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The Award of Justice; Told in the Rockies, a novel by A. Maynard Barbour |
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Chapter 18 |
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_ CHAPTER XVIII Several days had elapsed since the eastern party, accompanied by Mr. Blaisdell and Mr. Rivers, had returned to the city, and, as yet, nothing had been learned of their decision regarding the mine. The extra force of men on the Sunrise had returned to their regular shifts, and the work at the mining camp was going forward in the old routine, with the monotonous precision of clock-work. Houston was quietly pursuing his own way, conscious that the task before him involved difficulty and danger. He was aware that Haight, notwithstanding his obsequious politeness, was one of his worst enemies, and would injure him in every underhanded way within his power, as, beneath the smooth, smiling exterior, Houston could detect a deep, subtle malignity toward himself; and he rightly judged that Jim Maverick, the tool of the mining company, would be the instrument Haight would use when he was ready to work his revenge. Maverick, from the first, had hated Houston with that instinctive hatred which such vile natures, groveling in their own degradation, always feel toward those moving on a higher plane, in an atmosphere untainted by the putrescence which is their natural element. Maverick knew that, to a man like Houston, his own baseness and villainy were written in his face, and even in his slouching, cringing gait, as plainly as though branded in letters of fire, and this was sufficient to kindle his anger against him, and Haight, by his talk, added fuel to the slowly smoldering fire. At home, but more particularly among the miners, in the camp or at the Y, Maverick expressed his views regarding Houston in language abounding with profanity and obscenity, and many were the muttered threats of what he would do should the object of his hatred ever cross his path. Houston, meanwhile, was quick to discern the danger signals, and was laying his plans wisely and well. His own work in the office of the mining camp was nearly completed; there remained yet the information to be gathered from the Silver City office, to which he was now expecting to be called any day, and then the work of familiarizing himself with the mines. When this should be accomplished, the end, for which he was working and waiting, would be very near. As he sat in the office one afternoon, reviewing the past few weeks, he felt that he had succeeded thus far, even beyond his hopes. The coming of Van Dorn and the acquaintance formed with Lindlay would be of untold value to him in his work. A little later, Van Dorn would come to his assistance without arousing suspicion, not being known as a mining expert, and when the time came for the final denouement, Lindlay would accompany Mr. Cameron to the mines, as he was a skilled expert, and having already visited the mines, could furnish testimony as to the fraud practiced by the company. Thus far, everything had gone well, and the weeks of work in a secluded mining camp, to which he had looked forward with anything but pleasurable anticipations, had in reality proven,--he was surprised to admit to himself,--among the pleasantest of his life. He would really have many regrets on leaving the mountains to return to his old home, he had formed such pleasant associations; and then, he suddenly became conscious that, of his life among the mountains, there was little he would miss, excepting a pair of dark, soulful eyes, in whose depths he had failed to detect the least shadow of falseness or unworthiness; mirrors of a sweet, womanly nature, strong, pure and beautiful, which with a quick, ready sympathy entered into his feelings, and often seemed to fathom his unspoken thoughts, and clothe them with language of her own. Houston started in astonishment, and, locking the office, took a circuitous and little traveled road, determined to fully understand his own heart before he again looked into those eyes with their depths of sincerity and truth. For many years he had been the recipient of flattering attentions from fond papas and aspiring mammas. Invitations to club dinners, banquets and the most recherche lunches, on the one hand, were evenly balanced by cards to receptions, soirees and afternoon teas, on the other. Had he passed heart-whole through all these sieges, only to fall a victim, here and now? He had admired Miss Gladden from the first; then, in their mutual sympathy for Lyle, they had been drawn closer together, and since that time,--yes, he could see it all now. Of Miss Gladden herself he knew very little, except that she was a true, noble woman; he needed no words to tell him that. Rutherford had learned from conversation with her, that she was an orphan, and had been traveling with friends because her home was made unpleasant by some of her relatives; and both had judged that she was probably, in a measure, dependent upon wealthy relatives. This much Houston did know, however, that he loved Leslie Gladden, that she was worthy of his love, and that life without her would not seem worth the living. He believed that she loved him, and his heart thrilled with the thought, that if so, it was for himself, not his wealth, that she cared. Before he reached the house, his mind was fully decided: "I love her for herself," he soliloquized, "not caring whether she is rich or poor, and I believe she does, or will, love me in like manner. In any event, I must learn my fate before the arrival of my uncle." As Houston approached the house, Miss Gladden and Lyle were standing together in the porch. He greeted both ladies with even more than his usual courtesy, but as his eyes met those of Miss Gladden, there was that in his glance, which in itself, was a declaration of his love for her. Lyle, with her quick intuition, read the meaning, and with her natural sense of delicacy, as quickly withdrew, leaving them together. For an instant, Miss Gladden's eyes dropped before Houston's glance, while a lovely color suffused her cheek; then she raised her eyes, meeting his with an answering glance, and in that mutual recognition, though no word was spoken, they knew that they were lovers, and that was enough for the present. Of late, the four friends had spent much time together; sometimes climbing the mountains, to watch from their lofty summits the setting sun, slowly descending amid clouds of flame, whose glowing colors were reflected from the surrounding peaks in ever varying tints; the rose changing to amethyst and violet, and the violet deepening to purple; while far below, the canyon lay wrapped in soft, gray twilight. Or, sometimes, taking one or two boats from the little boat-house built for the accommodation of summer tourists, they rowed about the lake in the moonlight. On this particular night, Rutherford proposed a row, in one of the larger boats, the entire length of the lake, to the cascades, to which the rest readily acceded. The ladies soon appeared in light, fleecy wraps, Miss Gladden carrying a fine guitar, which called forth exclamations of pleasure from the gentlemen. "Good!" said Rutherford, "that will be just the thing; now we will have some music." "Miss Gladden," said Houston, "why have we not been favored in this way earlier?" "Oh," she replied, archly, "it has never been a necessity until to-night, but a long row in the moonlight would not be perfect without music." This was their first trip to the end of the lakes, and they found the scene beautiful beyond description. On one side an almost perpendicular wall of rock; in the opposite direction, the mountain ranges stretching far away in the distance, with snowy peaks gleaming here and there, like watch towers; while just before them, the shimmering cascades in the wondrous beauty of the moonlight, the deep, unceasing roar seeming to rise and fall with a rhythm of its own. For the first few moments, they sat in silent admiration of the beauty around them; then Miss Gladden touched the strings of the guitar, and began singing in a rich contralto, in which Houston joined with a fine baritone, while Rutherford added a clear, sweet tenor. Their voices blended perfectly, and accompanied by the sweet notes of the guitar, the music floated out over the lake, the lingering echoes dying away, in the distance. Lyle took no part in the song, but sat listening with parted lips and dreamy eyes. When the song was finished, she exclaimed: "Oh, please do not stop, I love to listen to you; it reminds me of something I have heard long ago, I don't know when or where." "Do you never sing, Miss Maverick?" asked Rutherford. "Only sometimes for myself," she said, "I know only two or three songs that I have heard others sing." "But you have a sweet voice," said Houston, "will you not sing for us?" "If you will overlook any mistakes, I may," answered Lyle, "for I probably do not sing correctly, as I know nothing of music." "Certainly, Lyle, we would like to hear you," said Miss Gladden. As simply, and as free from self-consciousness as a child, Lyle began her song, her eyes fixed on the distant shining peaks, and her only accompaniment the music of the cascades.
Whether Lyle sang correctly that night was never known; even the beautiful words of the old song that seemed so appropriate to the occasion, were forgotten before she had sung more than two or three lines, and her listeners sat entranced, spell-bound, by the voice of the singer; a voice of such exquisite sweetness and clearness, and yet possessing such power and depth of expression, that it thrilled the hearts of her listeners, seeming to lift them out of all consciousness of their surroundings, and to transport them to another world; a world
As the last note died away, a long, deep sigh from Houston seemed to break the spell, and Miss Gladden looking up, her eyes shining with unshed tears, said, as she pressed Lyle's hand: "My dear, we have found our song-queen, our nightingale. We can all learn of you, and never equal you." Houston had been strangely moved, and as he spoke, there was a slight tremor in his voice. "I have heard, in all my life, but one voice like that, and that was one who died when I was a child." Lyle looked surprised. "Has no one ever told you you could sing?" asked Miss Gladden. "I never sang for any one, excepting once, for Jack," answered Lyle. "What did he say of your voice?" inquired Miss Gladden. "He said, like Mr. Houston, that he had heard but one voice like mine, but that he did not like to hear me, so I have never sung since, excepting by myself." "Lyle," said Miss Gladden suddenly, "how old is this man whom you call Jack?" "Possibly forty, perhaps a little less," she answered indifferently. A new thought had flashed into Miss Gladden's mind. For some time she had doubted whether Lyle were really a child of Maverick and his wife, she was so utterly unlike them; could it be possible that Jack, whose life seemed so much a mystery, was the father of Lyle? Was that the reason for his interest in her? and had Lyle had some beautiful mother,--unfortunate perhaps,--whose life had suddenly gone out, as the little life had just begun, and whose memory was recalled too vividly by Lyle's song? Miss Gladden determined, if possible, to find a clue to this mystery. The boat was now on its homeward way, and a song with which all were familiar having been found, the four voices blended in exquisite harmony. "It seems to me there are some rare treats in store for us," was Rutherford's comment, as the friends separated for the night; then, a few moments later, when alone with Houston, he exclaimed: "By Jove, Houston! but what a voice that girl has! I never heard anything like it in my life. I didn't say much before Miss Gladden, for fear she might think I didn't appreciate her singing, and I certainly did, for she sings magnificently." "You need have no fear of any sensitiveness on Miss Gladden's part," said Houston quickly, "in the first place, their voices are altogether different, there is no comparison between them; and in addition, Miss Gladden's regard for Lyle is so disinterested and unselfish, there would be no room for any feeling of that kind. We must all acknowledge that Lyle certainly has a wonderful voice; as I said before, I have heard but one like it." "Great Heavens!" said Rutherford, with more feeling than Houston had ever seen him manifest, "I'm sorry for that girl, Houston." "Why?" asked Houston quietly. "Why, only to think of her beauty and intellect, and such a voice as that, and then think of her parents, and the life to which she is tied down here." "Granting the parents and present life," said Houston, "is that any argument that she will always be 'tied down here' as you say?" "I think it would always fetter her in a measure; it will leave its imprint upon her mind, or at least her memory, and although she is not in her proper sphere here, yet her life here, and all its associations, would be likely to make her feel out of place in a higher sphere," "I think not," said Houston, watching Rutherford closely, "I think if she could be removed from here, and given a thorough education, there would remain no trace whatever of the early life." "But what about the question of heredity?" asked Rutherford, "there must be bad blood there, when and where would it make its appearance?" "That would be a serious question," replied Houston, "providing she is the child of these people; I have always had grave doubts of that, and Miss Gladden has often expressed the same." "By Jove! I never thought of that! It seems likely enough, too. What do you think, that she was stolen?" "No," said Houston slowly, "that does not seem so probable as that she may have been some child that they were hired to take." "In that case," said Rutherford, "I should think the uncertainty regarding her family and origin, would be almost as bad as the certainty in the other case." "It might seem so to some people," Houston replied, adding with a smile, "especially to a Bostonian, who prided himself upon his 'blue blood'." "Oh," said Rutherford, coloring, "I'm not pursuing this inquiry on my own account at all, I was only thinking of her prospects generally. I'm not interested in that direction." "In what direction are you interested, if I may ask?" said Houston, experiencing, for the first time, a little twinge of jealousy. "In the direction of the 'Hub,' my dear boy," Rutherford replied, with another blush. "Spoken like a true Bostonian!" said Houston approvingly. "Yes, sir," continued Rutherford, "there's a little girl belongs back there in Boston, that's more to me than all the ladies you can produce in this part of the country, or any other, no matter how beautiful they may be; and she's not bad looking either. Her parents took her to Europe for a little trip this spring, and Boston seemed so lonesome, that was the reason I came west." "Good for you, Ned, you have my best wishes," said Houston, shaking hands with his friend, "but really, you and Lyle had seemed so fond of each other's society lately, that I thought perhaps it was to be your destiny to rescue her from her unhappy fate." "Well, as to each other's society," said Rutherford, very slowly, "of late we have been restricted to that or none, for you and Miss Gladden have been growing so unconscious of us, that we've had to console with each other; but then, I understood how 'twas, for I've been there myself, you know, and I'm ready to offer congratulations and all that sort of thing, whenever they are in order." Houston appeared very unconscious of Rutherford's meaning, as he inquired, "How does Lyle herself regard your attentions? There must be no trifling with her, I have too much regard for her myself, for that." "Miss Maverick is not a girl to be trifled with," replied Rutherford, "I think a good deal of her, since I am better acquainted with her, and respect her and she knows it, but I think she realizes the sort of anomalous position that she occupies, and that is why I say I am sorry for her. She is far too brilliant for her surroundings, and yet not fitted for a much higher place." "Not at present," replied Houston, "but with her natural endowments and her innate delicacy and refinement, comparatively little training and culture would be necessary to fit her for almost any position in life." "I wonder what will be her fate." "Time will tell," replied Houston, who had his own plans. _ |
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