_PART II_
WHAT OCCURRED IN GLENCAID
CHAPTER I
THE ARRIVAL OF MISS SPENCER
There was a considerable period when events of importance in Glencaid'shistory were viewed against the background of the opening of its firstschool. This was not entirely on account of the deep interestmanifested in the cause of higher education by the residents, but owingrather to the personality of the pioneer school-teacher, and the deep,abiding impress which she made upon the community.
Miss Phoebe Spencer came direct to Glencaid from the far East, herstarting-point some little junction place back in Vermont, although sheproudly named Boston as her home, having once visited in thatmetropolis for three delicious weeks. She was of an ardent,impressionable nature. Her mind was nurtured upon Eastern conceptionsof our common country, her imagination aglow with weird tales of thefrontier, and her bright eyes perceived the vivid coloring of romancein each prosaic object west of the tawny Missouri. All appeared sodifferent from that established life to which she had grownaccustomed,--the people, the country, the picturesque language,--whileher brain so teemed with lurid pictures of border experiences andheroes as to reveal romantic possibilities everywhere. The vast,mysterious West, with its seemingly boundless prairies, grand, solemnmountains, and frankly spoken men peculiarly attired and everywherebearing the inevitable "gun," was to her a newly discovered world. Shecould scarcely comprehend its reality. As the apparently illimitableplains, barren, desolate, awe-inspiring, rolled away behind, mile aftermile, like a vast sea, and left a measureless expanse of grim desertbetween her and the old life, her unfettered imagination seemed toexpand with the fathomless blue of the Western sky. As her eager eyestraced the serrated peaks of a snow-clad mountain range, her heartthrobbed with anticipation of wonders yet to come. Homesickness was athing undreamed of; her active brain responded to each new impression.
She sat comfortably ensconced in the back seat of the old, battered redcoach, surrounded by cushions for protection from continual jouncing,as the Jehu in charge urged his restive mules down the desolate valleyof the Bear Water. Her cheeks were flushed, her wide-open eyes filledwith questioning, her pale fluffy hair frolicking with the breeze, aspretty a picture of young womanhood as any one could wish to see. Norwas she unaware of this fact. During the final stage other longjourney she had found two congenial souls, sufficiently picturesque toharmonize with her ideas of wild Western romance.
These two men were lolling in the less comfortable seat opposite,secretly longing for a quiet smoke outside, yet neither willing todesert this Eastern divinity to his rival. The big fellow, his arm runcarelessly through the leather sling, his bare head projecting half outof the open window, was Jack Moffat, half-owner of the "Golden Rule,"and enjoying a well-earned reputation as the most ornate and artisticliar in the Territory. For two hours he had been exercising his talentto the full, and merely paused now in search of some fresh inspiration,holding in supreme and silent contempt the rather feeble imitations ofhis less-gifted companion. It is also just to add that Mr. Moffatpersonally formed an ideal accompaniment to his vivid narrations ofadventure, and he was fully aware of the fact that Miss Spencer'sappreciative eyes wandered frequently in his direction, noting histanned cheeks, his long silky mustache, the somewhat melancholy gleamof his dark eyes--hiding beyond doubt some mystery of the past, thenature of which was yet to be revealed. Mr. Moffat, always strongalong this line of feminine sympathy, felt newly inspired by theseevidences of interest in his tales, and by something in Miss Spencer'sface which bespoke admiration.
The fly in the ointment of this long day's ride, the third party, whoseundesirable presence and personal knowledge of Mr. Moffat's past careerrather seriously interfered with the latter's flights of imagination,was William McNeil, foreman of the "Bar V" ranch over on SinsiniwaCreek. McNeil was not much of a talker, having an impediment in hisspeech, and being a trifle bashful in the presence of a lady. But hecaught the eye,--a slenderly built, reckless fellow, smoothly shaven,with a strong chin and bright laughing eyes,--and as he lolledcarelessly back in his bearskin "chaps" and wide-brimmed sombrero,occasionally throwing in some cool, insinuating comment regardingMoffat's recitals, the latter experienced a strong inclination to heavehim overboard. The slight hardening of McNeil's eyes at such momentshad thus far served, however, as sufficient restraint, while theunobservant Miss Spencer, unaware of the silent duel thus beingconducted in her very presence, divided her undisguised admiration,playing havoc with the susceptible heart of each, and all unconsciouslylaying the foundations for future trouble.
"Why, how truly remarkable!" she exclaimed, her cheeks glowing. "It'sall so different from the East; heroism seems to be in the very air ofthis country, and your adventure was so very unusual. Don't you thinkso, Mr. McNeil?"
The silent foreman hitched himself suddenly upright, his face unusuallysolemn. "Why--eh--yes, miss--you might--eh--say that. He," with aflip of his hand toward the other, "eh--reminds me--of--eh--an oldfriend."
"Indeed? How extremely interesting!" eagerly scenting a new story."Please tell me who it was, Mr. McNeil."
"Oh--eh--knew him when I was a boy--eh--Munchausen."
Mr. Moffat drew in his head violently, with an exclamation nearlyprofane, yet before he could speak Miss Spencer intervened.
"Munchausen! Why, Mr. McNeil, you surely do not intend to question thetruth of Mr. Moffat's narrative?"
The foreman's eyes twinkled humorously, but the lines of his faceremained calmly impassive. "My--eh--reference," he explained, gravely,"was--eh--entirely to the--eh--local color, the--eh--expert touches."
"Oh!"
"Yes, miss. It's--eh--bad taste out here to--eh--doubt anybody'sword--eh--publicly."
Moffat stirred uneasily, his hand flung behind him, but McNeil wasgazing into the lady's fair face, apparently unconscious of any otherpresence.
"But all this time you have not favored me with any of your ownadventures, Mr. McNeil. I am very sure you must have had hundreds outon these wide plains."
The somewhat embarrassed foreman shook his head discouragingly.
"Oh, but I just know you have, only you are so modest about recountingthem. Now, that scar just under your hair--really it is not at allunbecoming--surely that reveals a story. Was it caused by an Indianarrow?"
McNeil crossed his legs, and wiped his damp forehead with the back ofhis hand. "Hoof of a damn pack-mule," he explained, forgettinghimself. "The--eh--cuss lifted me ten feet."
Moffat laughed hoarsely, but as the foreman straightened up quickly,the amazed girl joined happily in, and his own face instantly exhibitedthe contagion.
"Ain't much--eh--ever happens out on a ranch," he said, doubtfully,"except dodgin' steers, and--eh--bustin' broncoes."
"Your blame mule story," broke in Moffat, who had at last discoveredhis inspiration, "reminds me of a curious little incident occurringlast year just across the divide. I don't recall ever telling itbefore, but it may interest you, Miss Spencer, as illustrative of onephase of life in this country. A party of us were out after bear, andone night when I chanced to be left all alone in camp, I did n't darefall asleep and leave everything unguarded, as the Indians were allaround as thick as leaves on a tree. So I decided to sit up in frontof the tent on watch. Along about midnight, I suppose, I dropped offinto a doze, for the first thing I heard was the hee-haw of a muleright in my ear. It sounded like a clap of thunder, and I jumped up,coming slap-bang against the brute's nose so blamed hard it knocked meflat; and then, when I fairly got my eyes open, I saw five SiouxIndians creeping along through the moonlight, heading right toward ourpony herd. I tell you things looked mighty skittish for me just then,but what do you suppose I did with 'em?"
"Eh--eat 'em, likely," suggested McNeil, thoughtfully, "fried withplenty of--eh--salt; heard they were--eh--good that way."
Mr. Moffat half rose to his feet.
"You damn--"
"O Mr. McNeil, how perfectly ridicu
lous!" chimed in Miss Spencer."Please do go on, Mr. Moffat; it is so exceedingly interesting."
The incensed narrator sank reluctantly back into his seat, his eyes yetglowing angrily. "Well, I crept carefully along a little gully until Igot where them Indians were just exactly opposite me in a direct line.I had an awful heavy gun, carrying a slug of lead near as big as yourfist. Had it fixed up specially fer grizzlies. The fellow creepin'along next me was a tremendous big buck; he looked like a plum giant inthat moonlight, and I 'd just succeeded in drawin' a bead on him when adraught of air from up the gully strikin' across the back of my neckmade me sneeze, and that buck turned round and saw me. You wouldn'thardly believe what happened."
"Whole--eh--bunch drop dead from fright?" asked McNeil, solicitously.
Moffat glared at him savagely, his lips moving, but emitting no sound.
"Oh, please don't mind," urged his fair listener, her flushed cheeksbetraying her interest. "He is so full of his fun. What did follow?"
The story-teller swallowed something in his throat, his gaze still onhis persecutor. "No, sir," he continued, hoarsely, "them bucks jumpedto their feet with the most awful yells I ever heard, and made a rushtoward where I was standing. They was exactly in a line, and I letdrive at that first buck, and blame me if that slug didn't go plumthrough three of 'em, and knock down the fourth. You can roast mealive if that ain't a fact! The fifth one got away, but I roped thewounded fellow, and was a-sittin' on him when the rest of the party gotback to camp. Jim Healy was along, and he'll tell you the same story."
There was a breathless silence, during which McNeil spat meditativelyout of the window.
"Save any--eh--locks of their hair?" he questioned, anxiously.
"Oh, please don't tell me anything about that!" interrupted MissSpencer, nervously. "The whites don't scalp, do they?"
"Not generally, miss, but I--eh--didn't just know what Mr.Moffat's--eh--custom was."
The latter gentleman had his head craned out of the window once more,in an apparent determination to ignore all such frivolous remarks.Suddenly he pointed directly ahead.
"There's Glencaid now, Miss Spencer," he said, cheerfully, glad enoughof an opportunity to change the topic of conversation. "That's thespire of the new Presbyterian church sticking up above the ridge."
"Oh, indeed! How glad I am to be here safe at last!"
"How--eh--did you happen to--eh--recognize the church?" asked McNeilwith evident admiration. "You--eh--can't see it from the saloon."
Moffat disdained reply, and the lurching stage rolled rapidly down thevalley, the mules now lashed into a wild gallop to the noisyaccompaniment of the driver's whip.
The hoofs clattered across the narrow bridge, and, with a sudden swing,all came to a sharp stand, amid a cloud of dust before a naked yellowhouse.
"Here 's where you get out, miss," announced the Jehu, leaning downfrom his seat to peer within. "This yere is the Herndon shebang."
The gentlemen inside assisted Miss Spencer to descend in safety to theweed-bordered walk, where she stood shaking her ruffled plumage intoshape, and giving directions regarding her luggage. Then the twogentlemen emerged, Moffat bearing a grip-case, a bandbox, and a basket,while McNeil supported a shawl-strap and a small trunk. Thus decoratedthey meekly followed her lead up the narrow path toward the front door.The latter opened suddenly, and Mrs. Herndon bounced forth withvociferous welcome.
"Why, Phoebe Spencer, and have you really come! I did n't expect you'd get along before next week. Oh, this seems too nice to see youagain; almost as good as going home to Vermont. You must be completelytired out."
"Dear Aunt Lydia; of course I 'm glad to be here. But I 'm not in theleast tired. I 've had such a delightful trip." She glanced aroundsmilingly upon her perspiring cavaliers. "Oh, put those things down,gentlemen--anywhere there on the grass; they can be carried in later.It was so kind of you both."
"Hey, there!" sang out the driver, growing impatient, "if you two gentsare aimin' to go down town with this outfit, you'd better be pilin' inlively, fer I can't stay here all day."
Moffat glanced furtively aside at McNeil, only to discover thatindividual quietly seated on the trunk. He promptly dropped his owngrip.
"Drive on with your butcher's cart," he called out spitefully. "Ireckon it's no special honor to ride to town."
The pleasantly smiling young woman glanced from one to the other, hereyes fairly dancing, as the lumbering coach disappeared through the reddust.
"How very nice of you to remain," she exclaimed. "Aunt Lydia, I am soanxious for you to meet my friends, Mr. Moffat and Mr. McNeil. Theyhave been so thoughtful and entertaining all the way up the Bear Water,and they explained so many things that I did not understand."
She swept impulsively down toward them, both hands extended, the brightglances of her eyes bestowed impartially.
"I cannot invite you to come into the house now," she exclaimed,sweetly, "for I am almost like a stranger here myself, but I do hopeyou will both of you call. I shall be so very lonely at first, and youare my earliest acquaintances. You will promise, won't you?"
McNeil bowed, painfully clearing his throat, but Moffat succeeded inexpressing his pleasure with a well-rounded sentence.
"I felt sure you would. But now I must really say good-bye for thistime, and go in with Aunt Lydia. I know I must be getting horriblyburned out here in this hot sun. I shall always be so grateful to youboth."
The two radiant knights walked together toward the road, neitheruttering a word. McNeil whistled carelessly, and Moffat gazed intentlyat the distant hills. Just beyond the gate, and without so much asglancing toward his companion, the latter turned and strode up one ofthe numerous diverging trails. McNeil halted and stared after him insurprise.
"Ain't you--eh--goin' on down town?"
"I reckon not. Take a look at my mine first."
McNeil chuckled. "You--eh--better be careful goin' upthat--eh--gully," he volunteered, soberly, "the--eh--ghosts of themfour--eh--Injuns might--eh--haunt ye!"
Moffat wheeled about as if he had been shot in the back. "Youblathering, mutton-headed cowherd!" he yelled, savagely.
But McNeil was already nearly out of hearing.
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