The Angel of the Gila Part 42

"The time has come when the American man of the highest type needs something more than a fas.h.i.+on plate or a tailor's model for his mate."

"And have you no American women who could match your paragons, your American _tradesmen_?" he asked, contemptuously.

"Oh, yes," she replied. "We have fine and n.o.ble American women. I was just thinking how the Old World could be invigorated by the infusion of fresh blood from the vital, progressive New World. Just think of a brainy, womanly Lady Somebody of England, refusing to ally herself with an inane, worthless n.o.bleman of any country, and deliberately _choosing_ a man of the people here, a man whose achievements have made him great! Is there not a college of heraldry somewhere that places intellect and character and achievement above rank and fortune?"

He could not fathom her.

"How queer you are, Miss Bright! Such marriages," he continued, in a tone of disgust, "would not be tolerated."

"Why not? They would be on a higher plane than the ones you boast of.

You exploit the marriage of t.i.tle and money. I suggest, as an advance upon that, the marriage of the highest type of the n.o.blewoman of the Old World, with no fortune but her intellect, her character, and her fine breeding, with the highest type of n.o.ble manhood in America, a man large enough and great enough to direct the progress of the world."

"Ally the daughters of our n.o.bility with plebeian Americans?--with working men?"

"Why not?" she asked.

"Because we despise people in trades," he said, contemptuously.

"But the tradesmen who _make_ the fortunes are quite as good as their daughters, who barter themselves and their fathers' wealth for t.i.tles.

You seem to approve of such alliances."

They had reached the veranda of the Clayton home. Esther Bright's hand was on the door k.n.o.b, and her companion took his leave.

How radical she must seem to him!

As she entered her own room, she found a letter bearing a London postmark. It was the first letter she had received from Kenneth Hastings, and it was a long one. She read it through, and then reread it, and buried her face in her arms on the table. After awhile there came a knock on the door. It was Carla. She had been crying. Esther slipped an arm about her, and together they sat on the edge of the bed.

"What is the matter, Carla?" she asked gently.

"Oh, I am so unhappy!"

"Has anyone hurt your feelings, dear?"

"Oh, no. It is not that. It is the other. I wish I could die!"

Esther drew Carla to her.

"You still care for Mr. Clifton; is that it?"

"Yes," she answered, with a sob, "that is it. I am _so_ unhappy!"

"Tell me all about it, Carla," said Esther, in a soothing tone.

"Perhaps it will be a relief for you to tell me. When a load is shared it grows lighter."

"Well, you see, Papa and Mamma died, and I had no one but distant kindred. They gave me a home, and I became a sort of servant in the family. Mark Clifton was their nephew. He seemed to love me, and he was the only one who did. He talked often of the home we'd have when we are married, as I told you.

"I was sixteen when he came to America. Then he sent me money to come to him, saying we'd be married on my arrival here.

"But when I reached Gila, he said he could not disgrace his _family_ by marrying _me_."

These words were followed by violent weeping. Then Esther comforted her as best she could, and tucked her in her own bed. At last Carla fell into a heavy sleep.

Again Esther opened Kenneth's letter, read it, and placed it in her Bible.

So days came and went,--homely days, days of simple duties, days of ministration to human need. And Esther Bright was happy.

One day as she lingered late at the schoolhouse, she was startled to see a young Apache, dressed as a cowboy, standing in the doorway. For an instant, she felt a sickening fear. Then her habit of self-control a.s.serted itself. She motioned him to a seat, but he did not seem to understand. He spied her guitar, tried the strings, shook his head, and muttered words unintelligible to her.

The Indian was, apparently, about her own age, tall, muscular, and handsome. His long, glossy, black hair hung about his shoulders. On his head, was a light felt hat, similar to the ones worn by the cow-punchers. His trousers and jacket were of skins and cloth respectively. In a moment he looked up at her, from his seat on the floor, and jabbered something. Apparently, he approved of her. He touched her dress and jabbered something else.

[2]"N[=e]-sh[=e]-ad-nl[)e]h'," he said, pointing southward towards the Apache reservation.

[2] You be my squaw.

She told him, in poor Spanish, that she could not understand; but he apparently understood her, and looked pleased. Again he repeated the same words, using much gesticulation to help convey his meaning.

There was a step outside, and Robert Duncan appeared with Bobbie.

After greeting the teacher, Robert looked with unbounded astonishment at her unusual visitor. Apparently the Apache was there on a friendly visit. The Scotchman was about to pa.s.s on, when the teacher asked him to stay. He entered the room, and said something to the Indian, who answered, [3]"Inda-stzan' [=u]'-sn-b[=e]-ceng-k[)e]'."

[3] The white woman is an angel.

Robert seemed to catch his meaning, and answered in Spanish that the people called her the Angel of the Gila.

The Apache nodded his head approvingly, and said, [4]"Inda-stzan'

[=u]'-sn-b[=e]-tse'!"

[4] The white woman is the daughter of G.o.d.

He stepped up to the teacher, and took hold of her arm as if to draw her away with him. She shook her head, and pointed to Robert Duncan, who made signs to him that she was his squaw. At last the Indian withdrew, turning, from time to time, to look back at the vision that, apparently, had bewitched him.

Then Robert explained his own errand. He was seeking a mither for Bobbie. The bairn must have a mither. He had understood her interest in the bairn to be a corresponding interest in himself. He was muckle pleased, he said, to be singled out for any woman's favor. He was nae handsome man, he kenned that weel. He was ready tae marry her any time she telt him. Robert looked wonderfully pleased with himself, apparently confident of a successful wooing. His experience had been limited.

"You wish to marry me, Mr. Duncan?" Outwardly, she was serious.

"Yes, Miss, sen ye was sae willin', I thocht I maucht as weel tak ye, an' then I'd not be bothered wi' ither women.

"Have they troubled you?" she asked, with a look of amus.e.m.e.nt. "Have they been attentive to you?"

"Not as attentive as y'rsel'."

"In what way have I been attentive to you, Mr. Duncan?" she asked, looking still more amused.

"Ye've helpit me bairn, an' cleaned his claes, an' let him ca' ye mither. Ye'd no hae doon that wi'oot wis.h.i.+n' the faither, too."

His confidence was rather startling.

"But suppose I do not wish the father. What then?"