Dick Boyle's Business Card
The Sage Wood and Dead Flat stage coach was waiting before thestation. The Pine Barrens mail wagon that connected with it waslong overdue, with its transfer passengers, and the station hadrelapsed into listless expectation. Even the humors of Dick Boyle,the Chicago "drummer,"--and, so far, the solitary passenger--whichhad diverted the waiting loungers, began to fail in effect, thoughthe cheerfulness of the humorist was unabated. The ostlers hadslunk back into the stables, the station keeper and stage driverhad reduced their conversation to impatient monosyllables, as ifeach thought the other responsible for the delay. A solitaryIndian, wrapped in a commissary blanket and covered by a cast-offtall hat, crouched against the wall of the station looking stolidlyat nothing. The station itself, a long, rambling buildingcontaining its entire accommodation for man and beast under onemonotonous, shed-like roof, offered nothing to attract the eye.Still less the prospect, on the one side two miles of arid waste tothe stunted, far-spaced pines in the distance, known as the"Barrens;" on the other an apparently limitless level with darkerpatches of sage brush, like the scars of burnt-out fires.Dick Boyle approached the motionless Indian as a possible relief."YOU don't seem to care much if school keeps or not, do you, Lo?"The Indian, who had been half crouching on his upturned soles, herestraightened himself with a lithe, animal-like movement, and stoodup. Boyle took hold of a corner of his blanket and examined itcritically."Gov'ment ain't pampering you with A1 goods, Lo! I reckon theagent charged 'em four dollars for that. Our firm could havedelivered them to you for 2 dols. 37 cents, and thrown in a box ofbeads in the bargain. Suthin like this!" He took from his pocketa small box containing a gaudy bead necklace and held it up beforethe Indian.The savage, who had regarded him--or rather looked beyond him--withthe tolerating indifference of one interrupted by a friskinginferior animal, here suddenly changed his expression. A look ofchildish eagerness came into his gloomy face; he reached out hishand for the trinket."Hol' on!" said Boyle, hesitating for a moment; then he suddenlyejaculated, "Well! take it, and one o' these," and drew a businesscard from his pocket, which he stuck in the band of the batteredtall hat of the aborigine. "There! show that to your friends, andwhen you're wantin' anything in our line"--The interrupting roar of laughter, coming from the box seat of thecoach, was probably what Boyle was expecting, for he turned awaydemurely and walked towards the coach. "All right, boys! I'vesquared the noble red man, and the star of empire is taking itswestward way. And I reckon our firm will do the 'Great Father'business for him at about half the price that it is done inWashington."But at this point the ostlers came hurrying out of the stables."She's comin'," said one. "That's her dust just behind the LonePine--and by the way she's racin' I reckon she's comin' in mightylight.""That's so," said the mail agent, standing up on the box seat for abetter view, "but darned ef I kin see any outside passengers. Ireckon we haven't waited for much."Indeed, as the galloping horses of the incoming vehicle pulled outof the hanging dust in the distance, the solitary driver could beseen urging on his team. In a few moments more they had halted atthe lower end of the station."Wonder what's up!" said the mail agent."Nothin'! Only a big Injin scare at Pine Barrens," said one of theostlers. "Injins doin' ghost dancin'--or suthin like that--and thepassengers just skunked out and went on by the other line. Thar'sonly one ez dar come--and she's a lady.""A lady?" echoed Boyle."Yes," answered the driver, taking a deliberate survey of a tall,graceful girl who, waiving the gallant assistance of the stationkeeper, had leaped unaided from the vehicle. "A lady--and the fortcommandant's darter at that! She's clar grit, you bet--a chip o'the old block. And all this means, sonny, that you're to give upthat box seat to HER. Miss Julia Cantire don't take anythin' lesswhen I'm around."The young lady was already walking, directly and composedly,towards the waiting coach--erect, self-contained, well gloved andbooted, and clothed, even in her dust cloak and cape of plain ashenmerino, with the unmistakable panoply of taste and superiority. Agood-sized aquiline nose, which made her handsome mouth looksmaller; gray eyes, with an occasional humid yellow sparkle intheir depths; brown penciled eyebrows, and brown tendrils of hair,all seemed to Boyle to be charmingly framed in by the silver grayveil twisted around her neck and under her oval chin. In her sobertints she appeared to him to have evoked a harmony even out of thedreadful dust around them. What HE appeared to her was not soplain; she looked him over--he was rather short; through him--hewas easily penetrable; and then her eyes rested with a frankrecognition on the driver."Good-morning, Mr. Foster," she said, with a smile."Mornin', miss. I hear they're havin' an Injin scare over at theBarrens. I reckon them men must feel mighty mean at bein' stumpedby a lady!""I don't think they believed I would go, and some of them had theirwives with them," returned the young lady indifferently; "besides,they are Eastern people, who don't know Indians as well as WE do,Mr. Foster."The driver blushed with pleasure at the association. "Yes, ma'am,"he laughed, "I reckon the sight of even old 'Fleas in the Blanket'over there," pointing to the Indian, who was walking stolidly awayfrom the station, "would frighten 'em out o' their boots. And yethe's got inside his hat the business card o' this gentleman--Mr.Dick Boyle, traveling for the big firm o' Fletcher & Co. ofChicago"--he interpolated, rising suddenly to the formal heights ofpolite introduction; "so it sorter looks ez ef any SKELPIN' was tobe done it might be the other way round, ha! ha!"Miss Cantire accepted the introduction and the joke with polite butcool abstraction, and climbed lightly into the box seat as the mailbags and a quantity of luggage--evidently belonging to the evadingpassengers--were quickly transferred to the coach. But for hisfair companion, the driver would probably have given profane voiceto his conviction that his vehicle was used as a "d----d baggagetruck," but he only smiled grimly, gathered up his reins, andflicked his whip. The coach plunged forward into the dust, whichinstantly rose around it, and made it thereafter a mere cloud inthe distance. Some of that dust for a moment overtook and hid theIndian, walking stolidly in its track, but he emerged from it at anangle, with a quickened pace and a peculiar halting trot. Yet thattrot was so well sustained that in an hour he had reached a fringeof rocks and low bushes hitherto invisible through theirregularities of the apparently level plain, into which he plungedand disappeared. The dust cloud which indicated the coach--probably owing to these same irregularities--had long since beenlost on the visible horizon.The fringe which received him was really the rim of a depressionquite concealed from the surface of the plain,--which it followedfor some miles through a tangled trough-like bottom of low treesand underbrush,--and was a natural cover for wolves, coyotes, andoccasionally bears, whose half-human footprint might have deceiveda stranger. This did not, however, divert the Indian, who,trotting still doggedly on, paused only to examine anotherfootprint--much more frequent--the smooth, inward-toed track ofmoccasins. The thicket grew more dense and difficult as he wenton, yet he seemed to glide through its density and darkness--anobscurity that now seemed to be stirred by other moving objects,dimly seen, and as uncertain and intangible as sunlit leavesthrilled by the wind, yet bearing a strange resemblance to humanfigures! Pressing a few yards further, he himself presently becamea part of this shadowy procession, which on closer scrutinyrevealed itself as a single file of Indians, following each otherin the same tireless trot. The woods and underbrush were full ofthem; all moving on, as he had moved, in a line parallel with thevanishing coach. Sometimes through the openings a bared paintedlimb, a crest of feathers, or a strip of gaudy blanket was visible,but nothing more. And yet only a few hundred yards away stretchedthe dusky, silent plain--vacant of sound or motion!Meanwhile the Sage Wood and Pine Barren stage coach, profoundlyoblivious--after the manner of all human invention--of everythingbut its regular function, toiled dustily out of the higher plainand began the grateful descent of a wooded canyon, which was, infact, the culminating point of the depression, just described,along which the shadowy procession was slowly advancing, hardly amile in the rear and flank of the vehicle. Miss Julia Cantire, whohad faced the dust volleys of the plain unflinchingly, as became asoldier's daughter, here stood upright and shook herself--herpretty head and figure emerging like a goddess from the envelopingsilver cloud. At least Mr. Boyle, relegated to the back seat,thought so--although her conversation and attentions had beenchiefly directed to the driver and mail agent. Once, when he hadlight-heartedly addressed a remark to her, it had been receivedwith a distinct but unpromising politeness that had made him desistfrom further attempts, yet without abatement of his cheerfulness,or resentment of the evident amusement his two male companions gotout of his "snub." Indeed, it is to be feared that Miss Julia hadcertain prejudices of position, and may have thought that a"drummer"--or commercial traveler--was no more fitting company forthe daughter of a major than an ordinary peddler. But it was moreprobable that Mr. Boyle's reputation as a humorist--a teller offunny stories and a boon companion of men--was inconsistent withthe feminine ideal of high and exalted manhood. The man who "setsthe table in a roar" is apt to be secretly detested by the sex, tosay nothing of the other obvious reasons why Juliets do not likeMercutios!For some such cause as this Dick Boyle was obliged to amuse himselfsilently, alone on the back seat, with those liberal powers ofobservation which nature had given him. On entering the canyon hehad noticed the devious route the coach had taken to reach it, andhad already invented an improved route which should enter thedepression at the point where the Indians had already (unknown tohim) plunged into it, and had conceived a road through the tangledbrush that would shorten the distance by some miles. He hadfigured it out, and believed that it "would pay." But by this timethey were beginning the somewhat steep and difficult ascent of thecanyon on the other side. The vehicle had not crawled many yardsbefore it stopped. Dick Boyle glanced around. Miss Cantire wasgetting down. She had expressed a wish to walk the rest of theascent, and the coach was to wait for her at the top. Foster hadeffusively begged her to take her own time--"there was no hurry!"Boyle glanced a little longingly after her graceful figure,released from her cramped position on the box, as it flittedyouthfully in and out of the wayside trees; he would like to havejoined her in the woodland ramble, but even his good nature was notproof against her indifference. At a turn in the road they lostsight of her, and, as the driver and mail agent were deep in adiscussion about the indistinct track, Boyle lapsed into his silentstudy of the country. Suddenly he uttered a slight exclamation,and quietly slipped from the back of the toiling coach to theground. The action was, however, quickly noted by the driver, whopromptly put his foot on the brake and pulled up. "Wot's up now?"he growled.Boyle did not reply, but ran back a few steps and began searchingeagerly on the ground."Lost suthin?" asked Foster."Found something," said Boyle, picking up a small object. "Look atthat! D----d if it isn't the card I gave that Indian four hoursago at the station!" He held up the card."Look yer, sonny," retorted Foster gravely, "ef yer wantin' to getout and hang round Miss Cantire, why don't yer say so at oncet?That story won't wash!""Fact!" continued Boyle eagerly. "It's the same card I stuck inhis hat--there's the greasy mark in the corner. How the devil didit--how did HE get here?""Better ax him," said Foster grimly, "ef he's anywhere round.""But I say, Foster, I don't like the look of this at all! MissCantire is alone, and"--But a burst of laughter from Foster and the mail agent interruptedhim. "That's so," said Foster. "That's your best holt! Keep itup! You jest tell her that! Say thar's another Injin skeer on;that that thar bloodthirsty ole 'Fleas in His Blanket' is on thewarpath, and you're goin' to shed the last drop o' your blooddefendin' her! That'll fetch her, and she ain't bin treatin' youwell! G'lang!"The horses started forward under Foster's whip, leaving Boylestanding there, half inclined to join in the laugh against himself,and yet impelled by some strange instinct to take a more seriousview of his discovery. There was no doubt it was the same card hehad given to the Indian. True, that Indian might have given it toanother--yet by what agency had it been brought there faster thanthe coach traveled on the same road, and yet invisibly to them?For an instant the humorous idea of literally accepting Foster'schallenge, and communicating his discovery to Miss Cantire,occurred to him; he could have made a funny story out of it, andcould have amused any other girl with it, but he would not forcehimself upon her, and again doubted if the discovery were a matterof amusement. If it were really serious, why should he alarm her?He resolved, however, to remain on the road, and within convenientdistance of her, until she returned to the coach; she could not befar away. With this purpose he walked slowly on, haltingoccasionally to look behind.Meantime the coach continued its difficult ascent, a difficultymade greater by the singular nervousness of the horses, that onlywith great trouble and some objurgation from the driver could beprevented from shying from the regular track."Now, wot's gone o' them critters?" said the irate Foster,straining at the reins until he seemed to lift the leader back intothe track again."Looks as ef they smelt suthin--b'ar or Injin ponies," suggestedthe mail agent."Injin ponies?" repeated Foster scornfully."Fac'! Injin ponies set a hoss crazy--jest as wild hosses would!""Whar's yer Injin ponies?" demanded Foster incredulously."Dunno," said the mail agent simply.But here the horses again swerved so madly from some point of thethicket beside them that the coach completely left the track on theright. Luckily it was a disused trail and the ground fairly good,and Foster gave them their heads, satisfied of his ability toregain the regular road when necessary. It took some moments forhim to recover complete control of the frightened animals, and thentheir nervousness having abated with their distance from thethicket, and the trail being less steep though more winding thanthe regular road, he concluded to keep it until he got to thesummit, when he would regain the highway once more and await hispassengers. Having done this, the two men stood up on the box, andwith an anxiety they tried to conceal from each other looked downthe canyon for the lagging pedestrians."I hope Miss Cantire hasn't been stampeded from the track by anyskeer like that," said the mail agent dubiously."Not she! She's got too much grit and sabe for that, unless thatdrummer hez caught up with her and unloaded his yarn about thatkyard."They were the last words the men spoke. For two rifle shotscracked from the thicket beside the road; two shots aimed with suchdeliberateness and precision that the two men, mortally stricken,collapsed where they stood, hanging for a brief moment over thedashboard before they rolled over on the horses' backs. Nor didthey remain there long, for the next moment they were seized byhalf a dozen shadowy figures and with the horses and their cuttraces dragged into the thicket. A half dozen and then a dozenother shadows flitted and swarmed over, in, and through the coach,reinforced by still more, until the whole vehicle seemed to bepossessed, covered, and hidden by them, swaying and moving withtheir weight, like helpless carrion beneath a pack of ravenouswolves. Yet even while this seething congregation was at itsgreatest, at some unknown signal it as suddenly dispersed,vanished, and disappeared, leaving the coach empty--vacant and voidof all that had given it life, weight, animation, and purpose--amere skeleton on the roadside. The afternoon wind blew through itsopen doors and ravaged rack and box as if it had been the wreck ofweeks instead of minutes, and the level rays of the setting sunflashed and blazed into its windows as though fire had been addedto the ruin. But even this presently faded, leaving the abandonedcoach a rigid, lifeless spectre on the twilight plain.An hour later there was the sound of hurrying hoofs and jinglingaccoutrements, and out of the plain swept a squad of cavalrymenbearing down upon the deserted vehicle. For a few moments they,too, seemed to surround and possess it, even as the other shadowshad done, penetrating the woods and thicket beside it. And then assuddenly at some signal they swept forward furiously in the trackof the destroying shadows.Miss Cantire took full advantage of the suggestion "not to hurry"in her walk, with certain feminine ideas of its latitude. Shegathered a few wild flowers and some berries in the underwood,inspected some birds' nests with a healthy youthful curiosity, andeven took the opportunity of arranging some moist tendrils of hersilky hair with something she took from the small reticule thathung coquettishly from her girdle. It was, indeed, some twentyminutes before she emerged into the road again; the vehicle hadevidently disappeared in a turn of the long, winding ascent, butjust ahead of her was that dreadful man, the "Chicago drummer."She was not vain, but she made no doubt that he was waiting therefor her. There was no avoiding him, but his companionship could bemade a brief one. She began to walk with ostentatious swiftness.Boyle, whose concern for her safety was secretly relieved at this,began to walk forward briskly too without looking around. MissCantire was not prepared for this; it looked so ridiculously as ifshe were chasing him! She hesitated slightly, but now as she wasnearly abreast of him she was obliged to keep on."I think you do well to hurry, Miss Cantire," he said as shepassed. "I've lost sight of the coach for some time, and I daresay they're already waiting for us at the summit."Miss Cantire did not like this any better. To go on beside thisdreadful man, scrambling breathlessly after the stage--for all theworld like an absorbed and sentimentally belated pair ofpicnickers--was really TOO much. "Perhaps if YOU ran on and toldthem I was coming as fast as I could," she suggested tentatively."It would be as much as my life is worth to appear before Fosterwithout you," he said laughingly. "You've only got to hurry on alittle faster."But the young lady resented this being driven by a "drummer." Shebegan to lag, depressing her pretty brows ominously."Let me carry your flowers," said Boyle. He had noticed that shewas finding some difficulty in holding up her skirt and the nosegayat the same time."No! No!" she said in hurried horror at this new suggestion oftheir companionship. "Thank you very much--but they're really notworth keeping--I am going to throw them away. There!" she added,tossing them impatiently in the dust.But she had not reckoned on Boyle's perfect good-humor. Thatgentle idiot stooped down, actually gathered them up again, and wasfollowing! She hurried on; if she could only get to the coachfirst, ignoring him! But a vulgar man like that would be sure tohand them to her with some joke! Then she lagged again--she wasgetting tired, and she could see no sign of the coach. Thedrummer, too, was also lagging behind--at a respectful distance,like a groom or one of her father's troopers. Nevertheless thisdid not put her in a much better humor, and halting until he cameabreast of her, she said impatiently: "I don't see why Mr. Fostershould think it necessary to send any one to look after me.""He didn't," returned Boyle simply. "I got down to pick upsomething.""To pick up something?" she returned incredulously."Yes. THAT." He held out the card. "It's the card of our firm."Miss Cantire smiled ironically. "You are certainly devoted to yourbusiness.""Well, yes," returned Boyle good-humoredly. "You see I reckon itdon't pay to do anything halfway. And whatever I do, I mean tokeep my eyes about me." In spite of her prejudice, Miss Cantirecould see that these necessary organs, if rather flippant, werehonest. "Yes, I suppose there isn't much on that I don't take in.Why now, Miss Cantire, there's that fancy dust cloak you'rewearing--it isn't in our line of goods--nor in anybody's line westof Chicago; it came from Boston or New York, and was made for homeconsumption! But your hat--and mighty pretty it is too, as YOU'VEfixed it up--is only regular Dunstable stock, which we could putdown at Pine Barrens for four and a half cents a piece, net. Yet Isuppose you paid nearly twenty-five cents for it at the Agency!"Oddly enough this cool appraisement of her costume did not incensethe young lady as it ought to have done. On the contrary, for someoccult feminine reason, it amused and interested her. It would besuch a good story to tell her friends of a "drummer's" idea ofgallantry; and to tease the flirtatious young West Pointer who hadjust joined. And the appraisement was truthful--Major Cantire hadonly his pay--and Miss Cantire had been obliged to select that hatfrom the government stores."Are you in the habit of giving this information to ladies you meetin traveling?" she asked."Well, no!" answered Boyle--"for that's just where you have to keepyour eyes open. Most of 'em wouldn't like it, and it's no useaggravating a possible customer. But you are not that kind."Miss Cantire was silent. She knew she was not of that kind, butshe did not require his vulgar indorsement. She pushed on for somemoments alone, when suddenly he hailed her. She turnedimpatiently. He was carefully examining the road on both sides."We have either lost our way," he said, rejoining her, "or thecoach has turned off somewhere. These tracks are not fresh, and asthey are all going the same way, they were made by the up coachlast night. They're not OUR tracks; I thought it strange we hadn'tsighted the coach by this time.""And then"--said Miss Cantire impatiently."We must turn back until we find them again."The young lady frowned. "Why not keep on until we get to the top?"she said pettishly. "I'm sure I shall." She stopped suddenly asshe caught sight of his grave face and keen, observant eyes. "Whycan't we go on as we are?""Because we are expected to come back to the COACH--and not to thesummit merely. These are the 'orders,' and you know you are asoldier's daughter!" He laughed as he spoke, but there was acertain quiet deliberation in his manner that impressed her. Whenhe added, after a pause, "We must go back and find where the tracksturned off," she obeyed without a word.They walked for some time, eagerly searching for signs of themissing vehicle. A curious interest and a new reliance in Boyle'sjudgment obliterated her previous annoyance, and made her morenatural. She ran ahead of him with youthful eagerness, examiningthe ground, following a false clue with great animation, andconfessing her defeat with a charming laugh. And it was she who,after retracing their steps for ten minutes, found the divergingtrack with a girlish cry of triumph. Boyle, who had followed hermovements quite as interestedly as her discovery, looked a littlegrave as he noticed the deep indentations made by the strugglinghorses. Miss Cantire detected the change in his face; ten minutesbefore she would never have observed it. "I suppose we had betterfollow the new track," she said inquiringly, as he seemed tohesitate."Certainly," he said quickly, as if coming to a prompt decision."That is safest.""What do you think has happened? The ground looks very much cutup," she said in a confidential tone, as new to her as her previousobservation of him."A horse has probably stumbled and they've taken the old trail asless difficult," said Boyle promptly. In his heart he did notbelieve it, yet he knew that if anything serious had threatenedthem the coach would have waited in the road. "It's an easiertrail for us, though I suppose it's a little longer," he addedpresently."You take everything so good-humoredly, Mr. Boyle," she said aftera pause."It's the way to do business, Miss Cantire," he said. "A man in myline has to cultivate it."She wished he hadn't said that, but, nevertheless, she returned alittle archly: "But you haven't any business with the stage companynor with ME, although I admit I intend to get my Dunstablehereafter from your firm at the wholesale prices."Before he could reply, the detonation of two gunshots, softened bydistance, floated down from the ridge above them. "There!" saidMiss Cantire eagerly. "Do you hear that?"His face was turned towards the distant ridge, but really that shemight not question his eyes. She continued with animation: "That'sfrom the coach--to guide us--don't you see?""Yes," he returned, with a quick laugh, "and it says hurry up--mighty quick--we're tired waiting--so we'd better push on.""Why don't you answer back with your revolver?" she asked."Haven't got one," he said."Haven't got one?" she repeated in genuine surprise. "I thoughtyou gentlemen who are traveling always carried one. Perhaps it'sinconsistent with your gospel of good-humor.""That's just it, Miss Cantire," he said with a laugh. "You've hitit.""Why," she said hesitatingly, "even I have a derringer--a verylittle one, you know, which I carry in my reticule. CaptainRichards gave it to me." She opened her reticule and showed apretty ivory-handled pistol. The look of joyful surprise whichcame into his face changed quickly as she cocked it and lifted itinto the air. He seized her arm quickly."No, please don't, you might want it--I mean the report won't carryfar enough. It's a very useful little thing, for all that, butit's only effective at close quarters." He kept the pistol in hishand as they walked on. But Miss Cantire noticed this, also hisevident satisfaction when she had at first produced it, and hisconcern when she was about to discharge it uselessly. She was aclever girl, and a frank one to those she was inclined to trust.And she began to trust this stranger. A smile stole along her ovalcheek."I really believe you're afraid of something, Mr. Boyle," she said,without looking up. "What is it? You haven't got that Indianscare too?"Boyle had no false shame. "I think I have," he returned, withequal frankness. "You see, I don't understand Indians as well asyou--and Foster.""Well, you take my word and Foster's that there is not the leastdanger from them. About here they are merely grown-up children,cruel and destructive as most children are; but they know theirmasters by this time, and the old days of promiscuous scalping areover. The only other childish propensity they keep is thieving.Even then they only steal what they actually want,--horses, guns,and powder. A coach can go where an ammunition or an emigrantwagon can't. So your trunk of samples is quite safe with Foster."Boyle did not think it necessary to protest. Perhaps he wasthinking of something else."I've a mind," she went on slyly, "to tell you something more.Confidence for confidence: as you've told me YOUR trade secrets,I'll tell you one of OURS. Before we left Pine Barrens, my fatherordered a small escort of cavalrymen to be in readiness to jointhat coach if the scouts, who were watching, thought it necessary.So, you see, I'm something of a fraud as regards my reputation forcourage.""That doesn't follow," said Boyle admiringly, "for your father musthave thought there was some danger, or he wouldn't have taken thatprecaution.""Oh, it wasn't for me," said the young girl quickly."Not for you?" repeated Boyle.Miss Cantire stopped short, with a pretty flush of color and anadorable laugh. "There! I've done it, so I might as well tell thewhole story. But I can trust you, Mr. Boyle." (She faced him withclear, penetrating eyes.) "Well," she laughed again, "you mighthave noticed that we had a quantity of baggage of passengers whodidn't go? Well, those passengers never intended to go, and hadn'tany baggage! Do you understand? Those innocent-looking heavytrunks contained carbines and cartridges from our post for FortTaylor"--she made him a mischievous curtsy--"under MY charge!And," she added, enjoying his astonishment, "as you saw, I broughtthem through safe to the station, and had them transferred to thiscoach with less fuss and trouble than a commissary transport andescort would have made.""And they were in THIS coach?" repeated Boyle abstractedly."Were? They ARE!" said Miss Cantire."Then the sooner I get you back to your treasure again the better,"said Boyle with a laugh. "Does Foster know it?""Of course not! Do you suppose I'd tell it to anybody but astranger to the place? Perhaps, like you, I know when and to whomto impart information," she said mischievously.Whatever was in Boyle's mind he had space for profound and admiringastonishment of the young lady before him. The girlish simplicityand trustfulness of her revelation seemed as inconsistent with hisprevious impression of her reserve and independence as her girlishreasoning and manner was now delightfully at variance with hertallness, her aquiline nose, and her erect figure. Mr. Boyle, likemost short men, was apt to overestimate the qualities of size.They walked on for some moments in silence. The ascent wascomparatively easy but devious, and Boyle could see that this newdetour would take them still some time to reach the summit. MissCantire at last voiced the thought in his own mind. "I wonder whatinduced them to turn off here? and if you hadn't been so clever asto discover their tracks, how could we have found them? But," sheadded, with feminine logic, "that, of course, is why they firedthose shots."Boyle remembered, however, that the shots came from anotherdirection, but did not correct her conclusion. Nevertheless hesaid lightly: "Perhaps even Foster might have had an Indian scare.""He ought to know 'friendlies' or 'government reservation men'better by this time," said Miss Cantire; "however, there issomething in that. Do you know," she added with a laugh, "though Ihaven't your keen eyes I'm gifted with a keen scent, and once ortwice I've thought I SMELT Indians--that peculiar odor of theircamps, which is unlike anything else, and which one detects even intheir ponies. I used to notice it when I rode one; no amount ofgrooming could take it away.""I don't suppose that the intensity or degree of this odor wouldgive you any idea of the hostile or friendly feelings of theIndians towards you?" asked Boyle grimly.Although the remark was consistent with Boyle's objectionablereputation as a humorist, Miss Cantire deigned to receive it with asmile, at which Boyle, who was a little relieved by their securityso far, and their nearness to their journey's end, developedfurther ingenious trifling until, at the end of an hour, they stoodupon the plain again.There was no sign of the coach, but its fresh track was visibleleading along the bank of the ravine towards the intersection ofthe road they should have come by, and to which the coach hadindubitably returned. Mr. Boyle drew a long breath. They werecomparatively safe from any invisible attack now. At the end often minutes Miss Cantire, from her superior height, detected thetop of the missing vehicle appearing above the stunted bushes atthe junction of the highway."Would you mind throwing those old flowers away now?" she said,glancing at the spoils which Boyle still carried."Why?" he asked."Oh, they're too ridiculous. Please do.""May I keep one?" he asked, with the first intonation of masculineweakness in his voice."If you like," she said, a little coldly.Boyle selected a small spray of myrtle and cast the other flowersobediently aside."Dear me, how ridiculous!" she said."What is ridiculous?" he asked, lifting his eyes to hers with aslight color. But he saw that she was straining her eyes in thedistance."Why, there don't seem to be any horses to the coach!"He looked. Through a gap in the furze he could see the vehicle nowquite distinctly, standing empty, horseless and alone. He glancedhurriedly around them; on the one side a few rocks protected themfrom the tangled rim of the ridge; on the other stretched theplain. "Sit down, don't move until I return," he said quickly."Take that." He handed back her pistol, and ran quickly to thecoach. It was no illusion; there it stood vacant, abandoned, itsdropped pole and cut traces showing too plainly the fearful hasteof its desertion! A light step behind him made him turn. It wasMiss Cantire, pink and breathless, carrying the cocked derringer inher hand. "How foolish of you--without a weapon," she gasped inexplanation.Then they both stared at the coach, the empty plain, and at eachother! After their tedious ascent, their long detour, theirprotracted expectancy and their eager curiosity, there was such asuggestion of hideous mockery in this vacant, useless vehicle--apparently left to them in what seemed their utter abandonment--that it instinctively affected them alike. And as I am writing ofhuman nature I am compelled to say that they both burst into a fitof laughter that for the moment stopped all other expression!"It was so kind of them to leave the coach," said Miss Cantirefaintly, as she took her handkerchief from her wet and mirthfuleyes. "But what made them run away?"Boyle did not reply; he was eagerly examining the coach. In thatbrief hour and a half the dust of the plain had blown thick uponit, and covered any foul stain or blot that might have suggestedthe awful truth. Even the soft imprint of the Indians' moccasinedfeet had been trampled out by the later horse hoofs of thecavalrymen. It was these that first attracted Boyle's attention,but he thought them the marks made by the plunging of the releasedcoach horses.Not so his companion! She was examining them more closely, andsuddenly lifted her bright, animated face. "Look!" she said; "ourmen have been here, and have had a hand in this--whatever it is.""Our men?" repeated Boyle blankly."Yesthe escort I told you of. These arethe prints of the regulation cavalry horseshoe--not of Foster'steam, nor of Indian ponies, who never have any! Don't you see?"she went on eagerly; "our men have got wind of something and havegalloped down here--along the ridge--see!" she went on, pointing tothe hoof prints coming from the plain. "They've anticipated someIndian attack and secured everything.""But if they were the same escort you spoke of, they must haveknown you were here, and have"--he was about to say "abandonedyou," but checked himself, remembering they were her father'ssoldiers."They knew I could take care of myself, and wouldn't stand in theway of their duty," said the young girl, anticipating him withquick professional pride that seemed to fit her aquiline nose andtall figure. "And if they knew that," she added, softening with amischievous smile, "they also knew, of course, that I was protectedby a gallant stranger vouched for by Mr. Foster! No!" she added,with a certain blind, devoted confidence, which Boyle noticed witha slight wince that she had never shown before, "it's all right!and 'by orders,' Mr. Boyle, and when they've done their workthey'll be back."But Boyle's masculine common sense was, perhaps, safer than MissCantire's feminine faith and inherited discipline, for in aninstant he suddenly comprehended the actual truth! The Indians hadbeen there FIRST; THEY had despoiled the coach and got off safelywith their booty and prisoners on the approach of the escort, whowere now naturally pursuing them with a fury aroused by the beliefthat their commander's daughter was one of their prisoners. Thisconviction was a dreadful one, yet a relief as far as the younggirl was concerned. But should he tell her? No! Better that sheshould keep her calm faith in the triumphant promptness of thesoldiers--and their speedy return."I dare say you are right," he said cheerfully, "and let us bethankful that in the empty coach you'll have at least a half-civilized shelter until they return. Meantime I'll go andreconnoitre a little.""I will go with you," she said.But Boyle pointed out to her so strongly the necessity of herremaining to wait for the return of the soldiers that, being alsofagged out by her long climb, she obediently consented, while he,even with his inspiration of the truth, did not believe in thereturn of the despoilers, and knew she would be safe.He made his way to the nearest thicket, where he rightly believedthe ambush had been prepared, and to which undoubtedly they firstretreated with their booty. He expected to find some signs ortraces of their spoil which in their haste they had to abandon. Hewas more successful than he anticipated. A few steps into thethicket brought him full upon a realization of more than his worstconvictions--the dead body of Foster! Near it lay the body of themail agent. Both had been evidently dragged into the thicket fromwhere they fell, scalped and half stripped. There was no evidenceof any later struggle; they must have been dead when they werebrought there.Boyle was neither a hard-hearted nor an unduly sensitive man. Hisvocation had brought him peril enough by land and water; he hadoften rendered valuable assistance to others, his sympathy neverconfusing his directness and common sense. He was sorry for thesetwo men, and would have fought to save them. But he had noimaginative ideas of death. And his keen perception of the truthwas consequently sensitively alive only to that grotesqueness ofaspect which too often the hapless victims of violence are apt toassume. He saw no agony in the vacant eyes of the two men lying ontheir backs in apparently the complacent abandonment ofdrunkenness, which was further simulated by their tumbled anddisordered hair matted by coagulated blood, which, however, hadlost its sanguine color. He thought only of the unsuspecting girlsitting in the lonely coach, and hurriedly dragged them furtherinto the bushes. In doing this he discovered a loaded revolver anda flask of spirits which had been lying under them, and promptlysecured them. A few paces away lay the coveted trunks of arms andammunition, their lids wrenched off and their contents gone. Henoticed with a grim smile that his own trunks of samples had shareda like fate, but was delighted to find that while the brightertrifles had attracted the Indians' childish cupidity they hadoverlooked a heavy black merino shawl of a cheap but serviceablequality. It would help to protect Miss Cantire from the eveningwind, which was already rising over the chill and stark plain. Italso occurred to him that she would need water after her parchedjourney, and he resolved to look for a spring, being rewarded atlast by a trickling rill near the ambush camp. But he had noutensil except the spirit flask, which he finally emptied of itscontents and replaced with the pure water--a heroic sacrifice to atraveler who knew the comfort of a stimulant. He retraced hissteps, and was just emerging from the thicket when his quick eyecaught sight of a moving shadow before him close to the ground,which set the hot blood coursing through his veins.It was the figure of an Indian crawling on his hands and kneestowards the coach, scarcely forty yards away. For the first timethat afternoon Boyle's calm good-humor was overswept by a blind andfurious rage. Yet even then he was sane enough to remember that apistol shot would alarm the girl, and to keep that weapon as a lastresource. For an instant he crept forward as silently andstealthily as the savage, and then, with a sudden bound, leapedupon him, driving his head and shoulders down against the rocksbefore he could utter a cry, and sending the scalping knife he wascarrying between his teeth flying with the shock from his batteredjaw. Boyle seized it--his knee still in the man's back--but theprostrate body never moved beyond a slight contraction of the lowerlimbs. The shock had broken the Indian's neck. He turned theinert man on his back--the head hung loosely on the side. But inthat brief instant Boyle had recognized the "friendly" Indian ofthe station to whom he had given the card.He rose dizzily to his feet. The whole action had passed in a fewseconds of time, and had not even been noticed by the sole occupantof the coach. He mechanically cocked his revolver, but the manbeneath him never moved again. Neither was there any sign offlight or reinforcement from the thicket around him. Again thewhole truth flashed upon him. This spy and traitor had been leftbehind by the marauders to return to the station and avertsuspicion; he had been lurking around, but being without firearms,had not dared to attack the pair together.It was a moment or two before Boyle regained his usual elasticgood-humor. Then he coolly returned to the spring, "washed himselfof the Indian," as he grimly expressed it to himself, brushed hisclothes, picked up the shawl and flask, and returned to the coach.It was getting dark now, but the glow of the western sky shoneunimpeded through the windows, and the silence gave him a greatfear. He was relieved, however, on opening the door, to find MissCantire sitting stiffly in a corner. "I am sorry I was so long,"he said, apologetically to her attitude, "but"--"I suppose you took your own time," she interrupted in a voice ofinjured tolerance. "I don't blame you; anything's better thanbeing cooped up in this tiresome stage for goodness knows howlong!""I was hunting for water," he said humbly, "and have brought yousome." He handed her the flask."And I see you have had a wash," she said a little enviously. "Howspick and span you look! But what's the matter with your necktie?"He put his hand to his neck hurriedly. His necktie was loose, andhad twisted to one side in the struggle. He colored quite as muchfrom the sensitiveness of a studiously neat man as from the fear ofdiscovery. "And what's that?" she added, pointing to the shawl."One of my samples that I suppose was turned out of the coach andforgotten in the transfer," he said glibly. "I thought it mightkeep you warm."She looked at it dubiously and laid it gingerly aside. "You don'tmean to say you go about with such things OPENLY?" she saidquerulously."Yes; one mustn't lose a chance of trade, you know," he resumedwith a smile."And you haven't found this journey very profitable," she saiddryly. "You certainly are devoted to your business!" After apause, discontentedly: "It's quite night already--we can't sit herein the dark.""We can take one of the coach lamps inside; they're still there.I've been thinking the matter over, and I reckon if we leave onelighted outside the coach it may guide your friends back." He HADconsidered it, and believed that the audacity of the act, coupledwith the knowledge the Indians must have of the presence of thesoldiers in the vicinity, would deter rather than invite theirapproach.She brightened considerably with the coach lamp which he lit andbrought inside. By its light she watched him curiously. His facewas slightly flushed and his eyes very bright and keen looking.Man killing, except with old professional hands, has thedisadvantage of affecting the circulation.But Miss Cantire had noticed that the flask smelt of whiskey. Thepoor man had probably fortified himself from the fatigues of theday."I suppose you are getting bored by this delay," she saidtentatively."Not at all," he replied. "Would you like to play cards? I've gota pack in my pocket. We can use the middle seat as a table, andhang the lantern by the window strap."She assented languidly from the back seat; he was on the frontseat, with the middle seat for a table between them. First Mr.Boyle showed her some tricks with the cards and kindled hermomentary and flashing interest in a mysteriously evoked butevanescent knave. Then they played euchre, at which Miss Cantirecheated adorably, and Mr. Boyle lost game after game shamelessly.Then once or twice Miss Cantire was fain to put her cards to hermouth to conceal an apologetic yawn, and her blue-veined eyelidsgrew heavy. Whereupon Mr. Boyle suggested that she should makeherself comfortable in the corner of the coach with as manycushions as she liked and the despised shawl, while he took thenight air in a prowl around the coach and a lookout for thereturning party. Doing so, he was delighted, after a turn or two,to find her asleep, and so returned contentedly to his sentryround.He was some distance from the coach when a low moaning sound in thethicket presently increased until it rose and fell in a prolongedhowl that was repeated from the darkened plains beyond. Herecognized the voice of wolves; he instinctively felt the sickeningcause of it. They had scented the dead bodies, and he nowregretted that he had left his own victim so near the coach. Hewas hastening thither when a cry, this time human and moreterrifying, came from the coach. He turned towards it as its doorflew open and Miss Cantire came rushing toward him. Her face wascolorless, her eyes wild with fear, and her tall, slim figuretrembled convulsively as she frantically caught at the lapels ofhis coat, as if to hide herself within its folds, and gaspedbreathlessly,--"What is it? Oh! Mr. Boyle, save me!""They are wolves," he said hurriedly. "But there is no danger;they would never attack you; you were safe where you were; let melead you back."But she remained rooted to the spot, still clinging desperately tohis coat. "No, no!" she said, "I dare not! I heard that awful cryin my sleep. I looked out and saw it--a dreadful creature withyellow eyes and tongue, and a sickening breath as it passed betweenthe wheels just below me. Ah! What's that?" and she again lapsedin nervous terror against him.Boyle passed his arm around her promptly, firmly, masterfully. Sheseemed to feel the implied protection, and yielded to itgratefully, with the further breakdown of a sob. "There is nodanger," he repeated cheerfully. "Wolves are not good to look at,I know, but they wouldn't have attacked you. The beast only scentssome carrion on the plain, and you probably frightened him morethan he did you. Lean on me," he continued as her step tottered;"you will be better in the coach.""And you won't leave me alone again?" she said in hesitating terror."No!"He supported her to the coach gravely, gently--her master and stillmore his own for all that her beautiful loosened hair was againsthis cheek and shoulder, its perfume in his nostrils, and thecontour of her lithe and perfect figure against his own. He helpedher back into the coach, with the aid of the cushions and shawlarranged a reclining couch for her on the back seat, and thenresumed his old place patiently. By degrees the color came back toher face--as much of it as was not hidden by her handkerchief.Then a tremulous voice behind it began a half-smothered apology."I am SO ashamed, Mr. Boyle--I really could not help it! But itwas so sudden--and so horrible--I shouldn't have been afraid of ithad it been really an Indian with a scalping knife--instead of thatbeast! I don't know why I did it--but I was alone--and seemed tobe dead--and you were dead too and they were coming to eat me!They do, you know--you said so just now! Perhaps I was dreaming.I don't know what you must think of me--I had no idea I was such acoward!"But Boyle protested indignantly. He was sure if HE had been asleepand had not known what wolves were before, he would have beenequally frightened. She must try to go to sleep again--he was sureshe could--and he would not stir from the coach until she waked, orher friends came.She grew quieter presently, and took away the handkerchief from amouth that smiled though it still quivered; then reaction began,and her tired nerves brought her languor and finally repose. Boylewatched the shadows thicken around her long lashes until they laysoftly on the faint flush that sleep was bringing to her cheek; herdelicate lips parted, and her quick breath at last came with theregularity of slumber.So she slept, and he, sitting silently opposite her, dreamed--theold dream that comes to most good men and true once in their lives.He scarcely moved until the dawn lightened with opal the drearyplain, bringing back the horizon and day, when he woke from hisdream with a sigh, and then a laugh. Then he listened for thesound of distant hoofs, and hearing them, crept noiselessly fromthe coach. A compact body of horsemen were bearing down upon it.He rose quickly to meet them, and throwing up his hand, broughtthem to a halt at some distance from the coach. They spread out,resolving themselves into a dozen troopers and a smart young cadet-like officer."If you are seeking Miss Cantire," he said in a quiet, businessliketone, "she is quite safe in the coach and asleep. She knowsnothing yet of what has happened, and believes it is you who havetaken everything away for security against an Indian attack. Shehas had a pretty rough night--what with her fatigue and her alarmat the wolves--and I thought it best to keep the truth from her aslong as possible, and I would advise you to break it to hergently." He then briefly told the story of their experiences,omitting only his own personal encounter with the Indian. A newpride, which was perhaps the result of his vigil, prevented him.The young officer glanced at him with as much courtesy as might beafforded to a civilian intruding upon active military operations."I am sure Major Cantire will be greatly obliged to you when heknows it," he said politely, "and as we intend to harness up andtake the coach back to Sage Wood Station immediately, you will havean opportunity of telling him.""I am not going back by the coach to Sage Wood," said Boylequietly. "I have already lost twelve hours of my time--as well asmy trunk--on this picnic, and I reckon the least Major Cantire cando is to let me take one of your horses to the next station in timeto catch the down coach. I can do it, if I set out at once."Boyle heard his name, with the familiar prefix of "Dicky," given tothe officer by a commissary sergeant, whom he recognized as havingmet at the Agency, and the words "Chicago drummer " added, while aperceptible smile went throughout the group. "Very well, sir,"said the officer, with a familiarity a shade less respectful thanhis previous formal manner. "You can take the horse, as I believethe Indians have already made free with your samples. Give him amount, sergeant."The two men walked towards the coach. Boyle lingered a moment atthe window to show him the figure of Miss Cantire still peacefullyslumbering among her pile of cushions, and then turned quietlyaway. A moment later he was galloping on one of the troopers'horses across the empty plain.Miss Cantire awoke presently to the sound of a familiar voice andthe sight of figures that she knew. But the young officer's firstwords of explanation--a guarded account of the pursuit of theIndians and the recapture of the arms, suppressing the killing ofFoster and the mail agent--brought a change to her brightened faceand a wrinkle to her pretty brow."But Mr. Boyle said nothing of this to me," she said, sitting up."Where is he?""Already on his way to the next station on one of our horses!Wanted to catch the down stage and get a new box of samples, Ifancy, as the braves had rigged themselves out with his laces andribbons. Said he'd lost time enough on this picnic," returned theyoung officer, with a laugh. "Smart business chap; but I hope hedidn't bore you?"Miss Cantire felt her cheek flush, and bit her lip. "I found himmost kind and considerate, Mr. Ashford," she said coldly. "He mayhave thought the escort could have joined the coach a littleearlier, and saved all this; but he was too much of a gentleman tosay anything about it to ME," she added dryly, with a slightelevation of her aquiline nose.Nevertheless Boyle's last words stung her deeply. To hurry off,too, without saying "good-by," or even asking how she slept! Nodoubt he HAD lost time, and was tired of her company, and thoughtmore of his precious samples than of her! After all, it was likehim to rush off for an order!She was half inclined to call the young officer back and tell himhow Boyle had criticised her costume on the road. But Mr. Ashfordwas at that time entirely preoccupied with his men around a ledgeof rock and bushes some yards from the coach, yet not so far awaybut that she could hear what they said. "I'll swear there was nodead Injin here when we came yesterday! We searched the wholeplace--by daylight, too--for any sign. The Injin was killed in histracks by some one last night. It's like Dick Boyle, lieutenant,to have done it, and like him to have said nothin' to frighten theyoung lady. He knows when to keep his mouth shut--and when to openit."Miss Cantire sank back in her corner as the officer turned andapproached the coach. The incident of the past night flashed backupon her--Mr. Boyle's long absence, his flushed face, twistednecktie, and enforced cheerfulness. She was shocked, amazed,discomfited--and admiring! And this hero had been sitting oppositeto her, silent all the rest of the night!"Did Mr. Boyle say anything of an Indian attack last night?" askedAshford. "Did you hear anything?""Only the wolves howling," said Miss Cantire. "Mr. Boyle was awaytwice." She was strangely reticent--in complimentary imitation ofher missing hero."There's a dead Indian here who has been killed," began Ashford."Oh, please don't say anything more, Mr. Ashford," interrupted theyoung lady, "but let us get away from this horrid place at once.Do get the horses in. I can't stand it."But the horses were already harnessed and mounted, postilion-wise,by the troopers. The vehicle was ready to start when Miss Cantirecalled "Stop!"When Ashford presented himself at the door, the young lady was uponher hands and knees, searching the bottom of the coach. "Oh, dear!I've lost something. I must have dropped it on the road," she saidbreathlessly, with pink cheeks. "You must positively wait and letme go back and find it. I won't be long. You know there's 'nohurry.'"Mr. Ashford stared as Miss Cantire skipped like a schoolgirl fromthe coach and ran down the trail by which she and Boyle hadapproached the coach the night before. She had not gone far beforeshe came upon the withered flowers he had thrown away at hercommand. "It must be about here," she murmured. Suddenly sheuttered a cry of delight, and picked up the business card thatBoyle had shown her. Then she looked furtively around her, and,selecting a sprig of myrtle among the cast-off flowers, concealedit in her mantle and ran back, glowing, to the coach. "Thank you!All right, I've found it," she called to Ashford, with a dazzlingsmile, and leaped inside.The coach drove on, and Miss Cantire, alone in its recesses, drewthe myrtle from her mantle and folding it carefully in herhandkerchief, placed it in her reticule. Then she drew out thecard, read its dryly practical information over and over again,examined the soiled edges, brushed them daintily, and held it for amoment, with eyes that saw not, motionless in her hand. Then sheraised it slowly to her lips, rolled it into a spiral, and,loosening a hook and eye, thrust it gently into her bosom.And Dick Boyle, galloping away to the distant station, did not knowthat the first step towards a realization of his foolish dream hadbeen taken!
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