Part 6 (1/2)
Hampton sat up, spurred into instant admiration by such independence of spirit. ”You grow rather good-looking, Kid, when you get hot, but you go at things half-c.o.c.ked, and you 've got to get over it. That's the whole trouble--you 've never been trained, and I would n't make much of a trainer for a high-strung filly like you. Ever remember your mother?”
”Mighty little; reckon she must have died when I was about five years old. That's her picture.”
Hampton took in his hand the old-fas.h.i.+oned locket she held out toward him, the long chain still clasped about her throat, and pried open the stiff catch with his knife blade. She bent down to fasten her loosened shoe, and when her eyes were uplifted again his gaze was riveted upon the face in the picture.
”Mighty pretty, wasn't she?” she asked with a sudden girlish interest, bending forward to look, regardless of his strained att.i.tude. ”And she was prettier than that even, the way I remember her best, with her hair all hanging down, coming to tuck me into bed at night. Someway that's how I always seem to see her.”
The man drew a deep breath, and snapped shut the locket, yet still retained it in his hand. ”Is--is she dead?” he questioned, and his voice trembled in spite of steel nerves.
”Yes, in St. Louis; dad took me there with him two years ago, and I saw her grave.”
”Dad? Do you mean old Gillis?”
She nodded, beginning dimly to wonder why he should speak so fiercely and stare at her in that odd way. He seemed to choke twice before he could ask the next question.
”Did he--old Gillis, I mean--claim to be your father, or her husband?”
”No, I don't reckon he ever did, but he gave me that picture, and told me she was my mother. I always lived with him, and called him dad. I reckon he liked it, and he was mighty good to me. We were at Randolph a long time, and since then he's been post-trader at Bethune. That's all I know about it, for dad never talked very much, and he used to get mad when I asked him questions.”
Hampton dropped the locket from his grasp, and arose to his feet. For several minutes he stood with his back turned toward her, apparently gazing down the valley, his jaw set, his dimmed eyes seeing nothing.
Slowly the color came creeping back into his face, and his hands unclinched. Then he wheeled about, and looked down upon her, completely restored to his old nature.
”Then it seems that it is just you and I, Kid, who have got to settle this little affair,” he announced, firmly. ”I 'll have my say about it, and then you can uncork your feelings. I rather imagine I have n't very much legal right in the premises, but I 've got a sort of moral grip on you by reason of having pulled you out alive from that canyon yonder, and I propose to play this game to the limit. You say your mother is dead, and the man who raised you is dead, and, so far as either of us know, there is n't a soul anywhere on earth who possesses any claim over you, or any desire to have. Then, naturally, the whole jack-pot is up to me, provided I 've got the cards. Now, Kid, waving your prejudice aside, I ain't just exactly the best man in this world to bring up a girl like you and make a lady out of her. I thought yesterday that maybe we might manage to hitch along together for a while, but I 've got a different think coming to-day. There 's no use disfiguring the truth. I 'm a gambler, something of a fighter on the side, and folks don't say anything too pleasant about my peaceful disposition around these settlements; I have n't any home, and mighty few friends, and the few I have got are nothing to boast about. I reckon there 's a cause for it all. So, considering everything, I 'm about the poorest proposition ever was heard of to start a young ladies' seminary. The Lord knows old Gillis was bad enough, but I 'm a d.a.m.ned sight worse. Now, some woman has got to take you in hand, and I reckon I 've found the right one.”
”Goin' to get married, Bob?”
”Not this year; it's hardly become so serious as that, but I 'm going to find you a good home here, and I 'm going to put up plenty of stuff, so that they 'll take care of you all right and proper.”
The dark eyes never wavered as they looked steadily into the gray ones, but the chin quivered slightly.
”I reckon I 'd rather try it alone,” she announced stubbornly. ”Maybe I might have stood it with you, Bob Hampton, but a woman is the limit.”
Hampton in other and happier days had made something of a study of the feminine nature, and he realized now the utter impracticability of any attempt at driving.
”I expect it will go rather hard at first, Kid,” he admitted craftily, ”but I think you might try it a while just to sort of please me.”
”Who--who is she?” doubtfully.
”Mrs. Herndon, wife of the superintendent of the 'Golden Rule' mine”; and he waved his hand toward the distant houses. ”They tell me she's a mighty fine woman.”
”Oh, they do? Then somebody's been stirring you up about me, have they? I thought that was about the way of it. Somebody wants to reform me, I reckon. Well, maybe I won't be reformed. Who was it, Bob?”
”The Presbyterian Missionary,” he confessed reluctantly, ”a nervy little chap named Wynkoop; he came in to see me last night while you were asleep.” He faced her open scorn unshrinkingly, his mind fully decided, and clinging to one thought with all the tenacity of his nature.
”A preacher!” her voice vibrant with derision, ”a preacher! Well, of all things, Bob Hampton! You led around by the nose in that way! Did he want you to bring me to Sunday school? A preacher! And I suppose the fellow expects to turn me over to one of his flock for religious instruction. He'll have you studying theology inside of a year. A preacher! Oh, Lord, and you agreed! Well, I won't go; so there!”
”As I understand the affair,” Hampton continued, as she paused for breath, ”it was Lieutenant Brant who suggested the idea of his coming to me. Brant knew Gillis, and remembered you, and realizing your unpleasant situation, thought such an arrangement would be for your benefit.”
”Brant!” she burst forth in renewed anger; ”he did, did he! The putty-faced dandy! I used to see him at Bethune, and you can bet he never bothered his head about me then. No, and he didn't even know me out yonder, until after the sergeant spoke up. What business has that fellow got planning what I shall do?”