Bob Hampton of Placer, Page 2

  CHAPTER II

  OLD GILLIS'S GIRL

  Excepting for a vague knowledge that Gillis had had a girl with him,together with the half-formed determination that if worse came to worstshe must never be permitted to fall alive into the hands of the lustfulSioux, Mr. Hampton had scarcely so much as noted her presence. Of lateyears he had not felt greatly interested in the sex, and hisinclination, since uniting his shattered fortunes with this littlecompany, had been to avoid coming into personal contact with thisparticular specimen. Practically, therefore, he now observed her forthe first time. Previously she had passed within range of his visionsimply as the merest shadow; now she began to appeal faintly to him asa personality, uninteresting enough, of course, yet a living humanbeing, whom it had oddly become his manifest duty to succor andprotect. The never wholly eradicated instincts of one born and bred agentleman, although heavily overlaid by the habits acquired in many arough year passed along the border, brought vividly before him therequirements of the situation. Undoubtedly death was destined to bethe early portion of them all; nevertheless she deserved everyopportunity for life that remained, and with the ending of hope--well,there are worse fates upon the frontier than the unexpected plunge of abullet through a benumbed brain.

  Guided by the unerring instinct of an old Indian fighter, Gillis,during that first mad retreat, had discovered temporary shelter behindone of the largest bowlders. It was a trifle in advance of those laterrolled into position by the soldiers, but was of a size and shape whichshould have afforded ample protection for two, and doubtless would havedone so had it not been for the firing from the cliff opposite. Eventhen it was a deflected bullet, glancing from off the polished surfaceof the rock, which found lodgment in the sturdy old fighter's brain.The girl had caught him as he fell, had wasted all her treasured storeof water in a vain effort to cleanse the blood from his features, andnow sat there, pillowing his head upon her knee, although the old manwas stone dead with the first touch of the ball. That had occurredfully an hour before, but she continued in the same posture, a grave,pathetic figure, her face sobered and careworn beyond her years, hereyes dry and staring, one brown hand grasping unconsciously the oldman's useless rifle. She would scarcely have been esteemed attractiveeven under much happier circumstances and assisted by dress, yet therewas something in the independent poise of her head, the steadyfixedness of her posture, which served to interest Hampton as he nowwatched her curiously.

  "Fighting blood," he muttered admiringly to himself. "Might fail todevelop into very much of a society belle, but likely to prove valuableout here."

  She was rather a slender slip of a thing, a trifle too tall for heryears, perhaps, yet with no lack of development apparent in the slim,rounded figure. Her coarse home-made dress of dark calico fitted hersadly, while her rumpled hair, from which the broad-brimmed hat hadfallen, possessed a reddish copper tinge where it was touched by thesun. Mr. Hampton's survey did not increase his desire for moreintimate acquaintanceship, yet he recognized anew her undoubted claimupon him.

  "Suppose I might just as well drop out that way as any other," hereflected, thoughtfully. "It's all in the game."

  Lying flat upon his stomach, both arms extended, he slowly forcedhimself beyond his bowlder into the open. There was no great distanceto be traversed, and a considerable portion of the way was somewhatprotected by low bushes. Hampton took few chances of those spying eyesabove, never uplifting his head the smallest fraction of an inch, butreaching forward with blindly groping hands, caught hold upon anyprojecting root or stone which enabled him to drag his body an inchfarther. Twice they fired directly down at him from the oppositesummit, and once a fleck of sharp rock, chipped by a glancing bullet,embedded itself in his cheek, dyeing the whole side of his facecrimson. But not once did he pause or glance aside; nor did the girllook up from the imploring face of her dead. As he crept silently in,sheltering himself next to the body of the dead man, she perceived hispresence for the first time, and shrank back as if in dread.

  "What are you doing? Why--why did you come here?" she questioned, afalter in her voice; and he noticed that her eyes were dark and large,yielding a marked impress of beauty to her face.

  "I was unwilling to leave you here alone," he answered, quietly, "andhope to discover some means for getting you safely back beside theothers."

  "But I didn't want you," and there was a look of positive dislike inher widely opened eyes.

  "Did n't want me?" He echoed these unexpected words in a tone ofcomplete surprise. "Surely you could not desire to be left here alone?Why didn't you want me?"

  "Because I know who you are!" Her voice seemed to catch in her throat."He told me. You're the man who shot Jim Eberly."

  Mr. Hampton was never of a pronounced emotional nature, nor was he aperson easily disconcerted, yet he flushed at the sound of theseimpulsive words, and the confident smile deserted his lips. For amoment they sat thus, the dead body lying between, and looked at eachother. When the man finally broke the constrained silence a deeperintonation had crept into his voice.

  "My girl," he said gravely, and not without a suspicion of pleading,"this is no place for me to attempt any defence of a shooting affray ina gambling-house, although I might plead with some justice that Eberlyenjoyed the honor of shooting first. I was not aware of your personalfeeling in the matter, or I might have permitted some one else to comehere in my stead. Now it is too late. I have never spoken to youbefore, and do so at this time merely from a sincere desire to be ofsome assistance."

  There was that in his manner of grave courtesy which served to steadythe girl. Probably never before in all her rough frontier experiencehad she been addressed thus formally. Her closely compressed lipstwitched nervously, but her questioning eyes remained unlowered.

  "You may stay," she asserted, soberly. "Only don't touch me."

  No one could ever realize how much those words hurt him. He had beendisciplined in far too severe a school ever to permit his face to indexthe feelings of his heart, yet the unconcealed shrinking of thisuncouth child from slightest personal contact with him cut through hisacquired reserve as perhaps nothing else could ever have done. Notuntil he had completely conquered his first unwise impulse to retortangrily, did he venture again to speak.

  "I hope to aid you in getting back beside the others, where you will beless exposed."

  "Will you take him?"

  "He is dead," Hampton said, soberly, "and I can do nothing to aid him.But there remains a chance for you to escape."

  "Then I won't go," she declared, positively.

  Hampton's gray eyes looked for a long moment fixedly into her darkerones, while the two took mental stock of each other. He realized theutter futility of any further argument, while she felt instinctivelythe cool, dominating strength of the man. Neither was composed of thatpoor fibre which bends.

  "Very well, my young lady," he said, easily, stretching himself outmore comfortably in the rock shadow. "Then I will remain here withyou; it makes small odds."

  Excepting for one hasty, puzzled glance, she did not deign to lookagain toward him, and the man rested motionless upon his back, staringup at the sky. Finally, curiosity overmastered the actor in him, andhe turned partially upon one side, so as to bring her profile withinhis range of vision. The untamed, rebellious nature of the girl hadtouched a responsive chord; unseeking any such result she had directlyappealed to his better judgment, and enabled him to perceive her froman entirely fresh view-point. Her clearly expressed disdain, hersturdy independence both of word and action, coupled with her franklyvoiced dislike, awoke within him an earnest desire to stand higher inher regard. Her dark, glowing eyes were lowered upon the white face ofthe dead man, yet Hampton noted how clear, in spite of sun-tan, werethose tints of health upon the rounded cheek, and how soft and glossyshone her wealth of rumpled hair. Even the tinge of color, sodistasteful in the full glare of the sun, appeared to have darkenedunder the shadow, its shade framing the downcast face
into a pensivefairness. Then he observed how dry and parched her lips were.

  "Take a drink of this," he insisted heartily, holding out toward her ashe spoke his partially filled canteen.

  She started at the unexpected sound of his voice, yet uplifted thewelcome water to her mouth, while Hampton, observing it all closely,could but remark the delicate shapeliness other hand.

  "If that old fellow was her father," he reflected soberly, "I shouldlike to have seen her mother."

  "Thank you," she said simply, handing back the canteen, but withoutlifting her eyes again to his face. "I was so thirsty." Her low tone,endeavoring to be polite enough, contained no note of encouragement.

  "Was Gillis your father?" the man questioned, determined to make herrecognize his presence.

  "I suppose so; I don't know."

  "You don't know? Am I to understand you are actually uncertain whetherthis man was your father or not?"

  "That is about what I said, was n't it? Not that it is any of yourbusiness, so far as I know, Mr. Bob Hampton, but I answered you allright. He brought me up, and I called him 'dad' about as far back as Ican remember, but I don't reckon as he ever told me he was my father.So you can understand just what you please."

  "His name was Gillis, was n't it?"

  The girl nodded wearily.

  "Post-trader at Fort Bethune?"

  Again the rumpled head silently acquiesced.

  "What is your name?"

  "He always called me 'kid,'" she admitted unwillingly, "but I reckon ifyou have any further occasion for addressing me, you'd better say,'Miss Gillis.'"

  Hampton laughed lightly, his reckless humor instantly restored by herperverse manner.

  "Heaven preserve me!" he exclaimed good naturedly, "but you arecertainly laying it on thick, young lady! However, I believe we mightbecome good friends if we ever have sufficient luck to get out fromthis hole alive. Darn if I don't sort of cotton to you, littlegirl--you've got some sand."

  For a brief space her truthful, angry eyes rested scornfully upon hisface, her lips parted as though trembling with a sharp retort. Thenshe deliberately turned her back upon him without uttering a word.

  For what may have been the first and only occasion in Mr. Hampton'saudacious career, he realized his utter helplessness. This mere slipof a red-headed girl, this little nameless waif of the frontier,condemned him so completely, and without waste of words, as to leavehim weaponless. Not that he greatly cared; oh, no! still, it was anentirely new experience; the arrow went deeper than he would havewillingly admitted. Men of middle age, gray hairs already commencingto shade their temples, are not apt to enjoy being openly despised byyoung women, not even by ordinary freckle-faced girls, clad in coarseshort frocks. Yet he could think of no fitting retort worth thespeaking, and consequently he simply lay back, seeking to treat thisdisagreeable creature with that silent contempt which is the lastresort of the vanquished.

  He was little inclined to admit, even to himself, that he had beenfairly hit, yet the truth remained that this girl was beginning tointerest him oddly. He admired her sturdy independence, her audacityof speech, her unqualified frankness. Mr. Hampton was a thoroughgoingsport, and no quality was quite so apt to appeal to him as deadgameness. He glanced surreptitiously aside at her once more, but therewas no sign of relenting in the averted face. He rested lower againstthe rock, his face upturned toward the sky, and thought. He wasbecoming vaguely aware that something entirely new, and ratherunwelcome, had crept into his life during that last fateful half-hour.It could not be analyzed, nor even expressed definitely in words, buthe comprehended this much--he would really enjoy rescuing this girl,and he should like to live long enough to discover into what sort ofwoman she would develop.

  It was no spirit of bravado that gave rise to his reckless speech of anhour previous. It was simply a spontaneous outpouring of his realnature, an unpremeditated expression of that supreme carelessness withwhich he regarded the future, the small value he set on life. He trulyfelt as utterly indifferent toward fate as his words signified. Deeplyconscious of a life long ago irretrievably wrecked, everything behind achaos, everything before worthless,--for years he had been actuallyseeking death; a hundred times he had gladly marked its apparentapproach, a smile of welcome upon his lips. Yet it had never quitesucceeded in reaching him, and nothing had been gained beyond areputation for cool, reckless daring, which he did not in the leastcovet. But now, miracle of all miracles, just as the end seemedactually attained, seemed beyond any possibility of being turned aside,he began to experience a desire to live--he wanted to save this girl.

  His keenly observant eyes, trained by the exigencies of his trade totake note of small things, and rendered eager by this newly awakenedambition, scanned the cliff towering above them. He perceived theextreme irregularity of its front, and numerous peculiarities offormation which had escaped him hitherto. Suddenly his puzzled facebrightened to the birth of an idea. By heavens! it might be done!Surely it might be done! Inch by inch he traced the obscure passage,seeking to impress each faint detail upon his memory--that narrow ledgewithin easy reach of an upstretched arm, the sharp outcropping ofrock-edges here and there, the deep gash as though some giant axe hadcleaved the stone, those sturdy cedars growing straight out over thechasm like the bowsprits of ships, while all along the way, irregularand ragged, varied rifts not entirely unlike the steps of a crazystaircase.

  The very conception of such an exploit caused his flesh to creep. Buthe was not of that class of men who fall back dazed before the face ofdanger. Again and again, led by an impulse he was unable to resist, hestudied that precipitous rock, every nerve tingling to the newbornhope. God helping them, even so desperate a deed might beaccomplished, although it would test the foot and nerve of a Swissmountaineer. He glanced again uneasily toward his companion, and sawthe same motionless figure, the same sober face turned deliberatelyaway. Hampton did not smile, but his square jaw set, and he clinchedhis hands. He had no fear that she might fall him, but for the firsttime in all his life he questioned his own courage.