The Angel of the Gila Part 14

"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 melee, 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 gla.s.ses, 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 embarra.s.sed. 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 G.o.d 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?"