The Girl of the Golden West | Page 2

mile of the river country should
have been to a girl accustomed to the great forest of the Sierras, she had
gazed upon it for the most part with unseeing eyes, while her thoughts
turned, magnet-like, backward to the delights and the bewilderment of
the old Mexican town. So now, as the pursuing horseman swept rapidly
nearer, each swinging stride of the powerful horse, each rhythmic
movement of the graceful rider brought nearer and more vivid the
vision of a handsome picador holding off with his lance a thoroughly
maddened bull until the crowd roared forth its appreciation.
"See, Señorita," said the horseman, at last galloping close to the coach
and lifting his sombrero, "A beautiful bunch of syringa," and then, with
his face bent towards her and his voice full of appeal, he added in lower
tone: "for you!"
For a brief second, the Girl was too much taken back to find the
adequate words with which to accept the stranger's offering.
Notwithstanding that in his glance she could read, as plainly as though
he had spoken: "I know I am taking a liberty, but please don't be angry
with me," there was something in his sweeping bow and grace of
manner that, coupled with her vague sense of his social advantage,
disconcerted her. A second more, however, and the embarrassment had
passed, for on lifting her eyes to his again she saw that her memory had
not played her false; beyond all chance of a mistake, he was the man
who, ten days earlier, had peered into the stage, as she was nearing
Monterey, and later, at the bull-fight, had found time to shoot admiring
glances at her between his daring feats of horsemanship. Therefore,
genuine admiration was in her eyes and extreme cordiality in her voice
when, after a word or two of thanks, she added, with great frankness:
"But it strikes me sort o' forcible that I've seen you before." Then, with
growing enthusiasm: "My, but that bull-fight was jest grand! You were
fine! I'm right glad to know you, sir."
The _caballero's_ face flushed with pleasure at her free-and-easy
reception of him, while an almost inaudible "_Gracias_" fell from his

lips. At once he knew that his first surmise, that the Girl was an
American, had been correct. Not that his experience in life had
furnished him with any parallel, for the Girl constituted a new and
unique type. But he was well aware that no Spanish lady would have
received the advances of a stranger in like fashion. It was inevitable,
therefore, that for the moment he should contrast, and not wholly to her
advantage, the Girl's unconventionality with the enforced reserve of the
dulcineas who, custom decrees, may not be courted save in the
presence of duennas. But the next instant he recalled that there were, in
Sacramento, young women whose directness it would never do to
mistake for boldness; and,--to his credit be it said,--he was quick to
perceive that, however indifferent the Girl seemed to the customary
formality of introduction, there was no suggestion of indelicacy about
her. All that her frank and easy manner suggested was that she was a
child of nature, spontaneous and untrammelled by the dictates of
society, and normally and healthily at home in the company of the
opposite sex.
"And she is even more beautiful than I supposed," was the thought that
went through his mind.
And yet, the Girl was not beautiful, at least if judged by Spanish or
Californian standards. Unlike most of their women, she was fair, and
her type purely American. Her eyes of blue were lightly but clearly
browed and abundantly fringed; her hair of burnished gold was
luxuriant and wavy, and framed a face of singularly frank and happy
expression, even though the features lacked regularity. But it was a face,
so he told himself, that any man would trust,--a face that would make a
man the better for looking at it,--a face which reflected a soul that no
environment could make other than pure and spotless. And so there was,
perhaps, a shade more of respect and a little less assurance in his
manner when he asked:
"And you like Monterey?"
"I love it! Ain't it romantic--an', my, what a fine time the girls there
must have!"

The man laughed; the Girl's enthusiasm amused him.
"Have you had a fine trip so far?" he asked, for want of something
better to say.
"Mercy, yes! This 'ere stage is a pokey ol' thing, but we've made not
bad time, considerin'."
"I thought you were never going to get here!"
The Girl shot a coquettish glance at him.
"How did you know I was comin' on this 'ere stage?"
"I did not know,"--the stranger broke off and thought a moment. He
may