The Angel of the Gila Part 13

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 antic.i.p.ated 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.