Part 17 (1/2)
She drew him into further conversation regarding his former life, responding briefly but with an undercurrent of interest that put him on good terms with himself.
In the days that followed, these rides became frequent, and despite the fact that they seldom spoke, they unconsciously grew into a closeness of companions.h.i.+p which saved her from the ennui of unwonted domestic environment. The intense vitality of the young foreman attracted her, and she began to have a friendly sympathy for him, and even to feel a tranquil satisfaction in his reposeful silence. At times she was sorely tempted to show him the same little impish self she had portrayed on their first ride up the trail, and sometimes her conscience would sting her that she had failed to confide in him as Mrs. Kingdon had advised, but his gray eyes looked out so very straight and with such calm kindliness--the gaze of a man who has lived the simple life in the open--and with so little affinity to the eyes of the world-wise, that she found herself incapable of carrying out her intentions.
One night when the men had arranged to have another dance, Pen paid unusual attention to her dress. She came downstairs, a slight little figure in a soft, flower-sprigged, old-fas.h.i.+oned muslin (designed originally for bedroom windows and donated by Mrs. Kingdon), her hair softly brought to the crown of her head, with little curling rings about her brow. A freshness like the first faint fragrance of young spring seemed to hover about her. Kurt surveyed her with a look akin to adoration. Then his eyes dropped.
”Don't dance with the boys to-night,” he said abruptly.
”I must play the _ingenue_ part for which I am costumed,” she thought.
”Mrs. Kingdon told me,” she said gently, ”that the boys had so few opportunities for partners, I must divide my dances equally.”
”There's a party of tourists--teachers--at Westcott's. I've asked them over. The boys can dance with them.”
”Well,” she a.s.sented graciously, ”I'll just dance with Betty and Francis and Billy--”
”And me,” he finished.
”Thank you. I didn't know that you danced.”
In the dance hall she looked eagerly about, hoping that Jo might have been invited, but she was disappointed.
”I am not dancing,” she thought, when Kurt was guiding her over the floor.
”I am just being deliciously carried about. It's very restful, but not exhilarating. Oh, Jo, where art thou? It was like drinking champagne to dance with you, but I suppose continuous champagne is bad for one.”
Later that night when she was taking off her dancing slippers her thoughts were still of the man with whom she had danced so many times.
”He's kind and good and strong--a suppressed strength. He looks pa.s.sion-proof; but if he ever falls in love! And what a triumph for a thief to capture an adamantine heart! But I don't want that kind--nor any kind.”
Down in the bunkhouse, Kurt was recalling the feel of her little hand that had left a trail like fire upon his arm and had filled him with a sensation of ecstasy. A new divine sweetness seemed born into the air. He looked out of his window up into a star-flecked sky and renewed his old vow of allegiance to The Woman.
CHAPTER VII
The next day Francis carried out his cherished intention of being a ”bit bad,” and in violation of orders, surrept.i.tiously mounted a ”real horse”
instead of his well-behaved little pony, and set out on adventure bound.
The horse, surprised at his burden, cantered casually along at first; then, resenting the intrusion, began to toss his head, snort and curvet about. The lad, a little frightened but game, kept his seat and the horse, seemingly ashamed to trifle longer with so small a foe, resumed his easy canter, though at a swifter pace than Francis was wont to ride. All might have ended well, had not Kurt in his home-made car suddenly sounded a blatant horn as he came around a curve. To his vision was disclosed a plunging horse and a small, fair-haired atom of a boy clinging to his neck. There was a forward plunge and the horse thundered on like mad along a narrow slant of road with never a slackening of speed.
Kurt cranked up for pursuit, but his crude craft was not built on speed lines, and he saw the distance fast eaten up between him and the frenzied horse. Then, with tiger swiftness, Kingdon's car, a motor of make, pa.s.sed him, Gene at the wheel, Pen beside him. The sight gave him no hope. They could doubtless overtake the horse, but they could not stop him and if they could, the boy would be thrown.
Pen's clear young voice came like a clarion call:
”Stick tight, Francis! Burr-tight! We'll get you all right.”
Gene steered the car to the cliff side of the road to prevent the peril of a plunge by the horse.
When the long, low racing car was nearly up to the Mazeppa flier, a thrill ran through Kurt as he saw Pen step out on the running board. He forgot the boy's danger as he divined her purpose.