The Angel of the Gila: A Tale of Arizona
Cora Marsland
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Transcriber's notes are at end of text.
_She forgot the flowers in her arms, forgotthe sunset, and stood entranced in prayer._]
THE ANGEL OF THE GILA
_A Tale of Arizona_
CORA MARSLAND
_With Illustrations byS. S. HICKS and GEM VAUGHN_
RICHARD G. BADGER
THE GORHAM PRESS
BOSTON
COPYRIGHT, 1911, BY RICHARD G. BADGER
_All Rights Reserved_
_THE GORHAM PRESS, BOSTON, U. S. A._
TO MY MOTHER
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I THE MINING CAMP 11
II THE DAWN OF A NEW DAY 19
III CLAYTON RANCH 30
IV THE ANGEL OF THE GILA 41
V THE ROCKY MOUNTAIN BALL 57
VI A SOUL'S AWAKENING 78
VII THE GILA CLUB 89
VIII THE COW LASSES 107
IX A VISIT AT MURPHY RANCH 117
X CARLA EARLE 132
XI AN EVENTFUL DAY 140
XII CHRISTMAS DAY 154
XIII THE ADOPTION OF A MOTHER 167
XIV THE GREAT TRANSFORMATION 182
XV SOME SOCIAL EXPERIENCES 194
XVI OVER THE MOUNTAINS 205
XVII THE GREAT RACE 217
XVIII NIGHT ON THE RANGE 225
XIX INASMUCH 238
XX A WOMAN'S NO 241
XXI THE VALLEY OF THE SHADOW 248
XXII THE GREATEST OF THESE IS LOVE 265
XXIII AT SUNSET 271
XXIV AFTERMATH 278
THE ANGEL OF THE GILA
The Angel of The Gila
CHAPTER I
THE MINING CAMP
It was an October day in Gila,[1] Arizona. The one street of themining camp wound around the foothills, and led eastward to LineCanyon, which, at that point, divides Arizona from New Mexico. Foursaloons, an opium den, a store of general merchandise,--owned andoperated by the mining company,--a repair shop, one large, pretentiousadobe house,--the headquarters of the company, where superintendent,assayers, and mining engineers boarded,--several small dwellinghouses, and many miners' shacks, constituted the town.
[1] Pronounced he la.
A little further to the eastward, around a bend in the foothills, andnear Line Canyon, lay Clayton Ranch,--the most historic, as well asthe most picturesque spot in that region. Near the dwelling house, butcloser to the river than the Clayton home, stood a little adobeschoolhouse.
The town, facing south, overlooked Gila River and its wooded banks.Beyond the Gila, as in every direction, stretched foothills andmountains. Toward the south towered Mt. Graham, the highest peak ofthe Pinaleno range, blue in the distance, and crowned with snow.
Up a pathway of the foothills, west of the town, bounding forward asif such a climb were but joy to her, came a slight, girlish figure.She paused now and then to turn her face westward, watching thechanging colors of sunset.
At last she reached a bowlder, and, seating herself, leaned againstit, removed her sombrero hat, pushed back the moist curls from herforehead, and turned again to the sunset. The sun, for one suprememoment, poised on a mountain peak, then slowly sank, flashing itsmessage of splendor into the majestic dome of the sky, oversnow-capped mountains, over gigantic cliffs of red sandstone, overstretches of yellow foothills, and then caught the white-robed figure,leaning against the bowlder, in its rosy glow. The girl lifted herfine, sensitive face. Again she pushed the curls from her forehead. Asshe lifted her arm, her sleeve slipped back, revealing an arm and handof exquisite form, and patrician to the tips of the fingers.
She seemed absorbed in the scene before her, unconscious that she wasthe loveliest part of it. But if she was unconscious of the fact, ahorseman who drew rein a short distance away, and who watched herintently a few moments, was not. At last the girl stirred, as thoughto continue on her way. Instantly the horseman gave his horse a sharpcut with his whip, and went cantering up the ascent before her.
The sudden sound of a horse's hoofs startled her, and she glanced upto see the horseman and his thoroughbred speeding toward the town.
She swung her sombrero hat over her shoulder, and gathered up herflowers; then, with a lingering glance to westward, turned and walkedrapidly toward Gila.
By the time she had reached the one long street, many cowboys andminers had already congregated about the saloons. She dreaded to passthere at this hour, but this she must do in order to reach ClaytonRanch, nearly a mile beyond.
As she drew near one saloon, she heard uproarious laughter. The voiceswere loud and boisterous. It was impossible for her to escape hearingwhat was said. It was evident to her that she herself was at thatmoment the topic of conversation.
"She'll git all the Bible school she wants Sunday afternoon, or myname's not Pete Tompkins," ejaculated a bar-tender as he stepped tothe bar of a saloon.
"What're ye goin' ter do, Pete?" asked a young miner. "I'm in f'r y'rgame, or my name ain't Bill Hines."
"I?" answered the individual designated as Pete Tompkins, "I mean tergive 'er a reception, Bill, a _reception_." Here he laughedboisterously. "I repeat it," he said. "I'll give 'er a reception, an'conterive ter let 'er understan' that no sech infernal business as aBible school 'll be tol'ated in these yere parts o' Arizony. Them aswants ter join me in smashin' this cussed Sunday business step ter thebar. I'll treat the hull blanked lot o' ye."
The girl passing along the street shuddered. The brutal voice went on:
"Set up the glasses o' whiskey, Keith. Here, Jess an' Kate. We wantyer ter have a hand in smashin' this devilish Bible school. Anotherglass fur Jess, Keith, an' one fur Kate."
The pedestrian quickened her pace, but still the voice followed her.
"Here's ter y'r healths, an' ter the smashin' o' the Bible school, an'ter the reception we'll give the new schoolma'am."
The stranger heard the clink of glasses, mingled with the uproar oflaughter. Then she caught the words:
"Ye don't jine us, Hastings. P'r'aps y're too 'ristercratic, orp'r'aps y're gone on the gal! Ha-ha-ha-ha!"
The saloon rang with the laughter of the men and women.
The girl who had just passed quickened her pace, her cheeks tinglingwith indignation. As she hastened on, the man addressed as Hastingsreplied haughtily:
"I am a _man_, and being a man I cannot see insult offered to anywoman, especially when that woman is making an effort to do some goodin this Godless region."
"He's gone on 'er, sure, Bill. Ha-ha-ha-ha! Imagine me, Pete Tompkins,gone on the schoolma'am! Ha-ha-ha-ha!"
His companions joined in his laughter.
"What'ud she think o' my figger, Bill?" he asked, as he struttedacross the saloon. "How 'ud I look by 'er side in Virginny reel, eh?I'm afeared it 'ud be the devil an' angel in comp'ny. Ha-ha-ha!"
"Y're right thar," replied one of the men. "Ye certain are a devil,an' she do look like a angel."
"Say, fellers," said Bill Hines, "me a
n' Pete an' all o' ye ought tergit some slime from the river, an' throw on them white dresses o'hern. I don't like nobody settin' theirselves up to be better'n we be,even in clo'es, do ye, Jess?"
Jess agreed with him.
"What's all this noise about?" interrupted a new comer.
"Hello, Mark Clifton, is that you? Well, me an' Bill an' Jess an' theother kids is plannin' ter smash schoolma'am's Bible school, Sunday.We're goin' ter give 'er a reception."
"What do you mean by that?" asked Clifton.
"Ye kin jine the party an' we'll show yer."
"Let me urge you to leave Miss Bright alone. She has not harmed you.Leave the Bible school alone, too, and attend to your own business."
"Oh, he's a saint, ain't he! He is!" sneered Pete Tompkins. "What aboutthis gal as he has with him here? More whiskey! Fill up the glasses,Keith. Come, Jess. Come, Kate Harraday." And the half-intoxicated manswung one woman around and tried to dance a jig, failing in which, hefell to the floor puffing and swearing.
Mark Clifton's face darkened. He grasped a chair and stepped forward,as if to strike the speaker. He hesitated. As he did so, a handsomecowboy entered, followed by a little Indian boy of perhaps six yearsof age.
"What's the row, Hastings?" asked the cowboy in a low voice.
"Pete Tompkins and Bill Hines and their ilk are planning to give MissBright, the new teacher, some trouble when she attempts to start aBible school to-morrow afternoon. Clifton remonstrated, and theytaunted him about Carla Earle. That enraged him."
"What do they plan ter do?"
"I fancy they'll do every blackguard thing they can think of. They aredrunk now, but when they are sober they may reconsider. At any rate,the decent men of the camp ought to be on the spot to protect thatgirl, Harding."
"I'll be there fur one, Hastings. Have yer seen 'er?"
"Yes. As I rode into camp just now I passed someone I took to be MissBright."
"Pretty as a picter, ain't she?" said Jack Harding.
"Look, there she goes around the bend of the road towards Claytons'.There goes y'r teacher, Wathemah."
The Indian child bounded to the door.
"Me teacher, _me_ teacher," he said over and over to himself, as hewatched the receding figure.
"_Your_ teacher, eh, sonny," said Kenneth Hastings smiling. He laidhis hand on the child's head.
"Yes, _me_ teacher," said the boy proudly.
His remark was overheard by Pete Tompkins.
"Lookee here, boys! There goes Wathemah's teacher. Now's y'r chance,my hearties. See the nat'ral cur'osity as is to start a religion shop,an' grind us fellers inter angels. Are my wings sproutin'?"
As he spoke the words, he flapped his elbows up and down. KennethHastings and Jack Harding exchanged glances. Mark Clifton had gone.
Pete Tompkins hereupon stepped to the door and called out:
"Three cheers fur the angel o' the Gila, my hearties. One, two, three!Now! That's it. Now! Death to the Bible school!"
"Death to the Bible school!" shouted they in unison.
The little Indian heard their words. He knew that insult and,possibly, injury threatened his teacher, and, stepping up to PeteTompkins, he kicked his shins with all his childish strength, utteringoaths that drew forth hilarious laughter from the men.
"Y're a good un," said one.
"Give 'im a trounce in the air," added another.
In a moment, the child was tossed from one to another, his passionatecries and curses mingling with their ribald laughter. At last he wascaught by John Harding, who held him in his arms.
"Never mind, Wathemah," he said soothingly.
Hoarse with rage, the child shrieked, "You blankety blanked devils!You blankety blanked devils!"
A ruffian cursed him.
He was wild. He struggled to free himself, to return to the fray, butJack Harding held him fast.
"You devils, devils, devils!" he shrieked again. His little frametrembled with anger, and he burst into tears.
"Never mind, little chap," said his captor, drawing him closer, "ye gowith me."
For once John Harding left the saloon without touching liquor. TheIndian child was clasped in his arms. When he reached a place beyondthe sound of the men's voices, he set the little lad on his feet. Hepatted him on the head, and looked down compassionately into thetear-stained face.
"Poor little chap," he said, "poor little chap. Y're like me, ain'tye? Ye ain't got nobody in the world. Let's be pards, Wathemah!"
"Pards?" repeated the child between sobs.
"Yes, pards, sonny. That's what I said."
Wathemah clasped his arms about Jack's knees.
"Me _teacher_ pard too?" he asked, trying bravely to stop crying.
"Yourn, not mine, sonny," answered Harding, smiling. Then hand in hand,they strolled toward Clayton Ranch. And this was the strengthening ofthe comradeship between the two, which was as loyal as it was tender.
Kenneth Hastings overtook them, then passed them. He reached ClaytonRanch, hesitated a moment, then walked rapidly toward Line Canyon.
For some indefinable reason he did not call that evening at ClaytonRanch as was his custom, nor did he knock at that door for many days.On the following Monday, he was called to a distant mining camp, wherehe was detained by business. So it happened that he was one of thelast to meet the new teacher whose coming was to mean so much to hislife and to the people of Gila.
