A Waif of the Mountains by Edward Sylvester Ellis (best books to read for success txt) 📖

He was a dignified canine, who stalked solemnly through New Constantinople, or took a turn in Dead Man's Gulch, resenting all familiarity from every one, except from the only two persons that had ever owned him.

The lieutenant reflected much upon his conversation with Captain Dawson, the impression which he had received being anything but pleasant. "He considers himself unselfish, and yet like all such he is selfishness itself. He has determined to spend the rest of his days in this hole and to keep her with him. He won't allow her to marry for years, because it might interfere with his own pleasure; then he intends to turn her over to that lank, shaggy-faced Brush, who pretends to be a parson. The captain never thinks of _me_ as having any claims upon her love. To carry out his plan would be a crime. If she objects to Brush, he will probably give her a choice from the whole precious lot, including Ruggles, Adams, Bidwell, or Red Mike, the reformed gambler.

"Never once has he asked himself whether his daughter may not have a preference in the matter, but, with the help of heaven, he shall not carry out this outrage."

In the solitude of his own thoughts, the lover put the question to himself:

"Am _I_ unselfish in my intentions?"

Selfishness is the essence of love. We resolve to obtain the one upon whom our affections are set, regardless of the consequences or of the future. It is _our_ happiness which is placed in the balance and outweighs everything else.

"Of course," continued the young officer in his self-communing, "I shall be the luckiest fellow in the world when I win her and she will be a happy woman. Therefore, it is her good which I seek as much as my own."

How characteristic of the lover!

"I shall not abduct her. If she tells me she does not love me; if she refuses to forsake all for me, then I will bid her good-by and go off and die."

How characteristic again of the lover!

And yet it may be repeated that Lieutenant Russell was the most guarded and circumspect of men. He no longer argued with Captain Dawson, for it was useless. He rather lulled his suspicion by falling in with his views, and talked of the future of parent and daughter, as if it were one of the least interesting subjects that could come between them.

On one of Vose Adams's pilgrimages to Sacramento, he returned with a superb mettled pony, the gift of Lieutenant Russell. With this pet she soon became a daring and accomplished horsewoman. She was an expert, too, with the small Winchester and revolver which her father brought with him from the East. Perched like a bird upon her own Cap, as she named him, she often dashed for a mile down the trail, wheeling like a flash and returning at full speed.

"Have a care," said Parson Brush, more than once; "you ride like a centaur and none knows better how to use firearms, but there are Indians in these mountains and they sometimes approach nigh enough to be seen from New Constantinople. Then, too, your father brought word that other miners are working their way toward us. More than likely there are bad men among them whom it is best you should not meet."

"But none would harm _me_," was the wondering reply of the miss; "are not all of my own race my friends?"

"They ought to be, but alas! it is too much to expect."

She could not believe, however, that any danger of that nature threatened her, but she deferred to the fears of her father, Lieutenant Russell and the parson to that extent that she generally had a companion with her on these dashes down the trail. Sometimes it was Brush, sometimes Ruggles or her parent, and less frequently the young officer. Timon always galloped or trotted behind her pony, and she could not be made to believe that his protection was not all-sufficient.

The winds of early autumn were moaning through the gorges and canyons of the Sierras, bringing with them the breath of coming winter, which was often felt with all its Arctic rigor in these depressions among the towering peaks and ridges. The usual group was gathered in the Heavenly Bower, though two of the most prominent citizens were absent. They were Felix Brush and Wade Ruggles, who were seated in their cabin, where a small fire had been kindled on the primitive hearth and afforded the only light in the small apartment. They had eaten their evening meal and as usual were smoking.

As neither cared to taste the Mountain Dew, so winsome to a majority of the miners, the two often spent their evenings thus, especially since the shadow caused by the coming of Lieutenant Russell had fallen across their threshold.

"Things begin to look better than afore," remarked Ruggles, sitting with one leg flung across the other and looking thoughtfully into the fire.

"Yes, I always insisted that the soil about here is auriferous and we had only to stick to it to obtain our reward."

Ruggles took his pipe from his mouth and looked at his partner with a disgusted expression.

"What are you talkin' 'bout, parson?"

"Didn't you refer to the diggings?" he innocently asked in turn.

"Come now, that won't do; you know my references to allusions was the leftenant and the young lady. I say things look better as regards the same."

"In what way?"

"In the only way there could be. They don't care partic'lar for each other."

"There is no doubt they did some time ago."

"Of course, but I mean _now_."

"How do you explain the change, Wade?"

"The chap ain't a fool; he's took notice of our warnin's."

"I wasn't aware that we had given him any."

"Not 'zactly in words, but every time I've met him with the gal, I give the leftenant a scowl. Once I come purty near shakin' my fist at him; he's obsarved it all and is wise in time."

"I think there is ground for what you say," remarked the parson, anxious to be convinced of the hoped-for fact; "what I base my belief on is that the leftenant doesn't accompany her on her little riding trips as often as her father or you or I: _that_ is a sure barometer, according to my judgment. Still I have sometimes feared from the way she talks and acts that she thinks more of him than is right."

"Nothing of the kind! She treats him as she does everybody else; the leftenant is the friend of the cap and the leftenant give her the dog that is the size of a meetin' house and the pony hardly as big as the dog, but she doesn't think half as much of him as of you and me; how can she?" demanded Ruggles, sitting bolt upright and spreading his hand like a lawyer who has uttered an unanswerable argument; "hain't she knowed us a blamed sight longer than him?"

"You are correct; I didn't think of that."

How eagerly we accept the argument, flimsy as it may be, which accords with our wishes!

"When I feel sorter ugly over my 'spicions," continued Ruggles; "I jest reflect that we've knowed the gal ever since she was a baby and her father tumbled down a hundred feet onto the roof of the Heavenly Bower, with her in his arms in the middle of that howlin' blizzard,--when I think of that I say----"

The door of the cabin was hastily shoved inward and Captain Dawson, his face as white as death, strode in.

"Have you seen anything of Nellie?" he asked in a husky whisper.

"No; what's the matter?" asked the startled miners.

"She has gone! she has left me!" gasped the father dropping into the only remaining chair, the picture of despair and unutterable woe.

"Why do you think that?" asked the parson, sympathetically.

"Lieutenant Russell has gone too! They have fled together!"


CHAPTER XV

COMRADES IN SORROW

Wade Ruggles and Parson Brush sprang to their feet and confronted the white-faced Captain Dawson, who stared at them and breathed fast. For a full minute they gazed into one another's faces, dazed, motionless and speechless. The partners stood, each with pipe in hand, the faint smoke curling upward from the bowls, their slouched hats still on their frowsy heads, the revolvers at their cartridge belts spanning their waists, their trousers tucked in the tops of their boots, and with their heavy flannel shirts serving for coats and vests.

Captain Dawson was similarly attired. He had dashed out of his own cabin and into that of his friends, his long locks flying, and even the strands of his heavy beard rigidly apart, as if from the consternation that had taken possession of his very soul.

In those seconds of tomb-like stillness, an ember on the earthen hearth fell apart and a twist of flame threw a yellow illumination through the small room, grim and bare of everything suggesting luxury.

It was the parson who first found voice, but when he spoke the tones, even to himself, sounded like those of another person.

"Captain, it is possible that there is some mistake about this."

"Would to God there might be!"

"Let us hope there is."

"Mistake!" he repeated in a husky, rasping voice; "can there be any mistake about _that_?"

He threw out his single arm as he spoke, as if he would drive his fist through their chests. But he held a crumpled bit of paper in the face of the parson, who silently took it from him, crinkled it apart and turning his side so that the firelight fell on the sheet, began reading the few words written in pencil and in the pretty delicate hand which he knew so well.

"Read it out loud, parson," said Ruggles, speaking for the first time.

Felix Brush did so in a voice of surprising evenness:

"MY DEAREST FATHER:--I have decided to go with Lieutenant Russell.
We love each other and I have promised to become his wife. Do not
think I love you any less for that can never be. I cannot remain
here. You will hear from us soon and then I pray that you will
come to your own

NELLIE."

"Have you been to his shanty?" asked Ruggles, who hardly comprehended the meaning of his own words.

"Why would he go there?" angrily demanded the parson.

"Mebbe the villain changed his mind."

"But, if he had, _she_ would not be there."

"Yes; I went to his cabin," bitterly answered Captain Dawson; "he has not been in the place for hours; all is dark and deserted; if I found him, I would have killed him."

The three were laboring under fearful emotion, but with surprising power forced themselves to seem comparatively calm.

"Captain, tell us about it," said the parson, carefully folding the bit of paper upon itself and shoving it into his pocket, unobserved by the others.

Despite his apparent calmness it took