Part 22

"I shall be most anxious to know."

They were standing very near to each other at the moment, and the ranger, made very sensitive to woman's charm by his lonely life, shook with newly-created love of her. A suspicion, a hope that beneath her cultivated manner lay the passionate nature of her mother gave an added force to his desire. He was sorely tempted to touch her, to test her; but her sweet voice, a little sad and perfectly unconscious of evil, calmed him. She said:

"I hope to persuade my mother to leave the Forks. All the best people there are against us. Some of them have been very cruel to her and to me, and, besides, I despise and fear the men who come to our table."

"You must not exchange words with them," he all but commanded. "Beware of Gregg; he is a vile lot; do not trust him for an instant. Do not permit any of those loafers to talk with you, for if you do they will go away to defame you. I know them. They are unspeakably vile. It makes me angry to think that Gregg and his like have the right to speak to you every day while I can only see you at long intervals."

His heat betrayed the sense of proprietorship which he had begun to feel, in spite of his resolution. But the girl only perceived his solicitation, his friendly interest, and she answered: "I keep away from them all I can."

"You are right to distrust them," he replied, grimly. "Because old Sam has money, he thinks he can do as he pleases. You must be especially careful of him."

"The worst is when I go on the street; but if mother does not sell the business, I shall be obliged to stay in the Fork, no matter how I hate it."

"I wish my station were not so far away," he mused, darkly. "But I'll ride down as often as my duties will permit, and you must let me know how things go. And if any of those fellows persecute you, you'll tell me, won't you? I wish you'd look upon me as your big brother. Will you do that?" His voice entreated, and as she remained silent, he continued: "Roaring Fork is one of the worst towns in the State, and a girl like you needs some one as a protector. I don't know just how to put it so that you will not misunderstand me, but, you see, I protect the forest, the streams, and the game; I help the settler in time of trouble; I am a kind of all-round big brother to everybody who needs help in the forest. In fact, I'm paid for protecting things that can't protect themselves, and so"--here he tried to lend his voice the accent of humor--"why shouldn't I be the protector of a girl like you, alone--worse than alone--in this little cow-town?"

She remained dumb at one or two points where he clearly hoped for a word, and she was unable to thank him when he had finished. In this silence a curious constriction came into his throat. It was almost as if he had put his passion into definite words, and as the light fell upon her he perceived that her bosom was heaving with deep emotion.

"I am lonely," she faltered out at last--"horribly lonely; and I know now how people feel toward my mother, and it hurts me--it all hurts me; but I'm going to stay and help her--" She paused to recover her voice. "And you do seem different! I--I--trust you!"

"I'm glad you understand me, and you will let me know if I can help you, won't you?"

"Yes," she answered, simply.

"Good-night," he said, extending his hand.

She placed her palm to his quite frankly, but the touch of it made further speech at the moment impossible.

They went in with such tell-tale faces that even Redfield wondered what had passed between them.

Excusing himself almost at once, Cavanagh left the room, and when he looked in, a few moments later, he was clothed in the ranger's dusty green uniform, booted and spurred for his long, hard ride. Mrs. Redfield followed him into the hall and out on the door-stone to say: "Ross, you must be careful. This girl is very alluring in herself, but her mother, you know, is impossible."

"You're needlessly alarmed, as usual," he smilingly replied. "She interests me--that's patent; but beyond that, why--nonsense! Good-night."

Nevertheless, despite his protestations, he went away up the trail with his mind so filled with Lee Virginia's appealing face and form that he would certainly have ridden over a precipice had it not been for his experienced pony, who had fortunately but one aim, and that was to cross the range safely and to reach the home pasture at the earliest moment.

Now that he was looking back upon three hours more of Lee's society, Cavanagh was ready to admit that he had left his range and ridden hard and far with that one purpose in mind. He had been hungry for the sight of her, and now that he had touched her hand and looked upon her again he was a little surprised and deeply disturbed to find himself hungrier than before.

THE VOICE FROM THE HEIGHTS

LEE VIRGINIA was not entirely without experience as regards respectful courtship. Her life in the East had brought her to know a number of attractive lads and a few men, but none of these had become more than good companions, or friends; and though she wrote to one or two of these youths letters of the utmost friendliness, there was no passion in them, and she felt, as yet, the sting of nothing more intense in her liking for Cavanagh; but he meant more to her, now that she was lonely and beleaguered of those whose eyes were cruel and hot.

Then, too, he had come to represent a new world to her--this world of the forest, this region toward the sunset, which was quite as mysterious to her thinking as it was to the eyes of any plains-dweller. Her imagination went with the ranger on his solitary march into those vague, up-billowing masses of rocks and trees. To her there were many dangers, and she wondered at his courage, his hardihood.

That he had ridden all that long, rough way merely to see her she was not vain enough to believe; but she had, nevertheless, something of every woman's secret belief in her individual charm. Cavanagh had shown a flattering interest in her, and his wish to be her protector filled her with joy and confidence.

She heard a good deal more about this particular forest ranger next morning at breakfast. "He is throwing himself away," Mrs. Redfield passionately declared. "Think of a man of Ross's refinement living in a mountain shack miles from anybody, watching poachers, marking trees, and cooking his own food. It's a shameful waste of genius."

"That's as you look at it, my dear," responded Redfield. "Ross is the guardian of an immense treasure-chest which belongs to the nation. Furthermore, he is quite certain--as I am--that this Forest Service is the policy of the future, and that it offers fine chances for promotion--and then, finally, he likes it."

"That is all well enough for a young man; but Ross is at least thirty-five, and should be thinking of settling down. I can't understand his point of view."

"My dear, you have never seen the procession of the seasons from such a point of view as that which he enjoys."

"No, and I do not care to. It is quite lonely enough for me right here."