Hope Hathaway: A Story of Western Ranch Life

by Frances Parker

  CHAPTER XI

  Livingston stood alone beside the fresh mound, hatless, with head bowedin deep meditation. His men had returned to their respective duties,having shown their last kindness toward the young herder gone on beforethem to the great, mysterious Beyond.

  When Hope and her companion rounded the point of rocks inside thepasture fence they came directly upon the sheep-man and the newly madegrave. The girl reined in her horse suddenly.

  "Syd," she said softly, wonderingly, "he's _praying_!" She had animpulse to flee before he should see her, and with a look communicatedthe thought to Sydney, but Livingston turned around and came quicklydown the grassy slope toward them. He greeted them cordially, heartilyshaking hands with each.

  "Is this not a beautiful day? I am glad you have come, Miss Hathaway. Iwanted you to see this spot. Could any place be prettier? See this greenslope and the gigantic ridge of rocks beside it."

  "It's magnificent!" she exclaimed. "What a monument!"

  "I had an idea he would like it if he could know," he continued. "Dayafter day he has stood up there on that point of rocks and watched hissheep."

  Hope pointed across the valley to where the grassy slope terminated in adeep cut-bank, exclaiming:

  "There is the corral!" It came involuntarily. She shot a quick glance ather cousin, but he was gazing thoughtfully at the magnificence of thescene before him, and had not noticed the words, or her confusion whichfollowed them, which was fortunate, she thought.

  If asked she could not have explained why she felt in this manner aboutit, and it is certain that she did ask herself. She had probably savedLivingston's sheep. Well, what of it? She only knew that she wanted noone to find it out, least of all Livingston himself. She had a half fearthat if Sydney ever got an inkling of it he might sometime tell him, andSydney was very quick; so she adroitly eased her involuntary exclamationby remarking:

  "That is a queer place to put a corral! Aren't you afraid of a pile upso near the bank?"

  "I am not using it now," he replied. "I put it there because Fritz ranhis band on that side and it was more convenient not to drive them sofar. I am using this shed below here, at present."

  Sydney looked at Hope and began to laugh, then leaned over towardLivingston and placed his hand upon his shoulder.

  "She'll be telling you how to run your sheep next. You mustn't mind her,though, for she's been teaching school a whole week, and dictating isgetting to be sort of second nature with her, isn't it, Hopie? Andbesides that she isn't responsible. A steady diet of hard-boiled eggsisn't conducive----"

  She stopped him with a gesture, laughing.

  "That's awfully true, only I haven't eaten even hard-boiled eggs sincebreakfast, and I'm famished! It was cruel of you to remind me, Syd!"

  "You poor youngster!" he exclaimed in real commiseration. "Is it as badas that? I'm going over and start supper at once. The camp is just overthe hill there, up that next draw." He pointed ahead, then looked at hiswatch. "It's after five now. You keep your appointment with thehalf-breed, but never mind the chickens till you've had a square meal."

  She nodded in answer, smiling at him.

  "They're starving her over there," he explained to Livingston, wholooked at them in some wonderment. "They don't feed her anything butboiled eggs. Tell him why you don't eat anything but eggs, Hope,boiled,--hard and soft,--in their _own shells_. Maybe you can get themto bake you a potato or two in their _own jackets_!"

  "What an idea! I never thought of that," she exclaimed. "You're agenius, Syd. But go home or I shall famish! I'll meet Dave and comeright over there. I think the chickens will fly that way to-night,anyway, don't you?"

  "Of course they will," replied her cousin, "they fly right over the topof my tent every evening!" Then he started away, but turned aboutquickly as though he had forgotten something, and asked Livingston if hewould not come over to camp for supper, too.

  Livingston looked up into the dark eyes of the girl beside him, thenaccepted.

  "Good!" said Sydney. "Come along with Hope."

  "Be sure and see that there's enough cooked," called the girl as he rodeaway.

  "Don't worry about that, pard," he answered, then, lifting his hat,waved it high above his head as he disappeared around the reef ofrocks.

  Hope looked after him and was still smiling when she turned toLivingston. It may have been something in his face that caused her ownto settle instantly into its natural quiet.

  "I'd like to go up there for a moment," she said, then dismounted, andleaving her horse walked quickly up the grassy hill until she stoodbeside the grave. Some sod had been roughly placed upon the dirt, andscattered over that was a handful of freshly picked wild flowers.

  "_You_ picked them!" exclaimed the girl softly, turning toward him as hecame and stood near her. "And _I_ never even thought of it! How couldyou think of it! I had supposed only women thought of those things--wereexpected to think of them, I mean," she added hastily. "You make mewonder what----"

  He looked at her curiously.

  "Make you wonder what?" he asked in his quiet, well modulated voice.

  A flush came over her face. Her eyes shifted from his until they restedupon the grave at her feet. The breeze threw a loose strand of dark hairacross one eye. She rapidly drew her hand over her forehead, putting itaway from her vision, then looked full and straight at the man besideher.

  "I beg your pardon; I cannot finish what was in my mind to say. Iforgot, Mr. Livingston, that we are comparative strangers."

  "I am sorry, then, that you remember it," he replied. "It never seemedto me that we were strangers, Miss Hathaway. I do not think so now.There is something, I know not what, that draws people to each other inthis country. It does not take weeks or months or years to form afriendship here. Two people meet, they speak, look into one another'seyes, then they are friends, comrades--or nothing, as it sometimeshappens. They decide quickly here, not hampered by stiffconventionalities. It is instinct guides. Are you different from yourcountrymen?"

  "No," she replied quickly. "Not in that one thing, at least. To behonest, I have never _felt_ that you were a stranger to me; but a girl,even a rough Western girl, must sometimes remember and be restricted byconventionalities. I know what you are thinking, that conventionalitiesinclude politeness, and I have been rude to you. Perhaps that is thereason I wouldn't let you go back to Harris' with me the other night--Ihad not known you long enough."

  He answered her simply: "I am not thinking of that night, but that youhave just told me you are my friend--that you think kindly of me." Sheflashed him a look of surprise.

  "But I _never_ told you that!" she exclaimed.

  "Not in just those words, true," he said. "But it is so. Didn't you saythat you had never felt me to be a _stranger_ to you? If you had notapproved of me--thought kindly of me in the start, could you have feltso? No. When two people meet, they are friends, or they are stillstrangers--and _you have never felt me to be a stranger_. Is that notso?"

  "I cannot deny what I have just said," she replied. "And I will not denythat I believed what I was saying, but your argument, though good,doesn't down me, because I honestly think that a person may see anotherperson just once, feel that he never could be a stranger, and yet haveno earthly regard or respect for that person."

  "Have you ever experienced that?" he inquired.

  "N--no. You are trying to corner me; but that isn't what I came to talkabout, and it is time to go," she said, turning away from the grave. Hewalked with her down the hill toward her horse.

  "I wanted to ask you, Mr. Livingston, about the little German girl," shesaid, standing with her back against the side of her horse, one armaround the pommel loosely holding the reins, and the other stretchedupon the glossy back of the gentle animal. "When are you expecting her,and what are you going to do about her?"

  "She should be here the last of the week. Poor girl! My heart bleeds forher. There is nothing to do except to tell her the sad story, and seethat she gets started safely back to
her country and her friends," heanswered.

  Hope stood upright, taking a step toward him.

  "You would not--oh, it would be inhuman to send her back over the long,terrible journey with that cruel pain in her heart! Think how tired shewill be, the thousands of miles of travel through strange lands, and themultitude of foreigners she will have passed! Think of the way she hastraveled, those close, packed emigrant cars, and everything. It isterrible!"

  "I never thought of that. She will be tired. You are right, it wouldnever do to send her over that long journey so soon, though she is notcoming through as an emigrant, but first class, for she is of goodfamily over there. So was Fritz--a sort of cousin, I believe, but thepoor boy got into some trouble with his family and came over herepenniless. He was to have met her in town and they expected to getmarried at once. He was going to bring her out here to the ranch to liveuntil he had hunted up a location for a home. If I am not mistaken shehas some money of her own with which they were going to buy sheep. Shehas been well educated, and has had some instruction in English, as hadFritz.

  "I thought only of getting her back among her friends again and I nevergave a thought about the long, weary trip and the poor, tired girl. Shemust rest for a time. You have shown me the right way, MissHathaway--and yet, what am I to do? I could bring her out here to theranch, but there is no woman on the place. Perhaps I may be able tosecure a man and his wife who need a situation, but it is not likely.There may be some good family about who would keep her for awhile. Doyou know of one?"

  "There are several families around here who might welcome a boarder, butnone with whom a girl of that kind could be contented, or evencomfortable. If only I were at home, and could take her there! I _might_send her over there. But, no, that would be worse than anything! Thereis no other way," she said suddenly, placing her hand upon his sleevewith a quick unconscious motion. "You must let me take care of her, uphere, as I am, at Harris'!" Excitement had flushed her cheeks scarlet.Her eyes were filled with the light of inspiration and more than earthlybeauty. She waited, intense, for him to speak, but he could not. He felther hand upon his arm, saw the wonderful light in her face--and wasdumb.

  "Tell me that I may take care of her. I must--there is no other way,"she insisted. "And it will give me the privilege of doing one little actof kindness. Say it will be all right!"

  "If she cannot find comfort and strength in you, she cannot find it uponearth," he said softly. "I have no words with which to thank you!"

  She took her hand from his arm with a little sigh of content, turnedaround and stood at her horse's head a moment, then mounted as lightlyand quickly as a boy.

  "Where's your horse?" she asked, whirling the animal about until itfaced him. The wonderful light in her face had given place to acareless, light-hearted look.

  "Up at the stable. Have you the time and patience to wait for me?" saidLivingston.

  "Plenty of patience, but no time," she replied. "I promised to meet oneof the twins at six o'clock, so I've got to hurry up. I'll meet you overat Syd's camp in a little while."

  Before he had time to either speak or bow she was gone. As shedisappeared behind the ledge of rocks a clear boyish whistle of somepopular air floated back to him.

  Walking quickly through the pasture toward the ranch buildings EdwardLivingston thought of many things--and wondered.