The Angel of the Gila Part 46

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 a.s.sistance.

"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; cowla.s.ses, 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, pa.s.sing 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 pa.s.sed on his way.

The race was to be on a track in the valley below. As it was Sat.u.r.day, 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 a.s.sured her, she would see human life, as well as horse speed, there.

As they approached the track from the mountain road, hoa.r.s.e 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."