Part 12 (2/2)

Their dinner is a merry meal; Miss Travenion coming out afterwards on the platform, and watching out-going freight trains and switching locomotives, as the two gentlemen smoke. Then the moon comes up over the giant mountains that wall in this Ogden Valley, save where it opens on the Great Salt Lake, and shadows fall on the distant gorges and canons.

Illumined by the soft light, the girl looks radiantly lovely and piquantly happy, for somehow this evening seems to her a pleasant one.

After a little, Mr. Chauncey wanders away, perhaps in search of further frontier adventure, though Lawrence notes that he sticks very close to the main hotel, and does not investigate outlying barrooms. Then Erma and Harry being alone, the young man's talk grows confidential, and he tells the girl a good deal of his mining business, which seems to be upon his mind. How he had expected to sell his claim to an English company, but now fears that he shall not, on account of the accursed Mormons--this last under his breath, for nearly every one in the community they are now in are members of that church.

On being questioned, he goes on to explain that a claim has been made to a portion of his mine by a Mormon company, remarking that he has bad news from Salt Lake City that day. He has learned that a Mormon of great influence, called Tranyon, has purchased nearly all the other interests in Zion's Co-operative Mining Inst.i.tution, which has brought suit for a portion of his property.

”How will that affect you?” queries Erma, who apparently has grown anxious for her mentor's speculation.

”Why, this Tranyon is a man of wonderful sagacity,--more, I think, than any other business Mormon in this country. He made nearly as much grading the Union Pacific Railway as Brigham Young himself. He has blocks of stock in the road upon which we will travel to-morrow morning to Salt Lake City. I have now money, brains and a Mormon jury against me!” says Lawrence, with a sigh.

He would perhaps continue this subject, did not Ferdie come excitedly to them, his eyes big with wonder, and whisper: ”Kruger is in the hotel.

Buck Powers and I have been investigating your father's friend, Erma, and have discovered that he is a full-fledged Mormon bishop.”

”A Mormon! Impossible,” says the young lady, with a start.

”Your father's friend?” exclaims Lawrence.

”Certainly,” replies Miss Travenion. ”I met him with my father several times in New York.”

To this the Western man does not answer, but a shade pa.s.ses over his brow and he grows thoughtful.

Then Ferdie, who is very full of his news, says: ”There's no doubt of it. I talked with the man who keeps the bar, and he said Lot Kruger was as good a Mormon as any man in Salt Lake Valley, and I asked him if he didn't think we could arrest Kruger, and he cursed me and said he'll blow my infernal Gentile head off.”

Here Harry interrupts the boy sternly: ”Don't you know that the man in the hotel and nearly every one else about here are Mormons? If you make many more remarks of that kind, you'll never see New York again.”

This advice puts Mr. Chauncey in a brown study, and he wanders away whistling, while Lawrence turns to Miss Travenion and asks her with a serious tone in his voice: ”You are sure this man Kruger is interested with your father in business?”

”I am certain,” falters the girl. ”In some way. I don't know how much.”

”I am very sorry for that!”

”Sorry for it? How can it affect my father?” returns Miss Travenion, growing haughty.

”That I can't see myself,” rejoins her escort, and the two both go into contemplation.

A minute after the girl smiles and says, ”Why, in another minute, perhaps you will think I am Miss Mormon myself.” This seeming to her a great joke, she laughs very heartily.

But her laugh would be a yellow one, did she know that Lot Kruger, bishop in the Mormon Church, high up in the Seventies, Councilor of the Prophet, Brigham Young; and ex-Danite and Destroying Angel to boot, has stayed in Ogden on her account, and has just sent a telegram to one who holds the Latter-Day Saints in his hand, which reads:

”OGDEN, _October 4, 1871_.

”She is here. I am watching her. She will arrive in Salt Lake on the morning train. See my letter from Chicago, due to-night.”

Not knowing this, the girl's laughter is light and happy, and seems to be infectious, for Lawrence joins in it, and their conversation grows low, as if they would keep it to themselves, and perhaps slightly romantic, for there is a fire in the young man's dark eyes that seems to be reflected in the beautiful blue ones of Miss Travenion, as she tells him of life in New York society, and about Mrs. Livingston and her son.

This discantation on the absent Oliver Lawrence enjoys so little, however, that he turns the conversation to his own prospects once more.

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