That Girl Montana. Ryan Marah Ellis

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СКАЧАТЬ Oh, yes; I guess he’d be nervy himself if he was needed. Say! can you tell me about the camp, or settlement, at this Sinna Ferry? I never was there. He says white women are there. Do you know them?”

      Lyster explained his own ignorance of the place, knowing it as he did only through Dan’s descriptions.

      Then she, from her bit of Indian knowledge, told him Sinna was the old north Indian name for Beaver. Then he got her to tell him other things of the Indian country, things of ghost-haunted places and strange witcheries, with which they confused the game and the fish. He fell to wondering what manner of man Rivers, the partner of Dan, had been, that his daughter had gained such strange knowledge of the wild things. But any attempt to learn or question her history beyond yesterday was always checked in some way or other.

      CHAPTER IV.

      DAN’S WARD

      Mr. Max Lyster was not given to the study of deep problems; his habits of thought did not run in that groove. But he did watch the young stranger with unusual interest. Her face puzzled him as much as her presence there.

      “I feel as though I had seen you before,” he said at last, and her face grew a shade paler. She did not look up, and when she spoke, it was very curtly:

      “Where?”

      “Oh, I don’t know – in fact, I believe it is a resemblance to some one I know that makes me feel that way.”

      “I look like some one you know?”

      “Well, yes, you do – a little – a lady who is a little older than you – a little more of a brunette than you; yet there is a likeness.”

      “Where does she live – and what is her name?” she asked, with scant ceremony.

      “I don’t suppose her name would tell you much,” he answered. “But it is Miss Margaret Haydon, of Philadelphia.”

      “Miss Margaret Haydon,” she said slowly, almost contemptuously. “So you know her?”

      “You speak as though you did,” he answered; “and as if you did not like the name, either.”

      “But you think it’s pretty,” she said, looking at him sharply. “No, I don’t know such swells – don’t want to.”

      “How do you know she is a swell?”

      “Oh, there’s a man owns big works across the country, and that’s his name. I suppose they are all of a lot,” she said, indifferently. “Say! are there any girls at Sinna Ferry, any family folks? Dan didn’t tell me – only said there was a white woman there, and I could live with her. He hasn’t a wife, has he?”

      “Dan?” and he laughed at the idea, “well, no. He is very kind to women, but I can’t imagine the sort of woman he would marry. He is a queer fish, you know.”

      “I guess you’ll think we’re all that up in this wild country,” she observed. “Does he know much about books and such things?”

      “Such things?”

      “Oh, you know! things of the life in the cities, where there’s music and theaters. I love the theaters and pictures! and – and – well, everything like that.”

      Lyster watched her brightening face, and appreciated all the longing in it for the things he liked well himself. And she loved the theaters! All his own boyish enthusiasm of years ago crowded into his memory, as he looked at her.

      “You have seen plays, then?” he asked, and wondered where she had seen them along that British Columbia line.

      “Seen plays! Yes, in ’Frisco, and Portland, and Victoria – big, real theaters, you know; and then others in the big mining camps. Oh, I just dream over plays, when I do see them, specially when the actresses are pretty. But I mostly like the villains better than the heroes. Don’t know why, but I do.”

      “What! you like to see their wickedness prosper?”

      “No – I think not,” she said, doubtfully. “But I tell you, the heroes are generally just too good to be live men, that’s all. And the villain mostly talks more natural, gets mad, you know, and breaks things, and rides over the lay-out as though he had some nerve in him. Of course, they always make him throw up his hands in the end, and every man in the audience applauds – even the ones who would act just as he does if such a pretty hero was in their way.”

      “Well, you certainly have peculiar ideas of theatrical personages – for a young lady,” decided Lyster, laughing. “And why you have a grievance against the orthodox handsome hero, I can’t see.”

      “He’s too good,” she insisted, with the little frown appearing between her brows, “and no one is ever started in the play with a fair chance against him. He is always called Willie, where the villain would be called Bill – now, isn’t he? Then the girl in the story always falls in love with him at first sight, and that’s enough to rile any villain, especially when he wants her himself.”

      “Oh!” and the face of the young man was a study, as he inspected this wonderful ward of Dan. Whatever he had expected from the young swimmer of the Kootenai, from the welcomed guest of Akkomi, he had not expected this sort of thing.

      She was twisting her pretty mouth, with a schoolgirl’s earnestness, over a problem, and accenting thus her patient forming of the clay face. She built no barriers up between herself and this handsome stranger, as she had in the beginning with Overton. What she had to say was uttered with all freedom – her likes, her thoughts, her ambitions. At first the fineness and perfection of his apparel had been as grandeur and insolence when contrasted with her own weather-stained, coarse skirt of wool, and her boy’s blouse belted with a strap of leather. Even the blue beads – her one feminine bit of adornment – had been stripped from her throat, that she might give some pleasure to the little bronze-tinted runners on the shore. But the gently modulated, sympathetic tones of Lyster and the kindly fellowship in his eyes, when he looked at her, almost made her forget her own shabbiness (all but those hideous coarse shoes!) for he talked to her with the grace of the people in the plays she loved so, and had not once spoken as though to a stray found in the shelter of an Indian camp.

      But he did look curious when she expressed those independent ideas on questions over which most girls would blush or appear at least a little conscious.

      “So, you would put a veto on love at first sight, would you?” he asked, laughingly. “And the beauty of the hero would not move you at all? What a very odd young lady you would have me think you! I believe love at first sight is generally considered, by your age and sex, the pinnacle of all things hoped for.”

      A little color did creep into her face at the unnecessary personal construction put on her words. She frowned to hide her embarrassment and thrust out her lips in a manner that showed she had little vanity as to her features and their attractiveness.

      “But I don’t happen to be a young lady,” she retorted; “and we think as we please up here in the bush. Maybe your proper young ladies would be very odd, too, if they were brought up out here like boys.”

      She arose to her feet, and he saw more clearly then how slight she was; her form and face were much more childish in character than her speech, and the face was looking at him with resentful eyes.

      “I’m going back to camp.”

      “Now, I’ve СКАЧАТЬ