Bob Hampton of Placer | Page 8

questioned, determined to make her
recognize his presence.
"I suppose so; I don't know."
"You don't know? Am I to understand you are actually uncertain
whether this man was your father or not?"
"That is about what I said, was n't it? Not that it is any of your business,
so far as I know, Mr. Bob Hampton, but I answered you all right. He
brought me up, and I called him 'dad' about as far back as I can
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 if
you have any further occasion for addressing me, you'd better say,
'Miss Gillis.'"
Hampton laughed lightly, his reckless humor instantly restored by her
perverse manner.
"Heaven preserve me!" he exclaimed good naturedly, "but you are
certainly laying it on thick, young lady! However, I believe we might
become good friends if we ever have sufficient luck to get out from this
hole alive. Darn if I don't sort of cotton to you, little girl--you've got
some sand."
For a brief space her truthful, angry eyes rested scornfully upon his face,
her lips parted as though trembling with a sharp retort. Then she
deliberately turned her back upon him without uttering a word.
For what may have been the first and only occasion in Mr. Hampton's
audacious career, he realized his utter helplessness. This mere slip of a
red-headed girl, this little nameless waif of the frontier, condemned him
so completely, and without waste of words, as to leave him weaponless.
Not that he greatly cared; oh, no! still, it was an entirely new
experience; the arrow went deeper than he would have willingly
admitted. Men of middle age, gray hairs already commencing to shade
their temples, are not apt to enjoy being openly despised by young
women, not even by ordinary freckle-faced girls, clad in coarse short
frocks. Yet he could think of no fitting retort worth the speaking, and
consequently he simply lay back, seeking to treat this disagreeable

creature with that silent contempt which is the last resort of the
vanquished.
He was little inclined to admit, even to himself, that he had been fairly
hit, yet the truth remained that this girl was beginning to interest him
oddly. He admired her sturdy independence, her audacity of speech, her
unqualified frankness. Mr. Hampton was a thoroughgoing sport, and no
quality was quite so apt to appeal to him as dead gameness. He glanced
surreptitiously aside at her once more, but there was no sign of
relenting in the averted face. He rested lower against the rock, his face
upturned toward the sky, and thought. He was becoming vaguely aware
that something entirely new, and rather unwelcome, had crept into his
life during that last fateful half-hour. It could not be analyzed, nor even
expressed definitely in words, but he comprehended this much--he
would really enjoy rescuing this girl, and he should like to live long
enough to discover into what sort of woman she would develop.
It was no spirit of bravado that gave rise to his reckless speech of an
hour previous. It was simply a spontaneous outpouring of his real
nature, an unpremeditated expression of that supreme carelessness with
which he regarded the future, the small value he set on life. He truly
felt as utterly indifferent toward fate as his words signified. Deeply
conscious of a life long ago irretrievably wrecked, everything behind a
chaos, everything before worthless,--for years he had been actually
seeking death; a hundred times he had gladly marked its apparent
approach, a smile of welcome upon his lips. Yet it had never quite
succeeded in reaching him, and nothing had been gained beyond a
reputation for cool, reckless daring, which he did not in the least covet.
But now, miracle of all miracles, just as the end seemed actually
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 to take
note of small things, and rendered eager by this newly awakened
ambition, scanned the cliff towering above them. He perceived the
extreme irregularity of its front, and numerous peculiarities of
formation which had escaped him hitherto. Suddenly his puzzled face

brightened 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 ledge within
easy reach of