Hope Hathaway Part 16

"I would rather stay here with you," replied Hope, arranging a waving lock which the wind had displaced from Louisa's golden tresses. "When the horse comes that I have sent for, and you have learned to ride better, we will go all over these mountains together. I will show you Sydney's camp and take you to old Peter's cabin, and let you see where we found the den of coyotes. We will go everywhere then, and have such a good time!"

Louisa looked at her tenderly, but her eyes were filled with the pain of a great sorrow.

"O, _Fraulein_, you are goot, so goot to me! If I may ask, not too much, I wish to see where lies _mein lieber Fritz_. I vill weep no more--then.

Ven I sleep the dreams come so much. If I could see once the place it would be better, _nicht wahr_?"

"Yes," replied Hope, "it is a lovely spot and you shall see it. Mr.

Livingston could not have found a more beautiful place. Just now it is all a ma.s.s of flowers and green gra.s.s as far as you can see, and behind it is a great high jagged wall of stone. It is beautiful!"

"Mr. Livingston is a good, true man," mused Louisa, lapsing into German, which Hope followed with some difficulty. "He was very kind to my poor Fritz, who loved him dearly. His letters were filled with his praises.

It was of him, of the beautiful country, and our love of which he always wrote. He was a good boy, _Fraulein_."

"Tell me about him," said Hope, adding hastily, "if you feel like it. I would love to hear."

Hope could not have suggested a wiser course, for to speak of a grief or trouble wears off its sharp edges.

"He was a good boy," replied Louisa. "I cannot see why G.o.d has taken him from this beautiful place, and from me. It has been a year, now, since I last saw him. He left in a hurry. He had never spoken of love until that day, nor until he told me of it did I know that it was real love I had so long felt for him. We grew up together. He was my cousin. I had other cousins, but he was ever my best companion--my first thought. He came to me that day and said: 'Louisa, I am going far away from here to the free America. It breaks my heart to leave you. Will you promise to some day join me there and be my wife?' I promised him, and then cried much because he was going so far. It was even worse than the army, I thought, and somehow it held a strange dread for me. But Fritz would not think of the army. His eldest brother returned, and as head of the family all the money went to him. My aunt married again. Her husband is a wholesale merchant of wines. He gave Fritz a position in his warehouse, but very soon they quarreled. He seemed not to like Fritz. Then there was nothing for the poor boy but the army, or far America. I could not blame him when he chose freedom. The lot of the youngest son is not always a happy one. A friend who had been here told all about this great country and the good opportunities, so he came. His letters were so beautiful! I used to read them over and over until the paper was worn and would break in pieces. For a whole year I waited, and planned, and lived on the letters and my dreams, then filled with happiness I started to him. To think that I have come to the end of this long, strange journey to a foreign land to see but his grave! Oh, G.o.d in heaven, help me be brave!"

"There is no death," said Hope, rising abruptly from the log upon which she had been sitting and standing erect before Louisa, her dark commanding eyes forcing the attention of the grief-stricken girl. "I know there is no death. I feel it with every throb of my pulse--in every atom of my being! _I_ and my _body_!--_I_ and my _body_!" she continued impressively. "How distinct the two! Can the death of this lump of clay change the _I_ that is really myself? Can anything exterminate the living me? Every throb of my whole being tells me that I am more than this perishable flesh--that I am more than time or place or condition or _death_! I believe, like the Indians, that when we are freed from this husk of death--this peris.h.i.+ng flesh, that the we, as we truly are, is like a prisoner turned loose--that then, only do we realize what _life_ really means."

Louisa's innocent eyes were intent upon her as she strove to grasp the full meaning of the English words.

"_Ich weiss; es ist wahr_," she replied softly, "_aber wenn der k.u.mmer so frisch ist, dann ist es unmoglich in dem Gedanken Trost zu finden_."

"I should have said nothing," said Hope in contrition, seating herself upon the log pile again.

"_Nein_, my dear, dear friend! I have now dis misery, but I belief you.

Somedimes your vords vill help--vat you calls 'em--vill _soothe_, und I vill be better."

"Then it's all right," said Hope, jumping from the logs and giving her hand to Louisa to a.s.sist her down. "Let's walk a little."

They went slowly up the road toward the school-house, and had not proceeded far when they met Livingston driving toward them in an open buggy.

Hope waved her hand to him and hastened forward, while Louisa smiled upon him the faintest of dimpled greetings, then drew back to the side of the road while the girl of the prairies stepped up to the side of his buggy.

"You haven't kept your word very well," she said. "We have seen you only twice, and Louisa has wondered many times what has been keeping you.

Isn't that so, Louisa?" she nodded at the girl. "I am glad you have come this morning, because I want to ask you a favor."

"I am at your service," he replied.

"You know Louisa hasn't learned to ride yet, and Harris' have no other way of conveyance, so I wanted to ask you to take her in your buggy--to see Fritz's grave." The last few words were added below her breath.

"I came this morning to ask you if she did not wish to see it," he replied. "It might be good for her."

"Of course _you_ should be the first one to think of it!" she said quickly, shading her eyes with her hand to look down the long, crooked stretch of road. "I didn't think of it at all myself. She has just asked me if she might see it. All the virtues are yours by right," she continued, showing, as she again faced him, a flash of her strong white teeth. "And the funny part of it is, I think I am getting jealous of the very virtues you possess!"

"You should see with my eyes awhile," he replied, "and you would have no cause for jealousy."

"I do not know jealousy in the ordinary sense of the word--that was entirely left out of my make-up, but for once I covet the attributes of thoughtfulness that should be ingrained in every woman's nature."

When she had spoken he seemed struggling for an instant with some strong emotion. Without replying he stepped from his buggy and walked to the heads of his horses, presumably to arrange some part of the harness.

Livingston struggled to keep back the words which sprang to his lips. He loved the girl with all the strength of his nature. Her whole att.i.tude toward him artlessly invited him to speak, but his manhood forbade it.

He was a puzzle, she thought, impatiently. Why did he not make a little effort to woo her, after having declared his love in no uncertain manner? She was not sure that she wanted to receive his advances if he should make any, but why did he not make them? She knew that she was interested in him, and she knew, also, that she was piqued by his apparent indifference. She knew he was like a smoldering volcano, and she had all a girl's curiosity to see it burst forth; but with the thought came a regret that their acquaintance would then be at an end.

"I can take you both up there now, if you wish," he said, coming around to the side of the buggy. "The seat is wide and I do not think you will be uncomfortable."

Hope had turned her eyes once more down the narrow, winding stretch of gray toward the Harris ranch.

"I think I will not go," she replied, still peering ahead from under the shade of her hand. "Yes, I am sure now that's Sydney. See, just going into the corral. Jim was to have brought me an extra saddle horse to-day, but Sydney has come instead, so I'll go back. Louisa can go alone with you." She motioned to the girl. "Come, Louisa, Mr. Livingston wants to take you for a little drive. I will be down there at the house when you come back."

The girl understood enough of their conversation to know where she was expected to go. Obediently, trustfully, with one loving glance at Hope, she climbed into the buggy beside Livingston and was soon riding rapidly up the mountain road to the grave of her sweetheart.

CHAPTER XV

Hope's anxiety to reach the ranch could not have been great, for she walked slowly along the dark, gray stretch of road, vaguely dreaming the while, and offering excuses to herself for not having accepted Livingston's invitation. She managed to find several reasons. First, it would have been too crowded; second, Sydney had brought the horse, and was probably waiting to see her; third, she had no particular desire to go, because he had so obviously wanted her to do so. Finally, after weighing all her excuses, she was obliged to admit that the only thing that really troubled her was Livingston's evident unconcern at her refusal to accompany them.

She had reached a point in her life where self-a.n.a.lysis was fast becoming an interesting study. At present it struck her as being amusing.

The clatter of hoofs and a wild whoop brought her out of her absorbing study, as down the nearest side-hill the twins raced pell-mell, the pinto pony leading the stylish Dude by half a length. They drew up suddenly in the road beside her.

"Now you can see fer yourself that that Dude cayuse of Dave's ain't in it with my pinto!" exclaimed the soft-voiced twin.

"What'er you givin' us!" shouted Dave. "Just hear him brag about that spotted cayuse of his'n! 'Twasn't no even race at all. He had 'bout a mile the start!"

"Oh, come off your perch!" retorted the other sweetly.

"Where are you boys going?" asked Hope.

"Nowheres. We seen you from the top of the divide, an' I thought I'd just show you what was in Pinto. He's all right--you bet! Ain't you, old man?" said the boy, pulling his pony's mane affectionately.

"Oh, _I_ wasn't tryin' to show off!" exclaimed Dave. "But just give me a level road an' I'll beat you all to pieces!"

"Where have you been?" inquired Hope.

The boys looked at each other in a sheepish manner.

"I'm going to guess," said the girl suspiciously, "and if I am right you'll have to own up. In the first place your father sent you out to bring in those cows and calves over near old Peter's basin. Instead of that you went on farther and found a camp. You went in one of the tents and ate some dried blackberry pie, instead of bringing in the cattle.

Now, isn't that so?"

Dave looked dumfounded.

"I don't see how you knew that when you wasn't along! Gee, you must know things like grandmother White Blanket!" he exclaimed.