Nan of Music Mountain | Page 5

"was
Nan Morgan."
"Who is she?"
"Just one of the Morgans; lives in the Gap with old Duke Morgan, her
uncle; lived there as long as I can remember. Some shot, Henry."
"How can she live in the Gap," mused de Spain, "with an outfit like
that?"
"Got nowhere else to live, I guess. I believe you'd better change your
mind, Henry, and stay with us."
"No," returned de Spain meditatively, "I'm not going to stay. I've had
glory enough out of this town for a while." He picked up his hat and put
it on. Lefever thought it well to make no response. He was charged
with the maintenance and operation of the stage-line arsenal at Sleepy
Cat, and spent many of his idle moments toying with the firearms. He
busied himself now with the mechanism of a huge revolver one that the
stage-driver, Frank Elpaso, had wrecked on the head of a troublesome
negro coming in from the mines. De Spain in turn took off his hat,
poked the crown discontentedly, and, rising with a loss of amiability in
his features and manner, walked out of the room.
The late sun was streaming down the full length of Main Street. The
street was still filled with loiterers who had spent the day at the fair,
and lingered now in town in the vague hope of seeing a brawl or a fight
before sundown cattlemen and cowboys from the northern ranges,
sheepmen from the Spider River country, small ranchers and irrigators
from the Bear basin, who picked their steps carefully, and spoke with
prudence in the presence of roisterers from the Spanish Sinks, and
gunmen and gamblers from Calabasas and Morgan's Gap. The Morgans
themselves and their following were out to the last retainer.
CHAPTER II
THE THIEF RIVER STAGE LINE

SLEEPY CAT has little to distinguish it in its casual appearance from
the ordinary mountain railroad town of the western Rockies. The long,
handsome railroad station, the eating-house, and the various
division-headquarters buildings characteristic of such towns are in
Sleepy Cat built of local granite. The yard facilities, shops, and
roundhouses are the last word in modern rail road construction, and the
division has not infrequently held the medal for safety records.
But more than these things go toward making up the real Sleepy Cat. It
is a community with earlier-than-railroad traditions. Sleepy Cat has
been more or less of a settlement almost since the day of Jim Bridger,
and its isolated position in the midst of a country of vast deserts, far
mountain ranges, and widely separated watercourses has made it from
the earliest Western days a rendezvous for hunters, trappers, emigrants,
prospectors, and adventurers and these have all, in some measure, left
their impress on the town.
Sleepy Cat lies prettily on a high plateau north and east of the railroad,
which makes a detour here to the north to round the Superstition Range;
it is a county-seat, and this, where counties are as large as ordinary
Eastern States, gives it some political distinction.
The principal street lies just north of the rail road, and parallels it. A
modern and substantial hotel has for some years filled the corner above
the station. The hotel was built by Harry Tenison soon after the
opening of the Thief River gold-fields. Along Main Street to the west
are strung the usual mountain-town stores and saloons, but to the north
a pretty residence district has been built up about the court-house
square. And a good water-supply, pumped from Rat River, a brawling
mountain stream that flows just south of the town, has encouraged the
care of lawns and trees.
Before de Spain had walked far he heard music from the open-air
dancing-pavilion in Grant Street. Stirred by an idle curiosity, he turned
the corner and stopped to watch the crowded couples whirling up and
down the raised platform under paper lanterns and red streamers to the
music of an automatic piano. He took his place in a fringe of onlookers
that filled the sidewalk. But he was thinking as he stood, not of the

boisterous dancing or the clumsy dancers, but of the broken lever and
the defeat at the fair-grounds. It still rankled in his mind. While he
stood thinking the music ceased.
A man, who appeared to be in authority, walked to the centre of the
dancing-floor and made an announcement that de Spain failed to catch.
The manager apparently repeated it to those of his patrons that crowded
around him, and more than once to individual inquirers who had not
caught the purport of what had been said. These late comers he pushed
back, and when the floor had been well cleared he nodded to the boy
operating the piano, and looked toward a young couple standing in an