Part 8 (1/2)

”Awh! thanks,” remarks Ollie, being compelled to the same, and accepting it, he finds it to his astonishment to be a very good one,--much better than the average weed he would get in a New York club: for this young man does not know that the Western mining man and speculator uses the very best of cigars, wines, and all creature comforts, even when his luck is hard and his pocket almost empty.

A moment after Mr. Lot Kruger pa.s.ses the two, and gives Harry a by no means kindly glance, for he has noticed the attentions of this gentleman to the daughter of his old friend, and does not like them.

This feeling is perhaps also felt, though at this time in a lesser degree, by Mr. Oliver Livingston, who somehow or other has arrived at the conclusion that Miss Travenion likes to listen to the conversation of this gentleman from the West, and does not like it very much more than Mr. Kruger.

Consequently, when the engineer rings the bell and the conductor cries, ”All aboard!” Harry Lawrence has made one active and one at present pa.s.sive enemy, though he is rapidly growing to be a hero in Mr. Ferdie's imagination; and as for Buck Powers, he has loved and admired this young engineer of the Pacific Railway for years, as nearly every other employee of the same, especially those engaged in its early building, have done ever since he ran the lines in Nebraska when that State was a howling wilderness of Indians, wild animals, trappers and prairies.

Then the train, getting under headway, pa.s.ses with illuminated Pullmans and flas.h.i.+ng headlight into the night of the plains. Miss Travenion, with a new interest in her mind as to this Western gentleman chance seems to have thrown into her way, looks out of her stateroom--the car is half empty, most of its male pa.s.sengers being in the smoking room with their after-dinner cigars. Among them, Ferdie and Ollie.

Captain Lawrence is at the other end of the car, conversing with Mrs.

Livingston and Louise.

Erma carelessly picks up a book,--one of Ferdie's purchases, the volume on the Union Pacific Railway; and glancing languidly over its pages, sees a picture of Indians attacking a hand-car, and reads, ”Elm Creek Ma.s.sacre” in large type. Beneath it is an account of the heroism of Captain Harry Storey Lawrence.

Then the brakeman cries out ”Elm Creek.” The train pauses for a moment, and gazing out, she can see the station house on the side track. A moment after, the locomotive das.h.i.+ng on again, she finds herself peering into the darkness that lies upon the low stretch of prairie, and wondering exactly whereabouts the man sitting so quietly and conversing with Mrs. Livingston, made his fight; and her imagination getting the better of her, she seems to see the stalwart figure, which is commencing to interest her, standing on a little hand-car on that lone prairie, surrounded by Indians and fighting them off, and saving the section men surprised at their work, as they drop their tools and run from their labor; and she sees his dark eyes, that she has commenced to know very well, flas.h.i.+ng with determination as he encourages the fleeing laborers, and getting them on the car, they make their running fight towards the station, and hears the cracking of the deadly rifles and the whoops of the pursuing savages.

She is interrupted in this fantasie by Mr. Livingston's placid voice, saying, ”What are you reading, Erma?” for she still has the volume in her hand.

”Only an account of the construction of this railway,” says the young lady, and she pa.s.ses him the volume.

Looking over the account of the ”Elm Creek Ma.s.sacre,” Ollie's eyes open rather widely; but, a moment after, he remarks sneeringly: ”This fiction of the Rocky Mountains seems to make quite a hero of your friend Lawrence. I wonder if he wrote the book himself?” And the gentleman chuckles to himself, imagining he has been rather witty.

Miss Travenion's reply rather disconcerts him.

”I am glad you call him my friend,” answers the girl, a gleam of admiration in her blue eyes. ”Any man who could do what is written there, is worthy to be any woman's friend.”

”Oh, indeed,” says Mr. Livingston, rather nettled at this; partly because he thinks his joke is not appreciated, and partly because he does not care about Erma Travenion showing an interest in any other man save his own small self. ”I suppose you will soon make a first-cla.s.s border ruffian out of your hero?” Then he utters oracularly: ”I wonder how it is that some girls seem to take such interest in 'men of blood.'”

”I don't take interest in 'men of blood,'” cries Miss Travenion, rather warmly, for this remark about border ruffians is not pleasing to her; ”but I do take interest in the men of courage, determination and manhood, who are risking their lives to make this country a greater America.”

But here she gets a surprise from Ollie, who, incited by the beauty of the girl, which is made greater by her enthusiasm, replies suddenly: ”If I thought you would like it, Erma, I myself would become a pioneer.”

The idea of Mr. Ollie's turning frontiersman, proves too much for Miss Travenion's control; she bursts into a fit of laughter, which disconcerts the young man, and makes him retreat from her, with a plaintive, ”I meant what I said. I didn't believe you would treat my expression of regard for you with a jeer.”

Left to herself, however, Erma goes into more thought about this man who has risked his life for others, and even after she has gone to bed, as she turns upon her pillow, visions of Captain Harry Storey Lawrence, fighting Indians, come to her, and she wakes up with a suppressed scream, for he is about to be scalped, and finds that it is only the shriek of the locomotive, and the war-whoops of the Indians are only the outcries of the porter, announcing that they are approaching Sydney, where they have thirty minutes for an early breakfast.

CHAPTER VI.

MR. FERDIE DISCOVERS A VIGILANTE.

So, making a hasty toilet, Miss Travenion steps out of her stateroom to find the car empty, it having already arrived at the eating-station, and the pa.s.sengers having departed from it.

On the platform, however, she is greeted by Ferdie, who cries out: ”Come along, Miss Lazy Bird. All the rest are in at breakfast. I have got some news for you.”

”News about whom?” says the girl lightly.

”About the Indians. There's some off there. You needn't be afraid! I've got my revolver on, and if they act nasty, I'll fix 'em as Cap Lawrence does,” says the boy, and he leads her a few steps to one side, where Erma sees a Sioux buck, two squaws and a pappoose--the warrior on a pony and flouris.h.i.+ng about in a red blanket and soldier hat, though his leggings are of the scantiest proportions.

The squaws, as is their wont, extend their hands for stray coins, though the Sioux are by no means such beggars as their more degraded cousins, the Piutes on the Central Pacific in Nevada. Looking at these unedifying redskins, Miss Travenion finds that Cooper's novels, which she had once regarded as facts, have immediately become fictions.