Hope Hathaway Part 11

"I was going to the Englishman's," said Hope, "to see if I could help any about the poor herder who was shot."

"They're burying him now," announced her cousin, "right around the bend of this hill just inside the fence. Do you want to go over there?"

"Yes, I think I do," she replied. "I want to ask Mr. Livingston when the little German girl is expected to arrive and what is going to be done about her."

"The herder's sister?" asked Sydney.

"No, his sweetheart. Just think, Sydney, his little sweetheart, who is on her way to marry him! Isn't it sad? Who will meet her and who will tell her, I wonder, and what will she do? How are such things managed, I wonder. Isn't it terrible, Syd?"

"Some beggars around here shot the poor fellow, Livingston told me. The whole bunch ought to be hanged for it."

"It was a cowardly thing to do!" exclaimed the girl.

"Sheep in a cattle country, the same old story. I imagine old Harris is a pretty strong element here. They've driven out a couple of bands already. Someone ought to put Livingston next. But he probably scents the situation now from this occurrence. He is one of the kind who trusts everyone. I met him last fall in town when he first came out here. He has put a lot of money into this business, and I'd like to see him make it a go. He'll have something to learn by experience."

"Isn't it too bad he didn't invest in cattle?" deplored Hope.

"Yes, though they say there's bigger returns in sheep." He pointed ahead. "You can't see the men, but they're just around that point of rocks, though they must be about through with the job by now."

"You'll go along, won't you? Then you can ride back to the school-house with me. I'm going to meet one of the twins there at six o'clock, and we're going to see if we can get some chickens."

"If you will promise to bring the chickens over to the camp and let the cook get you up a good, square meal," he replied. "Jim will be back before dark."

"If I shouldn't happen to get any birds," she asked, "does the invitation still hold good?"

"Pard!" he reproved.

CHAPTER XI

Livingston stood alone beside the fresh mound, hatless, with head bowed in deep meditation. His men had returned to their respective duties, having shown their last kindness toward the young herder gone on before them to the great, mysterious Beyond.

When Hope and her companion rounded the point of rocks inside the pasture fence they came directly upon the sheep-man and the newly made grave. The girl reined in her horse suddenly.

"Syd," she said softly, wonderingly, "he's _praying_!" She had an impulse to flee before he should see her, and with a look communicated the thought to Sydney, but Livingston turned around and came quickly down the gra.s.sy slope toward them. He greeted them cordially, heartily shaking hands with each.

"Is this not a beautiful day? I am glad you have come, Miss Hathaway. I wanted you to see this spot. Could any place be prettier? See this green slope and the gigantic ridge of rocks beside it."

"It's magnificent!" she exclaimed. "What a monument!"

"I had an idea he would like it if he could know," he continued. "Day after day he has stood up there on that point of rocks and watched his sheep."

Hope pointed across the valley to where the gra.s.sy slope terminated in a deep cut-bank, exclaiming:

"There is the corral!" It came involuntarily. She shot a quick glance at her cousin, but he was gazing thoughtfully at the magnificence of the scene before him, and had not noticed the words, or her confusion which followed them, which was fortunate, she thought.

If asked she could not have explained why she felt in this manner about it, and it is certain that she did ask herself. She had probably saved Livingston's sheep. Well, what of it? She only knew that she wanted no one to find it out, least of all Livingston himself. She had a half fear that if Sydney ever got an inkling of it he might sometime tell him, and Sydney was very quick; so she adroitly eased her involuntary exclamation by remarking:

"That is a queer place to put a corral! Aren't you afraid of a pile up so near the bank?"

"I am not using it now," he replied. "I put it there because Fritz ran his band on that side and it was more convenient not to drive them so far. I am using this shed below here, at present."

Sydney looked at Hope and began to laugh, then leaned over toward Livingston and placed his hand upon his shoulder.

"She'll be telling you how to run your sheep next. You mustn't mind her, though, for she's been teaching school a whole week, and dictating is getting to be sort of second nature with her, isn't it, Hopie? And besides that she isn't responsible. A steady diet of hard-boiled eggs isn't conducive----"

She stopped him with a gesture, laughing.

"That's awfully true, only I haven't eaten even hard-boiled eggs since breakfast, and I'm famished! It was cruel of you to remind me, Syd!"

"You poor youngster!" he exclaimed in real commiseration. "Is it as bad as that? I'm going over and start supper at once. The camp is just over the hill there, up that next draw." He pointed ahead, then looked at his watch. "It's after five now. You keep your appointment with the half-breed, but never mind the chickens till you've had a square meal."

She nodded in answer, smiling at him.

"They're starving her over there," he explained to Livingston, who looked at them in some wonderment. "They don't feed her anything but boiled eggs. Tell him why you don't eat anything but eggs, Hope, boiled,--hard and soft,--in their _own sh.e.l.ls_. Maybe you can get them to bake you a potato or two in their _own jackets_!"

"What an idea! I never thought of that," she exclaimed. "You're a genius, Syd. But go home or I shall famish! I'll meet Dave and come right over there. I think the chickens will fly that way to-night, anyway, don't you?"

"Of course they will," replied her cousin, "they fly right over the top of my tent every evening!" Then he started away, but turned about quickly as though he had forgotten something, and asked Livingston if he would not come over to camp for supper, too.

Livingston looked up into the dark eyes of the girl beside him, then accepted.

"Good!" said Sydney. "Come along with Hope."

"Be sure and see that there's enough cooked," called the girl as he rode away.

"Don't worry about that, pard," he answered, then, lifting his hat, waved it high above his head as he disappeared around the reef of rocks.

Hope looked after him and was still smiling when she turned to Livingston. It may have been something in his face that caused her own to settle instantly into its natural quiet.

"I'd like to go up there for a moment," she said, then dismounted, and leaving her horse walked quickly up the gra.s.sy hill until she stood beside the grave. Some sod had been roughly placed upon the dirt, and scattered over that was a handful of freshly picked wild flowers.

"_You_ picked them!" exclaimed the girl softly, turning toward him as he came and stood near her. "And _I_ never even thought of it! How could you think of it! I had supposed only women thought of those things--were expected to think of them, I mean," she added hastily. "You make me wonder what----"

He looked at her curiously.

"Make you wonder what?" he asked in his quiet, well modulated voice.

A flush came over her face. Her eyes shifted from his until they rested upon the grave at her feet. The breeze threw a loose strand of dark hair across one eye. She rapidly drew her hand over her forehead, putting it away from her vision, then looked full and straight at the man beside her.

"I beg your pardon; I cannot finish what was in my mind to say. I forgot, Mr. Livingston, that we are comparative strangers."

"I am sorry, then, that you remember it," he replied. "It never seemed to me that we were strangers, Miss Hathaway. I do not think so now.

There is something, I know not what, that draws people to each other in this country. It does not take weeks or months or years to form a friendship here. Two people meet, they speak, look into one another's eyes, then they are friends, comrades--or nothing, as it sometimes happens. They decide quickly here, not hampered by stiff conventionalities. It is instinct guides. Are you different from your countrymen?"