Part 5 (1/2)
”He is big and dark and handsome. He shoots to kill. He killed my brother.
I hate him. He wants me, and I ran away from him. But he is a coward. I frightened him away. He is afraid of dead men that he has killed.”
The young man gave his attention now to the extraordinary story which the girl told as if it were a common occurrence.
”But where are your people, your family and friends? Why do they not send the man away?”
”They're all back there in the sand,” she said with a sad little flicker of a smile and a gesture that told of tragedy. ”I said the prayer over them. Mother always wanted it when we died. There wasn't anybody left but me. I said it, and then I came away. It was cold moonlight, and there were noises. The horse was afraid. But I said it. Do you suppose it will do any good?”
She fastened her eyes upon the young man with her last words as if demanding an answer. The color came up to his cheeks. He felt embarra.s.sed at such a question before her trouble.
”Why, I should think it ought to,” he stammered. ”Of course it will,” he added with more confident comfort.
”Did you ever say the prayer?”
”Why,--I--yes, I believe I have,” he answered somewhat uncertainly.
”Did it do any good?” She hung upon his words.
”Why, I--believe--yes, I suppose it did. That is, praying is always a good thing. The fact is, it's a long time since I've tried it. But of course it's all right.”
A curious topic for conversation between a young man and woman on a ride through the wilderness. The man had never thought about prayer for so many minutes consecutively in the whole of his life; at least, not since the days when his nurse tried to teach him ”Now I lay me.”
”Why don't you try it about the lady?” asked the girl suddenly.
”Well, the fact is, I never thought of it.”
”Don't you believe it will do any good?”
”Well, I suppose it might.”
”Then let's try it. Let's get off now, quick, and both say it. Maybe it will help us both. Do you know it all through? Can't you say it?” This last anxiously, as he hesitated and looked doubtful.
The color came into the man's face. Somehow this girl put him in a very bad light. He couldn't shoot; and, if he couldn't pray, what would she think of him?
”Why, I think I could manage to say it with help,” he answered uneasily.
”But what if that man should suddenly appear on the scene?”
”You don't think the prayer is any good, or you wouldn't say that.” She said it sadly, hopelessly.
”O, why, certainly,” he said, ”only I thought there might be some better time to try it; but, if you say so, we'll stop right here.” He sprang to the ground, and offered to a.s.sist her; but she was beside him before he could get around his horse's head.
Down she dropped, and clasped her hands as a little child might have done, and closed her eyes.
”Our Father,” she repeated slowly, precisely, as if every word belonged to a charm and must be repeated just right or it would not work. The man's mumbling words halted after hers. He was reflecting upon the curious tableau they would make to the chance pa.s.ser-by on the desert if there were any pa.s.sers-by. It was strange, this aloneness. There was a wideness here that made praying seem more natural than it would have been at home in the open country.
The prayer, by reason of the unaccustomed lips, went slowly; but, when it was finished, the girl sprang to her saddle again with a businesslike expression.
”I feel better,” she said with a winning smile. ”Don't you? Don't you think He heard?”
”Who heard?”