The Girl of the Golden West | Page 4

hundred
yards or more he spoke not a word, though he spurred his horse in order
to keep up with the now fast-moving stage. Then, all of a sudden, as the
silence between them was beginning to grow embarrassing, the Girl
made out the figure of a man on horseback a short distance ahead, and
uttered an exclamation of surprise. The stranger followed the direction
of the Girl's eyes and, almost instantly, it was borne in upon them that
the horseman awaited their coming. The Girl turned to speak, but the
tender, sorrowful expression that she saw on the young man's face kept
her silent.

"That is one of my father's men," he said, somewhat solemnly. "His
presence here may mean that I must leave you. The road to our ranch
begins there. I fear that something may be wrong."
The Girl shot him a look of sympathetic inquiry, though she said
nothing. To tell the truth, the first thought that entered her mind at his
words was one of concern that their companionship was likely to cease
abruptly. During the silence that preceded his outspoken premonition of
trouble, she had been studying him closely. She found herself admiring
his aquiline features, his olive-coloured skin with its healthful pallor,
the lazy, black Spanish eyes behind which, however tranquil they
generally were, it was easy for her to discern, when he smiled, that
reckless and indomitable spirit which appeals to women all the world
over.
As the stage approached the motionless horseman, the young man cried
out to the vaquero, for such he was, and asked in Spanish whether he
had a message for him; an answer came back in the same language, the
meaning of which the Girl failed to comprehend. A moment later her
companion turned to her and said:
"It is as I feared."
Once more a silence fell upon them. For a half-mile or so, apparently
deep in thought, he continued to canter at her side; at last he spoke
what was in his mind.
"I hate to leave you, Señorita," he said.
In an instant the light went out of the Girl's eyes, and her face was as
serious as his own when she replied:
"Well, I guess I ain't particularly crazy to have you go neither."
The unmistakable note of regret in the Girl's voice flattered as well as
encouraged him to go further and ask:
"Will you think of me some time?"

The Girl laughed.
"What's the good o' my thinkin' o' you? I seen you talkin' with them
gran' Monterey ladies an' I guess you won't be thinkin' often o' me. Like
's not by to-morrow you'll 'ave clean forgot me," she said with forced
carelessness.
"I shall never forget you," declared the young man with the intense
fervour that comes so easily to the men of his race.
At that a half-mistrustful, half-puzzled look crossed the Girl's face. Was
this handsome stranger finding her amusing? There was almost a
resentful glitter in her eyes when she cried out:
"I 'mos' think you're makin' fun o' me!"
"No, I mean every word that I say," he hastened to assure her, looking
straight into her eyes where he could scarcely have failed to read
something which the Girl had not the subtlety to conceal.
"Oh, I guess I made you say that!" she returned, making a child-like
effort to appear to disbelieve him.
The stranger could not suppress a smile; but the next moment he was
serious, and asked:
"And am I never going to see you again? Won't you tell me where I can
find you?"
Once more the Girl was conscious of a feeling of embarrassment. Not
that she was at all ashamed of being "The Girl of The Polka Saloon,"
for that never entered her mind; but she suddenly realised that it was
one thing to converse pleasantly with a young man on the highway and
another to let him come to her home on Cloudy Mountain. Only too
well could she imagine the cool reception, if it stopped at that, that the
boys of the camp there would accord to this stylish stranger. As a
consequence, she was torn by conflicting emotions: an overwhelming
desire to see him again, and a dread of what might happen to him

should he descend upon Cloudy Mountain with all his fine airs and
graces.
"I guess I'm queer--" she began uncertainly and then stopped in sudden
surprise. Too long had she delayed her answer. Already the stage had
left him some distance behind. Unperceived by her a shade of
annoyance had passed over the Californian's face at her seeming
reluctance to tell him where she lived. The quick of his Spanish pride
was touched; and with a wave of his sombrero he had pulled his horse