Hope Hathaway Part 26

"American girls aren't so honest," said Carter, looking soberly into Louisa's blue eyes.

She regained her composure with a little toss of her head.

"An American girl is my best friend--you shall say nodings about _dem_!

Ah, here comes Mr. Livingston mit de beautiful horns which he gif to me!" she cried, clapping her hands.

"They're beauties, aren't they?" said Livingston, holding up the antlers to view. "I'll get some of the Indians around here to fix them up for you." He took them outside again, then came in and joined the others around the camp table.

"Mr. Livingston was the lucky one to-day," said Hope to O'Hara; "but we had a great hunt."

"I am not at all sure that I got him," said Livingston, seating himself beside her. "I am positive another shot was fired at the same time, but I looked around and saw no one. You came up a few moments afterward, Miss Hathaway, and I have had a sort of rankling suspicion ever since that there was some mystery about it."

"Then clear your mind of it at once," replied the girl. "I'll admit that I fired a shot at the same instant you did, but I was on the opposite side of the brush from where you were, and didn't see the antelope at all. What I aimed at was a large black speck in the sky above me, and this is my trophy." She drew from her belt a glossy, dark eagle's feather, and handed it to him.

"May I have this?" he asked, taking it from her.

"Why, certainly," she answered carelessly.

O'Hara had been looking at Livingston closely, as though extremely perplexed by his appearance. Suddenly he gave a deep laugh, jumped up from his seat and began shaking him warmly by the hand.

"Well, if this isn't----"

"_Edward Livingston_," interrupted the other briefly.

"But who'd ever dream of seeing _you_ here in this country!" continued O'Hara. "It was too dark to see you distinctly when you rode up, or I'd have known you at once. I'm glad to see you; indeed, I am, sir!"

"How romantic!" exclaimed Hope. "Where did you ever meet Larry, Mr.

Livingston?"

"I had the privilege of meeting Mr. O'Hara at the home of an acquaintance near London two or three years ago. I am very glad to have the pleasure again." O'Hara was about to say something in reply to this, but thought better of it, and remained silent, while Livingston continued: "I never imagined that I should meet my Irish-American friend in this far country, though you Americans do have a way of appearing in the most unexpected places. This America is a great country. I like it--in fact, well enough that I have now become one of its citizens."

"But you have not left England for good!" exclaimed O'Hara.

"For good, and for all time," replied Livingston, the youthful expression of his face settling into maturer lines of sadness. "I have not one tie left. My friend, Carter here, will tell you that I have settled down in these mountains as a respectable sheep-man--respectable, if not dearly beloved. Miss Hathaway does not believe there can be anything respectable about the sheep business, but I have promised to convert her. Is that not so?" he asked, turning to her.

"He has promised to give me a pet lamb to take back to the ranch," she said, laughing. "I shall put a collar on its neck and lead it by a blue ribbon! At least it will be as good an ornament as Clarice Van Rensselaer's poodle. Horrible little thing!"

"Now just imagine the beautiful Mrs. Larry O'Hara trailing that kind of a baist about the streets of New York! I move that the animal be rejected with thanks!" exclaimed Larry. Livingston looked at him in quiet amazement, then at Hope and Sydney to see how they took his audacity.

"Don't worry, Larry, dear," replied Hope. "The pet lamb hasn't been accepted yet--or you, either! I shall probably choose the pet lamb, but rely on my good judgment, that's a nice boy, and don't let such a little matter bother you!"

Larry heaved an unnaturally deep sigh, at which little Louisa laughed, and Sydney patted him upon the shoulder, exclaiming:

"Cheer up! You have an even chance with the lamb. You don't need to be afraid of such a rival!"

"But she says herself that the animal's chances are the best," said Larry dismally. Then with a sudden inspiration: "How much'll you take for that baist? I'll buy him of you--_Mr._ Livingston!"

"Now's your chance to make some money!" cried Sydney.

Livingston quickly entered the mood of the moment.

"Miss Hathaway has an option on the lamb," he said, looking at her. "If she wants to throw it up I shall be glad to sell it to you."

"She wants her supper mostly now," said Hope. "Come on, let's eat, for we must get back. See all the fine things William has prepared for us!"

After the meal, when the girls rose to depart, Larry insisted upon accompanying them home.

"I am going along, too," laughed Sydney, "so I'll see that he gets back to camp all right! You might as well let him go, Hope."

"Well, if he is so foolish, after his hard day's ride," she said, with a shrug of the shoulders. "But get him a fresh horse, Sydney. At least we can spare the poor tired animal!"

Sydney and O'Hara both went a short distance away to get the saddle-horse which was feeding quietly on the hillside. Hope led her horse down to the water and while it was drinking Livingston came and stood beside her.

For a moment they remained there quiet, side by side, then the man spoke:

"It is of such as this that life's sweetest moments are made. It seems almost a sacrilege to break the spell, but I cannot always be silent.

You know I love you, Hope!"

"Yes," she replied carelessly, "I believe you told me so once before."

For an instant he did not speak. "It was here at the camp, another evening like this, wasn't it?" she continued, in quite a matter-of-fact tone.

"I will not believe that you have forgotten it," he exclaimed softly.

"It may have sounded foolish to you to hear the words, but I could not help saying them!" He stood so close to her that he could feel her warm breath. "It may be wrong to stand here with you now, alone. How quiet it is! You and I together in a little world of our own! How I love you, my girl, _love you_! I may not have the right to this much happiness, but there is no moral law that man or G.o.d has made to prevent a man from saying to the woman he loves, 'I love you!' Are you--do you care that I have said it?"

"You must not--tell me again," she said, in a voice so forced that it seemed to belong to some other person. Then she turned abruptly and led her horse past him, up the bank of the creek, to Louisa waiting before the tent.

CHAPTER XXII

In the cool of evening, between dark and moonrise, the time when night is blackest, and shadows hang like a pall over mountain top and crag, a small group of men might have been seen lounging before old Mother White Blanket's tepee, absorbing the genial warmth that came from her camp-fire, over which the old squaw hovered close.

In the background, away from the group, yet still with the light of the fire shining full upon him, stood the soft-voiced twin. Suddenly the hawk-like eyes of his grandmother swept the darkness and fastened themselves upon his inquisitive face. For an instant they pierced him through, then the shrill voice rang out:

"So! It's only the sneak-dog that dare not come near! You get out and hunt your bed!"

"I ain't doin' nothin'!" exclaimed the boy.

"No! An' you'll live doin' nothin', an' die doin' nothin', with a rope about your neck, _so_!" She made a quick motion across her throat, and gurgled heinously, letting her blanket fall low upon her skinny, calico covered shoulders, revealing a long, gaunt throat and stiff wisps of black, unkempt hair.

"You don't need to think you can scare _me_," said the boy, moving boldly forward, impelled by fear. "I ain't sneakin' 'round here, neither! You'd better be a little politer er I'll tell the old man on you when he gets sober again!"

"Hear him!" roared Shorty Smith. "Politer! I reckon the school-ma'am's instillin' some mighty high-flutin' notions into your head, ain't she?

Politer! Just listen to that onct, will yous! Say, don't no one dare breathe loud when _Mister_ Daniel Harris, _esquire_, comes round!"

"You let your betters alone," rebuked the old woman, shaking a stick at Shorty, preliminary to throwing it upon the fire. "My grandson's got more in his head than all of you!" Then nodding at the boy who, emboldened, had come up to the fire: "Say what's on your tongue an' git off to bed with you!"