A Voice in the Wilderness | Page 4

silence as a setting for the awful voices of the wilds.
The bruises and scratches she had acquired set up a fine stinging, and
the cold seemed to sweep down and take possession of her on her high,
narrow seat. She was growing stiff and cramped, yet dared not move
much. Would there be no train, nor any help? Would she have to sit
there all night? It looked so very near to the ground now. Could wild
beasts climb, she wondered?
Then in the interval of silence that came between the calling of those
wild creatures there stole a sound. She could not tell at first what it was.
A slow, regular, plodding sound, and quite far away. She looked to find
it, and thought she saw a shape move out of the sage-brush on the other
side of the track, but she could not be sure. It might be but a figment of
her brain, a foolish fancy from looking so long at the huddled bushes
on the dark plain. Yet something prompted her to cry out, and when she
heard her own voice she cried again and louder, wondering why she
had not cried before.
"Help! Help!" she called; and again: "Help! Help!"
The dark shape paused and turned toward her. She was sure now. What
if it were a beast instead of a human! Terrible fear took possession of
her; then, to her infinite relief, a nasal voice sounded out:
"Who's thar?"
But when she opened her lips to answer, nothing but a sob would come
to them for a minute, and then she could only cry, pitifully:
"Help! Help!"

"Whar be you?" twanged the voice; and now she could see a horse and
rider like a shadow moving toward her down the track.
CHAPTER II
The horse came to a standstill a little way from the track, and his rider
let forth a stream of strange profanity. The girl shuddered and began to
think a wild beast might be preferable to some men. However, these
remarks seemed to be a mere formality. He paused and addressed her:
"Heow'd yeh git up thar? D'j'yeh drap er climb?"
He was a little, wiry man with a bristly, protruding chin. She could see
that, even in the starlight. There was something about the point of that
stubby chin that she shrank from inexpressibly. He was not a pleasant
man to look upon, and even his voice was unprepossessing. She began
to think that even the night with its loneliness and unknown perils was
preferable to this man's company.
"I got off the train by mistake, thinking it was my station, and before I
discovered it the train had gone and left me," Margaret explained, with
dignity.
"Yeh didn't 'xpect it t' sit reound on th' plain while you was gallivantin'
up water-tanks, did yeh?"
Cold horror froze Margaret's veins. She was dumb for a second. "I am
on my way to Ashland station. Can you tell me how far it is from here
and how I can get there?" Her tone was like icicles.
"It's a little matter o' twenty miles, more 'r less," said the man
protruding his offensive chin. "The walkin's good. I don't know no
other way from this p'int at this time o' night. Yeh might set still till th'
mornin' freight goes by an' drap atop o' one of the kyars."
"Sir!" said Margaret, remembering her dignity as a teacher.
The man wheeled his horse clear around and looked up at her

impudently. She could smell bad whisky on his breath.
"Say, you must be some young highbrow, ain't yeh? Is thet all yeh want
o' me? 'Cause ef 'tis I got t' git on t' camp. It's a good five mile yet, an' I
'ain't hed no grub sence noon."
The tears suddenly rushed to the girl's eyes as the horror of being alone
in the night again took possession of her. This dreadful man frightened
her, but the thought of the loneliness filled her with dismay.
"Oh!" she cried, forgetting her insulted dignity, "you're not going to
leave me up here alone, are you? Isn't there some place near here where
I could stay overnight?"
"Thur ain't no palace hotel round these diggin's, ef that's what you
mean," the man leered at her. "You c'n come along t' camp 'ith me ef
you ain't too stuck up."
"To camp!" faltered Margaret in dismay, wondering what her mother
would say. "Are there any ladies there?"
A loud guffaw greeted her question. "Wal, my woman's thar, sech es
she is; but she ain't no highflier like you. We mostly don't hev ladies to
camp, But I got t' git on. Ef you want to go too, you better light down
pretty speedy, fer I can't