A Waif of the Mountains

“Captain, it is possible that there is some mistake about this.”

“Would to God there might be!”

“Let us hope there is.”

“Mistake!” he repeated in a husky, rasping voice; “can there be any mistake about that?”

He threw out his single arm as he spoke, as if he would drive his fist through their chests. But he held a crumpled bit of paper in the face of the parson, who silently took it from him, crinkled it apart and turning his side so that the firelight fell on the sheet, began reading the few words written in pencil and in the pretty delicate hand which he knew so well.

“Read it out loud, parson,” said Ruggles, speaking for the first time.

Felix Brush did so in a voice of surprising evenness:

“My Dearest Father:–I have decided to go with Lieutenant Russell. We love each other and I have promised to become his wife. Do not think I love you any less for that can never be. I cannot remain here. You will hear from us soon and then I pray that you will come to your own

    Nellie.”

“Have you been to his shanty?” asked Ruggles, who hardly comprehended the meaning of his own words.

“Why would he go there?” angrily demanded the parson.

“Mebbe the villain changed his mind.”

“But, if he had, she would not be there.”

“Yes; I went to his cabin,” bitterly answered Captain Dawson; “he has not been in the place for hours; all is dark and deserted; if I found him, I would have killed him.”

The three were laboring under fearful emotion, but with surprising power forced themselves to seem comparatively calm.

“Captain, tell us about it,” said the parson, carefully folding the bit of paper upon itself and shoving it into his pocket, unobserved by the others.

Despite his apparent calmness it took a few moments for the father to gain sufficient self-control to speak clearly. Seated in the chair, he looked into the embers of the fire on the hearth, compressed his lips and breathed hard. His two friends had also seated themselves, for it seemed to them it was easier to master their agitation thus than while upon their feet.

“What have I to tell, but my everlasting woe and shame? The lieutenant and I have been working for several days by ourselves on a new lead. I had noticed nothing unusual in his manner nor indeed in that of my child. At lunch time to-day he complained to me of not feeling like work, and told me not to expect him back this afternoon. I would have returned with him, had not the indications of the new lead been so good. And actually he invited me to do no more work until to-morrow, though why he should have done it, when it would have spoiled their whole scheme, is more than I can explain.

“It was part of his plan to deceive you.”

“I don’t see how it could do that, for there was no need of his inviting me,–but let it go. It came about that I worked later than usual, so that it was dark when I got home. I was surprised to see no light and to find no fire or Nellie. I thought nothing of that, however, for who would have believed it possible that there could be anything wrong? I supposed she was with some of the folks and being tired I sat down in my chair and fell asleep.

“When I awoke, the room was cold, silent and as dark as a wolf’s mouth. I felt impatient and decided to give her a scolding for being so neglectful. I groped around until I found a match, intending to start a fire. I had just lit the lamp and set it down on the table, when I caught sight of a folded piece of paper with my name in her handwriting on the outside. It gave me a queer feeling and my hands trembled when I unfolded and read it.

“I don’t clearly remember the next few minutes. The room seemed to be spinning around, and I think I had to sit down to keep from falling, but what saved me from collapse was my anger. I have been consumed with indignation once or twice in my life, but was never so furious, so uncontrollable, so utterly savage as I was after reading that note. If I could have found Russell, I would have throttled him. It may sound strange, but I hardly once thought of Nellie; it was he, the villain, whom I yearned to get my hands on.”

“Of course,” said Ruggles, “that’s the way you oughter feel.”

“I don’t know what possessed me to do so, but I rushed out and made straight for his cabin, as if I would find him there. Of course that too was empty, and then I came here. Fool that I have been!” exclaimed the parent, leaping to his feet and striding up and down the room; “not to see all this, but,” he added pathetically, “I believed that Nellie loved me.”

The flaming wrath of the two melted into pity for the stricken father. Parson Brush laid his hand on his shoulder and compelled him to resume his seat. Then he spoke with the tenderness of a woman:

“That child does love you more than she loves her own life, but she is blinded by her infatuation for that smooth-tongued scoundrel. It is the nature of her sex to feel and act thus; but, as I said, it does not mean that her love for you is less–”

“Don’t talk of her love for me,” fiercely interrupted the parent; “we only judge of a person by his actions.”

“But you and I have made mistakes–”

“Nothing like this; why did she not ask me? why did he not tell me that he wished to marry her?–that is if he does,” added the father, as if determined to make his own cup as bitter as possible.

“He did not ask you, because he knew you would refuse; for from the first time he entered this community, he was determined to have her.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because Ruggles and I read him; we did what no one else did,–we measured the man. Am I right, Wade?”

The miner nodded his head.

“Every word is as true as gospel; we noticed his sly looks at her, that first night you and him entered the Heavenly Bower and she was there. We couldn’t make any mistake about it.”

“And you didn’t warn me! You two are as bad as he, because you kept the secret when you ought to have put me on my guard, so that I might have strangled him at the first advance he made.”

Sympathy for the man prevented his listeners taking offence at the words which, from any one else, would have brought serious consequences. The parson said soothingly:

“If you were not so wrought up, captain, you would not be so unreasonable; suppose Wade and I had gone to you with the statement that the man who, according to your own words, had saved your life but a short time before in the mountains, was a villain, who contemplated robbing you of your child; what would you have done?”

“Thanked you and been on my guard.”

“You would have done nothing of the kind; you would have cursed us and told us to mind our own business.”

“No matter what I would have done, it was your duty to tell me, regardless of the consequences to yourselves. I might have resented it, but my eyes would have been opened and this blow saved me.”

“Nothing could have opened your eyes, for you were blind,” said the parson, who felt that though the man was intensely agitated, he ought to hear some plain truths; “even had you suspected there was ground for our fears, you would have gone to Lieutenant Russell and demanded an explanation. He would have denied it, and you would have believed him with the result that he would have been put on his guard and would have deceived you the more completely.”

“Likewise, as aforesaid,” added Ruggles, “the villain would have come to us and made us give our grounds for our charges. What ridic’lous fools we would have been, when all we could answer was that we thought he looked as if he meant to run away with your darter.”

“There may be some justice in what you say,” replied the captain more composedly; “It was I who was blind, but I can’t understand it. Never until I read that piece of paper, did I suspect the truth.”

“Howsumever, the parson and me haven’t been idle; we often talked it over and fixed on a line that we thought would work better than going to you. We showed the leftenant that we was onto his game; I give him a scowl now and then, as it fell convenient, that said ‘Beware!’ We, that is the parson and me, made up our minds to watch close, and, at the first sign that was dead sure, we’d fall onto him like a couple of mountains.”

“And why didn’t you?”

“He fooled us as he did you. We was talkin’ over matters the very minute you busted into the door and was satisfied that he had larned he was playin’ with fire and had concluded to drop it. We was as big fools as you.”

CHAPTER XVI

NOW

It was the parson who now broke in.

“Why do we sit here, lamenting that which cannot be helped? Do you mean to give up, captain, and let her go? Will you settle down to toil in the diggings, giving her no further thought, while this pretty-faced lieutenant is chuckling over the clever manner by which he fooled you as well as us–”