A Voice in the Wilderness | Page 9

come. She forgot that she
was riding through the great darkness with an utter stranger, to a place
she knew not, and to experiences most dubious. Her fears had fled and
she was actually enjoying herself, and responding to the wonderful
story of the place with soft-murmured exclamations of delight and
wonder.

From time to time in the distance there sounded forth those awful
blood-curdling howls of wild beasts that she had heard when she sat
alone by the water-tank, and each time she heard a shudder passed
through her and instinctively she swerved a trifle toward her
companion, then straightened up again and tried to seem not to notice.
The Boy saw and watched her brave attempts at self-control with deep
appreciation. But suddenly, as they rode and talked, a dark form
appeared across their way a little ahead, lithe and stealthy and furry,
and two awful eyes like green lamps glared for an instant, then
disappeared silently among the mesquite bushes.
She did not cry out nor start. Her very veins seemed frozen with horror,
and she could not have spoken if she tried. It was all over in a second
and the creature gone, so that she almost doubted her senses and
wondered if she had seen aright. Then one hand went swiftly to her
throat and she shrank toward her companion.
"There is nothing to fear," he said, reassuringly, and laid a strong hand
comfortingly across the neck of her horse. "The pussy-cat was as
unwilling for our company as we for hers. Besides, look here!"--and he
raised his hand and shot into the air. "She'll not come near us now."
"I am not afraid!" said the girl, bravely. "At least, I don't think I
am--very! But it's all so new and unexpected, you know. Do people
around here always shoot in that--well--unpremeditated fashion?"
They laughed together.
"Excuse me," he said. "I didn't realize the shot might startle you even
more than the wildcat. It seems I'm not fit to have charge of a lady. I
told you I was a roughneck."
"You're taking care of me beautifully," said Margaret Earle, loyally,
"and I'm glad to get used to shots if that's the thing to be expected
often."
Just then they came to the top of the low, rolling hill, and ahead in the
darkness there gleamed a tiny, wizened light set in a blotch of

blackness. Under the great white stars it burned a sickly red and seemed
out of harmony with the night.
"There we are!" said the Boy, pointing toward it. "That's the
bunk-house. You needn't be afraid. Pop Wallis 'll be snoring by this
time, and we'll come away before he's about in the morning. He always
sleeps late after he's been off on a bout. He's been gone three days,
selling some cattle, and he'll have a pretty good top on."
The girl caught her breath, gave one wistful look up at the wide, starry
sky, a furtive glance at the strong face of her protector, and submitted
to being lifted down to the ground.
Before her loomed the bunk-house, small and mean, built of logs, with
only one window in which the flicker of the lanterns menaced, with
unknown trials and possible perils for her to meet.
CHAPTER IV
When Margaret Earle dawned upon that bunk-room the men sat up with
one accord, ran their rough, red hands through their rough, tousled hair,
smoothed their beards, took down their feet from the benches where
they were resting. That was as far as their etiquette led them. Most of
them continued to smoke their pipes, and all of them stared at her
unreservedly. Such a sight of exquisite feminine beauty had not come
to their eyes in many a long day. Even in the dim light of the smoky
lanterns, and with the dust and weariness of travel upon her, Margaret
Earle was a beautiful girl.
"That's what's the matter, father," said her mother, when the subject of
Margaret's going West to teach had first been mentioned. "She's too
beautiful. Far too beautiful to go among savages! If she were homely
and old, now, she might be safe. That would be a different matter."
Yet Margaret had prevailed, and was here in the wild country. Now,
standing on the threshold of the log cabin, she read, in the unveiled
admiration that startled from the eyes of the men, the meaning of her
mother's fears.

Yet withal it was a kindly admiration not unmixed with awe. For there
was about her beauty a touch of the spiritual which set her above the
common run of women, making men feel her purity and sweetness, and
inclining their hearts to worship rather than be bold.
The Boy had been right. Pop Wallis was asleep and out of