Miss Dividends Part 12

"What right?"

"The right to defend myself!" And he heeds not Erma's pleading eyes.

Then she whispers, "Give me the justice I denied you. Let me explain also. How was I, a girl brought up in a land of peace, to know that men could exist like that one from whom you saved Ferdie just now; that to protect the innocent it was necessary to slay the guilty, and _right_, too?" and then bursts forth impetuously, "_Wretches like that murderer I saw out there I would kill also!_"

But the young man does not seem to heed her; and muttering, "You don't forgive me any more than you did the murderers," she falters away and says piteously, "And I--alone here!" And there are tears in her beautiful eyes; for at this moment Ferdie seems very little of a protector.

This last affects Lawrence. He steps to her, e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.i.n.g. huskily, "Not as long as I am here!"

"Oh, thank you," cries the girl. "You will take care of me. How nice!"

her smiles overcoming her tears.

"Certainly. That is my duty," answers Harry, still coldly, for he has been very deeply wounded.

"I don't want your duty!" answers Erma hotly.

"What do you want?"

"Forgiveness! Don't punish me with kindness, and still be implacable.

Forgive me," pleads the young lady, her little hand held out towards her judge.

Then Miss Travenion gives a startled little "Ough!" for her fingers receive a grip that makes her wince, and as their hands meet, piquant gaiety comes over the young lady, and the gentleman begins to smile, and his eyes grow sunny.

A second after he says, "If I am responsible for you, I must look after you. You must have dinner, and so must Ferdie," and he calls cheerily to the youth, who has been brus.h.i.+ng the sawdust of barroom floor and the dirt of combat from his light travelling suit. "You are up to a bite, young bantam, ain't you, after your scrimmage?"

"Yes, I'm dead hungry," answers Mr. Chauncey. "But Erma, your French maid is in the waiting-room, crying her eyes out. She says my aunt left her with your hand-baggage."

"Clothes!" screams Miss Travenion. "There's a new dress in my travelling bag! Oh! to get rid of the dust of travel," and growing very happy at this find--as what woman would not?--she and Lawrence walk across the tracks to the railroad hotel, followed by the maid and Ferdie, who brings up the rear, stopping at every other step to examine his summer suit for rent of combat, and to give it another brush from barroom dirt, and shortly arrive at the hostelry that lies between the tracks of the Union and Central Pacific Railways.

Here Lawrence suggests that Erma send a telegram to Mrs. Livingston, and dissipate any fears her chaperon may have for her safety. So, going into the telegraph office, she hastily writes the following:

"TO MRS. LIVINGSTON,

"On train bound for Salt Lake City:

"Detained by Ferdie. We are both well, and will follow on first train in the morning. Please tell papa,--who will meet you at the depot.

"ERMA TRAVENION."

This being despatched, she comes out and stands by Lawrence, and watches the Central Pacific train, with its yellow silver palace sleeping cars, that is just about to run for the West and California, and laughs: "In two weeks I will be once more on my way to the Golden Land."

"So soon!" says the young man, a sigh in his voice.

"Oh," says the girl, airily; "by that time I shall have seen papa, and we have to do California and get back to New York for the first Patriarch's Ball." Then she babbles, "Oh, the delights of New York society. You must come on next winter and see how gay our city is, Captain Lawrence, to a young lady who--who isn't _always_ a wall flower."

"That I will," answers Harry, heartily. A moment after, he goes on more considerately, "If I can arrange my mining business,"--this last by no means so confidently spoken.

As he says this, the train dashes off on its way to the Pacific, and Ferdie coming out of the hotel, where he has been generally put in order, the three, accompanied by the maid, go in to dinner. The mentor of the party registers their names, and tells the proprietor, who seems to know him very well, to give Miss Travenion the best rooms in the house.

At this, the young lady says, "Excuse me for a few minutes. I have clothes with me now." And despite Lawrence's laughing protestations that no change can be for the better, she runs up-stairs, and a few minutes after returns, having got the dust of travel from her in some marvellous way, and appearing in a new toilet--one of those half dress, half every day affairs, something with lace on it and ribbons, which makes her beauty fresh as that of a new-blown rosebud.

Their dinner is a merry meal; Miss Travenion coming out afterwards on the platform, and watching out-going freight trains and switching locomotives, as the two gentlemen smoke. Then the moon comes up over the giant mountains that wall in this Ogden Valley, save where it opens on the Great Salt Lake, and shadows fall on the distant gorges and canons.

Illumined by the soft light, the girl looks radiantly lovely and piquantly happy, for somehow this evening seems to her a pleasant one.

After a little, Mr. Chauncey wanders away, perhaps in search of further frontier adventure, though Lawrence notes that he sticks very close to the main hotel, and does not investigate outlying barrooms. Then Erma and Harry being alone, the young man's talk grows confidential, and he tells the girl a good deal of his mining business, which seems to be upon his mind. How he had expected to sell his claim to an English company, but now fears that he shall not, on account of the accursed Mormons--this last under his breath, for nearly every one in the community they are now in are members of that church.

On being questioned, he goes on to explain that a claim has been made to a portion of his mine by a Mormon company, remarking that he has bad news from Salt Lake City that day. He has learned that a Mormon of great influence, called Tranyon, has purchased nearly all the other interests in Zion's Co-operative Mining Inst.i.tution, which has brought suit for a portion of his property.

"How will that affect you?" queries Erma, who apparently has grown anxious for her mentor's speculation.

"Why, this Tranyon is a man of wonderful sagacity,--more, I think, than any other business Mormon in this country. He made nearly as much grading the Union Pacific Railway as Brigham Young himself. He has blocks of stock in the road upon which we will travel to-morrow morning to Salt Lake City. I have now money, brains and a Mormon jury against me!" says Lawrence, with a sigh.

He would perhaps continue this subject, did not Ferdie come excitedly to them, his eyes big with wonder, and whisper: "Kruger is in the hotel.

Buck Powers and I have been investigating your father's friend, Erma, and have discovered that he is a full-fledged Mormon bishop."

"A Mormon! Impossible," says the young lady, with a start.

"Your father's friend?" exclaims Lawrence.

"Certainly," replies Miss Travenion. "I met him with my father several times in New York."

To this the Western man does not answer, but a shade pa.s.ses over his brow and he grows thoughtful.

Then Ferdie, who is very full of his news, says: "There's no doubt of it. I talked with the man who keeps the bar, and he said Lot Kruger was as good a Mormon as any man in Salt Lake Valley, and I asked him if he didn't think we could arrest Kruger, and he cursed me and said he'll blow my infernal Gentile head off."

Here Harry interrupts the boy sternly: "Don't you know that the man in the hotel and nearly every one else about here are Mormons? If you make many more remarks of that kind, you'll never see New York again."

This advice puts Mr. Chauncey in a brown study, and he wanders away whistling, while Lawrence turns to Miss Travenion and asks her with a serious tone in his voice: "You are sure this man Kruger is interested with your father in business?"

"I am certain," falters the girl. "In some way. I don't know how much."

"I am very sorry for that!"

"Sorry for it? How can it affect my father?" returns Miss Travenion, growing haughty.

"That I can't see myself," rejoins her escort, and the two both go into contemplation.

A minute after the girl smiles and says, "Why, in another minute, perhaps you will think I am Miss Mormon myself." This seeming to her a great joke, she laughs very heartily.

But her laugh would be a yellow one, did she know that Lot Kruger, bishop in the Mormon Church, high up in the Seventies, Councilor of the Prophet, Brigham Young; and ex-Danite and Destroying Angel to boot, has stayed in Ogden on her account, and has just sent a telegram to one who holds the Latter-Day Saints in his hand, which reads:

"OGDEN, _October 4, 1871_.

"She is here. I am watching her. She will arrive in Salt Lake on the morning train. See my letter from Chicago, due to-night."

Not knowing this, the girl's laughter is light and happy, and seems to be infectious, for Lawrence joins in it, and their conversation grows low, as if they would keep it to themselves, and perhaps slightly romantic, for there is a fire in the young man's dark eyes that seems to be reflected in the beautiful blue ones of Miss Travenion, as she tells him of life in New York society, and about Mrs. Livingston and her son.

This discantation on the absent Oliver Lawrence enjoys so little, however, that he turns the conversation to his own prospects once more.