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diff --git a/37746-8.txt b/37746-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..93ad88c --- /dev/null +++ b/37746-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,10985 @@ +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 + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE ANGEL OF THE GILA: *** + +***** This file should be named 37746-8.txt or 37746-8.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/3/7/7/4/37746/ + +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.) + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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