Part 21

"I cannot understand it. Hugh came home a week or so ago full of her praise--" And at this point her voice dropped lower and the other drew closer.

Outside, the young people stood in silence. There was no moon, and the mountains rose darkly, a sheer wall at the end of the garden, their tops cutting into the starry sky with a dull edge, over which a dim white cone peered.

"That snow-peak is Wolftooth, and thirty miles from here, and at the head of my 'beat,'" said the ranger, after a pause, as they leaned against the railing and looked away to the south. "I go up that ridge which you see faintly at the left of the main canon, and through that deep notch which is above timber-line."

The girl's eyes widened with awe of the big, silent, dark world he indicated. "Aren't you afraid to start out on such a trip alone--I mean, don't you dread it?"

"I'll be sorry to start back, yes, but not because of the dark. I've enjoyed my visit here so much it will be hard to say good-night."

"It seems strange to me that you should prefer this wild country to England."

"Do you like the East better than the West?"

"In some ways; but then, you see, I was born out here."

"So was I--I mean to say I was regenerated out here. The truth is I was a good deal of a scapegrace when I left England. I was always for hunting and horses, and naturally I came directly to the wild West country, and here I've been ever since. I've had my turn at each phase of it--cow-puncher, soldier, Rough-rider, and finally forest ranger. I reckon I've found my job at last."

"Do you like it so much?"

"At the present time I am perfectly contented. I'm associated now with a country that will never yield to the plough--yes, I like my work. I love the forests and the streams. I wish I might show them to you. You don't know how beautiful they are. The most beautiful parks in the world are commonplace to what I can show you. My only sorrow is to think of them given over to the sawmill. Perhaps you and your mother will come up some time, and let me show you my lakes and streams. There are waters so lovely they make the heart ache. Hugh is planning to come up soon; perhaps you and Mrs. Redfield will come with him."

"I'd like it above everything," she responded, fervently. Then her voice changed: "But all depends on my mother's health."

It hurt him to hear her call Eliza Wetherford mother. He wanted to forget her origin for the moment. He was not in love with her--far from it! But she was so alluring, and the proprietress of the Wetherford House was not nice, and that made one doubt the daughter.

She broke the silence. "It seems dreadfully dark and mysterious up there." She indicated his path.

"It isn't as bad as it looks. There is a good trail, and my pony knows it as well as I do. I enjoy riding by night."

"But there are bears and other wild things, are there not?"

"Not as many as I wish there were."

"Why do you say that?"

"I hate to see all the wild life killed off. Some day all these forests will have game refuges like the Yellowstone National Park. They are coming each year to have greater and greater value to the people of the plains. They are playgrounds, like the Alps. Campers are coming into my valley every day, and, while they increase the danger of fires, I welcome them. They are all advocates of the forest. As one man said: 'The mountains supplement the plains. They give color and charm to the otherwise monotonous West.' I confess I couldn't live on the prairies--not even on the plains--if out of sight of the mountains. If I should ever settle down to a home it would be in a canon like this, with a great peak at my front door."

"It is beautiful," the girl said, in the tone of sadness with which we confront the perfect night, the perfect flower, the flawless landscape. "It is both grand and peaceful."

This tone of sadness pleased him. It showed her depth of perception, and he reflected that she had not uttered a vacuous or silly phrase since their first meeting. "She is capable of great development," he thought. Aloud he said: "You are a strange mingling of East and West. Do you realize it?"

"In what way?" she asked, feeling something ardent in his tone.

"You typify to me at this moment this whole State. You fill me with enthusiasm for its future. Here you are, derived from the lawless West, yet taking on the culture and restraint of the East so readily that you seem not in the least related to--"

He checked himself at this point, and she said: "My mother is not as rough as she seems, Mr. Cavanagh."

"She must be more of the woman than appears, or she could not have borne such a daughter. But do you feel your relationship to her? Tell me honestly, for you interest me."

"I didn't at first, but I do now. I begin to understand her, and, besides, I feel in myself certain things that are in her, though I think I am more like the Wetherfords. My father's family home was in Maryland."

Ross could have talked on all night, so alluring was the girl's dimly-seen yet warmly-felt figure at his side, but a sense of danger and a knowledge that he should be riding led him at last to say: "It is getting chill, we must go in; but before we do so, let me say how much I've enjoyed seeing you again. I hope the doctor will make favorable report on your mother's case. You'll write me the result of the examination, won't you?"

"If you wish me to."