It makes me sick at heart," Esther said in a low tone to Patrick,
+"whenever I think of Wathemah living longer in the saloon."
+
+"Yez air right, Miss," answered Patrick, "but Misthress Keith is a
+purty dacint sort av a woman, and she has been good ter the lad."
+
+"Yes, I realize that. But I wish I could take him myself."
+
+By this time the child was trudging along beside his Beloved.
+
+Lord Kelwin liked to tease him, and said in a bantering tone, "What
+are you always hanging on to Miss Bright's hand for, Wathemah? She
+don't allow the rest of her admirers to do that."
+
+Wathemah placed his other hand over the hand he clasped.
+
+"_Me_ teacher _mine_!" he said, defiantly.
+
+The men laughed. The teacher placed one hand on the child's head. He
+rested his cheek against her hand, as he said softly, "Me _mother_."
+
+"Your mother, eh?" Lord Kelwin looked amused. "I wish she'd mother the
+rest of us."
+
+The child did not understand the laughter, and fancying himself
+ridiculed by Lord Kelwin, turned, ran and leaped like a squirrel to
+his shoulder, and struck him in the face.
+
+"You little savage," the Irishman said, angrily, as he grasped the
+child and shook him.
+
+"Let _me_ settle with Wathemah," said Esther, firmly. She stepped
+forward, and took him by the arm, and held him. "Go on," she said to
+the men, "I will follow."
+
+They sauntered on, leaving her with the refractory urchin. When she
+and the child finally overtook them, Wathemah's face was tear-stained.
+
+Nothing more was said to the child until they reached the Clayton
+door.
+
+"I guess you had better go back now, dear," Esther said, placing her
+hand on Wathemah's shoulder.
+
+"No," he said stoutly, "Mrs. Clayton ask Wathemah he Miss Bright
+party."
+
+"Oh, yes," she said, with sudden understanding, "you came to celebrate
+my birthday, didn't you?"
+
+He nodded.
+
+"You want me to wash your face and hands, don't you, Wathemah?" she
+asked. And off she went with the child.
+
+"By George," said Lord Kelwin, "I never saw such a woman."
+
+"Nor I," returned Kenneth. "There is no other like her."
+
+The other whistled, and Kenneth flushed. His companion went on, "I'd
+like to know if she really has a fortune."
+
+"Better ask her." Lord Kelwin did not observe the look of contempt on
+Kenneth's face.
+
+But host and hostess had entered the spacious room, and were extending
+gracious welcomes.
+
+"Does either of you happen to know of the whereabouts of Miss Bright?"
+questioned Mr. Clayton.
+
+On learning of her arrival with them, he rallied them on spiriting her
+off. In the midst of the raillery, Esther and Wathemah entered the
+room. The latter found his way at once to Mr. Clayton's side, for they
+were great friends. The entrance of Esther was the signal for further
+badinage.
+
+"John, what do you think of a young lady who tells her escort she
+supposes she'll have to endure him?"
+
+"Mr. Clayton," she said, with a saucy tilt of her head, "what do you
+think of gentlemen who tell a lady they would like to flirt with
+her?"
+
+"That depends," he answered, with a broad smile, "upon who the lady
+is. Now if I were not a staid married man--"
+
+"You do not answer my question," she said. "You introduce an
+altogether extraneous matter. I asked you what you thought of
+gentlemen who would tell a lady they would like to flirt with her."
+Here both Lord Kelwin and Kenneth Hastings tried to present their
+cases. Esther raised her hand. "Would you not consider this great
+frivolity, Mr. Clayton?" And she assumed a prim, shocked expression so
+funny that all laughed.
+
+"If you wish to know my candid opinion," he said, with the air of a
+judge, "I believe they were within the law; but, if they were guilty
+offenders, they have my sympathy."
+
+Wathemah looked from one to another with a puzzled expression as he
+listened to their laughter. He seemed to sense the fact that his
+Beloved was in some way the butt of their fun. In a moment he had slid
+from his place on John Clayton's knee, and was standing leaning
+against Esther.
+
+"That's right, Wathemah," she said, pretending to be greatly injured,
+"you take my part."
+
+"Look out here, young man," said Lord Kelwin, as Wathemah approached
+him with a threatening fist. Kenneth caught the child, and held him
+close in his arms, whispering to him, "We're only fooling, Wathemah."
+
+But he said aloud:
+
+"Did you know, John, that Miss Bright has become an adopted mother?"
+
+"No. Whom has she adopted? You?"
+
+"Me? No. That's a good one. She's adopted Duncan's little boy,
+Bobbie. And when I suggested that I'd like to change places with
+Bobbie, she almost annihilated me."
+
+All seemed to be enjoying the nonsense.
+
+"Really, Miss Bright," continued Lord Kelwin, "I think you should be
+at the head of an orphanage."
+
+"I suppose you'd like to be chief orphan," suggested John Clayton.
+
+Then the talk drifted to serious themes, until dinner was announced. A
+birthday cake with sixteen lighted candles, in the center of the
+table, was the signal for another fusillade of fun.
+
+"Sixteen! sixteen!" said Kenneth Hastings. "I accused Miss Bright,
+to-day, of being fifty, and she assured me she was not so young as
+that."
+
+"Sixteen! sweet sixteen!" said Lord Kelwin, bowing low.
+
+She, in turn, bowed _her_ head.
+
+"You see," she said, "our good prophet, Mrs. Clayton, cried out, and
+the shadow has turned backward on the dial of Ahaz."
+
+"It is not so much the number of years we count on the dial, after
+all," spoke Mrs. Clayton, who had thus far listened smilingly to the
+others; "it is what we live into those years. And you have lived
+already a long life in your few years, dear friend."
+
+"You are right," Kenneth rejoined. "Miss Bright has lived more years
+of service to her fellow men in the few months she has been in Gila,
+than I have lived in my thirty years." Then, half in jest, half in
+earnest, he continued, "I wish Miss Bright could have been my
+grandmother, then my mother, then my--" He halted in embarrassment, as
+he saw a deep blush sweep over Esther's face.
+
+"And then--" suggested Lord Kelwin, in a provoking tone--"and then?"
+
+"I should like her for my _friend_."
+
+"So say we all of us," rejoined John Clayton. Then observing Esther's
+face, he changed the drift of the conversation.
+
+"How would you good people like to make up a party to go to Box Canyon
+sometime in the near future?"
+
+"Delightful!" spoke several, simultaneously. And thereupon they began
+to describe for Esther the canyon and what she would see.
+
+Before leaving the table, every wineglass save one was filled with
+sherry. That glass was turned down. John Clayton rose and lifted his
+glass.
+
+"Here's to our dear friend, Miss Bright. May she always be sixteen at
+heart, with her ideals of life as true and as sweet as they are now;
+may the cares of life sit lightly upon her; may she be given strength
+to do all that she will always seek out and find to do; may the love
+of the true of heart enfold her; may the Heavenly Father keep her in
+all her ways; may the shadow ever turn backward on the dial."
+
+And lifting their glasses, they drank to this toast.
+
+Ah, little did they realize how prophetic in some ways that toast
+would prove to be, nor how great was the work that lay before the
+lovely and fragile-looking girl. All were happy and light-hearted; at
+least, all save Carla Earle. She sat quiet and retiring, when her
+duties were over. Wathemah had found refuge in her lap, and his
+regular breathing assured her he was fast asleep. So the evening wore
+on. At last all the guests except Wathemah had departed. The fire
+burned low. And soon all were asleep in the quiet house.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIV
+
+THE GREAT TRANSFORMATION
+
+
+John Harding seemed a new man. If ever man fought desperately the evil
+in his nature, he did. It would be foolish to say that he became a
+saint. Far from it. He was at all times very human.
+
+All the years of his life, his deeper nature had been lying fallow. No
+one had ever cared enough about him to suspect or discover its
+richness. Now some one had found him who did care, and who knew
+instinctively what lay below the forbidding exterior.
+
+He sought Esther Bright with all sorts of questions, many of them
+questions a child might have asked (for he was but a child as yet in
+knowledge of many things); and she poured out the richness of her own
+knowledge, the inspiration of her transcendent faith, until the man
+roused from a long sleep, and began to grapple with great questions of
+life. He read, he thought, and he questioned.
+
+Sometimes, when long away from Esther's influence, he yielded to the
+temptations of the saloon again, and drank heavily. On one of these
+occasions, he chanced to cross her path as he came staggering from a
+saloon. He tried to avoid her, but failed.
+
+"Oh, Jack," she said, laying her hand on his arm, "is this what Jesus
+would have you do? Come home."
+
+"'Taint no use," he answered, in a drunken drawl, "no use. I ain't
+nobody; never was nobody. Let me be, I say. Nobody cares a blank for
+me." He threw an arm out impatiently.
+
+"'Sh!" she interrupted. "Jesus cares. Mr. and Mrs. Clayton care. I
+care. Miss Edith cares. Come home with me, John."
+
+So saying, she led him on to the Clayton ranch.
+
+After a field has lain fallow many years, it must be turned and
+overturned again, in order to yield an abundant harvest. So it is with
+a soul.
+
+John Harding's soul was slowly but surely being prepared to receive
+the seeds of truth. There were days when it seemed as though a demon
+possessed him. Then he would mysteriously disappear, and be gone for
+days. He always returned worn and haggard, but gentle. Then he would
+seek Esther Bright, and say simply:
+
+"I have conquered!"
+
+He seemed to know intuitively that she never lost faith in him. He
+felt certain that he would yet become what she wished him to be,--a
+true man. And this conviction made every battle with himself less
+terrible. At last he knew that the good in him was master.
+
+All this did not come about at once. Months passed before he knew that
+he could feel sure of his victory.
+
+In the meantime, the church service had become established in Gila.
+Esther Bright preached with deepening spiritual power. The cowlasses
+now attended regularly. Other women, too, had come. Miners, dirt
+begrimed, had astonished their cronies by coming to hear the teacher
+talk. Even men from the charcoal pits and burro camps found their way
+to the crowded room.
+
+One Sunday, the atmosphere of the meeting was so remarkable it still
+stands out in the memory of many a Gilaite of those early days.
+
+Esther Bright had preached on the Healing of the Lepers. She had told
+them of the disease of leprosy, its loathsomeness, its hopelessness.
+Then she vividly pictured the ten lepers, the approach of Christ, and
+their marvelous restoration. She showed them sin, its power to degrade
+men and women, and to weaken the will. She urged the need of God's
+help, and the necessity for each one to put forth his will power. Her
+low, earnest, heart-searching voice seemed to move many in that
+audience. Again and again rough hands brushed away tears they were
+ashamed for others to see. Ah, could there be help for them! Could
+there!
+
+The speaker seemed filled with a power outside of herself, a power
+that was appealing to the consciences of men.
+
+Kenneth Hastings, caught in this great spiritual tide, was swept from
+his moorings, out, out, on and away from self, Godward. He rose and
+spoke with deep feeling. Then some one sang the first stanza of "Where
+are the Nine?" The singing ceased. The Spirit of God seemed brooding
+over all. The pregnant silence was followed by a succession of
+marvels. A Scotch miner rose and said:
+
+"I am a sinner. Jesus, Maister, hae mercy on _me_."
+
+Then voice after voice was heard confessing sin and praying for mercy.
+
+At the close of the service, there were many touching scenes as men
+and women long hardened and burdened, came to this young girl for
+words of hope and encouragement.
+
+If ever human being was an instrument in the hands of God, Esther
+Bright was that day.
+
+The attendance at the meetings increased so that the schoolhouse could
+no longer accommodate the people. It was still too cool to hold
+out-of-door meetings. In the midst of Esther's perplexity, she
+received a call from one of the saloon keepers.
+
+"I 'ave been attending the meetings," he said, "and see that you need
+a larger room. I 'ave come to offer you my saloon."
+
+"Your saloon, Mr. Keith?" she said, aghast.
+
+"Yes," he replied, "my saloon! I'm one of the lepers ye told about the
+other day. I 'ave decided to give up the saloon business."
+
+This was beyond Esther's wildest dreams.
+
+"You have decided to give up the saloon?" she said, overjoyed. "I am
+so glad! But how will you make your living?"
+
+"I'll go to minin' again, an' my wife'll keep boarders. She's glad to
+'ave me give up the dram shop."
+
+Esther's eyes filled with happy tears.
+
+The first Sunday in February had arrived. Nearly all vestiges of a
+saloon had disappeared from what had been Keith's saloon. Masses of
+mistletoe and fragrant spruce had taken the place of indecent
+pictures. A cabinet organ, borrowed for the occasion, stood at one
+side. A small table served as the speaker's desk. The billiard tables
+had disappeared, and chairs now filled the room.
+
+The crowd that gathered about the door the day of this first service
+in the saloon was unusually large, for word had gone out that David
+Bright, the grandfather of their pastor, would speak at the meeting.
+
+The saving of the souls of men had come to be the vital question of
+the hour in Gila.
+
+As the crowd caught sight of a stately white-haired man accompanying
+their leader, there was a respectful hush. Men and women stepped
+aside, leaving a passage to the door. The two entered. The singers
+were already in their places. The congregation assembled, and the song
+service began. At its close, there followed an impressive stillness,
+broken only by the joyous notes of a Kentucky cardinal.
+
+The aged preacher sat with bowed head. One would hardly have been
+surprised to hear a voice from on high.
+
+At last he rose. Everyone looked intently into his benevolent, kindly
+face. Slowly and impressively he repeated:
+
+"Repent ye; for the kingdom of Heaven is at hand."
+
+He repeated the words a second time, then took his seat.
+
+Again the pregnant silence. When David Bright rose the second time, he
+read Matthew III., and closing his Bible spoke to them for an hour,
+holding their undivided attention.
+
+"Beloved," he said, "this voice is speaking to us to-day. 'Repent ye:
+for the kingdom of Heaven is at hand.' The kingdom comes to us
+individually. It comes only as men's hearts are prepared for it."
+
+Then he carried his audience with him as he preached the need of
+repentance, and Christ's compassionate love for every human soul. His
+voice rose and fell, and the roughest men listened, while down many
+faces flowed repentant tears. Oh miracle of miracles,--the turning
+from sin to righteousness! Oh greatest experience of the human
+heart,--the entrance of the Divine!
+
+As the godly man took his seat, Esther Bright rose, and sang, with
+face shining, "I Love to Tell the Story." As she sang, the notes of
+the Kentucky cardinal burst forth, a joyous accompaniment to her glad
+song.
+
+To the amazement of all, Ben Keith rose and said:
+
+"I 'ave been a sinful man. May God forgive me. I repent me of my sins.
+I 'ave led men and women astray in this saloon. May God forgive me. I
+'ave determined to turn face about, and to lead an honest life. I 'ave
+sold my last drop o' whiskey. I 'ave poured all I 'ad left on the
+ground. I shall keep no more saloon. May God 'ave mercy on my soul,
+and on the souls of them as I 'ave led astray."
+
+A sob was heard. It came from the long-suffering Mrs. Keith. Then
+another stood, asking for prayers; then another, then another. Last of
+all, David Bright rose, and after speaking a few fatherly encouraging
+words, he dismissed them with the benediction.
+
+He was soon surrounded by men waiting for a word, a hand grasp. They
+asked for personal conferences with him.
+
+"Let us go down to the timber," suggested Jack Harding. So together
+these men strolled down to the river bank.
+
+"Thou art troubled about the unpardonable sin, thou sayest?" the
+preacher said to a young man walking by his side.
+
+"Yes," replied the youth addressed. "I've been a bad one, but now I
+really want to be a Christian. I fear I have committed the
+unpardonable sin. Do you suppose--" he asked in a voice that choked a
+little, "that God could pardon such a sinner as I am?"
+
+"With God all things are possible," reverently replied the other,
+laying a kindly hand on the young man's shoulder. "The only sin that
+seems to me to be unpardonable is that unrighteous obstinacy that
+forever refuses the _offer_ of salvation."
+
+And into the old man's face came an expression of sorrow.
+
+"But if the offer of salvation is forever _passed by_, what then?"
+asked another.
+
+"I believe the soul is lost."
+
+"You mean the soul is in a place of fire and torment, literal hell
+fire?" asked the first speaker.
+
+"I said I believe the soul is lost."
+
+"Then you don't believe in hell?" asked another.
+
+"No," answered David Bright; "not as some believe in it,--literal
+fire. Spirit or soul is, I believe, immortal. It lives on. To know
+God, and Jesus Christ, His Son, is eternal life; not to know them is
+death. To obey the laws of God here on earth means a foretaste of
+heaven; to disobey them, means a foretaste of hell."
+
+"And you think there can be hell on earth?" asked one.
+
+"Yes: a man's own evil mind and life make for him a constant hell."
+
+"And you believe heaven may begin on earth?"
+
+"I do. Heaven is the rightful heritage of the soul. Heaven is accord
+with the Divine. It is the natural environment of the soul. It is more
+natural to do right than wrong. It is evil environment that perverts
+the soul."
+
+They seated themselves on a dead tree trunk.
+
+"Here," said David Bright, laying his hand on the fallen tree, "you
+see an illustration of what happens to many a life. Its environment
+has brought a parasite that lays hold upon the life of the tree, saps
+its strength, and decay follows. Destructive agencies in a sinful
+environment lay hold of human life, sap its strength, and moral decay
+follows. Many a strong man has fallen as has this magnificent tree.
+Nothing can revitalize the tree once fallen into decay; but, thanks be
+to God, there _is_ a force that can revitalize the human being long
+after he seems dead and lost to the world, and that is the redemptive
+power of Jesus Christ. There is no other name under heaven given
+among men whereby we must be saved."
+
+The look of one who bears the sorrow of his race upon his heart came
+into the beautiful face. And the men watched him with deepening
+reverence for their kind.
+
+One who had thus far been silent spoke.
+
+"But if the soul is immortal, spiritual death cannot come."
+
+The old man looked keenly into the young man's eyes. He spoke with
+deepest conviction as he said:
+
+"I believe there is almost no limit to the possibilities of the mind
+and soul to him whose ideals are high, whose courage is great, and who
+holds himself to the very highest ideals of living. Christ paved the
+way for such a life for every young man. That sort of life is real
+living, for it means constructive work in the world. It means growth,
+immortality.
+
+"To come short of what one might be, steadily, increasingly, brings
+moral deterioration, atrophy;--to my mind, the saddest form of death.
+It is life to grow toward the Divine. My son, it will soon be too
+late. Turn Godward now. Shall we pray?"
+
+Then up to the throne of God went a prayer for these young men,--sons
+of parents who had long ago lost their grip on them.
+
+For about two weeks, religious meetings were held daily. Night after
+night the room was crowded. The services consisted of talks by David
+Bright, songs, short prayers and testimony. Sometimes several men and
+women would be on their feet at once, eager to voice their repentance,
+and to testify of God's mercy.
+
+The interest did not end here. Down in the mines, brief meetings were
+held daily at the noon hour. One group of miners would start a hymn;
+then way off, another group would catch up the refrain. On many lips
+the oath or unclean story died unspoken.
+
+Men sought David Bright as they would a father confessor, pouring the
+story of their lives into his kind and sympathetic ear. They seemed to
+know intuitively that he was a man of God. What mattered, if he were
+Catholic or Protestant? He found men evil, and left them good.
+
+And Esther Bright's influence was hardly less marked. Her deep
+spirituality made her a great power for righteousness.
+
+John Harding seemed scarcely less interested in saving men's souls
+than she. "Giving men a chance," he called it. He went from mining
+camp to mining camp, carrying the tidings of salvation, and urging men
+to repent. And those who heard him not only came to the meetings, but
+began to bring others also. And so the work grew.
+
+It was at the close of David Bright's second week in Gila that the
+most impressive meeting was held. At its close, the aged evangelist
+bade them farewell. Then they crowded about him, thanking him for all
+he had done for them, and asking him to remember them in his prayers.
+
+Kenneth Hastings was the last to speak with him. He asked for a
+personal interview. Then arm in arm, they strolled up the mountain
+road.
+
+What was said during that interview no one ever knew. But when the two
+returned to Clayton Ranch, David Bright walked with his hand resting
+on the young man's shoulder. Esther heard her grandfather say to him:
+
+"I honor thee for it, my son. I believe under the same circumstances,
+I should feel as thou dost. It is a serious question."
+
+Kenneth said something in reply that did not reach Esther's ears. She
+heard her grandfather speaking again:
+
+"Yes, she is an unusual woman, as thou sayest. She has always been a
+delightful character, and Christlike in her purity. She is
+compassionate and loving because she has always walked in the Master's
+steps."
+
+The two men entered the house, and John Clayton advanced to greet
+them.
+
+"That was a great meeting," he said.
+
+"Yes," David Bright replied, "God has touched the hearts of the
+people."
+
+He sat down by his granddaughter, put his arm about her, and drew her
+to him.
+
+"The field is white unto the harvest, Beloved," he said, looking into
+her upturned face.
+
+"I hadn't thought of the harvest yet, Grandfather," she said simply.
+"We have been getting the soil ready to sow good seed at every
+opportunity. We are on the verge of the growing time."
+
+"Well, well, as you will, little philosopher," he said, releasing her.
+
+It was a lovely picture to see the two side by side. The white head of
+the one suggested a life work near completion; while the golden brown
+of the other, suggested life's work at its beginning. Happy would it
+be if godly and beautiful age could give up its unfinished tasks to
+those who are content to prepare the soil, and sow good seed, intent
+on the growing time!
+
+The social hours in the Clayton home that day were ones to be long
+remembered. David Bright was a man enriched from many sources. He gave
+himself to his companions in intercourse as rare as it was beautiful.
+Conversation had never become to him a lost art; it was the flowering
+out of the life within.
+
+And Kenneth Hastings listened. If _he_ had only had such a father! He
+was beginning to see it all now,--life's great possibility.
+
+At last he was drawn into the conversation.
+
+"I hardly know," he responded to a question from David Bright. How
+many things he now realized he "hardly knew!" How vague a notion he
+had, anyhow, of many questions affecting the destiny of the human
+race! He thought aloud:
+
+"You see Mr. Bright, I was reared in a worldly home, and I was brought
+up in the Church of England. My religion is simply a beautiful ritual.
+But, further than that, I know nothing about it. I never felt any
+interest in religion until--" here his face flushed "--until your
+granddaughter came. She found me a heathen--" He hesitated, and
+glancing toward Esther, caught her glance. How lovely she was! As he
+hesitated, David Bright finished his sentence, smiling genially as he
+did so.
+
+"And made you a Christian, I hope."
+
+"I fear not. I am plagued with doubts."
+
+"You will conquer the doubts," responded David Bright, "and be
+stronger for the struggle. Triumphant faith is worth battling for."
+
+"Well," said Kenneth, "I feel that I am adrift on a great sea. If
+anyone pilots me to a safe harbor, it will be your granddaughter."
+
+"No," she said, looking into his face with a sudden radiance in her
+own, "but the Man of Galilee."
+
+And so the talk drifted, talk where each one could be himself and
+speak out of his innermost heart, and not be misunderstood. So
+blessed is friendship of the higher sort.
+
+The day passed and the morrow dawned. Then David Bright journeyed
+eastward again, to minister to the world's unfortunate ones.
+
+He left behind him in Gila an influence that men speak of to this day.
+But to no one, probably, did his coming mean more than to John
+Harding. John's transformation was now complete. He became the
+self-appointed evangelist to numbers of unfortunate and tempted men.
+He had risen in the scale of life, and had become a Man!
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XV
+
+SOME SOCIAL EXPERIENCES
+
+
+One evening about the middle of February, Kenneth Hastings called at
+the Clayton home. After a few moments of general conversation, he
+turned to Mrs. Clayton and begged to be excused from his engagement to
+accompany them to Box Canyon.
+
+"Oh, Mr. Kenneth," protested Edith.
+
+"I am sorry, Edith," he said, turning to her, "but I leave to-morrow
+for England."
+
+"For England!" ejaculated Esther in astonishment; for she knew that a
+visit to England had been remote from his thoughts the last time she
+had talked with him.
+
+"Nothing wrong at home, I hope, Kenneth?" said John Clayton, kindly.
+
+"My uncle cabled me that my parents were killed in an accident. It is
+imperative that I go at once."
+
+He paused. John Clayton reached over and laid a hand on his arm. Mrs.
+Clayton spoke a few words of sympathy; but Esther Bright sat silent.
+How she had urged him to make his parents a visit! How he had rebuffed
+her, saying they cared nothing for him! She remembered his saying that
+he had always been starved for a mother's love. Too late now to give
+or to receive.
+
+She felt Kenneth looking at her, expecting her to say some word. She
+seemed suddenly dumb. At last she heard him speak her name. He
+hesitated, then continued:
+
+"I wish I had gone when you suggested it, Miss Bright."
+
+He bowed his head upon his hand.
+
+"I wish you _had_ gone," she said, simply. "It might have been a
+comfort to you."
+
+After awhile he spoke cheerfully of his return, and of what they would
+do.
+
+"Don't let Miss Bright work too hard," he said, smiling gravely. "She
+does enough work for five men."
+
+"I shall miss your help," was all she said. But she felt a sudden
+longing to comfort him. Into her face flashed a look of sympathy. He
+knew it was for him.
+
+"It almost makes me homesick, Kenneth, to hear you talk of going
+home," said Mrs. Clayton. "England always will seem home to me," she
+added, turning to Esther.
+
+"It is a beautiful country to call home," responded the New England
+girl. "I love England."
+
+They talked till late, Kenneth receiving message after message from
+them to kindred and friends across the sea.
+
+He rose to go, taking leave of Esther last of all. Then he turned to
+her with both hands extended. She placed her own in his. He drew her
+towards him, and without a word, turned and was gone.
+
+Esther withdrew, and Edith and Carla soon followed, leaving John
+Clayton and his wife seated before the fireplace.
+
+"Well, John!" said the wife.
+
+"Well, my dear?" responded the husband, apparently surmising what was
+coming.
+
+"Kenneth _loves_ Miss Bright."
+
+"Well, is this the first time you have suspected that?" As though he
+had always suspected it.
+
+"No! But--"
+
+"But what?"
+
+"Is he worthy of her, John?"
+
+"Don't be foolish, Mary. Kenneth is a true and honorable man. Yes--"
+pausing to listen to her expostulations,--"I know he used to drink
+some; but I never saw him intoxicated. He played cards as we do here,
+and when he was in the company of men who gambled, he gambled too."
+
+"But morally, John. It's goodness that a woman cares most about. Is he
+all right morally?"
+
+He drew his chair close to hers.
+
+"I believe Kenneth to be clean morally. If he had been immoral here, I
+should have known of it. And yet he, like the other men, has been
+surrounded by temptation. What is gross does not appeal to him. I have
+never known him to speak lightly of any woman. For you and Edith he
+has the deepest respect; for Carla, he has the utmost compassion; and
+for Miss Bright, (bless her!) he has a reverence I have never seen any
+man show to any woman."
+
+"Then he loves her, doesn't he?"
+
+"He never told me so," he answered, smiling; "I doubt if he has told
+her."
+
+"But after that good-by to-night," she persisted, "I _know_ he loves
+her."
+
+"I hope he does, Mary, and that she cares for him. I don't see how she
+could help it. I'd like to see them happy,--as happy as you and I are,
+Mary."
+
+He leaned toward her, resting his cheek against hers.
+
+"As happy as we are, Beloved. Twenty years married. Am I right? And
+lovers still."
+
+"Yes, twenty happy years," she said, "twenty happy years. But, John,
+do you think Miss Bright would make Kenneth happy? Would she give up
+her philanthropic ideas to devote herself to one ordinary man?"
+
+"Oh, that's what's troubling you now, is it?" he asked, laughing
+outright. Then he spoke seriously:
+
+"I believe Miss Bright could and would make Kenneth supremely happy.
+You know she is domestic in her tastes, and I believe home would
+always be her first consideration. But she is such a broad, public
+spirited woman she would always be a public benefactor. And Kenneth is
+not an ordinary man. You know that well. He is superior. I do not know
+of any man for whom I have such a strong friendship."
+
+"I like Kenneth, too," she admitted. "But I was just thinking."
+
+He rose and covered the embers for the night.
+
+"Better leave them alone," he suggested. "Their story is so beautiful
+I'd not like to have it spoiled."
+
+"John!"
+
+"Yes, Mary."
+
+"I just thought of something!"
+
+"Remarkable! What did you think of?"
+
+"Kenneth will inherit a large fortune, won't he?"
+
+"Of course."
+
+"That might change his plans."
+
+"I think not. He loves America, and the woman he loves is here. He
+will return. Come! Let's to sleep."
+
+The going of Kenneth Hastings brought a shadow over the household. His
+departure was likewise the signal for frequent calls from Lord Kelwin.
+It grew more apparent that he felt a marked interest in the teacher.
+But whether she felt a corresponding interest in him, no one could
+have determined. A few times she went horseback riding with him. He
+assured her she was becoming an excellent horsewoman.
+
+Lord Kelwin now became a constant attendant at the meetings of the
+club, on all of which occasions he was Esther's self-appointed escort.
+
+Once he ventured a remark about how it happened that a woman of her
+rank and fortune and accomplishments should be teaching in a mining
+camp.
+
+"My rank? My fortune? My accomplishments?" she repeated, mystified.
+
+"Yes," he said, patronizingly, "a lady of rank and fortune. I have met
+several Americans of fortune,--great fortune,--in London and
+Paris--ah--I--"
+
+"But I am not a woman of rank and fortune, Lord Kelwin. I am just a
+plain working woman."
+
+He did not observe the amused smile about her eyes and mouth. "You are
+not likely to find women of rank and fortune in a mining camp."
+
+"It's wonderful how much these American heiresses think of titles,
+don't you know, Miss Bright. Why, a man of rank can marry almost any
+American girl he pleases."
+
+"Just so," she assented. "He wins a fortune to pay his debts, and
+squander otherwise; and she wins a title, dragged into the dust by a
+degenerate nobleman, plus enough unhappiness to make her miserable the
+rest of her life. An interesting business proposition, truly!"
+
+"Why, really, Miss Bright,--ah--I--ah--I fear you grow sarcastic."
+
+"_Really!_ Did you discern any approach to sarcasm in my remarks? I am
+surprised!"
+
+He was not prepared for the mockery in her voice, nor for something
+about her that made him feel that she was his superior. Before he
+could formulate a suitable reply, one quite in accord with his
+sentiments and feelings, she continued:
+
+"We shall doubtless live to see a social evolution. The American man
+of genius, and force, and character is too intent on his great task of
+carving out a fortune, or winning professional or artistic
+distinction, to give his days and nights to social life.
+
+"Now there are noblewomen of the Old World who are women of real
+distinction, vastly superior to many men of their class, and who have
+not been spoiled by too great wealth simply because their profligate
+brothers have squandered the family fortunes.
+
+"Now it occurs to me that it might be a great thing for the progress
+of the human race, if the finest noblewomen of the Old World, who are
+women of intellect, and culture, and character, should seek in
+marriage our men of brains and character.
+
+"The time has come when the American man of the highest type needs
+something more than a fashion plate or a tailor's model for his mate."
+
+"And have you no American women who could match your paragons, your
+American _tradesmen_?" he asked, contemptuously.
+
+"Oh, yes," she replied. "We have fine and noble American women. I was
+just thinking how the Old World could be invigorated by the infusion
+of fresh blood from the vital, progressive New World. Just think of a
+brainy, womanly Lady Somebody of England, refusing to ally herself
+with an inane, worthless nobleman of any country, and deliberately
+_choosing_ a man of the people here, a man whose achievements have
+made him great! Is there not a college of heraldry somewhere that
+places intellect and character and achievement above rank and
+fortune?"
+
+He could not fathom her.
+
+"How queer you are, Miss Bright! Such marriages," he continued, in a
+tone of disgust, "would not be tolerated."
+
+"Why not? They would be on a higher plane than the ones you boast of.
+You exploit the marriage of title and money. I suggest, as an advance
+upon that, the marriage of the highest type of the noblewoman of the
+Old World, with no fortune but her intellect, her character, and her
+fine breeding, with the highest type of noble manhood in America, a
+man large enough and great enough to direct the progress of the
+world."
+
+"Ally the daughters of our nobility with plebeian Americans?--with
+working men?"
+
+"Why not?" she asked.
+
+"Because we despise people in trades," he said, contemptuously.
+
+"But the tradesmen who _make_ the fortunes are quite as good as their
+daughters, who barter themselves and their fathers' wealth for titles.
+You seem to approve of such alliances."
+
+They had reached the veranda of the Clayton home. Esther Bright's hand
+was on the door knob, and her companion took his leave.
+
+How radical she must seem to him!
+
+As she entered her own room, she found a letter bearing a London
+postmark. It was the first letter she had received from Kenneth
+Hastings, and it was a long one. She read it through, and then reread
+it, and buried her face in her arms on the table. After awhile there
+came a knock on the door. It was Carla. She had been crying. Esther
+slipped an arm about her, and together they sat on the edge of the
+bed.
+
+"What is the matter, Carla?" she asked gently.
+
+"Oh, I am so unhappy!"
+
+"Has anyone hurt your feelings, dear?"
+
+"Oh, no. It is not that. It is the other. I wish I could die!"
+
+Esther drew Carla to her.
+
+"You still care for Mr. Clifton; is that it?"
+
+"Yes," she answered, with a sob, "that is it. I am _so_ unhappy!"
+
+"Tell me all about it, Carla," said Esther, in a soothing tone.
+"Perhaps it will be a relief for you to tell me. When a load is shared
+it grows lighter."
+
+"Well, you see, Papa and Mamma died, and I had no one but distant
+kindred. They gave me a home, and I became a sort of servant in the
+family. Mark Clifton was their nephew. He seemed to love me, and he
+was the only one who did. He talked often of the home we'd have when
+we are married, as I told you.
+
+"I was sixteen when he came to America. Then he sent me money to come
+to him, saying we'd be married on my arrival here.
+
+"But when I reached Gila, he said he could not disgrace his _family_
+by marrying _me_."
+
+These words were followed by violent weeping. Then Esther comforted
+her as best she could, and tucked her in her own bed. At last Carla
+fell into a heavy sleep.
+
+Again Esther opened Kenneth's letter, read it, and placed it in her
+Bible.
+
+So days came and went,--homely days, days of simple duties, days of
+ministration to human need. And Esther Bright was happy.
+
+One day as she lingered late at the schoolhouse, she was startled to
+see a young Apache, dressed as a cowboy, standing in the doorway. For
+an instant, she felt a sickening fear. Then her habit of self-control
+asserted itself. She motioned him to a seat, but he did not seem to
+understand. He spied her guitar, tried the strings, shook his head,
+and muttered words unintelligible to her.
+
+The Indian was, apparently, about her own age, tall, muscular, and
+handsome. His long, glossy, black hair hung about his shoulders. On
+his head, was a light felt hat, similar to the ones worn by the
+cow-punchers. His trousers and jacket were of skins and cloth
+respectively. In a moment he looked up at her, from his seat on the
+floor, and jabbered something. Apparently, he approved of her. He
+touched her dress and jabbered something else.
+
+[2]"N[=e]-sh[=e]-äd-nl[)e]h´," he said, pointing southward towards the
+Apache reservation.
+
+[2] You be my squaw.
+
+She told him, in poor Spanish, that she could not understand; but he
+apparently understood her, and looked pleased. Again he repeated the
+same words, using much gesticulation to help convey his meaning.
+
+There was a step outside, and Robert Duncan appeared with Bobbie.
+
+After greeting the teacher, Robert looked with unbounded astonishment
+at her unusual visitor. Apparently the Apache was there on a friendly
+visit. The Scotchman was about to pass on, when the teacher asked him
+to stay. He entered the room, and said something to the Indian, who
+answered, [3]"Indä-stzän´ [=u]´-sn-b[=e]-ceng-k[)e]´."
+
+[3] The white woman is an angel.
+
+Robert seemed to catch his meaning, and answered in Spanish that the
+people called her the Angel of the Gila.
+
+The Apache nodded his head approvingly, and said, [4]"Indä-stzän´
+[=u]´-sn-b[=e]-tse´!"
+
+[4] The white woman is the daughter of God.
+
+He stepped up to the teacher, and took hold of her arm as if to draw
+her away with him. She shook her head, and pointed to Robert Duncan,
+who made signs to him that she was his squaw. At last the Indian
+withdrew, turning, from time to time, to look back at the vision that,
+apparently, had bewitched him.
+
+Then Robert explained his own errand. He was seeking a mither for
+Bobbie. The bairn must have a mither. He had understood her interest
+in the bairn to be a corresponding interest in himself. He was muckle
+pleased, he said, to be singled out for any woman's favor. He was nae
+handsome man, he kenned that weel. He was ready tae marry her any time
+she telt him. Robert looked wonderfully pleased with himself,
+apparently confident of a successful wooing. His experience had been
+limited.
+
+"You wish to marry me, Mr. Duncan?" Outwardly, she was serious.
+
+"Yes, Miss, sen ye was sae willin', I thocht I maucht as weel tak ye,
+an' then I'd not be bothered wi' ither women.
+
+"Have they troubled you?" she asked, with a look of amusement. "Have
+they been attentive to you?"
+
+"Not as attentive as y'rsel'."
+
+"In what way have I been attentive to you, Mr. Duncan?" she asked,
+looking still more amused.
+
+"Ye've helpit me bairn, an' cleaned his claes, an' let him ca' ye
+mither. Ye'd no hae doon that wi'oot wishin' the faither, too."
+
+His confidence was rather startling.
+
+"But suppose I do not wish the father. What then?"
+
+"Oh, that could never be," he said, "that could never be."
+
+"You have made a mistake, Mr. Duncan," she said, quietly. "You will
+have to look elsewhere for a wife. Good afternoon."
+
+Saying which, she turned the key in the door, and left him standing
+dumb with astonishment.
+
+After she had gone some distance, he called after her: "Ye are makin'
+the mistak o' y'r life!"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVI
+
+OVER THE MOUNTAINS
+
+
+One Friday early in May, Edith Clayton suddenly became ill. Esther,
+returning from school, found Mrs. Clayton deeply distressed.
+
+"Oh," she said, "if Mr. Clayton or the boys were only here to take
+Edith to Carlisle, to see Dr. Brown!"
+
+"How soon will they return?"
+
+"Two days. I'm afraid to drive myself, and Edith sick."
+
+"Does she know the way there, Mrs. Clayton?" Esther seemed weighing
+the matter.
+
+"Yes; she has gone with her father several times."
+
+"Then if she is able to ride, and you are not afraid to trust me, I'll
+take her. It is Friday, and still early."
+
+"But, my dear, it is fifteen miles away, a long fatiguing journey over
+rough mountain roads. You'll have to ford a river, and stay all night
+at a ranch beyond the ford. Besides, it is a perilous drive. Oh, dear!
+I am so worried!" Here she broke down completely.
+
+"Don't let us waste any time, Mrs. Clayton. If you think Edith can
+endure the journey, I am willing to run the risk. I'll take her
+myself."
+
+"I believe Edith could go all right,--but--"
+
+"Never mind anything else. Give us the safe team, and we'll start."
+
+A spirited team was soon at the door, and they were placing wraps,
+cushions and luncheon in the carriage. Then Esther and Edith started.
+
+For a few miles, they repeatedly crossed bridges over the Gila, then
+their road followed the foothills for some distance. The hills were
+still yellow with the silky California poppies. Green alfalfa fields,
+in the valley below, looked like bits of Eden let down into the grimly
+majestic scene. Higher the travelers rode, and higher. At a sudden
+turn, they came upon the narrow and perilous canyon road, where they
+drove slowly, drinking in the grandeur of it all.
+
+The tinkling of a cowbell warned them that they were approaching a
+human habitation. As they rounded a sharp jag, they came upon a
+picturesque bridge, near the farther end of which they caught a
+glimpse of a pine-slab cabin, half hidden by tremulous aspens. A
+little Mexican child stood near the door, helping himself to the pink
+and white blossoms of the wild sweet pea. Near by, a white cow, with
+her clanking bell, browsed on the green turf that bordered that side
+of the stream.
+
+On and up the mountain, the travelers rode, into the heart of the
+Rockies.
+
+"Just look at that rose-colored sandstone," said Esther. "How
+exquisitely veined! See the gigantic, overhanging mass of rock beyond!
+And oh, the cactus blossoms! How glorious! The large scarlet blossoms!
+See?"
+
+"Yes. Exquisite, aren't they? But look at those cliffs over in that
+direction, Miss Bright," said Edith, pointing to her left, as she
+spoke. "Do you see anything unusual?"
+
+"Yes. Quaint figures. Indian art, isn't it? I do wish I could see it
+nearer by."
+
+And so they traveled on, reveling in the beauty everywhere about them.
+
+"Does it ever occur to you," asked Edith, "that God is nearer to us
+here, in the mountains, than anywhere else?"
+
+"Yes. Does God seem nearer to you here?"
+
+"Much nearer. When we went home to England the last time, I missed
+something. It seemed to me it was God. We went to the churches and
+heard great preachers, but they did not make me feel the presence of
+God as the mountains do. When I come out into the open, as you call
+it, and see the mountains, it seems to me I could reach my hand out
+and find God."
+
+"The mountains do great things for us," said Esther, looking up at the
+jagged cliffs.
+
+Suddenly there was a whir of wings. An enormous eagle roused from his
+perch on the rocks, made a bold swoop, and soared grandly above their
+heads.
+
+"Look, look!" cried Esther, in excitement. "An eagle, isn't it? Oh,
+you splendid creature! How magnificently free!" Her cheeks flushed.
+
+"Did you never see one before?"
+
+"Yes, stuffed; but this bird is alive and free." She looked at Edith.
+
+"You look pale, Edith," she said, with sudden alarm. "Are you feeling
+worse?"
+
+"No. Only tired. We'll soon reach the clearing, and just beyond that,
+the ford; and just beyond that, the house. So I can soon rest."
+
+Esther drew a deep breath, and said:
+
+"I feel as though the spirit of the eagle had entered into me."
+
+But darkness was coming on apace. To their relief they soon entered
+the clearing, and reached the bank of the stream, where they halted a
+few minutes. The horses pricked up their ears.
+
+"Do you think the ford is dangerous now, Edith?"
+
+"It is usually quite safe at this season, unless there has been a
+cloudburst. The horses know the ford, and are used to crossing. Papa
+gives them the rein, and they have always brought him safely through.
+We had better place our luggage on the seat," she said, "and keep our
+feet up. Tuck your skirts up, or you'll get a drenching."
+
+Then she leaned forward, and called each horse by name.
+
+In a moment they were in the river, with the water up to the horses'
+shoulders. They felt the carriage swing with the current, and felt the
+team struggling with the force of the waters. Then Esther called to
+the horses, in tones that showed no fear, "Well done, Rocket! On,
+Star, on!"
+
+It seemed hours to her before the faithful animals were once more on
+the shore, and safe.
+
+"Were you frightened, Miss Bright?" asked Edith.
+
+"Just a little. I never forded a stream before. But how nobly the
+horses behaved!"
+
+"Yes. It must be a hard struggle for them, though."
+
+In about five minutes, they stopped before a house, tied their team,
+and knocked at the door. A refined-looking young woman received them.
+
+"Why, Esther Bright!" she exclaimed, with a little shriek, clasping
+Esther in her arms.
+
+"Why, Grace Gale! Bless your heart! Where in the world did you come
+from? Grace, this is my friend, Miss Edith Clayton. She is ill, and I
+am taking her to see Dr. Brown in Carlisle. We are seeking the
+hospitality of this house overnight."
+
+Before she was through speaking, Grace Gale was half carrying Edith
+into the house.
+
+"Come right in, come right in!" she said. "I'm delighted! Tickled to
+death to see some one I know!"
+
+She ushered them into a room guiltless of carpet, meagerly furnished,
+but immaculately clean. Then she excused herself to send some one to
+attend to the horses, and to tell her landlady she would entertain two
+guests over night. She soon returned.
+
+"But how did _you_ happen to come so far from civilization, Esther?"
+she questioned.
+
+"Oh, a combination of circumstances; but chiefly through Mrs. Clayton,
+whom I met in England. What brought you out here?"
+
+"I came for restoration of health," she answered, laughing merrily, as
+though it were all a joke.
+
+"I don't look very sickly now, do I? I had had double pneumonia, and
+my physician ordered me to leave Boston, and go to a dry climate. So I
+came to Arizona. I happened to meet the superintendent of education.
+He needed teachers. So I came here, just for the fun of the thing."
+
+"And has it been fun?", asked Esther, joining in her friend's
+laughter.
+
+"Fun? There have been so many funny things I have laughed myself into
+stitches. For example, my landlady refuses to let me have any extra
+bedding for to-night."
+
+"Never mind. We have our cushions and lap-robe to help out. Who would
+have dreamed, Grace, when we were at Wellesley, that we should meet
+way out here in the wilds of Arizona? Oh, I'm _so_ glad to see you!"
+
+"So am I, to see you. Now tell me all you know about the girls of our
+class, Esther."
+
+They were in the midst of a vivacious conversation, when a sleek,
+tow-headed woman appeared at the door, and was presented to them. Then
+she announced supper, and disappeared.
+
+"Don't be frightened," whispered the merry hostess to her guests.
+"She's tame, and won't bite, and the food is clean."
+
+The landlady entered the kitchen, and after serving them, left the
+room.
+
+The hours sped merrily. The sick girl lay on the little bed, listening
+to college reminiscences, and joining occasionally in the conversation
+and laughter.
+
+"Esther," said Miss Gale, "let's give the Wellesley yell for Edith."
+
+"Well! Here goes!" said Esther, joining her friend. Suddenly, the
+tow-head appeared at the door.
+
+"Be ye sick?" inquired the surprised hostess.
+
+"No," answered Miss Gale, "only giving our college yell."
+
+"Ye don't say! Is them the kind er doin's ye has where ye goes ter
+school?"
+
+"A yell is a safety-valve, don't you see, Mrs. Svenson?"
+
+But Mrs. Svenson left the room mumbling to herself.
+
+At a late hour, Grace Gale made a shake down of one blanket, for
+Esther and herself. Then Esther proposed they use Mrs. Clayton's
+cushions, and shawls, and robe, to complete the preparations. Edith
+slept in the bed.
+
+After a while, the hostess asked:
+
+"Are your bones coming through, Esther?"
+
+"No, but I am sorry to put you to such inconvenience. I hope you won't
+take cold. There is a chill in the air to-night."
+
+"No more o' that, honey. I'm just glad to see you. This is the
+biggest lark I have had since I came to Arizona."
+
+The visitors laughed with her.
+
+"My! It is eleven o'clock, and I must not keep this sick child awake
+any longer. Good night, Esther."
+
+"Good night, Grace."
+
+"Good night, Edith."
+
+"Good night."
+
+A long pause.
+
+"Esther," softly, "are you asleep?"
+
+"No."
+
+"I am so glad you came. I was almost dead from homesickness."
+
+"Were you, Grace? I'm so sorry I didn't know you were so near."
+
+On the following morning, the vivacious hostess said:
+
+"I can't let you go. I'm so lonely." And to her surprise, tears rolled
+down her cheeks.
+
+"You dear girl!" said Esther, slipping her arm about her.
+
+"Get your hat, and go with us on our visit to Dr. Brown. We have
+enough luncheon to last us a week. Come right along."
+
+So off the three drove.
+
+It was a perfect May day, the kind found only in Arizona. The air was
+crystal clear, and the sky a deep blue. All along, there were thickets
+of sweet briar, and sweet peas; and cactuses, just beginning to bloom,
+made the way one of continual splendor. The air was exhilarating; so
+was the sunshine; so was Grace Gale.
+
+"Oh, you're just as good as a tonic, Miss Gale," said Edith. All three
+seemed to see the funny side of everything, and laughed even when
+there was no excuse for laughing. The gladness of the day was
+contagious.
+
+The physician looked grave when he saw the unnatural pallor of Edith's
+face, and noted her heart action.
+
+"It is well Miss Bright brought you to me at once, Edith," he said.
+"You need immediate medical attention. I wish you could remain with us
+a few days."
+
+But she insisted upon returning with her teacher.
+
+After a due amount of rest and refreshment, they started homeward,
+leaving Miss Gale at her boarding place. Then the two approached the
+ford again. The stream was higher than on the preceding day, and the
+waters raging.
+
+Once more the spirited team dashed forward. Once more the carriage
+swung with the current; only, now, it was swifter and stronger than on
+the day before.
+
+"Oh, this is terrible!" said Edith, grasping her companion's arm.
+
+"Keep up courage, Edith," said Esther. "I think we'll make it."
+
+But she noted the deathly whiteness of the girl's face.
+
+"Steady, Rocket! Steady, Star!" said the teacher. Her own face grew
+tense and white.
+
+She felt the carriage swing with a sudden lurch, and it began to dawn
+upon her that the horses might lose in the struggle. She lifted the
+reins, and called out above the roar of the waters:
+
+"On, Rocket! On, Star! Once more, my beauties! Bravo! Oh, God, give
+them strength! On!"
+
+She rose in her excitement, and swung the reins.
+
+The noble animals struggled madly. Could they gain the opposite bank?
+She was filled with sickening fear.
+
+"On, Rocket! On, Star!" she urged again.
+
+At that moment, the exhausted animals gained the mastery, sprang up
+the embankment, and stopped suddenly on the level beyond, quivering
+from their terrific struggle.
+
+Esther gave the reins to Edith, and springing from the carriage, she
+stepped to the horses' heads, patting and stroking them. Her voice
+trembled as she said:
+
+"Rocket, my brave, Star, my beauty, we owe our lives to you."
+
+They whinnied as if they understood.
+
+She put her cheek to their noses, she laughed, she cried.
+
+"I believe they understand," she said.
+
+"I feel sure they do," answered Edith.
+
+When Esther climbed back into the carriage, she found Edith had
+fainted. She waited till her patient regained consciousness, and then
+they started homeward.
+
+"Do you know," said Edith, after they had gone some distance, "we have
+had a very narrow escape? A little more, and we'd have been swept down
+the river."
+
+"I didn't realize the full danger until we were in the midst of the
+torrent," said Esther. "There was no choice but to go on. I thank God
+that your life is safe, dear," she added, drawing the girl
+affectionately to her. "I hope our troubles are over now, and that
+you'll feel no ill effects from the fright."
+
+They had covered miles of the return journey, and had reached the
+canyon road leading directly to Gila. Here, for a short distance, the
+canyon stream spreads wide, flowing over a pebbly bottom. The water
+sparkled in the sunlight like a stream of diamonds. In the shallows,
+the bed of the stream seemed jeweled with rubies and emeralds, opals
+and amethysts, as the pebbles below the crystal water shimmered in the
+late sunshine.
+
+They were within a mile of Gila when they heard the sharp, shrill cry
+of wolves. Esther tightened the reins, and the horses fairly flew.
+
+"Have we a gun with us, Miss Bright? We ought to have one. I always
+feel safer when I have a gun. You never know what you may meet on
+these mountain roads."
+
+"Can you shoot?" asked Esther.
+
+"Oh, yes; father trained me to shoot. Oh, those terrible wolves!" she
+said, as the shrill, mournful cries came nearer.
+
+"On, Rocket! On, Star!" urged Esther, again.
+
+The animals made a sudden lunge, and sped onward like mad. Around
+jagged turns they flew, as if inviting death; near precipitous cliffs
+they swung, till the driver was filled with sickening terror. On they
+raced, the wolves in hot pursuit.
+
+"Oh, dear!" said Edith, looking back. "One large wolf is far in
+advance, and close upon us."
+
+Quick as a flash, she stooped, took a great haunch of venison Dr.
+Brown had sent to her father, and flung it behind them. Then she
+watched in intense excitement.
+
+"Oh!" she exclaimed, striking her hands together, "the wolf has
+discovered the venison, and has stopped!"
+
+With that, she took the whip, and gave the already excited animals a
+stinging blow. They leaped and plunged madly forward. Esther doubled
+the reins around her hands, and called in low, insistent tones:
+
+"Steady, Rocket! Steady, Star!"
+
+They had gained upon their pursuers, and the horses were running at
+furious speed.
+
+"The she-wolf," said Edith, looking back, "is again following; but the
+smaller wolves are snarling over the venison."
+
+"Ow-ee-ow," came the wolf-cry, shriller, sharper, nearer. Esther
+shuddered. She urged the horses on. Edith grasped her arm in terror.
+
+"The wolf is just behind us!" she said.
+
+Suddenly there was the report of a gun. Esther glanced back, and saw
+the wolf fall in the road. She glanced ahead, and, at first, she saw
+no one. Then, out from the shade of a group of pines, rode Kenneth
+Hastings.
+
+"Whoa! Whoa!" he called, as he leaped from his own horse, and caught
+Rocket by the bits. With a sudden lurch, the team came to a
+standstill.
+
+"Whoa, Rocket! Whoa, Star!" he called soothingly, as he held and
+quieted the team.
+
+"Oh, thank you, thank you, Mr. Hastings!" said Esther. "When did you
+reach Gila?"
+
+"We're _so_ glad to see you!" said both, as he stepped to the carriage
+and extended a hand to each.
+
+"But how did you happen to be here?" asked Esther.
+
+"I came in this morning. Mrs. Clayton told me you had gone to
+Carlisle, and would be back about this time. I have felt anxious about
+you ever since I heard you had undertaken this journey."
+
+Again both repeated their gratitude for his timely assistance. He
+could see they were trembling.
+
+"Your horses were running away," he said. "They are nervous creatures,
+and are still frightened."
+
+After a while, he suggested that they drive on slowly, while he kept
+guard, in case wolves should pursue them farther. Then he mounted his
+horse, and rode beside their carriage.
+
+So they covered the remaining distance, talking of many things that
+had happened during the weeks of his absence.
+
+As they approached the Clayton residence, Mrs. Clayton and Carla came
+out to welcome them.
+
+"How are you, Edith?" questioned the anxious mother.
+
+"I hardly know," answered the girl. "I've been frightened nearly to
+death. I guess the fright cured me."
+
+"I think she is better," added Esther. "Dr. Brown's medicine has
+helped her."
+
+"But what frightened you?" asked the mother.
+
+Then Edith told of the peril of the ford, and of the pursuit of the
+wolves, dwelling on Kenneth's opportune assistance.
+
+"We owe a great deal to you, Kenneth," said Mrs. Clayton, her eyes
+filling with tears.
+
+"Oh, that was only a trifle, Mrs. Clayton," he said, carelessly.
+
+"Come dine with us to-night, Kenneth, won't you?" asked his friend.
+
+After thanking her, he mounted his horse, lifted his cap, and went on
+his way to headquarters.
+
+And Esther Bright! What was in her heart? We shall see.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVII
+
+THE DAY OF THE GREAT RACE
+
+
+It was pay-day in Gila. Miners from far and near were in camp.
+Cow-punchers had come from the range; cowlasses, also, were to be seen
+here and there, chaffing with men they knew. The one street had
+suddenly taken on human interest. Representatives of different nations
+were to be seen in all directions, some going to, and some coming from
+the saloons. Groups of men and women gathered to gossip. Comments on
+affairs of the community, and especially on the approaching race, were
+freely interlarded with profanity. Along the street, strolled Lord
+Kelwin, puffing away at a cigar. Apparently he was a good "mixer."
+
+"So you've entered your mare fur the race," said a cow-puncher,
+slapping him familiarly on the back. "What in blank do you expect her
+to do? She ain't fit fur nothin' but takin' gals hossback ridin', eh?"
+And he laughed uproariously at his attempt at wit. "Better cut out
+that part of the race. That belongs to another brand o' cattle. Come!
+Have a drink." Saying which, they entered the saloon where Pete
+Tompkins presided.
+
+The air was already stiff with smoke and profanity. Men had
+congregated there soon after receiving their wages.
+
+In a little room apart, sat men intent on a game of cards. Lord
+Kelwin joined them. One of the players, a mining engineer, was a
+professional gambler, who frequently raked into his pockets the
+hard-earned wages of many laboring men. Everyone save the engineer
+seemed tense. Once in a while, a smothered oath was heard. At the
+close of the game, the Irish lord, also, began to play. He had been
+drinking, and though an experienced player, he was no match for the
+sober gambler. He lost heavily. At the close of the game, he drank
+again, then staggered out of the door. Ah, how many had done the same!
+
+Pete Tompkins followed, gibing him about entering the mare in the
+race.
+
+"What in blank are ye enterin' her fur?" asked the aforesaid Pete.
+
+The men gathered about expectant of a fray.
+
+"What am--I--entering her--for--(staggering and hiccoughing)--entering
+her for? Ye blanked Americans!--I'm entering her for Miss Bright--Miss
+Bright, ye know--Miss Bright--" He laughed a silly laugh. "I'm going
+to marry her." Here, he indulged in a drunken jest that sent some of
+the men into fits of laughter.
+
+A few, standing outside the door, had attended the men's club and the
+Sunday service. Jack Harding, passing at that moment, stopped to speak
+with one of the men, and overheard the reference to Esther Bright. His
+face grew sternly white. He stepped in front of the boastful Irishman,
+and said in a stern, quiet voice:
+
+"Brute, say that you lied."
+
+"Blank you, you religious hypocrite," roared Lord Kelwin, "you can't
+bully me!"
+
+Jack Harding sprang upon him, gripped his throat like a vice, and
+demanded that he retract every insulting word he had said about the
+teacher. "What is that to you? Blank you!" gasped the Irishman.
+
+Jack Harding's grasp tightened.
+
+"Say it," he repeated, in deadly quiet tones. "Say that all you said
+about that pure, good woman is a lie."
+
+His tone was as inexorable as fate.
+
+The Irishman's eyes grew fixed with terror, his tongue hung from his
+mouth, his face grew purple. Still that calm intense voice reiterating
+in his ear:
+
+"Say it! Say that all you said was a lie."
+
+Seeing Lord Kelwin's extreme danger, some one attempted to interfere.
+Cries were heard:
+
+"Let them alone!"
+
+"It's none of your funeral!"
+
+"Jack Harding was right. Kelwin _did_ lie, and he's a blackguard for
+saying what he did."
+
+Then man after man took up the cry:
+
+"Kelwin, ye blanked coward, _say_ ye lied! Ye know ye lied!"
+
+At last the Irishman gave the sign. Jack Harding released him. Then,
+somewhat sobered, he muttered:
+
+"I did lie about a true woman. All I said was a lie."
+
+He staggered from the scene, and Jack Harding passed on his way.
+
+The race was to be on a track in the valley below. As it was Saturday,
+John Clayton had suggested to Esther that she and Edith take a
+horseback ride with him, to see the last part of the race; for, he
+assured her, she would see human life, as well as horse speed, there.
+
+As they approached the track from the mountain road, hoarse cries and
+yells could be heard. Excitement ran high.
+
+A few thoroughbreds had been entered for the race, but the greater
+number of entries were for horse-flesh that could boast neither
+registered sires nor grandsires. They were just "horses."
+
+The last race began just as the Clayton party turned and looked down
+on the wriggling, shoving, cursing crowd below. It is doubtful if
+Esther Bright had ever heard such language, in all her life, as she
+heard that day. She shuddered, and turning to her escort, asked why he
+had brought her there.
+
+"Just for you to see what animals human beings are, and how great is
+their need of refining, uplifting influences."
+
+"Is John Harding here?" she asked, uneasily.
+
+"We are all here," he answered, smiling, "including Jack. You need
+never worry about him again. You found him a sinner, and--"
+
+"And he has become a saint?" she supplemented.
+
+"Not exactly a saint," he answered, "but you have brought about a
+complete transformation in the man's life and character. Jack could
+never return to what he was, be sure of that!"
+
+"Kelwin! Kelwin's ahead!" shouted a hoarse voice, above the noise of
+the crowd.
+
+"Blank ye!" retorted another, "Bill Hines is ahead! I seen 'em turn
+fust!"
+
+"Ye lie!" continued the first.
+
+Away to the right, speeding around a curve in the race course, four
+horses were straining every muscle. Occasionally a cow-puncher would
+lift his quirt, and make it hum through the air, or lash the poor
+beast, already straining to its utmost speed.
+
+For a few moments, the racers were concealed from view by a mass of
+rocks. When they emerged again, they were greeted by yells from
+bystanders. A cowlass, mounted on a spirited animal, was in the lead.
+She swore almost constantly at her horse, occasionally cutting him
+with her quirt.
+
+Lord Kelwin, now somewhat sobered, made a close second; and Bill Hines
+and Bill Weeks were neck and neck behind the Irishman.
+
+The crowd cheered and cheered.
+
+The girl leading was as fine a specimen of the human animal as the
+horse she rode was of the horse kind. She sat her horse superbly.
+
+Finally, Lord Kelwin gained upon her, and the horses were neck and
+neck. The girl again whirled her quirt around till it cut the air with
+a hissing sound, and spoke to her horse. It was enough.
+
+The betting grew louder. The stakes grew heavier.
+
+"I know Kelwin'll win yet."
+
+"No, he won't. Kate Brown'll win. She's a devil to ride, that girl
+is!"
+
+Again the Irishman gained upon her. Again she sent her quirt singing
+through the air, and her horse obeyed as though horse and rider were
+one. He sped faster and faster, passed Lord Kelwin, then the starting
+point, and the race was won.
+
+"Hurrah for Kate Brown and Lightning!" shouted hoarse voices; and
+cowboys and cowlasses and everyone else yelled and shouted, and
+shouted and yelled. It seemed as though pandemonium had been let
+loose.
+
+Jack Harding had gone to the races chiefly to dog the steps of Lord
+Kelwin; so, if the Irishman had been inclined to speak lightly of
+Esther Bright again, he would have had to reckon with him. Kelwin felt
+himself shadowed by the cowboy, and a great fear took possession of
+him.
+
+As he dismounted, his scant clothing was wet, and clung to his person.
+The race had not improved his temper any. To be beaten, and beaten by
+a woman, and that woman an American cowlass, was the very limit of
+what he could endure from "raw America" that day. He swore to the
+right of him; he swore to the left of him. Then glancing over the
+crowd, he discovered the Clayton party overlooking the scene.
+
+John Clayton, ignorant of the episode at the saloon, was beckoning him
+to join them. Lord Kelwin was about to do so, when Jack Harding
+stepped up to him and said:
+
+"Don't you dare enter that woman's presence!"
+
+Lord Kelwin placed his hand on his gun, saying:
+
+"Oh, you needn't give me any of your impudent American advice, you
+mongrel cur!"
+
+"Never mind what I am," said Jack; "that woman is one of the truest,
+purest souls on earth. You are not fit to enter her presence. You have
+_me_ to deal with, remember."
+
+His great eyes flashed upon the Irishman, who quailed before him.
+
+"Oh, you needn't be so high and mighty," said Lord Kelwin, changing
+his tactics. "I don't care a blank about her, anyway. She's only an
+American working woman, an Indian at that."
+
+"So this is nobility," Jack said to himself. "Nobility! What is it to
+be _noble_?"
+
+The race was followed by a dance in one of the saloons, and the lowest
+of the low were there. At four o'clock in the morning, those sober
+enough went to their homes; the others stretched out anywhere, in a
+deep drunken sleep; and pay-day and its pleasuring were over. Men and
+women awakened to find their money gone; and for the first time in
+years, they felt shame.
+
+Sunday came. The hour of the service drew near. Esther Bright had
+thought out what she would say that day about the Race for Life. But
+when she rose to speak, she had a strange experience. All she had
+thought to say, vanished; and before her mind's eye, she saw the
+words, "The wages of sin is death."
+
+There were perhaps a hundred people before her in the timber (where
+the services were now held),--men and women among them, who, the day
+before, had forgotten they were created in the image of God, and who
+had groveled to the level of beasts.
+
+These men, these women, had come to this spot this day, why, they did
+not know. Why Esther Bright said the things she said that day, _she_
+did not know, either. All she knew was that the words came, and that
+there were men and women before her whom she must help.
+
+Those who had sunken so low the day before, cried out in repentance,
+as they listened to her words. God's message, through Esther Bright's
+voice, had come to men's business and bosoms. Called of God, she said
+they were,--called to be true men, true women. From time to time, she
+quoted, "The wages of sin is death." One could almost hear his heart
+beat.
+
+The meeting was over, so far as Esther Bright's part in it was
+concerned; then it passed from her control. First one, then another
+rose, confessed his sins, and asked for her prayers.
+
+And what of Esther? She sat as pale as death, her face alight with a
+sweetness and compassion that did not seem of earth.
+
+Kenneth Hastings watched her with deepening reverence. Her words had
+gone to his heart, too, and he sang with deep feeling:
+
+"Just as I am, without one plea."
+
+As the song ceased, Pete Tompkins (to everyone's amazement) sprang to
+his feet.
+
+"Ye'll be s'prised ter hear from me, I reckon,"--Here he shoved his
+hand, lean and gaunt, up through his hair. "But I've been listenin'
+ter schoolma'am ever sence she begun preachin' in the timber, an' all
+I've got ter say is she ain't _our_ brand, or the Devil's brand
+either. When the Boss sent out his puncher ter round up folks, he cut
+her out an' branded her with the mark o' God. I know she's tellin' the
+gospel truth. She's got more courage 'n any blanked one o' yer. I done
+'er a mean trick onct. I said blanked mean things about 'er. I'm sorry
+I done it, blanked ef I ain't! Ter show 'er an' you that I mean ter be
+differ'nt, I say, here an' now, that I wanter see these meetin's go
+on, 's long 's schoolma'am 'll be our angel an' pilot us. Ter prove I
+mean it, I'll plank down this hunderd dollars" (holding up a
+hundred-dollar bill) "toward buildin' a meetin' house; an' I'll give
+more, blanked ef I don't! How many wants a meetin' house in Gila?
+Stand up!"
+
+Many stood.
+
+"_Stand up, the hull blanked lot o' ye!_" said the self-appointed
+leader in forcible tones. To Esther's astonishment, the people rose,
+and remained standing.
+
+The notes of a thrush were caught up by a mocking bird, then a warbler
+joined in, and the waiting people listened. The song of the birds
+"came like the benediction that follows after prayer."
+
+At last the company dispersed, and Esther Bright sat alone, absorbed
+in silent prayer.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVIII
+
+NIGHT ON THE RANGE
+
+
+The cowboys and cowlasses had long been back on the range, and the
+attendance at the clubs had decreased in consequence.
+
+Many still came to the Sunday service in the timber; and the children
+remained in the school, notwithstanding the increasing heat.
+
+Continuous labor, and the intense heat, were beginning to tell on
+Esther Bright. As June approached, she occasionally spoke of going
+home; but whenever she did so, there was a chorus of protests,
+especially from Kenneth Hastings. Couldn't she spend the summer in
+Arizona, and they would camp on one of the forest mesas, a party of
+them? It would give her new life and strength.
+
+She shook her head listlessly. One idea grew and possessed her: she
+must go home, home to her grandfather.
+
+Into Esther's manner, when in the presence of Kenneth Hastings, had
+come a deepening reserve. And yet, from time to time, she spoke with
+feeling of her gratitude to him for rescuing Edith and herself on the
+day of his return. Her erstwhile gayety had departed, and in its place
+was a seriousness that seemed akin to sadness.
+
+Kenneth Hastings studied her, puzzled. He shared the solicitude the
+Claytons evidently felt for her. All knew she had drawn too lavishly
+upon her strength in her unselfish service for others. They also knew
+that warnings and protests availed nothing; that she must learn
+through experience the necessity of conservation of energy. Too useful
+a woman, Kenneth Hastings said of her, to wear herself out in service
+for a lot of common people. But he did not understand. He was to
+learn.
+
+At the close of a fatiguing day, a day of withering heat, John Clayton
+came home to dinner, bringing Kenneth with him. Esther Bright and
+Edith Clayton sat on the veranda as they approached.
+
+"Miss Bright," said the host, "I have a proposition to make:--that you
+and Mrs. Clayton accompany Mr. Hastings and me to Clifton to-morrow.
+Fortunately, to-morrow will be Friday. We can start soon after school
+is dismissed, and return Saturday, riding in the cool of the day."
+
+"Delightful!" she exclaimed, with evident pleasure, "How far is it?"
+
+"About twenty miles, I think," he answered.
+
+"Twenty miles? On horseback? I'm afraid I can't endure the fatigue of
+so long a ride. I am already so tired!"
+
+"Really!" said Kenneth, in a mocking tone. "You at last acknowledge
+that you are tired! I am astonished."
+
+But she was unresponsive.
+
+As the plans were discussed for the long ride, Esther gradually
+roused, and entered into the occasion with spirit. It was decided that
+the four should go in the surrey. Carla and Edith were to remain at
+home; and as Jack Harding was still in camp, he was to be general
+protector of the girls until the return of the party.
+
+As the sun began to lower, Friday afternoon, the party drove away from
+camp, first north, then east, toward Clifton. They crossed and
+recrossed the Gila River for some distance, passing many of the
+abandoned cliff dwellings along the canyon. Everywhere, the desert
+foothills, and the crevices of jagged, cliffs were ablaze with cactus
+blossoms. As the cool came on, the air grew delightful, and Esther
+seemed to awaken once more to the pure joy of living.
+
+Could they tell her anything of the cliff dwellers? They certainly
+could. And John Clayton told her of the Hopi Indians, and their
+customs. People of peace they were; keepers of sheep, lovers of the
+heavens, and knew the mystery of the stars as no one else did. Their
+men honored their women, he said. And then he laughingly told her that
+the Hopi Indians were women suffragists. The Hopi women, he said, were
+given more rights than were the women of civilization.
+
+"What rights?" she asked.
+
+Then he described his visit to Hopi land, telling her of the superior
+place the Hopi woman occupies in the life of the Hopi people.
+
+The talk drifted to Indians in general, Esther Bright asking many
+questions, indicating on her part a deep and growing interest in these
+native lords of the valleys and mesas.
+
+Just as they were crossing a bridge over the river, they met Lord
+Kelwin on horseback. It was the first time they had met him since the
+race. John Harding had not seen fit to tell Kenneth or the Claytons of
+his experiences with the Irishman, as long as he himself was in camp
+to protect Esther Bright.
+
+John Clayton reined in his horses to greet Lord Kelwin. The Irishman
+spoke to them, but looked at Esther. After learning their destination
+and the probable time of their return, he lifted his cap and rode on.
+
+Esther Bright was annoyed. She could hardly have told why.
+
+"Lord Kelwin is a genial fellow," John Clayton remarked, turning to
+speak to Esther; but, observing the expression of her face, he asked
+in a surprised tone:
+
+"Don't you like Lord Kelwin, Miss Bright?"
+
+"No," she answered, quietly.
+
+Kenneth laughed. Then, turning around, he said in a bantering tone:
+
+"But he told me you had gone horseback riding with him, daily, while I
+was away."
+
+"He's mistaken, Kenneth," responded John Clayton. "Miss Bright went
+riding with him about three times."
+
+"Three times too many," said Kenneth, apparently teasing, but with an
+undertone of seriousness. Mrs. Clayton adroitly turned the
+conversation.
+
+"John, tell Miss Bright about your meeting General C."
+
+Then he told how the general came to Arizona, and of his wise dealings
+with the red men. He explained the reason for the great unrest of the
+Indians after the general withdrew. He told how he was summoned from
+the Department of the Platte in 1882, and of the capture of Geronimo
+and his band.
+
+"And Geronimo is supposed to be the father of our little Wathemah!"
+Esther exclaimed.
+
+"Some think so," he said. "I have my doubts. He looks as though he
+might be a mixture of Apache, Mexican and Spanish."
+
+"Whatever he is, he is an attractive child," she said. "How did you
+come to meet General C.?"
+
+"He and his troops marched through Gila. I entertained the officers at
+the ranch over night."
+
+As he spoke, they came upon a pappoose, tied to a tree, and blinking
+in the afternoon sunshine. Just beyond, they found a group of Apaches.
+The women were cooking fish over live coals of fire. The men seemed to
+recognize John Clayton. He greeted them in the tongue of the Mexicans,
+as he drove by, while the Indians jabbered and gesticulated violently.
+
+At the bridge just beyond, they crossed the Gila for the last time
+before turning northward. There, they saw a young Apache catching
+fish. He glanced up, and Esther recognized in him the visitor who had
+found her at the schoolhouse. It was evident he knew her, for he
+started towards the surrey.
+
+"He is one of the friendly Apaches," explained John Clayton. "He's
+often on the range, and has adopted some of the cowboy regimentals,
+you see."
+
+The driver stopped his horses.
+
+The Indian came forward, offering John Clayton a number of fish strung
+on a withe. As he did so, he turned towards Esther, and said:
+
+"N[=e]-sh[=e]-äd-nl[)e]h´."
+
+"What does he mean?" asked Esther.
+
+"I think he wants to buy you from me with these fish," answered John
+Clayton, turning to her with an amused smile.
+
+Putting his hand into a tin box, he took from it a handful of cookies,
+gave them to the young Indian, and drove on. As they looked back, the
+last cake was about to disappear down the Indian's throat.
+
+"Poor things," said Esther, "they have had no chance."
+
+Then Kenneth rallied her on becoming a missionary to the Indians.
+
+"I'd be glad to help them as the early Jesuit priests did," she
+answered. "I cannot but feel that the Indian policy has been very
+faulty, and that the Indians have been the victims of grafters, some
+unprincipled Indian agents, and the scum of the white race. You tell
+me, Mr. Clayton, that the Mexican government offered a bounty of $100
+for every Apache man's scalp, $50 for every Apache woman's scalp, and
+$25 for every Apache child's scalp? I'd fight, too," she continued,
+indignantly. "I know I'd fight. Poor things!"
+
+The company laughed at her championship, and told her how vicious the
+Apaches were, and many more matters of Indian history.
+
+The company were approaching a narrow canyon, through which they must
+pass for some distance. The waters dashed and boiled in eddies, where
+huge bowlders obstructed the way, making a pleasant murmur to the ear,
+soft and musical and low.
+
+And Esther Bright listened. Her heart, stirred to sudden anger by the
+stories of injustice and cruel wrong, was soothed into quiet by this
+slumber song of the ages. Oh, the music of the waters of the canyon!
+How, once heard, it echoes in the heart forever! In the midst of the
+unrest and discord of the world, how the memory of it keeps one close
+to the very heart of things! How it lingers! How it sings!
+
+They drove under, then around, an overhanging rock, beyond which, like
+ruins of ancient castles, storm-scarred, majestic, towered cliffs to a
+height of a thousand feet or more. The shadows had deepened in the
+canyon, adding to the solemn grandeur of it all. From every cleft of
+rock, apparently, a cactus had sprung into life, and had blossomed
+into flowers of exquisite beauty. All the journey was like a triumphal
+way, garlanded with flowers.
+
+At last they reached an open place in the canyon, and followed a
+track leading upward to a level plain. A short drive up a rocky way
+brought them to a vast mesa. Here they halted for the night.
+
+Some distance to the west, Esther spied a covered wagon with horses
+tethered near. There was a man busying himself about the wagon, and
+about the bonfire. John Clayton explained to Esther that this was the
+cook for the squads of cowboys, and that near where the man was
+working, the men would camp for the night. She watched the movements
+of the cook with some curiosity.
+
+The Clayton party had now stepped from the surrey, and removed from it
+the seats, blankets, and provisions. The two men returned to the
+canyon to gather dry driftwood for their fire for the night.
+
+During the ride of the afternoon, as the company had wound around the
+foothills, they had seen great herds of cattle, thousands of cattle,
+on the hills and mesas. But now, Esther was to see with her own eyes,
+the great event of life on the range. This vast out-of-doors was all
+so novel to her, so intensely interesting! She stood and drew in great
+breaths of air. Her eyes darkened. The pupils of her eyes had a way of
+dilating whenever she felt deeply.
+
+Although the cowboys and cowlasses had told Esther much about the
+round-ups, she felt quite ignorant of the whole matter. They had
+explained to her about the free range, how it was divided into
+imaginary sections, and how the "boss" cattleman would send groups of
+cow-punchers to each of these various sections to look after the
+cattle.
+
+John Clayton and Kenneth Hastings returned from the canyon, bringing a
+can of water, and dry driftwood. They at once began to build their
+bonfire, and to prepare their evening meal. As they worked, they
+talked.
+
+"If you watch from here," suggested Kenneth, "you'll see the close of
+the round-up, comfortably."
+
+"What do they mean by 'cutting out' the cattle?" asked Esther.
+
+"Don't you know that yet?" laughed John Clayton. "That is cowboy
+slang. As the cow-punchers approach (cow-punchers are cowboys, you
+know--)"
+
+"Yes, I know that much."
+
+"Well, as they approach you will see them weaving in and out among the
+cattle, lashing some with their quirts, and driving them out from the
+mass of cattle. This is called 'cutting out.' The cattle of different
+owners all run together on the range until time for the round-ups."
+
+"How often do they have these?" she asked.
+
+"There are two general round-ups, spring and fall; and others, when
+necessary for extra shipments of cattle."
+
+"How can they tell which belongs to which?"
+
+"By the brand," explained Kenneth. "Each cattle owner brands every one
+of his cattle with a certain mark, which determines whose property the
+animal is."
+
+The two women now placed cushions on the carriage seats, and sat down
+to watch the close of the round-up.
+
+The sunset was one of unusual splendor, the glory of color falling
+over the mesa, and the mountain peaks that loomed up far away. As they
+watched the sky, they spied a cloud of dust in the distance.
+
+"At last the cattle are coming!" exclaimed Mrs. Clayton.
+
+The dust cloud grew, coming nearer and nearer. It had a fascination
+for Esther. While they were speculating as to the probable number of
+cattle, and the cowboys and cowlasses who might be with them, Kenneth
+Hastings and John Clayton sauntered over to the mess wagon to await
+the closing scene. From that point, the men watched; and from their
+location, the women watched the on-coming herds. The dust cloud grew
+larger. The great mass of struggling cattle came steadily on. After a
+while, cowboys could be seen, and whirling of ropes. Nearer and nearer
+they came, the cowboys dealing stinging blows with their quirts. The
+bellowing of cattle, the cursing of men, and the choking fog of dust,
+all mingled together, came to the two women, who watched from a safe
+distance. In their intense interest, they forgot that the supper hour
+was long past, and watched. They saw cow-punchers, weaving in and out
+among the cattle, whirling ropes, and yelling, and cursing by turns,
+until each cowboy had separated the cattle in his charge from the
+others. It was an enormous task. The men were still cursing and
+lashing, when the last soft color of the afterglow faded from the sky.
+
+When the work of the round-up was finally over, and the men were free
+for the night, Esther heard the cook call out to them:
+
+"Grub's ready! Cut out y'r talkin'!" adding profanity, as if to whet
+the appetites of the hungry men. Then the cowboys, dirt begrimed, fell
+to, and were soon eating with a relish that would have made dyspeptics
+green with envy.
+
+Slowly, John Clayton and Kenneth Hastings sauntered back, finding
+their own repast ready for them. They, too, had found a keen edge to
+their appetite. Esther even went so far as to suggest that they might
+have done well to have accepted the Apache's fish.
+
+"Whom do you suppose we found over there?" asked Mr. Clayton.
+
+"Our boys," suggested Esther.
+
+"Yes, several who have been at the club and at the meetings. They know
+you are here, Miss Bright. Let's see what they'll do."
+
+Before the meal was over, the stars began to appear in the heavens.
+John Clayton threw great quantities of driftwood on the bonfire, and
+in a few moments, the flames were licking the logs.
+
+The voices of the cow-punchers came to them now and then, but the
+profanity had ceased. Suddenly, singing was heard. They listened. The
+cowboys were singing, "There were ninety and nine."
+
+From the singing, it was evident that the men were approaching the
+Clayton camp. In a moment more, they were there.
+
+Would they be seated? John Clayton had asked. So, around the camp fire
+they grouped, their faces and forms indistinct in the flickering
+light. They made a weird and picturesque group against the darkness of
+the night.
+
+"An' phwat do yez think now of a round-up?" asked Mike Maloney, of
+night school celebrity. Mike had been the star pupil in arithmetic.
+
+"Splendid!" said Esther, with contagious enthusiasm. "To see that host
+of cattle approach, the ropes swinging, the horses rearing and plunging,
+and the magnificent setting of the mountains at sunset,--why, it was
+glorious!"
+
+The men grinned their delight.
+
+Bill Weeks then grew eloquent about cattle.
+
+"We come across a herd o' antelopes to-day," interrupted another.
+
+Bill Weeks returned again to his favorite theme. Cattle were his life.
+In the midst of a dissertation on their good points, he was again
+interrupted with:
+
+"Oh, cut that out! Ye kin talk cattle any old day. We wants ter hear
+Miss Bright sing."
+
+"Yes, sing," all clamored. "_Do_ sing!"
+
+"What shall I sing?"
+
+"'Oft in the Stilly Night,'" one suggested.
+
+But they were not satisfied with one song, and called loudly for
+another. Then she sang, "Flee as a bird to Your Mountain."
+
+Esther Bright, as she stood and sang that night, was a picture one
+could never forget.
+
+Then around the crackling fire, story after story was told. The fire
+burned low. The dome above sparkled with myriads of stars. At last the
+cowboys rose, and returned to their camp.
+
+"Now we'll heap up the fire for the night, Kenneth," said John
+Clayton, "and arrange our shakedowns."
+
+"'Shakedowns,' John?" said his wife. "You don't call a blanket and
+cushion on a mesa a shakedown, do you?"
+
+"Why not?"
+
+Then the two men withdrew to the farther side of the fire. The women
+crawled into their blankets, and soon felt the warmth of the still
+heated earth upon which they lay.
+
+"Good night!" called the men's voices, and "Good night!" returned the
+women. Then silence brooded over the camp.
+
+For the first time in her life, Esther was bedded on the ground. Her
+face was turned upward, her eyes, fixed upon the starry deeps. Hour
+after hour went by. The regular breathing of her fellow-travelers
+assured her that all were asleep. She could not sleep.
+
+The marvelous scene above her grew upon her. She lay still, looking,
+looking into the infinite, that infinite around her, above her, beyond
+and beyond forever, who knows whither?
+
+The air, at first dark about her, grew into a weird, wonderful light.
+The dome grew vaster and vaster; and, with the marvelous expansion,
+she began to realize stars. They seemed to move from their solid ebon
+background, and to float in space.
+
+Stars! What do stars mean to the ordinary human? Just stars that come
+and go as a matter of course; just as men eat and drink, buy and sell,
+live and die. I say Esther Bright began to _realize_ stars. I do not
+mean by that that she was unfamiliar with certain astronomical facts
+all intelligent people are supposed to know. Far from it. She knew
+much of mathematical astronomy. It had a fascination for her. But she
+had not _realized_ stars, _felt_ stars, as she was to realize them
+this night. All the world was shut out from her vision, save that
+marvelous dome of sky, alight with myriads and myriads of stars, from
+zenith to horizon. She recalled Milton's description of the floor of
+heaven, and reveled in the thought. She gazed on one tremulous star,
+till it seemed a soul in space, beckoning to her to join it, in the
+company of the glorified. Her vision intensified. Into the Milky Way
+she gazed, till it seemed to her the pathway up to God. God! What was
+God?
+
+Then the stillness grew till it seemed the Infinite Presence. The
+stars, she was sure, made a shining pathway straight to her. Across
+the pathway, flashed shooting stars. She saw it all so clearly. Then
+the vast space, up to the shadowy shores of the Infinite Sea, filled
+with a strange, unearthly light. God! Was this _God_? Then she must be
+on holy ground! She felt herself lifted into the Everlasting Arms. The
+wind rose and whispered softly. And Esther Bright slept. Who shall say
+she did not sleep close to the very heart of God?
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIX
+
+INASMUCH
+
+
+While the Clayton party were journeying from Clifton, John Harding was
+on guard, vigilant, watchful. In the Post Office that morning, he
+chanced to hear some one repeat a boast Lord Kelwin had made in regard
+to Carla Earle, whom he had heretofore treated with patronizing
+condescension.
+
+John Harding returned to Clayton Ranch, and invented excuses to be
+about the house, saying, as he went off to do some chores, that if
+they needed him, just to call him, adding that he'd be within hearing.
+
+Carla and Edith joked a little about his solicitude, and went about
+their daily tasks, planning surprises for the hungry company, on their
+return that night. Carla seemed happier this day than usual, and began
+to make a soft music in her throat like the warbling of a bird. She
+had been alone in the room for some time, when she heard a step. She
+stopped warbling when she recognized the voice of Lord Kelwin, whom
+she instinctively feared.
+
+He had entered the house unannounced, and now walked into the dining
+room.
+
+"Aha, my beauty!" he said, stepping toward her. "Aha, my bird! Caught
+at last!"
+
+She saw that he was intoxicated.
+
+"So you are alone at last, bird."
+
+He flung himself between her and the door. Something in his face
+filled her with disgust and alarm. He kept coming towards her,
+uttering words of insolent familiarity, and she kept backing away.
+Finally he lunged forward, grasped her by the arm, and tried to hold
+her. Evidently, he had not counted on opposition from her; and when he
+found his will thwarted, all the beast in him seemed roused. He struck
+her in the mouth, calling her vile names as he did so. In an instant,
+her shrieks of terror went ringing through the house. They brought
+Edith, in sudden alarm, and John Harding. The latter, recognizing the
+situation at a glance, sprang forward, and clutched the Irishman by
+the throat.
+
+"Let her go," he said, "you blankety blanked coward. Let her go, I
+say!" As he spoke, he gripped Kelwin's throat tightly, shaking him as
+if he were a rat. Then he grew dangerously white.
+
+The visitor, enraged at this unexpected interference, grew violent. He
+turned upon Jack Harding, and drew his gun; but Jack, sober and alert,
+knocked the gun from his hand; and, closing with him, dealt terrific
+blows in his face. All the brute in the drunken man roused. The sober
+man had the advantage. The struggle lasted but a few moments, though
+it seemed an eternity to the frightened girls. Finally, Jack Harding
+placed his knees on Kelwin's chest and arms, his hand on his throat,
+choking him until he gasped for mercy. Then the cowboy let him rise.
+As soon as he was free, he began to curse Carla Earle. Jack Harding
+promptly knocked him down. Partly sobered, the man rose, and staggered
+from the room.
+
+Carla stood trembling, her face white with fear.
+
+Harding saw her distress, and said with unusual gentleness:
+
+"Don't ye care, Miss Carla. 'Tain't so, anyway. He lied. He'll pay for
+it."
+
+"Oh, don't meddle with him, I beg you," she said with sudden alarm.
+"He might shoot you."
+
+"Shoot? Let him. But he can't insult any decent woman, while I'm near
+to protect her. Mark that."
+
+Carla turned to resume her duties, but fell in a limp heap on the
+floor. Then Edith and Jack Harding worked to bring her to. At last her
+eyes opened. She looked around, dazed, bewildered. When she realized
+what had happened, she asked:
+
+"Has that dreadful man gone?"
+
+On being assured that he was at a safe distance, she tried to rise,
+but her knees gave way, and she sank to the floor again.
+
+So Jack and Edith prepared the evening meal, and waited. At last they
+heard the sound of the returning carriage, and, a few moments later,
+welcomed the party at the gate.
+
+When John Clayton heard what had happened, he seemed dumfounded.
+
+"How dared he? How dared he?" he repeated, indignantly.
+
+But Kenneth's mouth set hard, and it did not augur well for Lord
+Kelwin.
+
+For one thing, all were thankful during the ensuing weeks,--the Irish
+nobleman no longer came to Clayton Ranch, socially, or otherwise. He
+managed to keep himself in the background, and was seldom heard of
+save as he figured in some drunken brawl. But Jack Harding, who
+understood him best of all, and who knew the venom of his tongue,
+hounded him day by day. And there grew up in Lord Kelwin's mind a
+deepening fear and hate of Jack Harding.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XX
+
+A WOMAN'S NO
+
+
+Miles and miles of desert country, sometimes a dull red, sometimes
+almost yellow of hue; over that a dome of bluest blue; between the
+two, air, crystalline, and full of light; and everywhere, scattered
+with reckless profusion, from Nature's lavish hand, the splendor of
+cactus blossoms. That is Arizona in June. And in this glory of color,
+one June day, walked Mrs. Clayton and Esther Bright, returning from a
+round of neighborhood calls.
+
+As they approached Clayton Ranch, they paused to admire the cactus
+blossoms. The giant cactus, towering above the house, was now covered
+with a profusion of exquisite blossoms of deepest pink. Red blossoms,
+pink blossoms, white blossoms, yellow blossoms everywhere, but guarded
+by thousands of thorns and spines. Esther stopped and picked some
+yellow blossoms from the prickly pear, only to find her fingers
+stinging from its minute spines.
+
+"It serves me right," she said, making a wry face. "I knew better, but
+I love the blossoms."
+
+"Good evening," called a cheery voice from the veranda. It was Mr.
+Clayton.
+
+"Kenneth called to see you, Miss Bright," he continued. "He would like
+you to go for a drive with him this evening."
+
+"Far?" she asked.
+
+"He didn't say."
+
+The two women entered the house, and soon returned refreshed. On the
+spacious veranda, the family gathered in the cool of the day, to feast
+their eyes on the gorgeous sunsets.
+
+"Do you know," said Esther, "it refreshes me whenever I _look_ at
+snow-capped Mt. Graham?"
+
+She looked far away to the south. "I shall miss it all," she said,
+pensively, "all the grandeur of scene, miss all of you here, miss my
+dear children, when I go home."
+
+"Oh, I hate to think of your going," said Edith, lifting the teacher's
+hand to her cheek. "I'm afraid you won't come back."
+
+"What's that I hear about not coming back?" asked Kenneth Hastings,
+who, at that moment, joined them.
+
+"I said I was afraid Miss Bright wouldn't come back," explained Edith.
+
+"I hope you are not thinking of going East soon," said Kenneth
+quietly.
+
+When she announced that she should, he protested vigorously.
+
+That evening, Esther rode with him through beautiful mountain scenes.
+The heavens were still colored with the soft afterglow, as they sped
+along the upland road. Later, the moon rose, flooding the earth with
+its weird, transfiguring light.
+
+Once more, Kenneth told Esther his past. He wanted her to know all
+there was to know, he said simply.
+
+Then he poured into her ears the old, old story, sweetest story ever
+told, when love speaks and love listens. But Esther's eyes were
+haunted by a sudden fear.
+
+Kenneth paused, and waited for her to speak.
+
+Then, with a tightening of the lips, he listened to her answer.
+
+She had not thought of love and marriage. She had naturally grown into
+thinking that she would devote herself to philanthropic work, as her
+grandfather, before her, had done.
+
+"Yes," Kenneth said; "but your grandfather married; and his children
+married, and you, I take it, are the joy of his life. Suppose he had
+not married. Would his philanthropic work have been greater?"
+
+Then there was more talk, that seemed to give pain to both, for Esther
+said:
+
+"I will go soon, and not return; for my presence here would only make
+you unhappy."
+
+"No," he urged, "return to Gila.
+
+"You say you regard marriage as very solemn. So do I. You say you
+would feel it wrong to marry one you did not love. So should I."
+
+"I have been candid with you," she said in evident distress. To which
+he responded bitterly:
+
+"You think me a godless wretch. Well, I guess I am. But I had begun to
+grope after God, and stumbled in my darkness. I have been beset with
+tormenting doubts. The idea of God is so vast I cannot grasp even a
+fraction of it. You are right. I am godless."
+
+"No, no, not godless," she said. "Jesus of Nazareth, what of Him?"
+
+"I am coming to look upon him as a brother. I could have loved him
+profoundly, had I known him when he was on earth. But it all seems so
+far away in the past. To tell the truth, I have read the Bible very
+little."
+
+"Read it," she urged.
+
+"I should feel all the time that religion had placed a great gulf
+between you and me, and hate it in consequence. Ought religion to
+place a gulf between human souls?"
+
+"The lack of religion might." Silence followed. Then she continued,
+"If I loved you, loved you deeply enough, that would sweep away all
+obstacles."
+
+"And perhaps," he added, "if I had always lived up to the highest
+ideals of life, I might now be worthy of you. I _am_ unworthy, I
+confess it."
+
+"Oh, don't put it that way," she said in distress. "Let it be that I
+am not worthy of the love you offer me, not capable of loving enough
+to--to--marry."
+
+"Miss Bright, you are capable of loving, as few women are. It is my
+misfortune that I have not won your love. I need you to help me live
+my highest and best. All these months, because of your unconscious
+influence, I have been learning to see myself as I am, and as I might
+be. For the first time in my life, I have come in contact with a
+deeply religious soul, and have felt myself struggling towards the
+light. I have wrestled with doubt, again and again, bewildered. You
+teach us that the founder of the Christian religion had compassion on
+sinful men."
+
+"Yes."
+
+"But _you_ have no compassion on _me_."
+
+"You misunderstand," she said. "You see it sometimes happens that
+there is little real happiness, real union, where the wife is a
+believer in God, and the husband seeks--"
+
+"The devil," supplemented Kenneth. "I confess I have followed the
+devil to some extent."
+
+"Don't," she said. "It hurts me to the heart to hear you speak so. I
+meant to say if he had no sympathy with her spiritual life."
+
+"If I were a professing Christian, do you think you would care more
+for me?"
+
+"I might."
+
+"Suppose I pretended to be a Christian. Many make that pretense, and
+are accounted the real thing."
+
+"Dear Mr. Hastings, let me be a sincere and loyal friend to you, no
+more. Some day, I hope, you will win, in marriage, some rare woman who
+will make you happy."
+
+"Some rare woman? You are that one, Miss Bright. I want no other."
+
+"But you mustn't think of me, Mr. Hastings."
+
+"Do you know what you are, Miss Bright? You are an iceberg."
+
+She laughed.
+
+"That's fortunate. You will not long care for an iceberg. I will go
+soon, and you will forget me."
+
+He turned upon her.
+
+"Forget you? Do you really wish me to forget you?" Did she? She
+wondered.
+
+"No," she answered. Then over her face, lifted in the moonlight, he
+saw the color come.
+
+Their talk drifted to many subjects touching the life in Gila, and the
+larger world outside, to which she was soon to return.
+
+"Will you write to me?" he asked.
+
+"That would make it harder for you to forget," she said, naïvely.
+
+"I do not wish to forget," he said gloomily. "Why should I forget the
+happiest hours I have ever spent?" Why should he?
+
+Back at Clayton Ranch, an older pair of lovers, married lovers, walked
+up and down the veranda in the moonlight.
+
+"John," a soft voice was saying, "I just hope Kenneth will propose to
+Miss Bright to-night."
+
+He laughed.
+
+"You women! Always interested in a love story! How do you know Kenneth
+hasn't proposed to her already?"
+
+"I don't believe he has."
+
+Another silence.
+
+"John?"
+
+"Yes, Mary."
+
+"Does Miss Bright know what a vast fortune Kenneth has inherited?"
+
+"No. Not unless you have told her. He does not wish her to know."
+
+"But, John, that might influence Miss Bright's decision. You know
+these Americans care a great deal for money."
+
+"For shame, Mary, to think such a thing of her! Perhaps you do not
+know that her grandfather is a man of affluence. But he believes in
+the simple life, and lives it. She belongs to a fine old family,
+people of distinction, and wealth."
+
+"Is that true, John? She never told me. How can she work like a galley
+slave here?"
+
+"Because she is a great woman." Silence again.
+
+"With her mind, and heart, and passion for service, and Kenneth's
+intellect, and force of character, and vast wealth, they might be a
+tremendous force for the progress of the human race."
+
+"Can't you help matters on, John? I'm so afraid Miss Bright will
+reject Kenneth, and leave us."
+
+"Well, if she does, I shall be sorry. But we must keep hands off."
+
+On the following day, John Clayton was astounded to hear from Esther
+that she would not return as she had half promised to do in the fall.
+
+But Esther offered no explanations; and Kenneth's calls, from that
+day, grew less frequent.
+
+So the days passed, and two lives drifted apart.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXI
+
+THE VALLEY OF THE SHADOW
+
+
+At the close of the religious service, the following day, Esther
+learned of many cases of sickness, in and about Gila, and especially
+along the water courses. A sort of a fever, the people told her. She
+resolved to make neighborhood calls the following day, and to take
+with her a case of medicine. She found many people sick with what
+seemed to be the same malady; and, thereupon, began a thorough
+investigation. The result was that she persuaded the people to let her
+call a physician.
+
+On the following day, Dr. Mishell drove into camp, and Esther made the
+rounds with him. As she suspected, the malady proved to be typhoid
+fever.
+
+"These people must have intelligent care," the physician said gruffly
+to her. "Do you know anything about nursing?"
+
+She told him she had nursed two patients through typhoid fever.
+
+"You know how to take respiration and temperature, then?" he said
+brusquely.
+
+She assured him she did.
+
+Then he wrote out directions for each patient, especially noting what
+to do, if certain conditions should arise.
+
+"You know the importance of sponging patients?" he asked shortly.
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Any alcohol?"
+
+"I can get it."
+
+And so Esther Bright was installed head nurse in Gila. Helpers rallied
+to her aid.
+
+School was dismissed at an early hour each day, so that Esther could
+make the rounds daily.
+
+The heat grew almost intolerable, but the delicate girl went on her
+way as if made of iron. Dr. Mishell looked her over with a nod of
+approval.
+
+"A woman of sense," he said, in speaking of her to Kenneth Hastings.
+
+The physician came again in three days, only to find many new cases.
+Esther Bright's task was becoming enormous.
+
+"Can you do it?" the physician had asked. And quietly she had
+answered:
+
+"I can do it as long as anyone needs my care."
+
+Again the physician nodded approvingly, and muttered:
+
+"Some women do have some sense."
+
+When this second visit drew to a close, he looked sharply at Esther,
+and said in a crusty tone:
+
+"You are working too hard."
+
+She protested.
+
+"I say you _are_!" he reiterated. "I'm going to find someone to come
+help you. Mr. Clayton wishes it. Are you a Catholic?"
+
+"No, a Quaker."
+
+"Quaker! Quaker!" he repeated. "No objections to a Catholic, I
+suppose?"
+
+"No objections to any human being who serves humanity."
+
+The old man left her abruptly. As he untied his horse, preparatory to
+leaving, he muttered to himself:
+
+"A very unusual woman. A _very_ unusual woman!"
+
+Late on the following day, when Esther returned from her rounds, she
+found the Mexican, who had come to the Christmas entertainment,
+awaiting her. After learning that his Indian wife was sick, she
+gathered up her medical outfit, and started with him up the canyon. It
+was a long and fatiguing tramp.
+
+The Indian woman proved to be another fever patient. She refused the
+medicine, but drank the beef juice the nurse offered her. After trying
+to make the Mexican understand what to do till she came again, Esther
+started down the canyon alone.
+
+It was nearly dark. After walking some distance, she heard the cry of
+wolves. The cries came nearer. She quickened her pace to a run, when,
+catching her foot, she was thrown violently forward into the stream
+below.
+
+She struggled to regain her footing, to climb to the bowlder from
+which she had fallen; but suddenly discovered that she had in some way
+twisted her ankle, and that she could not bear her weight on that
+foot. What was she to do? She was still over a mile from Clayton
+Ranch. If she called, no one could hear her. Oh, those wolves! Their
+cries sent a chill of terror through her. Again she struggled to climb
+up on the bank, but the bowlder above her was slippery, and there was
+nothing to cling to. At last she sent a loud cry for help echoing down
+the canyon. Then she listened. Suddenly she heard a step above her. It
+was the young Apache who had visited the school. His coming was about
+as welcome to her as the wolves would be.
+
+"N[=e]-sh[=e]-äd-nl[)e]h´," he said, beckoning her to join him. She
+shook her head, pointed to her ankle, and again tried to climb. Her
+efforts were futile. Then the Indian lifted her, carried her to a
+level place, and set her down. She was unable to bear her weight on
+the injured foot, and fell. She pointed to her ankle, then down
+towards Gila, hoping the Indian might make her plight known to the
+people in camp.
+
+As if in answer to her pantomimic request, he lifted her easily in his
+arms, and strode swiftly down the canyon. Could it be that he had
+rescued her in order to return her to her friends? It seemed so.
+
+At last it occurred to her to sing her call for help, to attract the
+attention of any miner, or charcoal tender who might chance to be
+going up or down the canyon. So with all the volume she could muster,
+she sang words, telling her plight.
+
+Every little while the Apache would repeat the words:
+
+"N[=e]-sh[=e]-äd-nl[)e]h´."
+
+What could he mean?
+
+About the time Esther was caring for the sick squaw, Kenneth Hastings
+learned from Wathemah that the teacher had gone to the Mexican's shack
+up the canyon. He was filled with alarm.
+
+"What's that ye are sayin', Wathemah?" asked Pete Tompkins, who,
+passing along, had overheard the conversation.
+
+"Me teacher up canyon. Mexican. Sick squaw," replied the child
+laconically.
+
+"Are you sure, Wathemah?" questioned Kenneth.
+
+The child nodded his head, and pointed toward the canyon.
+
+"Them devilish Apaches has been about camp all day," said Pete
+Tompkins, stopping to speak to Kenneth. "I seen some of 'em goin' up
+canyon jest 'fore dark."
+
+"We must go to Miss Bright's rescue at once!" said Kenneth excitedly.
+
+"I'm with ye," said Pete Tompkins. "If a blanked savage harms that air
+schoolma'am I'll smash his skull with the butt o' my gun. I'll jine
+y'r party. Let's take all the hounds. We're likely ter run across
+more'n one Apache. Hello, kids!" he called out. "Jine a rescue party.
+The schoolma'am's went up canyon ter tend sick squaw,--the Mexican's
+woman. Them devilish Apaches is up through the canyon, an' we're
+afeared they'll capture schoolma'am."
+
+Ten well-armed men, some mounted, some unmounted, started up the
+canyon. On their way, they met John Clayton, who joined them. His
+horse was neck and neck with Kenneth's.
+
+"Good God!" said the former to his companion. "What may have happened
+to Miss Bright? What may yet happen to her?"
+
+Kenneth made no reply, but his face was tense.
+
+These two men were in advance, closely followed by Jack Harding and
+Pete Tompkins, on their Mexican ponies.
+
+Suddenly, the party heard the distant cry of wolves, and--was it a
+human voice?--they strained their ears to hear. It was a human voice,
+a woman's voice. They dug their spurs into their horses' sides, and
+fairly flew.
+
+As they were journeying up the canyon, the savage, with his captive in
+his arms, was speeding down the canyon. Suddenly he turned, and took
+the trail leading towards the Apache reservation.
+
+Esther's song for help died on her lips. Every moment seemed eternity;
+every step, miles away from hope of rescue. Then with the energy born
+of despair, she sang again so that her song reached the ears of her
+rescuers:
+
+         "Abide with me!
+         Fast falls the eventide.
+         The darkness deepens--
+         Lord, with me abide!
+     When other helpers fail and comforts flee,
+     Help of the helpless, O, abide with me!"
+
+Then she listened. Could it be the baying of hounds she heard? Her
+heart beat faster. She was not mistaken; she had heard the hounds. And
+now she heard the shouts of men. She began to sing again, but the
+Indian pressed his hand over her mouth, and tightening his hold with
+his other arm, started to run with her. She struggled desperately. He
+held her like a vise. She screamed for help, as she continued to
+struggle.
+
+"Courage!" came ringing back in response to her cry. She knew the
+voice. It was the voice of Kenneth Hastings.
+
+Again the Apache muttered in her ear:
+
+"N[=e]-sh[=e]-äd-nl[)e]h´."
+
+She realized that the men were gaining rapidly upon them, and
+struggled more violently to free herself.
+
+As the Apache ran, his breath came harder. It was no easy task to
+carry his struggling captive, and escape his pursuers. Still he kept
+up a remarkable speed.
+
+A moment more, the hounds came upon him. He kicked desperately, but
+could not free himself from them. Then, winding his fingers around
+Esther's throat, he choked her, and threw her to the ground. He lifted
+his gun, faced his pursuers, and fired. The ball entered the chest of
+Kenneth Hastings, who was in hot pursuit, and nearing the Indian.
+Kenneth fell from his horse, and the savage escaped.
+
+"My God!" exclaimed John Clayton, as he came up. He sprang from his
+saddle, and knelt by Kenneth's side. A little farther on lay Esther,
+unconscious. Her face was ghastly in the dim light, her clothing wet.
+
+"Brandy!" he called. "Any one got brandy?"
+
+"Here," said Pete Tompkins, stepping forward; "here's a flask."
+
+"With shaking hand, John Clayton tried to staunch the wound in
+Kenneth's shoulder. Then he put brandy between his lips, then between
+Esther's. She was like ice.
+
+"The brute!" he exclaimed. "I fear he has killed her!"
+
+Then he pulled off his coat and wrapped it about the girl, saying as
+he did so:
+
+"If she is not dead, the warmth may do her good. Some one ride ahead
+and prepare Mrs. Clayton."
+
+"I'll go, sir," said a Scotch miner, mounting one of the ponies.
+
+"Thank you. Tell Mrs. Clayton that Miss Bright and Mr. Hastings have
+met with an accident, and both are unconscious. Tell her to have hot
+water and blankets ready."
+
+"Come, John," he said, turning to Jack Harding. "Just help me lift
+Miss Bright to my saddle." Mechanically the cowboy obeyed.
+
+"Can one of you fellows carry Hastings on his horse?"
+
+Jack Harding volunteered.
+
+Few words were spoken by any of the men, as they made their way back
+to camp.
+
+Pete Tompkins had noisily boasted that he would kill the Indian; but,
+hearing no reply from any one, he subsided. In spite of his coarseness
+and vulgarity, he was touched by the tragic ending of the young
+teacher's life, and by the evident sorrow of his companions. He looked
+at the still, white face, and something tugged at his heart.
+
+As they passed Keith's house, Mrs. Keith ran out.
+
+"'Ere!" she said. "Wrap 'er in this 'ere warm shawl."
+
+Wathemah ran after them, asking anxiously:
+
+"Me teacher sick?"
+
+"Yes, very sick, Wathemah," answered Clayton.
+
+Just as they reached the Clayton home, Esther roused, and said in a
+dazed way:
+
+"Where am I?"
+
+"You are at home," answered her host, as he carried her into the
+house. "Do you feel better?" he asked, as he laid her on the couch.
+
+"What has happened?" she asked, showing no sign of recognition.
+
+"We don't know," said Mrs. Clayton, bending over her.
+
+She moaned.
+
+"Don't you remember the Indian who came to the schoolhouse?"
+questioned Mr. Clayton anxiously.
+
+"Indian? Schoolhouse?" she repeated in a perplexed way. "Where am I?"
+
+"Here with Mrs. Clayton," said her hostess.
+
+"Mrs. Clayton? Who is _she_?" asked Esther, vacantly.
+
+The group about her exchanged troubled glances.
+
+John Harding was already on his way to the railway station to
+telegraph for Dr. Mishell.
+
+Kenneth Hastings, now conscious, was lying on a bed in the Clayton
+home. John Clayton bent over him, staunching the blood the best he
+could. In the midst of this, they heard a sharp cry from Esther.
+
+"What is it?" questioned Kenneth.
+
+"Miss Bright!" exclaimed John Clayton, starting towards the room where
+the teacher and his wife were. Returning, he explained that Esther had
+apparently sprained her ankle, for it was badly swollen, and probably
+very painful, when Mrs. Clayton attempted to remove her shoe.
+
+Kenneth made no response, but, for a while, lay with eyes closed. He
+started when John Clayton told him that, as yet, Esther had not
+recognized any of the family.
+
+It was a long and anxious night for the ones who watched. In the
+morning, when Esther wakened, she called her companion by name.
+
+"Carla," she said, "I dreamed something dreadful had happened."
+
+As she spoke, she attempted to rise. A twinge of pain in her foot
+stopped her.
+
+"What has happened?" she asked.
+
+"You sprained your ankle yesterday," Carla explained.
+
+"Yesterday?" she repeated, in a puzzled way, as if trying to think of
+something. "Strange, but I can't recall yesterday."
+
+"Dr. Mishell is coming to look at your ankle soon."
+
+"Dr. Mishell! Dr. Mishell!" Esther said, slowly. Then a light came
+into her face. "Oh, yes! Now I remember. He came to Gila to see our
+sick people once, didn't he? I must dress so as to make the rounds
+with him."
+
+So saying, she started again to rise, but sank back with a pale face.
+
+"My foot, and head, and throat are so painful. It's so queer. I feel
+ill, too. What has happened?" she asked again.
+
+"You were injured, somehow," explained Carla, "and were unconscious,
+when found. Mr. Hastings was unconscious, too."
+
+"Mr. Hastings? Is he here?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"And sick?"
+
+"Very. Dr. Mishell and Sister Mercy, the Catholic sister, are with him
+now."
+
+"I must help take care of Mr. Hastings, Carla."
+
+"By and by, perhaps," said the girl, soothingly. "You must get well
+yourself first."
+
+Kenneth Hastings' condition proved to be more serious than they
+thought, and Dr. Mishell looked grave. He had removed the bullet, and
+Sister Mercy had assisted him. When at last the wound was dressed, Dr.
+Mishell visited the other patient. He examined her ankle, and
+pronounced it a bad sprain. He examined her head, and looking towards
+Mrs. Clayton, said:
+
+"It is as you surmised, concussion. Probably due to a fall."
+
+He gave a few directions to Sister Mercy, and after a few gruff, but
+kindly, words, departed, to look after his other patients in Gila.
+
+Now, Carla Earle began her career as a nurse, and soon her
+ministrations were known in every house, and shack, where fever had
+entered.
+
+After Esther learned the details of her rescue, and of how Kenneth
+Hastings had again risked his life for hers, she grew abstracted,
+talked little, and ate less. And after she had learned that he was
+critically ill, delirious, as a result of the wound received in
+rescuing her, her sorrow became patent to all. Could she not see him?
+But Sister Mercy guarded her patient, and watched, and prayed the
+prayers of her church. Physician and nurse both knew that Kenneth's
+life hung by a thread. The sick man talked in his delirium; and his
+heart story lodged in the heart of the nurse, who watched by him, and
+who nursed him back to life.
+
+When Esther was able to go about on crutches, she visited her patients
+who were nearest to Clayton Ranch. One day Patrick Murphy called on
+her.
+
+"How are Brigham and Kathleen?" she asked, as she greeted him. "I hope
+they are better."
+
+"No betther, Miss," he said, struggling for composure. "The docther
+has been lavin' av his midicine, an' Carla (I mean Miss Earle) has
+came each day (the saints bliss her!) but still the faver is bad. An'
+Brigham--"
+
+He could say no more. After a while, he continued:
+
+"An' Brigham begs me ter bring yez to him. He insists upon callin' yez
+his Christ teacher, ma'am. He asks ivery day has yez come, an' cries
+wid disappointmint, whin he foinds yez are not there. I told him I
+would bring yez back wid me if yez could come."
+
+"I'll go with you," she promised, "as soon as I speak to Mrs.
+Clayton."
+
+When Esther entered the sick room at the Murphy home, she found two
+critical cases of typhoid fever. Their temperature was so high she was
+filled with alarm. She questioned the mother closely, as to what had
+thus far been done for the children.
+
+"Did you follow the doctor's directions?" she asked.
+
+"No, Miss, I didn't think it worth while. Back East where I wuz riz,
+they didn't think it necessary ter wash sick folks with sody an' water
+every day, an' alkyhol besides. They jest let sick folks be in peace,
+an' give 'em a good washin' after they was corpses."
+
+"But you see, Mrs. Murphy, we must sponge typhoid patients with water
+and with alcohol, to lower their temperature. Brigham's fever is very
+high."
+
+"I done all I could fur him," sniffled the mother.
+
+"Yes, I know," said Esther, kindly. "What has he eaten? Did you give
+him the beef juice?"
+
+"No, mum. That wuz no eatin' at all. I give him meat an' potatoes an'
+cabbage, jest the way he liked 'em cooked," she said, wiping her eyes
+on her apron. "He ain't eat none sence. He jest cries an' cries fur
+ye, Miss."
+
+"Brigham is very sick," the teacher said, gently. "He may not recover.
+Shall I take care of him?"
+
+"Yes, Miss, I wisht yer would."
+
+Esther called for water and clean linen. She sponged the children,
+made the necessary changes, ventilated the room, and closed the door
+into the living room; and for the first time since their illness
+began, the children had quiet. The angel of Death hovered near, and
+the Murphy family were filled with an indefinable fear.
+
+Esther watched over the two children throughout the night. Brigham was
+delirious. Once he seemed terrified, and called out:
+
+"Mamma, don't hurt my teacher! Wathemah, what did my teacher tell yer
+about Jesus? Has my teacher come?"
+
+At daybreak, when Esther gave him his medicine, he knew her and
+smiled. As she bent over him, he said:
+
+"I knowed ye'd come. Is Jesus near?"
+
+"Yes, very near, dear," she answered, softly.
+
+"An' He loves little childern?"
+
+"Yes, dear, loves them dearly."
+
+"I am so glad." He closed his eyes and seemed smiling in his sleep.
+Rousing again, he said in a weak voice:
+
+"I am so tired. Will yer carry me ter Jesus?"
+
+"Yes, dear."
+
+Then tenderly the teacher's arms went around the little form. She
+said, aloud:
+
+"Dear Jesus, I have brought you little Brigham, because you love
+little children. He is too tired to go any farther alone, so I have
+brought him to you. Please carry him the rest of the way home."
+
+Gently, she drew her arm away. The child smiled as if satisfied, and
+dozed off again.
+
+It was late in the morning, when Dr. Mishell reached Murphy Ranch. He
+looked grave as he watched Brigham.
+
+"Better remain here if you can, Miss Bright. Good nursing will save
+the girl, and may save the boy; but it is doubtful. You realize he is
+in a critical condition."
+
+"Yes. I will remain, Doctor; but Miss Earle will need help with the
+other patients."
+
+"Oh, Miss Earle is doing finely," he assured her. "And with one
+exception, none of the cases are as serious as these two."
+
+"Who is the exception?"
+
+"I believe his name is Clifton. A cowboy by the name of Harding has
+gone to his shack, to-day, to nurse him."
+
+"Just like him," she thought.
+
+She made no reply. As the day wore on, Kathleen's fever decreased, but
+Brigham's increased. The boy again grew delirious. He repeatedly
+called Wathemah and his teacher. As night drew near, he grew worse.
+The parents stood near the bed, weeping. Suddenly the child cried out:
+
+"Papa, won't yer bring my teacher? She knows the way ter heaven."
+
+"She's here, lad," he said, taking one of Brigham's hands in his. Then
+the father repeated the prayers of his church.
+
+At dawn, Brigham lifted his arms, and smiled. He had found the Open
+Door.
+
+When the Murphy children knew their brother was dead, they were filled
+with awe, and huddled in one corner of the living room. The mother
+sobbed aloud, but refused to come near or touch the still little
+figure.
+
+The teacher, with tears rolling down her cheeks, prepared her little
+friend's body for burial. Then she spoke again to the father,
+reminding him of further preparations. He rose, and, going into the
+room, where the family were gathered, said:
+
+"We must have a wake. Poor Brigham."
+
+"No, yer won't have no Cath'lic doin's with Brigham," responded his
+wife.
+
+"Suppose," interposed the teacher, "we have a funeral service for
+Brigham in the schoolhouse, among the children he loved."
+
+"Shure!" responded the father, wiping his eyes, "that'd be jist the
+thing."
+
+"Do you approve, Mrs. Murphy?" asked the teacher.
+
+"Yes, Miss. That'd please Brigham, I know." And again she sobbed.
+
+So Brigham was carried to the schoolhouse. The teacher placed a
+crucifix at the head of the coffin, and lighted several candles. It
+was the first time religious services for the dead had ever been held
+in Gila. Heretofore, the dead had simply been buried.
+
+The schoolroom was filled to its uttermost. The girl preacher rose and
+told them of Brigham's lovely life ever since she had known him, of
+his interest in Jesus, and of his desire to know the way to heaven.
+She told of his last words, and how he asked her to carry him to
+Jesus. As she spoke, tears rolled quietly down the bronzed cheeks of
+many a man and woman whose life had been one long record of sin.
+
+Near the coffin, stood Wathemah, his eyes riveted upon the face of his
+little comrade. The teacher saw the child take off his string of beads
+and lay it in the coffin.
+
+They buried Brigham on the foothills, and left him alone;--no, not
+alone, for Wathemah remained standing like a sentinel beside the grave
+of his little friend.
+
+Wathemah did not return to Mrs. Keith's as usual for supper. Neither
+was he in his little bunk that night. No Wathemah appeared for
+breakfast. Inquiries began to be circulated. Where was Wathemah?
+Esther grew very uneasy, and started out to search for him herself.
+She returned disappointed. An hour later, Jack Harding returned with
+the child. He had found him keeping watch by Brigham's grave. So deep
+is the Apache's affection, so real his grief.
+
+Esther gathered Wathemah in her arms, and talked to him long of
+Brigham. Henceforth, to that little child, as to many of his race, the
+heavens would be full of the Great Spirit.
+
+"Can Brigham see me from the sky?" asked Wathemah.
+
+"I think so, dear. You'll want to be a good boy, won't you?"
+
+For answer, he burst into tears, and she mingled her own with his.
+
+From that time on, Wathemah loved the stars at night, and would stand
+watching them with deepening wonder and awe. Then began his
+questioning of things eternal, that upreach of the soul, that links it
+to the Divine.
+
+The day after Esther's return to Clayton Ranch, Dr. Mishell asked her
+to go with him to the shack of Mark Clifton.
+
+"He cannot recover," he said. "He realizes that. He has repeatedly
+asked to see you."
+
+As they approached the shack, they heard a voice. Jack Harding was
+reading aloud from the Bible.
+
+On the walls of the shack, were guns, hides, and coarse pictures; in
+one corner, were a case of whiskey bottles, and a pack of cards. The
+sick man seemed to be a man of about thirty. He greeted his visitors
+courteously, and at once turned to Esther.
+
+"I have asked to see you," he said. "I think I cannot recover. I am
+not prepared to die. I have attended your meetings since you have held
+them in the timber. I believe there is something in your religion; I
+believe in God."
+
+His voice was faint.
+
+"Is there any hope for me?" he asked, searching her face with his keen
+black eyes.
+
+She shrank from his bold gaze, then answered gently:
+
+"There is hope for every one who repents of his sins and turns to
+Christ."
+
+"But," he said, impatiently, "I haven't done so very much to repent
+of. I haven't committed any crime, don't you know? The world doesn't
+hold such high ideals of what a fellow ought to be as you do. I am no
+better nor worse than the rest of men. I came to that conclusion long
+ago."
+
+"Indeed!" She spoke coldly. "Is that all? Then you do not need me."
+She rose to go.
+
+"No, it is not all!" interrupted Jack Harding. "Miss Bright, show him
+his sin; show him the way of repentance, as you did me."
+
+Suddenly the cowboy knelt by the bunk, and poured forth such a
+heartfelt prayer for the man before him, all were touched. Clifton lay
+with eyes closed. Esther spoke again.
+
+"Mr. Clifton, have you done nothing to repent of? Think. You lured to
+this country the sixteen-year-old orphan daughter of a clergyman. You
+promised to marry her, if she would join you here. You placed her to
+board in a saloon. You refused to marry her! Thank God, the child is
+safe at last!"
+
+There was no mistaking her tone.
+
+"Marry _her_?" he repeated, contemptuously. "Marry _her_? I'd as soon
+marry a cat. I think too much of my family. I wouldn't disgrace them
+by marrying her, the daughter of a poverty-stricken curate."
+
+Then they saw Esther Bright's eyes flash. Her face grew as stern as
+the granite hills of her native state. She spoke slowly, and each
+word--as Dr. Mishell afterwards said--seemed to weigh a ton apiece.
+
+"Your family?" she said. "Your family?" she repeated with scorn. "Your
+_family_? This girl is a child of God!"
+
+And turning, she left the shack.
+
+Jack Harding remained all through the night, talking and praying, at
+intervals, with Clifton.
+
+At dawn, the sick man cried out again and again:
+
+"God be merciful to me a sinner!"
+
+Then, at last, he said:
+
+"Jack, I want to atone for my wrong to Miss Earle as much as I can. I
+see it all now. Send for a clergyman. I can't live, I know. If Miss
+Earle becomes my wife, it will remove the stigma, and she will inherit
+a fortune willed to me. Send for her. Perhaps she will forgive me,
+before I die."
+
+At the sunset hour, word passed throughout the village that Mark
+Clifton had just died, and that before his death he had been married
+to Carla Earle. The clergyman who attended the dying man wrote to his
+parents, telling them of their son's marriage and death, and of his
+farewell messages to them. He added:
+
+"Your son died a repentant man."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXII
+
+THE GREATEST OF THESE IS LOVE
+
+
+On her return from Murphy Ranch, Esther began to assist in the care of
+Kenneth Hastings. As yet, he had not recognized her. Sometimes, as she
+sat by him, tears would gather and roll down her cheeks. One day,
+Kenneth opened his eyes and asked:
+
+"Who are you? What are you doing here?"
+
+"I am Esther," she answered, "taking care of you."
+
+"No, you're not," he said, wildly. "Get out of here!"
+
+She stepped back where he could not see her. He rambled on.
+
+"Some one shot!" He tried to rise. But Sister Mercy, entering, quieted
+him, and he lay back, muttering. Occasionally, Esther caught the words
+"Esther," "gulf," "doubt." About an hour later, he awakened, quiet.
+She sat where she could watch his face, and learn her great lesson.
+
+"Are you an angel?" he asked, with unrecognizing eyes.
+
+She took one of his hands in hers, and rested her cheek against it.
+His hand grew wet with her tears.
+
+"Are you a soul in bliss?" he asked, softly. "I knew an angel when I
+was on earth. But a gulf yawned between us, a gulf, a gulf!"
+
+Then he seemed oblivious of the presence of anyone, and muttered:
+
+"I have lost my way--lost my way,--lost."
+
+At last he slept again. And Esther Bright, kneeling by his bedside,
+with one of his hands clasped in hers, prayed. Still he slept on. When
+he awakened, John Clayton stood looking down upon him. Kenneth looked
+around, puzzled.
+
+"Well, John! Where am I?"
+
+"Here in my home. Are you feeling better, Kenneth?"
+
+"Better? What do you mean?"
+
+"You've been very sick, and delirious. But now you'll recover."
+
+"What was the matter?"
+
+"An Indian blackguard shot you through the shoulder. Septic conditions
+set in, and you had a high fever. Keep still there," he said, as he
+prevented his friend from moving.
+
+"Queer, John," said Kenneth, after a moment's pause. "I can't recall
+anything that has happened recently but a drive with Miss Bright just
+before she went away. But I can't speak of that--"
+
+And Esther Bright, resting on the couch in the living room, heard
+every word. A long silence followed.
+
+"John," said Kenneth in a low voice, "tell her sometime for me, that I
+have lived a clean, honorable life. You know I have gone to the
+saloons here sometimes, largely because other human beings were there.
+You know I gambled a little to kill time. So deucedly lonely! Tell her
+I wasn't bad at heart."
+
+He started to say more, but suddenly stopped. And Esther, hearing in
+spite of herself, searched her own heart.
+
+Dr. Mishell came the next day, and finding his patient delirious
+again, announced that he would stay with him till danger was past. So
+the physician and nurse again watched together.
+
+It was the day Esther was to have left for Massachusetts. When
+questioned as to the time of her departure, she now assured everyone
+she would stay till her sick people were well.
+
+While Dr. Mishell sat by Kenneth, Mr. Clayton found Esther on the
+veranda, in tears. He pretended not to see.
+
+"Does Dr. Mishell give any hope of Mr. Hastings' recovery?" she asked.
+
+"Yes. There has been a decided change for the better this past hour."
+
+He slipped his hand under her arm, and, together, they walked up and
+down the path to the road.
+
+"My dear friend," he said to her, "Kenneth _may_ die, but I know a
+powerful restorative, that might help to save his life, if we could
+only bring it to him." He knew her heart better than Kenneth did.
+
+"Oh, let _me_ take it to him," she said eagerly. "I'd be so thankful
+to have a chance to help save his life. He's done so much for me, and
+he is such a loyal--friend."
+
+"You shall be the one to bring him the medicine if you will," he said
+smiling.
+
+"What is it? Where can I get it?" she asked, eager to go on her errand
+of mercy.
+
+"Where can you get it?" he repeated. "You can find it in your own
+heart. It is love that will save Kenneth, dear Miss Bright."
+
+Her tears fell fast.
+
+"I fear I have made him very unhappy," she said.
+
+"I suspect you have," he responded.
+
+"Did he tell you so?"
+
+"No. You know he has been delirious from the first. In his delirium,
+he has talked of you constantly."
+
+At last danger was past, and nurse and physician assured the Clayton
+household that Kenneth Hastings would recover.
+
+He awakened from sleep, alone. As he opened his eyes, they fell upon a
+copy of Tennyson's works. It was open at "The Princess." Someone had
+been reading, and marking passages. He at once turned to the title
+page, and at the top, read a name he half expected to see. Could it be
+possible that she was still there? He looked around the room. By his
+bedside, stood a small round table, on which stood a low glass dish,
+filled with pink cactus blossoms. Near by, was an open Bible. Here,
+too, was a marked passage,--"faith, hope, love, these three; but the
+greatest of these is love," He knew the Bible was Esther's. He laid it
+down, as though he had trespassed upon her innermost heart. He closed
+his eyes, and lay in a half-dream of possible joy. Over and over, the
+words seemed to repeat themselves,--"the greatest of these is love."
+There was a quiet step, and Esther entered, looking fresh and cool in
+a white dimity gown. In her hands, was a bunch of cactus flowers. She
+laid them down, and with a joyous cry went to him, clasping his hand
+in hers.
+
+"You know me at last?" she asked. "I am so glad!"
+
+Kenneth did not speak. She continued, "I feared you would never know
+me again." She seemed to hesitate a moment, but went on. "I feared I
+could never tell you what I now _know_, what I want to tell you."
+
+"What do you know?" he asked. "What do you wish to tell me?"
+
+"That I love you," she answered, and stooping down, she put her cheek
+against his.
+
+"Look out, Kenneth!" she said, warningly, with a happy little laugh.
+"You mustn't forget about the wound in your shoulder."
+
+But he held her captive.
+
+"What do I care for the wound in my shoulder, when the wound in my
+heart is healed?" he asked of her.
+
+"I came to heal the wound I made in your heart," she said, while a
+pink wave swept over her face.
+
+Still he held her, drawing her closer to him.
+
+"The lips," he said, "on the lips, as a penance."
+
+"My penance is easy," she said with a happy ring in her voice.
+
+Then drawing a chair close to the side of his bed, she let him gather
+her hands in his.
+
+"Strange!" he said. "During my illness I dreamed it would be this way.
+I must have dreamed a long time. You were always with me, I thought.
+You were always in white, and often brought me flowers. Once, I found
+myself in heaven. You met me, and smiled and said, 'Come.' You brought
+me the most heavenly being I ever beheld, and placing my hand in his,
+said significantly, 'He loved much!' Then you vanished. And the
+heavenly being smiled upon me. And my heart grew glad. I began to
+understand the mysteries of life. Then I thought how you had led me to
+the very fountain of love, that I might know how to love you purely. I
+began to feel I could renounce all my hopes of your love, because
+there was something in that other presence that taught me that great
+Love asks no return. It just loves on, and on. Then I thought this
+heavenly being called me brother. And thousands of voices began to
+sing, 'Glory to God in the highest!'"
+
+"Beautiful!" she said.
+
+"Then I seemed to float in space, and I knew that you were near me.
+Your arms were full of flowers, and you offered up silent prayers for
+me that bridged the gulf between us."
+
+She kissed him again, saying softly:
+
+"Beloved, I did bridge the gulf with prayers. How stupid I was not to
+know sooner!"
+
+"Not to know what?"
+
+"Not to know love when it came."
+
+"But you know it now, Beloved?" he said, drawing the hands he clasped
+nearer to himself. "I thank God for that."
+
+He closed his eyes, and lay very still, still clasping her hands. She
+watched by him. At last, his hands relaxed their hold, and she knew by
+his regular breathing that he was asleep.
+
+John Clayton came to the door, saw how it was, and went away. So did
+the others who came to inquire. And Kenneth slept on, a restful,
+restoring sleep. And as Esther watched, she repeated to herself:
+
+"The Greatest of These is Love."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIII
+
+AT SUNSET
+
+
+It was Dr. Mishell speaking.
+
+"My dear young lady, if Mr. Hastings must go to England, as he says he
+must, he should not go alone. He needs care. I have recommended you as
+a competent nurse." His eyes twinkled.
+
+"Is it _safe_ for him to travel now?" asked Esther.
+
+"If he makes the journey by slow stages."
+
+The physician spoke with some hesitation.
+
+"At any rate he should get out of this intense heat as soon as
+possible."
+
+"But the ocean voyage," she suggested.
+
+"Probably do him good."
+
+The physician had already extended his congratulations to them. Before
+leaving, he gripped Kenneth's hand, and said heartily:
+
+"My nurse will be a helpmate to you. She is a woman of sense."
+
+While he still gripped Kenneth's hand, he turned to Esther, and
+extended his other hand to her. He placed her hand in Kenneth's, and
+said impressively:
+
+"'What _God_ hath joined together, let not man put asunder.' Miss
+Bright, you are to marry a true man. Always _trust_ him."
+
+His eyes filled. He turned abruptly and was gone.
+
+Poor Dr. Mishell!
+
+The wilting heat of August was upon them.
+
+At evening, Esther, wearied with packing trunks, joined Kenneth on
+the veranda. As she sat there, Wathemah ran to her, and flung a bunch
+of flowers in her lap.
+
+"Why do you leave me?" he asked.
+
+She put her arm about him, and told him she was going home, a long,
+long way from there, and that Mr. Hastings was going with her.
+
+"Wathemah go, too?" he asked.
+
+Both laughed.
+
+"No, little chap," she said, drawing him closer to her, "not this
+time."
+
+"Wathemah go, too," he said, reproachfully, looking at Kenneth with
+marked disapproval.
+
+"Do you love your teacher?" asked Kenneth. He, too, liked the child.
+
+Wathemah nodded.
+
+"Would you like to be her boy, and live with her always?"
+
+Wathemah placed one arm about his teacher's neck, and said softly:
+
+"Wathemah's mother!"
+
+Kenneth laughed again, and declared he was jealous.
+
+Then Esther told the little fellow she would come back to Gila and get
+him, and he should then go to live with her always.
+
+"Take me now," he urged.
+
+"No, dear," she said.
+
+With that, he sprang from her, and walked proudly out of the yard, on
+toward the canyon, without turning, or looking back.
+
+"A nugget of gold from the Rockies," said Kenneth, looking after him.
+
+"An Arizona cactus," she replied, "lovely, but hard to handle."
+
+Wathemah trudged up the canyon, to his favorite bowlder, where he
+went, often, to listen to the waters. There, he threw himself down,
+and cried himself to sleep. He had slept a half-hour, perhaps, when he
+was awakened by voices.
+
+"Why, here's Wathemah," called out Jack Harding.
+
+Another spoke, "He's a queer un. He never will be civilized."
+
+The group of cowboys gathered about the child.
+
+"What's the matter, sonny?" asked his friend, Jack Harding.
+
+Then he told them of his teacher's refusal to take him with her.
+
+"Don't cry, little kid!" said Jack. "Here, boys, let's give him money
+ter go home with Miss Bright. I'll jest ask her ter take him along
+with her, an' I'll pay fur his keep. Don't cry, sonny. It's all right.
+Down in y'r pockets, pards, an' fork out some money fur Wathemah. We
+saved him, an' raised him, yer know."
+
+His own hand went down into his pockets, and into his hat went a roll
+of bills. He passed his hat, and soon it was full of bills and silver
+dollars.
+
+That evening, it began to be whispered about that Wathemah was to go
+with Miss Bright. But of this rumor she knew nothing.
+
+Two days later, the hands of young men and maidens were busy
+decorating the Clayton home for the wedding of Esther Bright and
+Kenneth Hastings. Cactus blossoms of exquisite form and color were
+used. Not only the interior of the house, but the veranda and yard as
+well, were one glorious mass of color.
+
+Jack Harding worked faithfully, stopping now and then to talk with
+Kenneth, who lay on a couch on the veranda.
+
+Carla, too, was busy, putting artistic touches here and there. She,
+too, came often to the sick man's side.
+
+But Esther was forbidden to work, and when she persisted, Mr. Clayton
+captured her and took her off for a ride. She was to be married at
+sunset.
+
+While they were out driving, one of John Clayton's cowboys drove up
+from the station, bringing David Bright and an English clergyman, a
+friend of Kenneth's, with him.
+
+When Esther returned, and found her grandfather, her joy knew no
+bounds.
+
+"I wish now, Kenneth, that we were to marry ourselves, as Friends do,"
+she said, "but grandfather can give me away."
+
+The guests who had been bidden, gathered in the yard, just as the
+glory of the sunset began. There was Bobbie, with the Carmichaels;
+there were some of the cowboys and cowlasses, miners and ranchers who
+had attended the meetings; all the Clayton household; Dr. Mishell and
+Sister Mercy, Miss Gale, and Wathemah were there. Jack Harding kept a
+close watch on Wathemah, not knowing just what he might do.
+
+As the sun neared the horizon, the clergyman took his place in the
+yard, Kenneth stepped forward, and waited. Esther Bright, in a sheer
+white gown, freshly laundered,--a gown she had worn many times as she
+had ministered to the sick, came forward on the arm of her stately old
+grandfather, who gave her away. His benign face seemed to hallow the
+hour.
+
+The colors in the sky seemed to vie with the cactus blossoms. Yellows,
+and violets, and deep crimson, faint clouds with golden edges, violet,
+then rose-colored, all melting into the dome of the sky.
+
+The man and the woman were repeating the marriage ritual of the
+Church of England, while this miracle of beauty flashed through the
+heavens.
+
+The plaintive cry of the mourning dove rang out, followed by the
+cheerful piping of a cardinal.
+
+The human voices went on with the solemnest vows man and woman may
+speak.
+
+The exquisite notes of the cardinal, then of a thrush, accompanied
+their voices. The beauty of the dying day played over Esther Bright
+and Kenneth Hastings, as they stood in the glory of their youth, and
+of their love.
+
+Just as the clergyman pronounced the closing words of the marriage
+service, the heavens leaped into a splendor of color; a mocking bird
+caught up all the songs that had furnished an obligato to the marriage
+service; and, as if to outdo all the other feathered songsters, burst
+into a perfect ecstasy of song.
+
+In the midst of the congratulations and feasting, Wathemah kept close
+to Esther's side.
+
+The following day, Kenneth, Esther and David Bright were to begin
+their long journey eastward. The day dawned. All Gila gathered at the
+distant station to bid them God speed.
+
+"Where is Wathemah?" Esther asked.
+
+"I don't know," answered a miner. "I found him cryin' 'cause yer
+wouldn't take him with yer."
+
+"Poor little chap! But where's Jack?" she questioned.
+
+"There they be," said a ranchman, pointing to Jack and Wathemah,
+standing apart from the crowd. She stepped toward them.
+
+"I have come to say good-by," she said. "You won't forget, Jack, to
+follow the Christ; you won't forget to pray?"
+
+She laid her hand on his arm. He stood battling with himself. Her
+tender voice, her eyes filled with tears, almost unmanned him.
+
+"Is it not much, do yer think, ter let yer go, as have brought me ter
+know God, as have learned me ter live right, an' have been like God's
+angel ter me? God help me!" The strong man's face worked, and he
+turned from her. After a moment, he put his hand in his pocket, and
+drew forth the Bible she had given him.
+
+"I wisht I'd a knowed about this when I was a lad. My life'd ben
+differnt. I thank yer fur all yer've done fur me, and all yer've
+learned me. But it seems I can't let yer go. God help me!"
+
+He stood with head bent and hands clinched.
+
+At last, Esther spoke again:
+
+"Good-by, John. You have fought a good fight, and conquered. Now, help
+the others with all your might." Ah, how much she had helped him in
+his battle!
+
+He grasped her hand and held it. So they stood. Then he said:
+
+"Take the little kid with yer. Give him a chance. I'll send him money
+as long as I live. I ain't got nobody else ter care fur."
+
+She would help the strong man, now, if she could; but how could she?
+He had this battle to fight alone.
+
+"You wish _me_ to take Wathemah, John?"
+
+"Yes. Give him a chance,--differnt surroundings."
+
+He lifted a bag of money.
+
+"This 'ere holds nearly one hunderd dollars. The boys give it to
+Wathemah ter go home with yer."
+
+"Did they? How generous!"
+
+The child ran to her, fearful he should be left behind. She hesitated.
+How could she care for her convalescent husband, and this impetuous,
+high-strung child? She turned to Kenneth and spoke with him.
+
+Jack lifted Wathemah in his arms and kissed him, saying:
+
+"Good-by, little pard. Mind now, no more cussin'."
+
+David Bright, who had overheard the conversation, now stepped forward,
+and said, "Let the child go with us, Esther, if those who have reared
+him consent."
+
+Both Mr. and Mrs. Keith, who stood near him, signified their
+willingness. The party then entered the Pullman, and a few minutes
+later, the train drew out from the station.
+
+Esther and Wathemah went to the rear platform, and watched till a turn
+in the road hid their friends from their sight. After a time Kenneth
+joined them.
+
+"Tears, Esther?" he said, lifting her face.
+
+"But not of sorrow," she returned.
+
+He put an arm around each, and they stood looking down upon the
+majesty of the scene through which they were passing.
+
+One looking back to that moment, would say it had been prophetic of
+the future. The man of power, destined to become a determining factor
+in the development of the great Southwest; the woman at his side,
+great of heart and brain and soul; and this little prince of the
+Rockies, with his splendid heritage of courage, destined to be the
+educational leader of his race. And it was this woman of vision, who,
+during the years that were to come, saw clearly the great work her
+husband and foster son might do, and nerved them for it by her faith
+in the work, and their power to do it.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIV
+
+AFTERMATH
+
+
+It was a substantial stone house, built against the mountainside,
+overlooking a picturesque canyon. A woman sat on the broad veranda.
+Occasionally, she turned her head, and looked down the mountain road,
+listening as though expecting some one. Then she walked down the path,
+and stood watching. A little five-year-old girl joined her, flitting
+about like a sprite.
+
+"Will father come soon, mother?" she asked.
+
+"I hope so, Edith. He said he would come to-day." There was a far away
+look in the mother's eyes.
+
+"Why _doesn't_ father come?" the child continued.
+
+"Oh, he has been a long way, and has traveled many days, dear.
+Something may have happened to detain him."
+
+"What could have happened, mother?" the little one asked.
+
+"Oh, business, or the rails might have spread, or there might have
+been a washout, or a landslide."
+
+The mother again looked down the road. Then she walked slowly back to
+the veranda and took up her sewing. The child leaned against her knee.
+
+"Mother, when you were a little girl, did you have any little girls to
+play with?"
+
+"No. I had just my dear grandfather."
+
+"Then you know how lonely I am, mother. It's pretty hard to be a
+little girl and all alone."
+
+"Do you think you are alone, little daughter, when you have father,
+and aunt Carla, and mother?"
+
+"But you are big, mother, don't you see? When a little girl hasn't any
+other little boys and girls to play with, the world's a pretty
+lonesome place."
+
+The mother sighed.
+
+The child rested her chin in her dainty hands, and looked up through
+her long lashes into her mother's eyes.
+
+"I have been thinking, mother."
+
+The child was given to confidences, especially with her mother.
+
+"What did you think, Edith?" The mother smiled encouragingly.
+
+"I thought I'd pray for a brother."
+
+A tear trembled on the mother's cheek.
+
+"A little brother?" The mother looked far away.
+
+"Oh, a _b-i-g_ brother!" said the child, stretching her arms by way of
+illustration.
+
+"What would you say, sweetheart, if a big brother should come to-day?"
+
+The little one clapped her hands.
+
+"A really, _truly_, big brother?" she asked, dancing about in glee.
+
+"A really, truly, big brother,--Wathemah. You have never seen him, and
+he has never seen you, since you were a baby. But he is coming home
+soon, you know."
+
+"Will he play with me?" she asked. "You and Aunt Carla just 'nopolize
+father and the big ladies and gentlemen when they come. But
+_sometimes_ father plays with me, doesn't he, mother?"
+
+"Yes, sometimes. He loves his little daughter."
+
+"I don't know." She shook her head doubtfully.
+
+"I heard father say he loved you bestest of ev'rybody in a world."
+
+She threw up her arms and gave a little jump.
+
+"Oh, I wish I had some one to play with!"
+
+"Let's go watch for father again," said the mother, rising.
+
+This time they were not disappointed. They heard the sound of wheels;
+then they saw the father. The little daughter ran like the wind down
+the road. The father stopped the horses, gave the reins to the driver,
+and stepped to the ground. In an instant the little sprite was in his
+arms, hugging him about the neck, while her ripples of laughter filled
+the air. The wife approached, and was folded in the man's embrace.
+
+"Father," said the child, "I am to have a big brother, mother says."
+
+"You are?" Great astonishment.
+
+The parents smiled.
+
+"An', father,"--here she coquetted with him--"you and mother are not
+to 'nopolize him when he comes. He's going to play with me, isn't he,
+mother?"
+
+"I think so." A grave smile.
+
+The child was given to saying her father "un'erstood."
+
+"When did you hear from Wathemah, Esther?" the father asked.
+
+"About ten days ago. I'll read you his letter. I shall not be
+surprised to see him any day, now."
+
+"Wathemah is my big brother, Father. Mother said so. She says he's
+always been my big brother, only _I_ didn't re'lize it, you know."
+
+The parents looked amused.
+
+"Yes, Edith, he is your brother, and a dear brother, too," said the
+father.
+
+When they were seated on the veranda, and the child was perched on
+her father's knee, Esther brought Wathemah's last letter, and read it
+aloud to her husband.
+
+"_Dear Mother Esther:_
+
+"This is probably the last letter I shall write you from Harvard for
+some time. As soon as Commencement is over, I shall go to Carlisle
+again for a brief visit, and then start for Arizona, to Father Kenneth
+and you, my dear Mother Esther, and my little sister and Carla and
+Jack. Now that the time approaches for me to return to you, I can
+hardly wait.
+
+"I may have expressed my gratitude to you and Father Kenneth in
+different ways before, but I wish to do so again now.
+
+"I am deeply indebted to him for his generosity, and for his fatherly
+interest and counsel. But it is to you, my beloved teacher, I owe most
+of all. All that I am or ever may be, I owe entirely to you. You found
+me a little savage, you loved me and believed in me, and made it
+possible for me to become a useful man. As I have grown older, I have
+often wondered at your patience with me, and your devotion to the
+interests of the Indian. You have done great things already for him,
+and I am confident that you will do much more to bring about a true
+appreciation of him, his character and his needs. The Indian in
+transition is a problem. You know more about that problem than almost
+anyone else.
+
+"I never told you about my birthday, did I? Do you know the day I
+count my years by? My first day, and your first day at the Gila
+school. Then my real birth took place, for I began to be a living
+soul.
+
+"So, in a spiritual sense, you are my real mother. I have often
+wondered if the poor creature who bore me is still living, and living
+in savagery. All a son's affection I have given to you, my beloved
+foster mother. It is now nearly sixteen years since you found me a
+little savage. I must have been about six years of age, then; so, on
+the next anniversary of your first day in the Gila school, I shall be
+twenty-two years old. From that day till now, you have been the
+dearest object in the world to me. I am sure no mother could be more
+devotedly loved by her son than you are loved by me. I strive to find
+words to express the affection in my heart.
+
+"And Grandfather Bright! How tender and gentle he always was to me,
+from the time we had our beautiful wedding journey until his death! He
+came to Carlisle to see me as he might have gone to see a beloved son.
+He always seemed to me like God, when I was a little fellow. And as I
+grew older, he became to me the highest ideal of Christian manhood. I
+went over to Concord Cemetery not long ago, and stood with uncovered
+head by his grave.
+
+"And our dear little David Bright! That was a sore loss for you and
+Father Kenneth.
+
+"You don't know how often I wish to see little Edith. I was greatly
+disappointed that you and Father Kenneth did not bring her with you
+the last time you came to see me. You didn't realize such a lean,
+lanky, brawny fellow as I cared so much to see a little girl, did you?
+I had always wished I might have a little sister. I have shown her
+pictures to some of the fellows who come to my room, telling them she
+is my baby sister. They chaff me and say I do not look much like her.
+
+"The fellows have been very courteous to me.
+
+"Now that the time has come to leave Harvard and Cambridge and Boston,
+I am sorry to go. I have met such fine people.
+
+"Dr. ---- urges me to return in the fall, to continue my work for my
+Master's degree; but I have thought it all over, and believe it wiser,
+for the present, to work among my people, and get the knowledge I seek
+at first hand. After that, I'll return to Harvard.
+
+"Long ago, your words gave me my purpose in life,--to prepare myself
+to the uttermost for the uplift of my race.
+
+"Daily, I thank you in my heart, for the years I had at Carlisle. But
+most of all, I thank you for yourself and what you have been to me.
+
+"I must not close without telling you of a conversation I had with
+Col. H---- of Boston. He heard your address on 'The Indian in
+Transition' at the Mohonk Conference. He told me it was a masterly
+address, and that you presented the Indian question with a clearness
+and force few have done. He told me that what you said would give a
+new impulse to Indian legislation. He seemed to know of your
+conferences at Washington, too.
+
+"I hear great things of Father Kenneth, too; his increasing wealth,
+his power for leadership, and his upright dealings with men.
+
+"Do you remember how jealous I used to be of him when I was a little
+chap? Well, I am jealous no longer. He is the finest man I know.
+
+"But I must stop writing. This letter has run on into an old-fashioned
+visit.
+
+"I am coaching one of the fellows in mathematics. Strange work for a
+savage!
+
+"With love for all of you, including my dear Carla,
+
+     "Your loving boy,
+
+     "WATHEMAH."
+
+"He's a fine fellow, is Wathemah," said Kenneth, as he cuddled his
+little girl up in his arms.
+
+"Yes, he's developed wonderfully," responded Esther.
+
+"How's Carla?" the husband asked.
+
+"Carla's well, and just now deeply interested in the Y.M. and Y.W.C.A.
+work."
+
+Here Carla herself appeared, and joined in the welcome home. She was
+the picture of wholesome content.
+
+While they were talking, there was a sound of wheels again. The wagon
+stopped, a young man jerked out a trunk, paid the driver, and ran
+towards the veranda. How happy he seemed!
+
+"It's Wathemah," all cried, hastening to meet him. The sprite was in
+advance, with arms outstretched.
+
+"I guess you don't reco'nize me," she said. "I'm your little sister."
+
+He laughed, stooped and lifted her in his arms, and kissed her several
+times.
+
+Then came Esther's turn. At the same time, Kenneth enfolded Wathemah.
+Then came Carla, whom Wathemah kissed as he used to do in childhood
+days, and laughingly repeated a question he was accustomed to ask her
+then--"Is my face clean, Carla?"
+
+And all laughed and talked of the days when they had found one
+another, of the Claytons and Jack Harding, and Patrick Murphy and his
+family, and the Rosses and Carmichaels, and the changes that had taken
+place in Gila since they left there.
+
+"I was so sorry to hear of Mr. Clayton's death," said Wathemah. "What
+a great-hearted man he was! Such a generous friend! Do you suppose
+Mrs. Clayton and Edith will ever come back to America?"
+
+"No," answered Kenneth, "I fear not. Mrs. Clayton's kindred are in
+England, you know. She never liked America. It was a lonely life for
+her here, and doubly so after her husband's death."
+
+"And how's Jack? Dear old Jack! I must see him soon," said Wathemah.
+
+"I'll call him up," said Kenneth, going to the phone.
+
+"Give me 148, please."
+
+"No,--1-4-8."
+
+"Hello! Is Mr. Harding within reach?"
+
+"Gone to the store, you say? Send some one for him at once, please,
+and tell him Mr. Hastings wishes to talk with him. Important."
+
+He hung up the receiver and returned to his place.
+
+"Do you know, Father Kenneth, I have received a letter from Jack every
+week since I left Gila, except the time he was sick? He insisted upon
+sending me money, saying that it was he who found me, and wanted me to
+live."
+
+"Yes, Jack is a generous fellow," assented Kenneth.
+
+"I tried to make him understand that I was strong and able to earn my
+own way; but it made no difference."
+
+"Just like him! Bless him!" said Esther.
+
+"So I have invested his money for him, in his name, and it will make
+him very comfortable some day."
+
+Kenneth smiled.
+
+"Jack is becoming a rich man by his own work, and his own wise
+investments."
+
+Just then the telephone rang.
+
+"Hello! Hello! Is that you, Jack?" asked Kenneth.
+
+"That's good.
+
+"Yes, yes.
+
+"Something interesting is up. Whom would you like to see at this
+moment?
+
+"Mother Esther? That's good. Who next?
+
+"Wathemah? Hold the phone a minute."
+
+He turned to Wathemah.
+
+"Jack says he'd like to see you. He doesn't know you're here. Here!
+Talk to him yourself."
+
+So Wathemah stepped to the phone.
+
+"Hello, old Jack!"
+
+There was a happy laugh.
+
+"You'll be over to-morrow?"
+
+"What's that you say? _Your_ boy? Well, I guess!"
+
+"How happy Jack will be!" said Kenneth.
+
+"Your little pard?" There was a chuckle from the lithe, muscular young
+Indian.
+
+"To be sure, I'm still your 'pard,' only I'm far from little now. I'm
+a strapping fellow."
+
+"What's that? You feel the education has come between us? No more o'
+that, old fellow! You're one of the biggest-hearted friends man ever
+had!"
+
+"Tell him to come over as soon as he can," interrupted Kenneth.
+
+"Father Kenneth says 'Come over as soon as you can.'"
+
+"You will? Good! What a reunion we'll have! Good-by."
+
+He hung up the receiver, and the conversation drifted on.
+
+"Has Jack made a successful overseer?" questioned Wathemah.
+
+"Very. He's a fine fellow. He is still very religious, you know, and
+the men respect him. He has become an indefatigable reader and student
+of labor questions. Recently I heard him give a speech that surprised
+me. He grasps his subject, and has a direct way of putting things."
+
+"I should expect Jack to be a forceful speaker," commented Wathemah,
+"if he ever overcame his diffidence so as to speak at all. But tell
+me about the school at Gila. That little spot is dear to me."
+
+"You should see the building there now," said Esther. "Do you know
+that the people who were most lawless when we were there, are now
+law-abiding citizens? Gila is said to be one of the best towns in
+Arizona."
+
+"That seems like a miracle,--your miracle, Mother Esther." He rose
+from his chair and stood for a moment behind her, and said in a low
+voice, as in childhood, "_Me_ mother, _me_ teacher." There was a
+suspicious choke in his voice, and, turning, he lifted Edith, tossed
+her to his shoulder, and ran with her down toward the road. Kenneth
+overtook him, and as they strolled along, they talked of many things,
+but chiefly of Esther, and her great work for the Indian.
+
+"How did it all come about?" asked Wathemah.
+
+"Oh, in a roundabout way. Her magazine articles on the Indian first
+drew attention to her. Then her address at the Mohonk Conference
+brought her into further prominence. She was asked to speak before the
+Indian Commission. Later, she was sent by the Government to visit
+Indian schools, and report their condition. She certainly has shown
+marked ability. The more she is asked to do, the more she seems
+capable of doing."
+
+"A wonderful woman, isn't she?"
+
+"Yes. Vital. What she has done for the Indian, she has also done for
+the cause of general education in Arizona."
+
+"I fear she will break down under all this, Father Kenneth."
+
+"Never fear. Work is play to her. She thinks rapidly, speaks simply,
+and finds people who need her absorbingly interesting."
+
+"Yes, but she gives herself too much to others," protested the Indian
+youth.
+
+"Well, we must let her. She is happier so," responded Kenneth.
+
+"What about your own work, Father Kenneth? I have heard in
+Massachusetts that you are a great force for public good throughout
+this region. But tell me of the mines."
+
+"I invested much of my fortune _here_," said Kenneth, giving a broad
+outward sweep of his arm. "Some of the mines are paying large
+dividends. My fortune has more than doubled. But Arizona has been
+unfortunate in being infested with dishonest promoters. I am trying to
+bring about legislation that will protect people from this wholesale
+robbery."
+
+"I suspect you enjoy the fight," laughed the youth.
+
+"It has created bitter enemies," said Kenneth, gravely.
+
+So talking, they again sought the house, and found Esther and Carla on
+the veranda. The latter sat where Wathemah could see her delicate
+profile as she bent over some sewing. Quiet happiness and content had
+transformed her into a lovely woman.
+
+"How beautiful you are, Carla!" said Wathemah, admiringly.
+
+He enjoyed her confusion.
+
+"Do you remember the day I played truant, Carla, and you found me in
+the canyon, and made me ashamed of myself?"
+
+Did she?
+
+He did not notice the shadow over the winsome face.
+
+"Do you know, Wathemah," said Esther, "Carla would not remain at
+college, because she felt I needed her. But she has become an
+indefatigable student."
+
+Later, Wathemah discovered for himself that she really had become a
+fine student. One day he asked her how she came to study Greek.
+
+"Oh," she said, hesitatingly, "I loved Grecian literature, and
+history, and art. And I had often heard that my father was a fine
+Greek scholar. So I began by myself. Then I had Sister Esther help me.
+And after that, it became to me a great delight."
+
+They were a merry party that day. All were in fine spirits. In the
+midst of their talk and laughter, the telephone rang.
+
+"Some one for you, Esther," said Kenneth, returning to the veranda.
+
+On her return, he looked up questioningly.
+
+"The superintendent of education wishes me to give an address before
+the teachers at Tucson next month," she said, quietly.
+
+"And will you do it?" asked Wathemah.
+
+"Do it?" echoed Kenneth. "Of course she'll do it! She doesn't know how
+to say 'no.'"
+
+Esther smiled indulgently.
+
+"You see, Wathemah, the needs of the new country are great. They would
+not invite me to lecture so frequently, if they had enough workers. To
+me, the opportunity to help means obligation to help."
+
+"Our Mother Esther has just returned from a conference at Washington,
+and another in Montana," said Kenneth, "and here she is going off
+again. The truth is she has become an educational and moral force in
+the Southwest."
+
+"We are glad to share her with all who need her," said Carla, simply.
+
+"Yes, lad," added Kenneth, rising, "we are glad she has the power to
+help."
+
+The next morning, they were awakened early by John Harding, calling
+Wathemah to let him in. Such a meeting as that was! Jack did not seem
+to know how to behave. The little unkempt lad, untutored, and
+undisciplined, whom he had known and loved, was gone; and in his
+place, stood a lithe, graceful, really elegant young man. Jack stood
+back abashed. _His_ Wathemah, his little Wathemah, was gone. Something
+got in his throat. He turned aside, and brushed his hand across his
+cheek. But Wathemah slipped his arm around his neck, and together they
+tramped off up the mountain for a visit. Then Jack knew that his boy
+had really come back to him, but developed and disciplined into a man
+of character and force.
+
+That was a gala day for Jack Harding and the Hastings household. No
+one had ever seen Jack so happy before.
+
+Late that afternoon all stood on the veranda.
+
+"My little kid," said Jack, laying his hand on Wathemah's shoulder,
+"I've worked fur ye, prayed fur ye, all the years. And now you've
+come, now you've come," he kept saying, over and over.
+
+"Say, Jack," said Wathemah, "do you remember the time you found me
+asleep up the canyon, and took up a collection to send me East with
+Mother Esther?"
+
+Jack nodded.
+
+"Well, that money, with all that you have since sent me, has been
+invested for you. And now, Jack, my dear old pard, that money has made
+you a little fortune. You need work no more."
+
+Jack choked. He tried to speak, but turned his face away. Esther
+slipped her arm through his, and told him she wanted to visit with
+him. So the two walked up and down the road in front of the house,
+talking.
+
+"We are all so happy over Wathemah," she said. "I know you must be,
+too. He is really your boy, for you saved him, Jack."
+
+Then Jack Harding poured his heart out to her. She understood him, all
+his struggles, all his great unselfish love for the boy. She knew the
+pain of his awakening, when he found that the child whom he had loved,
+whom he had toiled for all these years, needed him no more. It was
+pathetic to her.
+
+"But, Jack dear," she was saying, "I am sure Wathemah will always be a
+joy to you. Only wait. My heart tells me he has some great purpose. He
+will tell us in time. When he does, you will want to help him carry
+out his plans, won't you?"
+
+Up and down the veranda, walked Kenneth and Wathemah. Kenneth's hand
+and arm rested on the youth's shoulder.
+
+"Yes, Wathemah," he was saying, "little David's death was a great
+sorrow to us. He was shot by an unfriendly Indian, you know."
+
+For a moment his face darkened. The two walked on in silence.
+
+"And Mother Esther?" Wathemah said in a husky tone; "how can she still
+give her life for the uplift of my people?"
+
+"Oh, you know as well as I. She serves a great Master."
+
+They talked from heart to heart, as father and son.
+
+At last all the household gathered on the veranda to watch the
+afterglow in the sky. Esther slipped her arm through Wathemah's, and
+they stood facing the west.
+
+"And so my boy is to enter the Indian service," she said.
+
+"Yes," he answered. "You know I majored in anthropology and
+education. My summers among various Indian tribes were to help me know
+the Indian. My thesis for my doctorate is to be on 'The Education of
+the Indian in the United States.' When I have my material ready, I'll
+return to Harvard and remain until I complete my work for my
+doctorate."
+
+"What next, Wathemah?" There was a thrill in Esther's voice.
+
+The Indian youth squared his shoulders, lifted his head, and said, as
+though making a solemn covenant:
+
+"The uplift of my race!"
+
+And Esther's face was shining.
+
+
+
+
+Transcriber's Notes
+
+Omission of punctuation and misspellings that appeared to be
+typesetter errors have been corrected.
+
+Slang and colloquialisms in dialogue has been left as it appeared in
+the original.
+
+In this Latin-1 text version, the following substitution system has
+been used for non-Latin-1 diacritical marks:-
+
+     [=e] e with Macron
+     [=u] u with Macron
+     [)e] e with Breve
+
+There is a Unicode version of the text file which has all diacritical
+marks as per the original book.
+
+In Chapter XV, the Apache makes the statement "N[=e]-sh[=e]-äd-nl[)e]h´"
+"You be my squaw." This is repeated several times in Chapter XXI. In the
+original the diacritical marks are typeset differently in the subsequent
+entries. On the assumption that the first entry is more accurate, all
+repetitions are changed to agree with the original.
+
+In the original there is some dialogue of one sentence that has been
+typeset across two paragraphs. These have been closed up into the same
+paragraph to aid reading flow and to maintain consistency.
+
+In Chapter XXI (page 250 in the original) there is a line that appears
+to be out of order.
+
+The original reads:-
+     His coming was
+     about as welcome to her as the wolves would be.
+     him. She shook her head, pointed to her ankle, and
+
+     "N[=e]-sh[=e]-äd-nl[)e]h´," he said, beckoning her to join
+     again tried to climb. Her efforts were futile. Then
+
+This has been rearranged as:-
+     His coming was
+     about as welcome to her as the wolves would be.
+
+     "N[=e]-sh[=e]-äd-nl[)e]h´," he said, beckoning her to join
+     him. She shook her head, pointed to her ankle, and
+     again tried to climb. Her efforts were futile. Then
+
+In Chapter XXIV the sentence "The child was given to confidences,
+especially with her father" has been changed to "especially with
+her mother" as the reference to father made no contextual sense.
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Angel of the Gila:, by Cora Marsland
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