They didnt, returned Jim, with ominously averted eyes.
What became of him? continued the farmer.
Red Jim shadowed his eyes with his hand, and cast a dark glance of scrutiny out of the doors and windows. The young girl perceived it with timid, fascinated concern, and said hurriedly:
Dont ask him, father! Dont you see he mustnt tell?
Not when spies may be hangin round, and doggin me at every step, said Red Jim, as if reflecting, with another furtive glance towards the already fading prospect without. Theyve sworn to revenge him, he added moodily.
A momentary silence followed. The farmer coughed slightly, and looked dubiously at his wife. But the two women had already exchanged feminine glances of sympathy for this evident slayer of traitors, and were apparently inclined to stop any adverse criticism.
In the midst of which a shout was heard from the road. The farmer and his family instinctively started. Red Jim alone remained unmoved,a fact which did not lessen the admiration of his feminine audience. The host rose quickly, and went out. The figure of a horseman had halted in the road, but after a few moments conversation with the farmer they both moved towards the house and disappeared. When the farmer returned, it was to say that one of them Frisco dandies, who didnt keer about stoppin at the hotel in the settlement, had halted to give his critter a feed and drink that he might continue his journey. He had asked him to come in while the horse was feeding, but the stranger had guessed hed stretch his legs outside and smoke his cigar; he might have thought the company not fine enough for him, but he was civil spoken enough, and had an all-fired smart hoss, and seemed to know how to run him. To the anxious inquiries of his wife and daughter he added that the stranger didnt seem like a spy or a Mexican; was as young as HIM, pointing to the moody Red Jim, and a darned sight more peaceful-like in style.
Perhaps owing to the criticism of the farmer, perhaps from some still lurking suspicion of being overheard by eavesdroppers, or possibly from a humane desire to relieve the strained apprehension of the women, Red Jim, as the farmer disappeared to rejoin the stranger, again dropped into a lighter and gentler vein of reminiscence. He told them how, when a mere boy, he had been lost from an emigrant train in company with a little girl some years his junior. How, when they found themselves alone on the desolate plain, with the vanished train beyond their reach, he endeavored to keep the child from a knowledge of the real danger of their position, and to soothe and comfort her. How he carried her on his back, until, exhausted, he sank in a heap of sage-brush. How he was surrounded by Indians, who, however, never suspected his hiding-place; and how he remained motionless and breathless with the sleeping child for three hours, until they departed. How, at the last moment, he had perceived a train in the distance, and had staggered with her thither, although shot at and wounded by the trainmen in the belief that he was an Indian. How it was afterwards discovered that the child was the long-lost daughter of a millionaire; how he had resolutely refused any gratuity for saving her, and she was now a peerless young heiress, famous in California. Whether this lighter tone of narrative suited him better, or whether the active feminine sympathy of his auditors helped him along, certain it was that his story was more coherent and intelligible and his voice less hoarse and constrained than in his previous belligerent reminiscences; his expression changed, and even his features worked into something like gentler emotion. The bright eyes of Phoebe, fastened upon him, turned dim with a faint moisture, and her pale cheek took upon itself a little color. The mother, after interjecting Du tell, and I wanter know, remained open-mouthed, staring at her visitor. And in the silence that followed, a pleasant, but somewhat melancholy voice came from the open door.
I beg your pardon, but I thought I couldnt be mistaken. It IS my old friend, Jim Hooker!
Everybody started. Red Jim stumbled to his feet with an inarticulate and hysteric exclamation. Yet the apparition that now stood in the doorway was far from being terrifying or discomposing. It was evidently the stranger,a slender, elegantly-knit figure, whose upper lip was faintly shadowed by a soft, dark mustache indicating early manhood, and whose unstudied ease in his well-fitting garments bespoke the dweller of cities. Good-looking and well-dressed, without the consciousness of being either; self-possessed through easy circumstances, yet without self-assertion; courteous by nature and instinct as well as from an experience of granting favors, he might have been a welcome addition to even a more critical company. But Red Jim, hurriedly seizing his outstretched hand, instantly dragged him away from the doorway into the road and out of hearing of his audience.
Did you hear what I was saying? he asked hoarsely.
Well, yes,I think so, returned the stranger, with a quiet smile.
Ye aint goin back on me, Clarence, are ye,aint goin to gimme away afore them, old pard, are ye? said Jim, with a sudden change to almost pathetic pleading.
No, returned the stranger, smiling. And certainly not before that interested young lady, Jim. But stop. Let me look at you.
He held out both hands, took Jims, spread them apart for a moment with a boyish gesture, and, looking in his face, said half mischievously, half sadly, Yes, its the same old Jim Hooker,unchanged.
But YOURE changed,reglar war paint, Big Injin style! said Hooker, looking up at him with an awkward mingling of admiration and envy. Heard you struck it rich with the old man, and was Mister Brant now!
Yes, said Clarence gently, yet with a smile that had not only a tinge of weariness but even of sadness in it.
Unfortunately, the act, which was quite natural to Clarences sensitiveness, and indeed partly sprang from some concern in his old companions fortunes, translated itself by a very human process to Hookers consciousness as a piece of rank affectation. HE would have been exalted and exultant in Clarences place, consequently any other exhibition was only airs. Nevertheless, at the present moment Clarence was to be placated.
You didnt mind my telling that story about your savin Susy as my own, did ye? he said, with a hasty glance over his shoulder. I only did it to fool the old man and women-folks, and make talk. You wont blow on me? Ye aint mad about it?
It had crossed Clarences memory that when they were both younger Jim Hooker had once not only borrowed his story, but his name and personality as well. Yet in his loyalty to old memories there was mingled no resentment for past injury. Of course not, he said, with a smile that was, however, still thoughtful. Why should I? Only I ought to tell you that Susy Peyton is living with her adopted parents not ten miles from here, and it might reach their ears. Shes quite a young lady now, and if I wouldnt tell her story to strangers, I dont think YOU ought to, Jim.
He said this so pleasantly that even the skeptical Jim forgot what he believed were the airs and graces of self-abnegation, and said, Lets go inside, and Ill introduce you, and turned to the house. But Clarence Brant drew back. Im going on as soon as my horse is fed, for Im on a visit to Peyton, and I intend to push as far as Santa Inez still to-night. I want to talk with you about yourself, Jim, he added gently; your prospects and your future. I heard, he went on hesitatingly, that you wereat workin a restaurant in San Francisco. Im glad to see that you are at least your own master here,he glanced at the wagon. You are selling things, I suppose? For yourself, or another? Is that team yours? Come, he added, still pleasantly, but in an older and graver voice, with perhaps the least touch of experienced authority, be frank, Jim. Which is it? Never mind what things youve told IN THERE, tell ME the truth about yourself. Can I help you in any way? Believe me, I should like to. We have been old friends, whatever difference in our luck, I am yours still.