A Debt of Honor

“Hitch your hoss on to that,” said she. “And there’s another for the young chap.”

Gerald smiled at this designation, and availed himself of the information.

“You can set down anywhere, and when supper’s ready I’ll shout.”

“Thank you, Miss Peters,” said the tourist with an amused smile.

But Bess seemed still more amused at being called Miss Peters.

“Oh, I shall bust with laughing, I shall!” she giggled. “Miss Peters! Oh, ain’t you funny, though?”

“Is there any place to wash?” asked Gerald, looking at his dust-soiled hands.

Bess pointed to a little rill of water that flowed and trickled down the hillside, and which Gerald had not yet observed.

“Thank you!”

“Towels are apparently unknown in this wilderness,” said Brooke, after Bess had gone back to the house.

“And soap, too, I expect.”

“A little extra rubbing will make up for the last, and our handkerchiefs may do as a substitute for the former. This seems a primitive sort of place.”

Gerald admired the ease with which Mr. Brooke, who had undoubtedly been brought up in the lap of luxury, adapted himself to the accommodations of the wilderness. The young man, after refreshing himself with an ablution, threw himself on the grass, and said contentedly: “It seems good to rest after our long ride.”

“Yes, Mr. Brooke, that is the way I feel.”

“To tell you the truth, Gerald, I was afraid we might have to camp out in the woods, and go to bed without our supper.”

“Our hotel isn’t exactly first class.”

“No, but if we get a plain supper and a comfortable night’s rest it ought to satisfy us. If I cared to stop at first-class hotels I would have remained in the larger cities. But I like better, for a time at least, the freedom of the woods, even if it carries with it some personal sacrifices and privations.”

“I have been thinking, Mr. Brooke, that my duties as private secretary are not very laborious.”

“True, Gerald,” answered the tourist smiling. “In fact I have no use for a private secretary as such, but I wanted a companion, and you are worth more to me in that capacity than a college graduate whose acquirements would be much greater.”

“But, Mr. Brooke, it doesn’t seem to me that I am earning the very liberal salary you are paying me.”

“Not perhaps by your labors as secretary, but your company I rate higher than this.”

“Thank you, Mr. Brooke,” said Gerald, gratified by this evidence of appreciation.

“So that you needn’t feel any compunction at accepting your salary.”

“I know you mean what you say, and I shall hereafter feel easy on that score. I wonder what would have been my future if you had not made your appearance.”

“You would have got along somehow. You are a clever boy, one of those that get on. There is one thing I reproach myself for, however.”

“What is that, Mr. Brooke?”

“I have taken you away from the congenial society of Jake Amsden.”

Gerald laughed.

“It is true,” he said, “but I will try to find compensation in yours.”

Noel Brooke rose and made a low bow.

“Really,” he said, “I can’t remember when I received such a compliment before.”

At this moment Bess came out of the cabin and called out “Supper’s ready, you fellers!”

“And we ‘fellers’ are ready for it,” said Noel Brooke rising briskly. “Come along, Gerald, the inner man and the inner boy must be replenished.”

CHAPTER XVIII

THE PETERS FAMILY

“Set right up there!” said Mrs. Peters, pointing to a table which was backed up against the wall with one leaf extended.

The antelope steak emitted a delicious odor to our hungry travelers, and they did not mind the absence of a table-cloth and napkins. These would have seemed out of place in this backwoods hotel.

In addition to the antelope meat there were corn cakes as promised and cups of coffee which had already been poured out.

“Mrs. Peters,” said Brooke, “you have given us a supper fit for a king.”

“I don’t know about no kings,” said the bony landlady. “I’ve heerd of ’em, but don’t take much stock in ’em. I don’t believe they’re any better than any other folks.”

“I am not personally acquainted with any, but if I were I am sure they would relish your cooking.”

“You’re monstrous polite,” said Mrs. Peters, her grim features relaxing somewhat, “but I reckon I can cook a little.”

“And your daughter, no doubt, understands cooking also.”

“No, she don’t. She don’t seem to have no gift that way.”

“That’s a mistake,” said Brooke gravely. “What will she do when she is married and has a home of her own?”

“Oh, how you talk!” exclaimed the delighted Bess. “Who’d think of marrying me?”

“I think, Miss Peters, any one who married you would get his money’s worth.”

“Are you married?” asked Bess in an insinuating tone.

“I believe I am spoken for,” answered Brooke hastily, for it seemed clear that he would not have to sue in vain for the hand of the plump young lady, “but my friend here, Mr. Lane, is single.” Gerald looked alarmed, but was relieved when Bess said, “He’s only a boy. He ain’t old enough to be married.”

“Won’t you sit down and have your supper with us, Miss Peters?”