Great American Western Stories by Steven Price

Author:Steven Price [Price, Steven D.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Lyons Press
Published: 2017-05-08T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter III

He turned the horses about and took charge of her just as if he were accustomed to managing stray ladies in the wilderness every day of his life and understood the situation perfectly; and Margaret settled wearily into her saddle and looked about her with content.

Suddenly, again, the wide wonder of the night possessed her. Involuntarily she breathed a soft little exclamation of awe and delight. Her companion turned to her questioningly.

“Does it always seem so big here—so—limitless?” she asked in explanation. “It is so far to everywhere it takes one’s breath away, and yet the stars hang close, like a protection. It gives one the feeling of being alone in the great universe with God. Does it always seem so out here?”

He looked at her curiously, her pure profile turned up to the wide dome of luminous blue above. His voice was strangely low and wondering as he answered, after a moment’s silence: “No, it is not always so,” he said. “I have seen it when it was more like being alone in the great universe with the devil.”

There was a tremendous earnestness in his tone that the girl felt meant more than was on the surface. She turned to look at the fine young face beside her. In the starlight she could not make out the bitter hardness of lines that were beginning to be carved about his sensitive mouth. But there was so much sadness in his voice that her heart went out to him in pity.

“Oh,” she said, gently, “it would be awful that way. Yes, I can understand. I felt so, a little, while that terrible man was with me.” And she shuddered again at the remembrance.

Again he gave her that curious look. “There are worse things than Pop Wallis out here,” he said, gravely. “But I’ll grant you there’s some class to the skies. It’s a case of ‘Where every prospect pleases and only man is vile.’” And with the words his tone grew almost flippant. It hurt her sensitive nature, and without knowing it she half drew away a little farther from him and murmured, sadly: “Oh!” as if he had classed himself with the “man” he had been describing. Instantly he felt her withdrawal and grew grave again, as if he would atone.

“Wait till you see this sky at the dawn,” he said. “It will burn red fire off there in the east like a hearth in a palace, and all this dome will glow like a great pink jewel set in gold. If you want a classy sky, there you have it! Nothing like it in the East!”

There was a strange mingling of culture and roughness in his speech. The girl could not make him out; yet there had been a palpitating earnestness in his description that showed he had felt the dawn in his very soul.

“You are—a—poet, perhaps?” she asked, half shyly. “Or an artist?” she hazarded.

He laughed roughly and seemed embarrassed. “No, I’m just a—bum! A sort of roughneck out of a job.

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