The Patrol of the Sun Dance Trail [50]
the eyes of those who had lived for some years in the western country.
"You don't appreciate the true significance of a table napkin, I venture to say, Miss Cameron," said the doctor, "until you have lived a year in this country at least, or how much an unspotted table cloth means, or shining cutlery and crockery."
"Well, I have been two days at the Royal Hotel, whatever," replied Moira.
"The Royal Hotel!" exclaimed the doctor aghast. "Our most palatial Western hostelry--all the comforts and conveniences of civilization!"
"Anyway, I like this better," said Moira. "It is like home."
"Is it, indeed, my dear?" said the minister's wife greatly delighted. "You have paid me a very fine tribute."
The hour lengthened into two, for when a departure was suggested the doctor grew eloquent in urging delay. The horses would be all the better for the rest. It would be fine driving in the evening. They could easily make the Black Dog Ford before dark. After that the trail was good for twenty miles, where they would camp. But like all happy hours these hours fled past, and all too swiftly, and soon the travelers were ready to depart.
Before the Stopping Place door Hell was holding down the bronchos, while Cameron was packing in the valises and making all secure again. Near the wagon stood the doctor waiting their departure.
"You are going back from here, Dr. Martin?" said Moira.
"Yes," said the doctor, "I am going back."
"It has been good to see you," she said. "I hope next time you will know me."
"Ah, now, Miss Cameron, don't rub it in. You see--but what's the use?" continued the doctor. "You had changed. My picture of the girl I had seen in the Highlands that day never changed and never will change." The doctor's keen gray eyes burned into hers for a moment. A slight flush came to her cheek and she found herself embarrassed for want of words. Her embarrassment was relieved by the sound of hoofs pounding down the trail.
"Hello, who's this?" said the doctor, as they stood watching the horseman approaching at a rapid pace and accompanied by a cloud of dust. Nearer and nearer he came, still on the gallop till within a few yards of the group.
"My!" cried Moira. "Whoever he is he will run us down!" and she sprang into her place in the democrat.
Without slackening rein the rider came up to the Stopping Place door at a full gallop, then at a single word his horse planted his four feet solidly on the trail, and, plowing up the dirt, came to a standstill; then, throwing up his magnificent head, he gave a loud snort and stood, a perfect picture of equine beauty.
"Oh, what a horse!" breathed Moira. "How perfectly splendid! And what a rider!" she added. "Do you know him?"
"I do not," said the doctor, conscious of a feeling of hostility to the stranger, and all the more because he was forced to acknowledge to himself that the rider and his horse made a very striking picture. The man was tall and sinewy, with dark, clean-cut face, thin lips, firm chin and deep-set, brown-gray eyes that glittered like steel, and with that unmistakable something in his bearing that suggested the breeding of a gentleman. His horse was as distinguished as its rider. His coal black skin shone like silk, his flat legs, sloping hips, well-ribbed barrel, small head, large, flashing eyes, all proclaimed his high breeding.
"What a beauty! What a beauty!" breathed Moira again to the doctor.
As if in answer to her praise the stranger, raising his Stetson, swept her an elaborate bow, and, touching his horse, moved nearer to the door of the Stopping Place and swung himself to the ground.
"Ah, Cameron, it's you, sure enough. I can hardly believe my good fortune."
"Hello, Raven, that you?" said Cameron indifferently. "Hope you are fit?" But he made no motion to offer his hand nor did he introduce him to the company. At the sound of his name Dr. Martin started and swept his keen eyes over the stranger's face. He had heard that name before.
"Fit?" inquired the stranger whom Cameron had saluted
"You don't appreciate the true significance of a table napkin, I venture to say, Miss Cameron," said the doctor, "until you have lived a year in this country at least, or how much an unspotted table cloth means, or shining cutlery and crockery."
"Well, I have been two days at the Royal Hotel, whatever," replied Moira.
"The Royal Hotel!" exclaimed the doctor aghast. "Our most palatial Western hostelry--all the comforts and conveniences of civilization!"
"Anyway, I like this better," said Moira. "It is like home."
"Is it, indeed, my dear?" said the minister's wife greatly delighted. "You have paid me a very fine tribute."
The hour lengthened into two, for when a departure was suggested the doctor grew eloquent in urging delay. The horses would be all the better for the rest. It would be fine driving in the evening. They could easily make the Black Dog Ford before dark. After that the trail was good for twenty miles, where they would camp. But like all happy hours these hours fled past, and all too swiftly, and soon the travelers were ready to depart.
Before the Stopping Place door Hell was holding down the bronchos, while Cameron was packing in the valises and making all secure again. Near the wagon stood the doctor waiting their departure.
"You are going back from here, Dr. Martin?" said Moira.
"Yes," said the doctor, "I am going back."
"It has been good to see you," she said. "I hope next time you will know me."
"Ah, now, Miss Cameron, don't rub it in. You see--but what's the use?" continued the doctor. "You had changed. My picture of the girl I had seen in the Highlands that day never changed and never will change." The doctor's keen gray eyes burned into hers for a moment. A slight flush came to her cheek and she found herself embarrassed for want of words. Her embarrassment was relieved by the sound of hoofs pounding down the trail.
"Hello, who's this?" said the doctor, as they stood watching the horseman approaching at a rapid pace and accompanied by a cloud of dust. Nearer and nearer he came, still on the gallop till within a few yards of the group.
"My!" cried Moira. "Whoever he is he will run us down!" and she sprang into her place in the democrat.
Without slackening rein the rider came up to the Stopping Place door at a full gallop, then at a single word his horse planted his four feet solidly on the trail, and, plowing up the dirt, came to a standstill; then, throwing up his magnificent head, he gave a loud snort and stood, a perfect picture of equine beauty.
"Oh, what a horse!" breathed Moira. "How perfectly splendid! And what a rider!" she added. "Do you know him?"
"I do not," said the doctor, conscious of a feeling of hostility to the stranger, and all the more because he was forced to acknowledge to himself that the rider and his horse made a very striking picture. The man was tall and sinewy, with dark, clean-cut face, thin lips, firm chin and deep-set, brown-gray eyes that glittered like steel, and with that unmistakable something in his bearing that suggested the breeding of a gentleman. His horse was as distinguished as its rider. His coal black skin shone like silk, his flat legs, sloping hips, well-ribbed barrel, small head, large, flashing eyes, all proclaimed his high breeding.
"What a beauty! What a beauty!" breathed Moira again to the doctor.
As if in answer to her praise the stranger, raising his Stetson, swept her an elaborate bow, and, touching his horse, moved nearer to the door of the Stopping Place and swung himself to the ground.
"Ah, Cameron, it's you, sure enough. I can hardly believe my good fortune."
"Hello, Raven, that you?" said Cameron indifferently. "Hope you are fit?" But he made no motion to offer his hand nor did he introduce him to the company. At the sound of his name Dr. Martin started and swept his keen eyes over the stranger's face. He had heard that name before.
"Fit?" inquired the stranger whom Cameron had saluted