The Trail Horde | Page 8

is filled with steers at
my price."
"Oh, bother!" The woman yawned. "I am glad it is you and not I who is
to deal with these clod-hoppers. I should turn sour--or laugh myself to
death."
"Getting tired of it already, Della?"
"Dreadfully tired, Gary. If I could see one interesting person, or a
good-looking man with whom I could flirt----"
"Don't forget our engagement, Della," warned Warden.
She laughed, shooting a mischievous glance at him. "Oh, it would be
harmless, I assure you--mere moral exercise. Do you imagine I could
lose my heart to one of these sagebrush denizens?"
"Not you, Della," grinned Warden; "that isn't your style."
The girl yawned again, and got to her feet, smoothing her ruffled skirts.
Then she walked to a mirror on a wall near the door, and spent some
time placing the felt hat on her head at a precise angle, making certain

that the coils of hair under it were arranged in the most effective
manner. She tucked a stray wisp into the mass at the nape of her neck,
patted the glistening coils so that they bulged a little more--smiling
with smooth serenity at the reflection in the glass.
"Well, good-bye, Gary. I left Aunt Hannah at Corwin's store. She'll be
afraid I've eloped with you. No," she added, as Warden advanced
toward her; "no kisses now. I'll look in again before we leave town."
She opened the door, and as it closed she flashed a smile at Warden.
Then he heard her descending the stairs. He watched the closed door
for an instant, frowning disappointedly; then he strode again to one of
the front windows, grinning as his gaze rested on the empty corral.
CHAPTER IV
REBELLION
Accident or design had placed the schoolhouse at the eastern edge of
town. The invisible power which creates the schoolhouse seemingly
takes no account of time or place. It comes, unheralded, unsung, and
squats in the place where the invisible power has placed it, and
instantly becomes as indispensable as the ungainly youth that occupies
it.
All youth is not ungainly. Ruth Hamlin was considering the negative
proposition as she stood on the little platform in front of the blackboard
just before noon, calmly scrutinizing the faces of the score of pupils
who composed her "class."
About half of her pupils, she decided, were worthy of the affection she
had bestowed upon them. The remainder were ungrateful, incorrigible
hoodlums. There had been times when Ruth wondered if the task of
teaching was worth while.
A good teacher must not be vindictive; and Ruth was trying her best to
keep alive the spark of mercy and compassion that threatened to burn
itself out.

Despite her apparent calm--the outward sign of cold
self-control--Ruth's face revealed indications of the terrific struggle that
was going on within her. Her face was pale, and though her eyes
seemed to smile, there was a gleam far back in them that suggested
thoughts of force, instant, vicious. Also there was wrath in them--wrath
that threatened to break with volcanic fury.
The girl was of medium height, and yet she seemed to be almost tall as
she stood on the platform. She was erect, her head was held high. She
was slender, with a gracefully rounded figure, but as she stood there,
her muscles straining, her chest swelling with the passion she was
trying to suppress, she must have appeared Amazonic to the culprits
whose crimes had goaded her to thoughts of corporal punishment.
It was not difficult to single out the culprits. There were two, and they
sat defiantly in their seats, sneering their contempt of the teacher's
wrath, advertising their entire disregard for the restraining influence of
rules.
Both were boys. The larger, freckle-faced, with an uptilted nose and
belligerent eyes, was fully as tall as Ruth. He was broad and muscular,
and it was evident that consideration for his size was one influence that
had thus far delayed the punishment he no doubt merited.
It was evident, too, that the culprit suspected this, for as Ruth's
hesitation continued he grew bolder and more contemptuous. And now,
having divined that Ruth would not attempt to inflict the punishment
she meditated, the young man guffawed loudly.
"Shucks," he sneered, winking piratically at his brother-culprit; "she's
tryin' to run a whizzer in on us. She ain't goin' to do _nuthin'_!"
"Jimmy Singleton; you advance to the platform!" Ruth's voice came
sharply, quavering with the passion she had been suppressing until
now.
She stood rigid until "Jimmy" got out of his seat with elephantine
deliberation, and shuffled to the edge of the platform, where he stood,

grinning defiantly.
Ruth raised the lid of her desk and took out a formidable willow branch,
which she had cut only the day before from a tree that