Part 43

But the young lady resented this being driven by a “drummer.” She began to lag, depressing her pretty brows ominously.

“Let me carry your flowers,” said Boyle. He had noticed that she was finding some difficulty in holding up her skirt and the nosegay at the same time.

“No! No!” she said in hurried horror at this new suggestion of their companionship. “Thank you very much--but they're really not worth keeping--I am going to throw them away. There!” she added, tossing them impatiently in the dust.

But she had not reckoned on Boyle's perfect good-humor. That gentle idiot stooped down, actually gathered them up again, and was following! She hurried on; if she could only get to the coach first, ignoring him! But a vulgar man like that would be sure to hand them to her with some joke! Then she lagged again--she was getting tired, and she could see no sign of the coach. The drummer, too, was also lagging behind--at a respectful distance, like a groom or one of her father's troopers. Nevertheless this did not put her in a much better humor, and halting until he came abreast of her, she said impatiently: “I don't see why Mr. Foster should think it necessary to send any one to look after me.”

“He didn't,” returned Boyle simply. “I got down to pick up something.”

“To pick up something?” she returned incredulously.

“Yes. THAT.” He held out the card. “It's the card of our firm.”

Miss Cantire smiled ironically. “You are certainly devoted to your business.”

“Well, yes,” returned Boyle good-humoredly. “You see I reckon it don't pay to do anything halfway. And whatever I do, I mean to keep my eyes about me.” In spite of her prejudice, Miss Cantire could see that these necessary organs, if rather flippant, were honest. “Yes, I suppose there isn't much on that I don't take in. Why now, Miss Cantire, there's that fancy dust cloak you're wearing--it isn't in our line of goods--nor in anybody's line west of Chicago; it came from Boston or New York, and was made for home consumption! But your hat--and mighty pretty it is too, as YOU'VE fixed it up--is only regular Dunstable stock, which we could put down at Pine Barrens for four and a half cents a piece, net. Yet I suppose you paid nearly twenty-five cents for it at the Agency!”

Oddly enough this cool appraisement of her costume did not incense the young lady as it ought to have done. On the contrary, for some occult feminine reason, it amused and interested her. It would be such a good story to tell her friends of a “drummer's” idea of gallantry; and to tease the flirtatious young West Pointer who had just joined. And the appraisement was truthful--Major Cantire had only his pay--and Miss Cantire had been obliged to select that hat from the government stores.

“Are you in the habit of giving this information to ladies you meet in traveling?” she asked.

“Well, no!” answered Boyle--“for that's just where you have to keep your eyes open. Most of 'em wouldn't like it, and it's no use aggravating a possible customer. But you are not that kind.”

Miss Cantire was silent. She knew she was not of that kind, but she did not require his vulgar indorsement. She pushed on for some moments alone, when suddenly he hailed her. She turned impatiently. He was carefully examining the road on both sides.

“We have either lost our way,” he said, rejoining her, “or the coach has turned off somewhere. These tracks are not fresh, and as they are all going the same way, they were made by the up coach last night. They're not OUR tracks; I thought it strange we hadn't sighted the coach by this time.”

“And then”--said Miss Cantire impatiently.

“We must turn back until we find them again.”

The young lady frowned. “Why not keep on until we get to the top?” she said pettishly. “I'm sure I shall.” She stopped suddenly as she caught sight of his grave face and keen, observant eyes. “Why can't we go on as we are?”

“Because we are expected to come back to the COACH--and not to the summit merely. These are the 'orders,' and you know you are a soldier's daughter!” He laughed as he spoke, but there was a certain quiet deliberation in his manner that impressed her. When he added, after a pause, “We must go back and find where the tracks turned off,” she obeyed without a word.

They walked for some time, eagerly searching for signs of the missing vehicle. A curious interest and a new reliance in Boyle's judgment obliterated her previous annoyance, and made her more natural. She ran ahead of him with youthful eagerness, examining the ground, following a false clue with great animation, and confessing her defeat with a charming laugh. And it was she who, after retracing their steps for ten minutes, found the diverging track with a girlish cry of triumph. Boyle, who had followed her movements quite as interestedly as her discovery, looked a little grave as he noticed the deep indentations made by the struggling horses. Miss Cantire detected the change in his face; ten minutes before she would never have observed it. “I suppose we had better follow the new track,” she said inquiringly, as he seemed to hesitate.

“Certainly,” he said quickly, as if coming to a prompt decision. “That is safest.”

“What do you think has happened? The ground looks very much cut up,” she said in a confidential tone, as new to her as her previous observation of him.

“A horse has probably stumbled and they've taken the old trail as less difficult,” said Boyle promptly. In his heart he did not believe it, yet he knew that if anything serious had threatened them the coach would have waited in the road. “It's an easier trail for us, though I suppose it's a little longer,” he added presently.

“You take everything so good-humoredly, Mr. Boyle,” she said after a pause.

“It's the way to do business, Miss Cantire,” he said. “A man in my line has to cultivate it.”

She wished he hadn't said that, but, nevertheless, she returned a little archly: “But you haven't any business with the stage company nor with ME, although I admit I intend to get my Dunstable hereafter from your firm at the wholesale prices.”

Before he could reply, the detonation of two gunshots, softened by distance, floated down from the ridge above them. “There!” said Miss Cantire eagerly. “Do you hear that?”

His face was turned towards the distant ridge, but really that she might not question his eyes. She continued with animation: “That's from the coach--to guide us--don't you see?”

“Yes,” he returned, with a quick laugh, “and it says hurry up--mighty quick--we're tired waiting--so we'd better push on.”