CM37l5t G A THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LOS ANGELES TAMING A VAQUERO By LILLIAN GIMBLIN CHESTER Press &ap=l$tsgtn Co. San Francisco 1909 Copyrighted, IQOQ -By LILLIAN GIMBLIN CHESTER PS o $(? $ atfjer Gone before, but ever living to me, to whom I owe my success, my aims, my aspirations, this book is lovingly dedicated. LILLIAN GIMBLIN CHESTER. 877398 CONTENTS Page Introduction 1 She Meets Her Hero and Others 4 He Is Antagonistic 7 Sydney Shows Inez Country 12 A Surprise and a Revelation 17 Her Mistake and Her Resolve 22 A New Acquaintance 32 The Difference Between Them 35 A Walk and What Came of It 41 Forgive Me ! I Love You ! 47 She Goes Home to Tell Father Good-Bye 51 Back to Lonesome Glen 55 Sydney Meets With an Accident 61 They Speak Again- 68 Taking Up the Burden 73 Van Proposes but Inez Disposes 76 Good-Bye, Lonesome Glen 79 Three Years Later 82 "For Old Times' Sake" 85 Two Letters . . 93 OF TH? { UNIVERB OF %4' CHAPTER I INTRODUCTION The sun beat down upon the dusty rolling hills of northeastern California one Sunday afternoon in "dry September." If you did not know this part of the fabled "fairyland," California, you would surely be disappointed at the dreary out- look and fain seek a fairer portion of the State. The yellow three-seated stage seems intent only upon creeping up these hills and rattling down on the other side, there to find before it another. Process repeated there is still another ahead in monotonous and seemingly never-end- ing succession. They seem monotonous indeed, also never end- ing, to the one lone passenger on board that day. After a frugal meal at a wayside inn, begging its pardon, hotel I mean, for the sign was not so weatherbeaten but you could see it was a hotel ; after the meal, the miles seemed to lengthen out and our fair passenger will always believe her watch ran slowly that day. Yes, my fair lady reader, it was a woman, or stay, it was a girl, a girl going out to teach school at Lonesome Glen. Have you ever known Lonesome Glen? Few have, save the residents of this dreary place. But here it is where the TAMING A VAQUERO real California cowboys are found, the "ranchers" and the herds of wild, wide-horned cattle. Our heroine wasn't a beauty. Beauties are rare in real every-day life and among school- teachers. She was a little above middle height, without being tall, a slender well-built figure, blue-gray eyes, fair complexion and soft curling brown hair in which was a touch of reddish gold, a shade very rare, but which seemed peculiarly fitting to Inez Hardin. Also (but do not breathe it) she had a number of freckles on her well- shaped nose and upon her cheeks, caused no doubt by the heat of the sun and the dry wind, both being disagreeable in the extreme on that eventful day. But the longest of journeys has an end and finally the accommodating driver told Inez that the ranch below them was where she would "hang out" for the winter. While they drive down the long slope to reach the spot where Inez' eyes are fixed let me tell you more of our heroine. She was not a city girl except in natural ten- dency and education. Her home was a country one of healthy work and play and books. The father and mother, blessed souls, loved her dearly and thought "our daughter" the best and most remarkable girl in the world. Her sisters, five in number, all younger than [2] INTRODUCTION she and three rollicking brothers vied with each other in alternately loving and teasing "Big Sister" nearly to death; its being a dear delight, especially to the boyish souls, to torment her from her dreams and books which constituted most of life for her. Books had been almost her only companions save for these younger chil- dren, as yet not companionable to a scholarly "Big Sister." Now her school days in grammar and normal school past she is beginning her career as teacher at Lonesome Glen. Not so unusual a girl, after all. She didn't seem unusual to me. Rather shy, but quick at fun and repartee; deeply spiritual and earnest, also intensely human ; a combination of the God- man and the human, with a plentiful sprinkling of femininity. Describe her, or any of her class to me if you can. I admit I have failed to de- scribe her. How could I, forsooth, when I do not understand her myself? But the stage is down the slope now, going around towards the trough to water the horses. We will follow her still farther and pry into her life and secrets and failures and victories, if such they be, at Lonesome Glen. [3 CHAPTER II SHE MEETS HER HERO AND OTHERS Lonesome Glen ! How lonesome it was, to be sure. One big spreading house and ranch, ranch, ranch spreading out for aye and aye, it seemed to our little schoolma'am, who it must be con- fessed, never felt so lonesome in her life, and felt small in spite of her five-feet-six, when a young man of about the "beginning a mustache" age, came out in time to assist her to alight and raise his truly "cowboy hat" when the driver ceremoniously introduced her as the "school- ma'am, sir." "Step into the house, Miss Hardin, and let me introduce my mother to you. You must be tired. It's so disagreeable this hot weather, traveling in the old stage," said this typical cowboy, by way of politeness or as the beginning of an ac- quaintance. "It is very tiresome," replied the usually glib Miss Hardin, "and so dusty." Into the large waiting room or sitting room they went and his mother, a young looking woman, surely not over forty-five, came in. "My mother, Mrs. Wilson, Miss Hardin, our new teacher, mother," introduced this very polite young man, then vanished, having performed his [4] SHE MEETS HER HERO AND OTHERS duty, to attend to bringing in the schoolma'am's baggage. Soon Mrs. Wilson had Miss Hardin in a big front bed-room to freshen herself up a bit. Left alone, thus soliloquized Miss Hardin : "I'm so afraid they wont like me. Mrs. Wilson looked so straight at me. She's nice and a perfect lady, but mercy ! I feel just as sure as fate she will never like me. Dear me ! Why did I ever come ? I'm sure I never wanted to. It seems as if I'm simply fated to be miserable. As sure as fate they'll think me a stuck-up prig and I don't know what to do." Poor girl ! And she didn't. Of course she didn't. Would you? For the first time given a public position with so many to please and not a single soul she knew anywhere near. No, she didn't know what to do. But she did the next best thing she did know, lay down after a refreshing, cooling bath and took a nap. She awoke at the sound of a masculine voice singing, "Away Down in My Heart I've a Feelin' for You," in soft melodious tones quite filling the evening air down about the corral. The voice was good, but its sentiment irritated our heroine and she said to herself, "He's rough, I know, and full of teasing. I could see it in his saucy brown eyes as we walked up from the gate. [5] TAMING A VAQUERO I don't like him one bit and I know he'll think I'm simply a 'game' and make fun of me even to my face. I can't bear it, I know," and per- haps Inez would have cried but for the fact that she seldom so far lost control of her well-regu- lated nerves to cry; and then came the call to supper. Hurriedly getting ready for the meal, out she came and how she ever passed through the ordeal no one knows. It wasn't bad, dear knows. She was simply imaginative and sensitive to little pricks and had prepared to hear or see them. How foolish we are sometimes without intending to be at all. All tried to make acquaintance but "Miss Hardin" wouldn't thaw; only making short polite replies to all direct inquiries; unconsciously making them think just what she didn't want them to think, and going to bed feeling that it was all a miserable failure anyway. [6] CHAPTER III HE IS ANTAGONISTIC Next morning our heroine felt better and tried to be more friendly at breakfast but found Mrs. Wilson quiet and evidently cross, no doubt about her household cares, but giving Inez the impres- sion that she was at fault somehow, which didn't have a tendency to make her feel at ease or give her opportunity to erase the false impression of the evening before. For I haven't a doubt but she could have done so. Our Inez was naturally a cheerful, friendly little soul, kindhearted and helpful, but exceed- ingly sensitive and too self-conscious; lacking the perfect confidence in her ability to win people by pure kindliness. So she trudged away to school with a some- what heavy heart and soon found herself busy assigning and laying out work for the winter. Here was something she could do and, without feeling vain about it, she knew she could do well. Thus day after day passed uneventfully at the old brown schoolhouse. The pupils were soon won and her interest in her school made them work with a will at whatever they set about. At home her life was not a bed of roses. True to her intuitions, Mr. Sydney Wilson was a tease [7] TAMING A VAQUERO and never lost an opportunity of teasing her about something. Her hair, her eyes, her man- ners were each brought under his teasing criti- cism, spite of Mrs. Wilson's frequent "Sydney, Sydney !" "Miss Hardin, you mustn't mind what he says ; he's only teasing. He doesn't mean it." "Yes, I do mean it, Miss Harding, I mean Hardin," responded the incorrigible Sydney. And so on thus: "Pass the potatoes, please, Mrs. Wilson," and "Thank you," upon receiving them, from Miss Hardin would immediately put Mr. Wilson in his most polite mood and he would "please" and "thank you" until poor Inez wished that she was a heathen if it would mend matters; only, thought she disconsolately, "He'd make something out of nothing anyway and I suppose I'm as well off as I am." Now do not suppose during these sallies our Inez was silent; always quick at repartee she kept him busy with her sharp-pointed retorts to his bantering. But in the privacy of her own room Inez was dissatisfied. "Of course I get the best of it some- times and always keep even but I know it isn't good for me. I'm getting so sarcastic and critical I hardly know myself," scanning her face care- fully in the glass. "You terrible girl, why can't you be quiet and let him tease?" [8] HE IS ANTAGONISTIC Then she would resolve to be cheerful and kind and not half lose her temper when tormented. "Who is he anyway, to trouble me like this? Ordinarily, things people say go in one ear and out the other, but he has such a convincing way of saying things, one almost thinks he means it." "Now my hair isn't red and it isn't kinky. It's brown and curly and I know it. Why should I care what he says? I do not think, anyway it's what he says, it's the way he says it that hurts." For he did hurt her feelings very much and her heart ached for some kindly commendation or interest in herself or her work. But no one volunteered to offer anything so simple as praise, and Inez, from a home of loving brothers and sisters and a mother and father who, in the fear of God, admonished and advised their aesthetic and spiritually minded daughter, she was transplanted to an atmosphere of criticism, and unbelief, for among others of his many firm convictions Sydney Wilson prided himself on being a "freethinker." "All religious belief is a 'fake,' " he asserted with the assurance of one who knew nothing about religion. As, indeed, he did not, for he was raised in that atmosphere of unbelief and ignorance concerning true re- ligious faith. His delight was to point out incon- sistencies in the Christian life and make jokes on "preachers" for Inez' benefit. [9] TAMING A VAUERO But this was not all. Her religion was made the butt of his raillery and it was with a sinking heart she tried to defend her faith. "See the schoolma'am get mad," he would say after some of his joking when her flushed face would show the state of her feelings. "Oh, I'm not angry," responds Inez sweetly, "I just consider the source, Mr. Wilson." "Hear that! Her religion teaches her to talk sarcastic; when you are reviled you should bear it patiently, so I've heard that the Bible says. I never have read it, so I do not know. Maybe I'm wrong, but it seems to me you're taught to revile not again." "Do not take me as an example, Mr. Wilson, I beg, for I am such a poor one it isn't fair to Christianity. But I do try to be one," ended Inez, meekly. "Oh, you're all alike. Always preaching but never practicing. Don't look so downhearted, it doesn't amount to anything anyway. Be jolly !" and he would go out whistling "Way Down Yonder in the Cornfield," leaving poor Inez worried and perplexed and longing to live and act in such a manner that she would not disgrace the name of "Christian." "What shall I do? Oh, what shall I do? It doesn't matter what I say or how hard I try, he simply exasperates me until I act perfectly un- [10] HE IS ANTAGONISTIC civil." And seeking her bed she would lie and think for hours, praying to be guided aright and for strength to endure these petty annoyances and not to "faint nor be weary in well doing." So night after night the peace of God stole into her heart and stilled its tumult of daily in- sult and homesick longing. [ii] CHAPTER IV SYDNEY SHOWS INEZ THE COUNTRY Six weeks have swiftly glided by at Lonesome Glen and the "Indian summer days" are growing perceptibly shorter. The leaves of the trees bor- dering the little brook below the house are turn- ing brown and gold and crimson and every night the sun seems to set nearer the south. Inez loves to loiter along this branch until re- minded that the evening is far spent and supper time is near. The children of the house, a little boy and girl, are her companions on these ram- bles especially the boy, who like all lads of six is especially interested in himself and his findings. One morning she thinks she will take the first plunge into getting acquainted with the neigh- bors, an ordeal she dreads. Mr. Fitzgerald, one of the Board of School Directors of Lonesome Glen School District, has called upon her. Eng- lish he is, and well educated. He invites her to call and see Mrs. Fitzgerald, if she can climb the three-mile hill to their mountain home. So it is there she decides to go this sunny October afternoon. At the dinner table she mentions going to Mrs. Wilson inquires and obtains directions for go- ing, while Mr. Wilson quietly eats his dinner. [12] SYDNEY SHOWS INEZ THE COUNTRY Immediately after quitting the table she went in and put on her cap and 'sweater, as the evenings are cool, and started for her visit. Imagine her surprise as she walks down the path to the gate to be joined by Mr. Wilson, who without even so much as a "By your leave," walks by her side on toward the trail leading up the hillside. "We will go the lower trail and come back the upper, so you can see the country if you like," comments Mr. Wilson, after a long silence. "Thank you, I shall enjoy seeing everything," responds Miss Hardin rather stiffly, still thinking oi his remarkable "nerve" in escorting her with- out permission. But the trail grows steeper and Sydney stops every now and then to show her a pretty view and tell her legends of "early days" when Indians roamed these rough hills. Invigorated by the climb and softened by "Nature's beauties" about her, Inez is soon her cheery, friendly little self again, and finds her- self talking almost confidentially to this "cowboy" whom she will never like. He is so thoughtful today and leads her to talk of herself, a thing she rarely does. Arriving at Mr. Fitzgerald's they find nobody at home. Here is a dilemma ! "We will just go on," suggests Mr. Wilson, [13] TAMING A VAQUERO "and call upon the Harmons as we go home the other trail. "Yes, we can do that, and I wish to meet them, too. The children are so nice. They are so bright, too, especially dear little Goldie, that it is a pleasure to teach them." "Teach, teach, teach ! And the children are so nice," mimics Mr. Wilson. "Have you a single idea apart from school ?" "Mr. Wilson," began Inez. "Mr. Wilson," breaks in that worthy. "Do give me some rest. Call me Sydney. I'm dead tired of being mistered." "But we have only been acquainted a few weeks; I do not think it is exactly the proper thing and " "Oh, then be proper, of course, and drive a fellow crazy with your everlasting propriety. What about those dear, sweet, cunning little devils beg pardon children, I mean?" She walked on in silence. "Oh, gosh, come out of it, and finish your little moral talk." But she was "mulish," as he termed it and would not answer. At the Harmons she was hailed with delight by the children and soon met papa and mamma and dear old Grandma Harmon. Those dear grandmas ! God bless them Could we ever tell their worth? Surely the [14] SYDNEY SHOWS INEZ THE COUNTRY praises of young, beautiful misses have been sung enough. Why does not some one try to paint the beauty, the love, the forbearance, the angelic sweetness of these white-haired saints of God? And the answer comes back, "Why? because words are inadequate to portray the character of one so noble, of one who has met temptation, trial, and sorrow upon sorrow and has overcome them all." To Inez came the thought, "Can I ever hope to grow old like that?" as they sat and chatted together over the children and their various ex- periences with them. "Will I ever be so lovable, so beautiful as that ?" Dear grandma! She has long since passed away to the land they loved to talk about together, but in Inez Hardin's heart memory still keeps green a place for "grandma." Does she know in that happy land of the "Hereafter," in those many days when Inez slipped away from care and tumult and heartache to see "grandma," of the help she gave to the life of the lonely little broken-hearted school-teacher of Lonesome Glen ? God alone knows, but grandma is not forgotten and will ever live in Inez Hardin's faithful heart. God bless her, and all the silver-haired saints who are in the homes all over our broad land. Surely they should be "Idols of hearts and of households, these angels of God in disguise." [15] TAMING A VAgUERO But their little call at the Harmon's is over, the sun is fast sinking in the western sky and they quickly wend their way homeward. [16] CHAPTER V A SURPRISE AND A REVELATION "Are you in good humor, now, schoolma'am ? " asked Mr. Wilson, as they started down the slope homeward. "I'm always good-natured when people look up to me," replied Inez, smiling down at him from the upper path where she walked. "Aw, yes," he answered, swinging himself in front and above her on the side hill, "then you will oblige me by telling me what you were going to tell me about your profession." "You seem curious." "Surely die of curiosity if you don't tell me." "You deserve no reward so I will tell you for punishment, as I do the children at school. You accused me of having no thought or idea apart from school. If I didn't, that alone would suffice. It is a large enough work in itself a life work, so to speak. Think of the responsibility of training those children to live and live aright." "Don't want to think. Makes me tired. I'd advise you not to; it'll make you look old and lose your beauty," glancing at her to note the effect of this shot. "My beauty !" indignantly. "As if one's beauty (should they possess any) could weigh [17] TAMING A VAQUERO against doing one's duty in teaching or any other work. I have not as yet looked upon teaching as my lifework. I am thinking seriously of making it so. But whether I do or do not make it a life- work, I shall surely do what I see to be my duty in that work while engaged in it." She paused from sheer lack of breath to proceed. "Aw, don't. It makes me feel awful to hear you talk of 'lifework' ; to think of your burying yourself in a schoolroom with a lot of sassy kids. Come out of it, do. Have a good time and stop talking of duty and such disagreeable things." "You always misunderstand me, Mr. Wilson. Surely you know and feel it. I can't explain, but some way I just long to help a little in this needy world of ours, to make things easier for the few I meet in my path through life. Things are not as they should be, but surely they can be bettered and each can help a little; if we could but help one person, life would be worth while." "You might try me. I'm pretty much of a heathen, you know. You put your energy on me. Do, now ! Think what a lifework it will be and don't get discouraged." "Mr. Wilson, please do not make fun of me," pleaded Inez, amused, in spite of her efforts not to appear so, at this very acute young man's way of putting his own interpretation on her every word. "Making fun! Why, 'Great guns,' I mean [18] A SURPRISE AND A REVELATION every word of it. Never thought of making fun. Accuse a fellow of 'making fun' when he never was so much in earnest in his life. Where could you find a cruder subject than I am? You were longing to help some one and I show you how and you begin to back down. I suppose you were simply expending your oratory on me and didn't mean a word of it, then ? " inquiringly. "Of course I meant it, every word. Only you will not understand. And we can help each other. I want to be your friend," pursued Inez, scarcely knowing what defense to make and hop- ing they could be friends. It was so nice to have some friend to understand and help you. Inez believed in "platonic friendships" between young men and women. It was one of her pet theories. She was only twenty-one. Poor little Inez. "Pooh ! You don't want to be my friend ; you think I'm a rough, wild and woolly Westerner." "Why, Sydney Wilson, I'm a Westerner, my- self," laughed Inez, "and I'm proud of it." "Look out, you'll fall. That place is narrow. Let me help you," and, turning, he held out his arms to help her across. As she sprang down into his outstretched arms, he set her safely down on the firm bank, and, without warning, clasped her to him and kissed her full on the mouth once, twice before she could free herself. [19] TAMING A VAQUERO "What do you mean, sir, by this outrage? To think of being so insulted ! Out of my path ! Do you hear? I'm going home. That is the way you treat me when I ask to be friends with you. What a fool I am." Poor Inez ! how her heart thumped. She was angry at him and still angrier with herself for forgetting herself and being so friendly. It is so easy to forget! And he had misunderstood her. Oh, the shame of it ! They walked home in silence, the beauty of the western sky forgotten, their confidential chat broken, the breach between them widening, seemingly, at every step. But, alone in her room, Inez sat long, long after the shadows of night fell, her burning face in her hands, trying to still the beating of her heart, to forget the emotion that shook her entire being when he held her to his heart, to forget the madness that seized her when his lips met hers. "I do not care for him; I will not care for him," she cried to herself, springing to her feet and walking back and forth across the floor. "He is so antagonistic to my every desire, my very nature. I should turn from him in aversion. He is an infidel, a rough and careless cowboy. He would crush my very heart out. I couldn't be myself with him, never ! Yet how thought- [20] A SURPRISE AND A REVELATION ful and kind he was during our earlier conversa- tion and how happy I was. Oh, God, I never dreamed of this." And so ended her first really happy day since her arrival and destined, alas, to be her last. [21] CHAPTER VI HER MISTAKE AND HER RESOLVE Upon awakening, next morning, her first thought was of her evening's experience, and her sleep having refreshed her % she felt almost her old self. "He must never know. I shall treat him coolly and give him to understand he cannot insult me with such impunity. I shall crush him out of my heart. You silly weakling ! " to herself in the glass, "do not show any more of this fool- ishness." At the breakfast table she looked at him only once, meeting his brown eyes questioning and lovelit, and looked no more. Forgive him! She knew she did. She worshipped his very being. In her heart she cried, "What shall I do? He is my fate! I cannot resist him. But we can never be anything to each other. We might have been friends and he has spoiled all our nice times and our comradeship. Why did he ever act that way? Everything seems tangled up and criss-cross, anyway." Then away to her work, and, coming home weary and worn with the day's work and worry, she would try, in her lonely little room, to study and keep up her culture which she felt she was [22] HER MISTAKE AND HER RESOLVE someway losing out here at Lonesome Glen. So the weeks crept by. What was the matter? She could not analyze herself. She could not throw off nor work off the gnawing pain of homesickness and longing in her heart. They were all in the "big room," the family and the hired girl and the men boarders. She could hear the men over their game of cards and all together laughing and seeming to enjoy the evening's relaxation. His laugh rang out now and then. How she started at the sound! What a melodious laugh he had, and his conversation in a low easy drawl was like music. But Inez could scarcely bear the sound. It irritated her and finally she decided to walk down to the pasture and back. To get away from the sound of that voice, only to get away by herself and be alone. For these last weeks are telling on her nerves. The house feels close. She is suffocating. Pass- ing out with a light step, she is soon walking briskly down the lane. The moon is coming up over the distant horizon and the few late autumnal leaves are rustling down from the tall poplars as she slowly comes back from her brisk constitutional, feeling quieted by Mother Nature's healing balms in spite of heartache and mis- understanding. [23] TAMING A VAQUERO Under the dense shade as she nears the house she sees a dark figure silhouetted against the sky. It is Sydney, her heart tells her. To avoid him is her first thought and go in the front way, then fiercely to herself, "I'll pass him without a look in his direction. He knows I see him. I'll show him I do not care." She is near him. She is opposite. Then, "Inez," he says and steps into the path. "Little girl," and in a moment she is pressed close to his heart, her face is buried on his shoulder and for one blissful moment, only one, Inez forgets conventionality, forgets he is presuming, is insulting her by such forward and ungentlemanly advances as these. Then she struggles to free herself and is soon free, but, "Aw come, now, say you do not mind so much ; say you rather like it. I know you do. You needn't try to be high and haughty with Willie, need you, little girl?" tenderly, blocking her way into the porch and taking her hand outstretched to stay his approach. Snatching her hand away with a wild, despair- ing gesture, she cried with suppressed, passionate fury, "How dare you attempt familiarity with me; do you call yourself by the name of man? You are a devil. Waylaying my approach to the house and insulting me in this malicious manner. It's the meanest, lowest trick I ever heard of. Let me pass! Do you understand that ?" [24] HER MISTAKE AND HER RESOLVE He understood. For he let her pass and she heard his low exclamation or curse, she could not tell which, as she passed within and shut herself up in her room. Compressing her lips to keep back a moan, she sank on her knees and wept and sobbed until it seemed her very soul was wept out, then she arose with her determination fixed on a course of action for the future. "I was wrong to face him. I should have avoided him. He is determined to have my affection and is used to getting everything in this world he wants, I can see that. He cannot compel my love by such actions as that and I will see that he shows no more of such a spirit. I'll simply ignore his very existence, and avoid him in every possible way." Thus the days dragged on, as they have a habit of doing. Inez found plenty to do. She was engrossed in the school work and had much to keep her busy, but her study work did not progress as she had intended. Her time was occupied at school and she felt weary at night and lonely and restless. Several evenings she went out in the kitchen with Mrs. Wilson and the girls, but her secret weighed on her ; did not leave her for an instant. Sydney hardly ever stayed in the kitchen, but one evening he came in. She was telling the TAMING A VAgUERO girls one of her Normal School experiences, as he entered, and, finishing abruptly, she left the kitchen without joining in the laugh which followed. The younger children followed her out, calling "Miss Hardin, .Miss Hardin, come tell us some more." "Not now, children," she replied gently (she was always gentle with children), "some other time I'll come in and tell you some more. Now I must go to my work." "Miss Hardin is an indefatigable worker. She seems to like to work. Better give us another 'spiel.' I didn't hear that yarn of yours," began Sydney, but Inez was gone. So whenever he came in where she was she immediately took occasion to leave the room, trying not to be too abrupt, so as to hurt Mrs. Wilson whom she respected very much. She had never spoken a word directly to him since that fateful night. She, with infinite tact, had avoided being addressed by him and had almost entirely avoided his presence. Sydney no longer sang about his evening chores and seemed very reckless and more im- polite than ever, taking every occasion to say before Inez every irreverent and rough remark he could conceive of concerning "religious" people, but Inez seemed positively invulnerable to his almost directly insulting phrases, which [26] HER MISTAKE AND HER RESOLVE every member of the household knew were directed at her. Once Mrs. Wilson remarked pleasantly, "Miss Hardin ought never to be polite to you at all, Sydney. You are always teasing her, and she takes everything so quietly." "Quietly? Yes, too everlastingly quiet; she might be an oyster for all the good it does, lately, for a fellow to say a word to her. She's about as much heart as an icicle, and she doesn't care for anything," was the careless reply. "I perceive, Miss Hardin, from your reading that you are a lover of humanity," said Mr. Small, the steady boarder. "Man-hater, you mean, Small. Lord ! Where has she shown herself to be a lover of humanity ? I'm from Missouri," broke in Sydney, "if she's a lover of humanity, I hope I'll be spared ever meeting a hater." "Sydney !" chided his mother. "Should you like to read 'Collectivism,' Mr. Small, or are you interested in industrial econ- omy? You may have any of my books and welcome," answered Inez to Mr. Small, ignoring Sydney's interruption; whereupon that young savage looked as if he'd been slapped in the face; felt that he had lowered himself in her estimation and was accordingly angry with him- self for having spoken. She seemed so superior. [27] TAMING A VAQUERO Inez felt herself lowered by this method of procedure, but feared from experience that if she forgave and acted friendly he would take it that she desired his familiarity. "Why is he so obtuse in ways? Why can't he see I wanted to treat him friendly and not overstep the bounds of propriety? This is terrible. For weeks we have not spoken and he has done every possible thing to hurt my feelings. If I could only go home. If I were only away from here," sighed our little schoolma'am. Home ! How far away it seemed to Inez. Sometimes she wondered if she should ever see home again. She doubted it. Everything was turning away from her. It seemed that God had hidden his face. Dear heart! Thy Father knows thy troubles. The Christ was tempted in all ways like unto us. He knows your every heart-throb and every moment of anguish. To Inez the hardest thing of all was that this unchivalrous and ungentlemanly conduct of Syd- ney Wilson's did not make her lose her regard for him. Her heart made excuses for his every fault and failing; she could not tear his image from her heart. "He is my fate; my curse," she cried in her heart. "Why did we ever meet? I cannot, can- not bear it." [28! HER MISTAKE AND HER RESOLVE But someway we always do bear things, and though her heart ached until she never knew what it was to be free from heartache she still lived on. Her work was an inspiration and Mr. Small was very kind and sympathetic; someway he seemed to understand her. He came from "her world." "What do you think of 'Wagner's Simple Life,' Miss Hardin ?" he asked during one dinner chat. "That is something like, to use slang, Mr. Small," retorted Inez with an animated look. "Why cannot the upper class see that the com- plexity of life is wearing them out and entirely unfitting them for usefulness? Like Tolstoy, Wagner shows 'What To Do' in plain words and why will not people see it?" "They do not want to see, I'm inclined to think. The majority of them think it life, this exciting tomfoolery and as for usefulness, they do not desire to be useful, don't you know. It's change and excitement they want or they'd die of ennui." "They need good, useful employment; a little of the work and effort that's crowded on the poor and helpless, who do their work. To me the majority of them are mere nonentities, para- sites on useful society. That's not saying they are all monsters of wickedness. Many of them are good people. They are creatures of environ- ment. They are just what the existing circum- [29] TAMING A VAgUERO stances have made them, even as we are. But it doesn't make it right. This 'man eat man' was not God's plan. It is not that love for our neigh- bor which the Man of Sorrows taught at Galilee." "No," responded Mr. Small, "it's not Christ's teaching, nor is it the teaching of his disciples, but the church people are largely worshipers of Mammon now. Hold on ! Not all of them, of course, but the majority, I fear, love the 'flesh pots of Egypt.' " "I wish I could bring proof that your observa- tions are at fault, Mr. Small, but I am forced to agree with you though I am loath to do so. This condition is to be deplored. The people, the workers, are leaving the church. Why? Because the church has left them ; 'tis a church of the well-to-do, of the moneyed people, a sign of gilded respectability ofttimes." "Yet you are a church-woman, Miss Hardin, in spite of that harsh condemnation," inquir- ingly. "Yes, I am a church-woman. The spirit of the church's possibility illumines me. And, the religion of the Carpenter of Nazareth has not changed. Should I deny him? Deny his work of grace in my heart and in the world to-day, in spite of the Mammon worship of many of the so-called Christians ? Still, still God is with us ! Remember that, and spite of the darkness now, [30] HER MISTAKE AND HER RESOLVE the light of dawn is breaking. The truth is mighty and will prevail." "Of course, you believe that rot you are talk- ing, but let me tell you it'll take something more substantial than a hope of eternal bliss to satisfy poor devils who've toiled and struggled their lives away. If there's a God, he's a mighty poor one to allow all this misery. Part of the world rich and surfeited, the rest suffering and at best half existing," burst in Sydney Wilson. "But," answered Inez, "man is his own free moral agent. Man has made conditions so; God never made them so. A study of the history of mankind would show man's own part in his condition. The God of love and right has not ordered it, but man in his sinfulness brought upon himself and his posterity this misery. We can redeem ourselves by doing those things which are good and right. In ourselves lies our power to bring about the reign of right. 'For who are we to chide at Him? Love leans on faith when sight is dim.' " "Sentimental tomfoolery !" mumbled Sydney as they arose from the table and went about their evening work. But Mr. Small opened the middle hall door for Inez and said, "Thank you, Miss Hardin, you've enlightened me on a few points and I've enjoyed our little talk. I wish I might stay here longer and talk of those things." [31] CHAPTER VII A NEW ACQUAINTANCE Coming home from school one evening the fol- lowing week, Inez found the "big room" occupied by a small, dapper young man who stared at her as she passed through with that polite stare which told Inez he "belonged" to the class of those whom fortune has smiled upon ; for that the "silver spoon was in his mouth at his birth" was self-evident. While warming her hands at the big boxstove after divesting herself of her wraps in her room, and conscious all the time of the stare from the couch on the opposite side of the stove, Sydney came in and perceiving the embarrassing posi- tion immediately introduced "Miss Hardin, Mr. Van Everett," then fixed up the fire and pre- cipitately retreated. "Beastly raw day," spoke up our new friend. "Quite cold," replied Inez, politely. "Lonesome hole, isn't it?" "Yes, but one gets used to it after living here awhile." "Say, you came from the city, didn't you?" "I? Why, what made you think that?" "You're not one of the natives," he grinned, "knew from your dress. Style, you know." [32] UNIVERSITY , CF y RN lr T NEW ACQUAINTANCE Inez smiled. "But what are you doing out here? Get ship- wrecked or lost?" "Much simpler than that. I teach the district school." "By George ! Teach school ! I say, excuse me, but did your governor fail and you have to go to work ? Too bad ! I'm no end sorry, don't you know." "Thank you for your sympathy, Mr. Van Everett, but I do not need it. You are in error. I am a farmer's daughter and was educated to teach. It isn't a hardship. I was always poor and know nothing else but poverty. It isn't a disgrace," rather warmly, "and I like to teach." "By George ! I can't quite make it out. You're a lady and were always poor." "You seem laboring under a delusion that poor women are not ladies. You are much more critical toward my class than I am toward yours. I never once opined you were no gentleman because I perceived the evidences of the hated aristocracy about you," interrupted Inez rather indignant and yet amused at this young aristo- crat still in his teens and so prejudiced and ignorant concerning life and his fellow beings. "Beg pardon," he replied, straightening himself from his half-reclining posture, "I didn't mean any offense. Sorry I said anything. I always [33] TAMING A VAUERO thought of poor people as different, you know, and " he broke off abruptly. "Yes, I know," said Inez, sympathetically, "I see your position exactly and you are excused for your misunderstanding and false impression. But we should not form opinions blindly." "I never will again, I assure you. Never was more mistaken in my life." Just here the call to supper put an end to his garrulity, but during the meal Inez could feel the new-comer's polite stare and, without looking at him knew he was trying to under- stand how a "lady" could be born a poor farmer's daughter and why she looked so refined and self- possessed, "like she was born to it," he thought to himself. To Inez it seemed like he was an answering echo to Mr. Small's talk of the week before, and his appalling ignorance would have been amusing had it not been so pitiable. [34] CHAPTER VIII THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN THEM Raymond Van Everett was the pampered only son of a wealthy mining man who had a fortune carved out for him by his father in early Colo- rado "gold days." Van Everett, Senior, had in- herited his father's fortune of valuable real estate, bonds and mines and was increasing his already large fortune daily. Raymond had finished high school and before entering college was "seeing the world" for him- self. He had been on the coast during the past summer and now, with a cousin who had mining interests here, had come to get valuable informa- tion concerning the mining industry, his father hoped. The cousin was opening a new mine not far from the scenes of our story, and needing some- one to oversee the work, left Raymond in charge. Young Van Eveiett had been humored and petted by mother and father to the extent of their power. Was what Sydney Wilson termed a "spoiled mama's darling," a "chump." His was an easy good-natured character. He never took offense at the insults or rough jokes made on his ignorance by the men. Whether he thought them defamatory or complimentary is [35] TAMING A VAQUERO a question. He seemed almost too conceited to realize he was being made fun of. Raymond prided himself on being a "ladies' man," and often worried poor Inez almost past the point of endurance by his incessant flow of small talk, gossip and tales of his many conquests with the ladies. How much they cared for him, what they said to him, and how they wept and clung to him at his departure. "I could have been married by this, had I desired to. Any of those girls would have ac- cepted me had I proposed to them," he would say, proudly. "Why didn't you?" asked Inez, and there is a perceptible touch of irony in her tone. "Well, father and mother didn't want me to form any alliance just yet, though they will never object long at anything I want badly. Some of the girls were nice enough, but someway they seemed too willing and I soon tired of them, so I knew I didn't care for them, you see." Inez saw and continued her book industriously until he would break in with : "Oh, please talk to me. You don't know how lonesome I get. There's no place to go and you are away all day," peevishly, as if Inez should, as a matter of course, neglect her work and studies to amuse him. The poor, simple, spoiled darling of wealth ! [36] THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN THEM Inez was lonely, very lonely, and but for him often had the big living room to herself. Some- times she would stop reading and talk with him or listen to him. He never seemed to tire of talking as long as he had a listener. But even his garrulousness was better than no company and she forgot her own misery for the time being, at least, and so whiled away many a long rainy evening. She tried to interest him in poetry, literature, history, science, some of her studies, for as a student graduate of high school it seemed to her he could help her and they could study together. But her efforts were futile. They didn't seem to have penetrated beyond the first layer of his brain. He considered studies, "A bore, don't you know. Had enough of it at school to last me a natural lifetime." "Do you really like to study all that, Miss Hardin? Don't you do it just because you want to keep up your studies as a teacher?" he inquired of her. "I study for both reasons, Mr. Van Everett, because I like it and because I wish to keep up my studies. Sometimes I feel discouraged. I get along so slowly. My time is fully occupied at school and I am often tired, too tired to study as I should." "You shouldn't study so hard. I wish you'd [37] TAMING A VAQUERO quit it. You are getting pale to what you were when I came. How red your cheeks were. I'll never forget how you looked when you came in with your golden-brown curls blown around your face and that swell little blue cap you had on. I thought for awhile you were a fairy or else I'd gone to sleep and dreamed you, as I lay on this old couch," giving it a vicious thump. "I'm rather too substantial for a vision, I fear," laughed Inez ; then reprovingly, "you mustn't be silly again, Mr. Van Everett. This world is too prosaic for fairies and anything but bad dreams." "You weren't a bad dream. I never had so pleasant an awakening. To wake up and find before me my ideal woman, so sweet and lovely," with a tender look in his little black eyes. "Pardon me, Mr. Van Everett," said Inez, irritably, "but I must request you not to make complimentary personal remarks in my presence. They are disagreeable in the extreme." "Why, what a queer girl ! I can't say anything like that but you immediately get angry with me. Don't be angry ! Please don't ! I'll try to do as you say, only smile and don't look so stern. I can't bear to have you angry with me," he pleaded, childishly. "I am not angry, but I dislike foolishness of that sort. I want honest regard and true criti- [38] THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN THEM cisms of my faults with a desire to help me cure them, not senseless flattery. I beg your pardon. I know I am a bear, but sometimes I can't help being cross," apologetically. "Most girls like compliments," mused Ray- mond. "They just hint for them and if a fellow doesn't give them they think he's a 'muff.' " "I'd sooner be a 'muff' than a fool," retorted Inez, "if you'll pardon such strong language. And if I found one of my brothers spending his time trying to cull beautiful lies to flatter some vain, silly girl, I'd tell him the opinion with which women of sense regard him." Thus Inez concluded their conversation ab- ruptly and passed into her own little room, there to think, not of the poor vain Van Everett who was evidently trying to show her his regard, but of Sydney Wilson, who for weeks had not spoken to her and who seemed rougher and coarser than ever. Raymond Van Everett was polite, kind and thoughtful of her. Always ready to do her slightest bidding, anticipating her wishes and re- quests and as quickly complying with them. He was her devoted slave, hung upon her every word and agreed with her in her wildest flights of fancy though far beyond his comprehension. Sydney Wilson was as impolite as is possible to be, careless of her comfort, always looking for [39] TAMING A VAQUERO opportunity to in some way make things un- pleasant for her, and though no one guessed it, quite as miserable as she to note the frigidity of her manner and how little Inez seemed to care for his persecution. If he had known! But he did not know and so they drifted farther and farther apart. Inez, trying to conquer her love for him, because of the knowledge that they could never be happy, and Sydney because he thought Inez scorned him and his offers of love, thought him beneath her notice. His pride was hurt, so he vowed to scorn her and make her regret her treat- ment of him, at least to have revenge. Was there ever so perplexing a matter? Truly, the "course of true love never runs smoothly." [40] CHAPTER IX A WALK AND WHAT CAME OF IT Raymond Van Everett became Inez' companion in several of her rambles. She tried to avoid him, but he was always "going up that way, and may I walk with you, Miss Hardin?" There was no room for anything except acquiescence, but her rambles became short, few and far between. To herself, Inez said, "It is bad enough to be continually worried about the house with him. He's like a troublesome mosquito, only one can't slap him away; I wish I could." Starting out for a walk one evening, in a foggy, misty, and drizzling rain, Inez heard a voice calling, "Wait, wait, Miss Hardin, I'm going up that way to shoot quail." "It's too foggy to shoot quail. You'd better go back; you'll get your feet wet. I'm just going up to Mrs. Jones's," ribbed Inez, who hadn't intended going anywhere, until that seemed a way out, for Raymond didn't care to mix with the "natives." "I'll go along with you. It'll be late before you come back and you shouldn't be out alone," was the consoling reply. So he trudged through the mud by her side, [41] TAMING A VAgUERO ruining his patent leathers because his rubbers were too low to be of value, but thinking only of being beside her. Inez walked briskly and it was all he could do to keep pace with her as they walked the half mile with what seemed to him amazing speed. The call was much pleasanter than Inez antici- pated, and consulting her watch she was surprised to find an hour had passed as if on wings and the supper hour at the Glen was near, so bidding her friendly hostess, "Good evening," they were soon homeward bound. Thinking Raymond punished enough for his temerity, Inez opened conversation with him, her friendly visit having made her friendly with the world again. "This is one of my days, Mr. Van Everett, murky and misty and damp and gloomy. Some- way I love to be out in just such weather. It suits my nature so well." "You always remind me of sunshine," an- swered Raymond with an unmistakable accent of tenderness in his low tone. "Mercy on us," thought Inez, "this will never do. Why on the face of the earth must he act silly? The big baby." Then, as if by inspiration, "I want to tell you something, Mr. Van Everett, something of my [42] A WALK AND WHAT CAME OF IT home and life." Poor Inez was hungry to talk of her home life and her ambitions and aims though she knew he would not understand. He could not understand, never having an ambition higher than a longing to do as he pleased about everything and have everyone admire him. But at least he sympathized. She felt his sympathy. "I wish you'd say Raymond, or Ray, as they do at home," he pleaded, "No one ever says 'Raymond' here. I wish you would," and his voice was truly pathetic. "Why, I will if you wish, of course. You are younger than I and I think it appropriate and would prefer it, I think." "Oh, I'm glad, and I'll say 'Inez,' " he said, joyfully. Inez was silent. Of course, that would have to follow her calling him by his Christian name and she was hardly prepared for so familiar an address from him. "Yet," she reasoned, "it will do no harm and I do want to be kind." Then followed Inez' narrative of her home life ; her father, mother, brothers and sisters ; her Nor- mal School and her work and ambitions. The narrator was interested in her subject and Ray- mond Van Everett, whatever his faults, was much too polite to seem disinterested even had he felt so. But he seemed to be as interested almost as Inez herself and caught the inspiration of the work, [43] TAMING A VAQUERO too, for with her concluding words he exclaimed excitedly, "Oh, I wish I'd gone to that school ! What great workers you were ! But didn't you ever have any larks?" Divulging the fact that his school life was largely made up of "larks." "We never had time for larks. We were too anxious to finish and get our diplomas and come to this," answered Inez, and there was bitterness in her tones as she said it. "But here we are home. I'm hungry as the proverbial bear, and supper is on the table, I see," she concluded gayly as they entered the house. "And my story will keep," said Raymond, softly, as he helped remove her raincoat. "That was a lovely walk, only too short." Inez was a few minutes late to her dinner and all were seated when she entered. "You people choose lovely evenings to prom- enade," remarked Sydney as she seated herself. "The mud's only about a foot deep." "I didn't mind the mud at all," answered the ever ready Raymond. "Inez is such good com- pany that it was easy to forget it was raining. I actually thought the sun was shining," he ran on, while Inez blushed at his speaking her name so plainly before everyone and a titter ran around the table while the irrepressible Sydney burst out with: "Inez? That is a good one. I think you'd [44] A WALK AND WHAT CAME OF IT better give an account of yourself, Van. Things look pretty serious," and Inez felt his eyes upon her, but never looked his way. She was angry at Raymond. What a blundering dunce he was, without an ounce of tact. Sydney continued to jest during the whole of the meal and though Inez, with an effort, ap- peared calm and composed, she was inwardly striving with a strong desire to box Raymond Van Everett's ears and never speak a kindly word to him again, while Raymond listened with a "proud of himself air" to the raillery, and was so attentive to her that Inez felt a disgust of him creep over her. "The silly, conceited puppy !" she thought, "assuming such an air of proprietorship over me. He deserves to be made a laughing- stock." The uncomfortable meal ended at last, they repaired to the "big room" and as Inez seemed about to go immediately to her room, Raymond stopped her with, "Stay and talk awhile, do," bending toward her. "I've work to do now, Raymond, I'm too busy," was the rather brusque reply, and turning to enter her room, she saw Sydney Wilson looking at her with a queer look in his big brown eyes. He had seen and misinterpreted her manner Inez felt sure, probably heard part of her answer, and from Raymond's actions thought the Lord [45] TAMING A VAQUERO knows what of her. And poor Inez sobbed her- self to sleep that night ; and the wind sobbed and dashed the rain against the window and she could hear the swish, swish of the trees as the storm beat them up and down upon the roof. [46] CHAPTER X FORGIVE ME ! I LOVE YOU ! Inez kept her room very closely the days follow- ing this incident and concluded she would not be friendly with Raymond Van Everett. He took too much for granted and was not at all a desirable companion. The disgust she felt for him that evening stayed with her and his tender insinuating manner was a constant reminder of the same feeling. The rain had ceased, and as Inez was taking her evening walk out through the garden, the back way (to avoid Van Everett), she saw the moon come out full and bright between the masses of white billowy clouds seemingly chasing each other across the sky. What a lovely world it was if one's heart did not ache ! Opening the gate under the deep shadow of the overhanging tree, Inez saw an arm stretched out to stay her approach. She did not scream, for Inez was not timid, but she started back out of reach of the outstretched arm and a voice Syd- ney Wilson's voice almost cried, "Wait! I will not hurt you. I will not touch you. Wait one minute and hear me." "Sydney Wilson, out of my path, sir. What do you mean by such conduct?" [47] TAMING A VAQUERO But falling on his knees before her and clasping the edge of her tiny apron, his voice husky with pain and passion, Sydney pleaded, "Oh, my little darling, do forgive me. I do not deserve for- giveness at your hands. I am a rough, wild brute at best. But I love you, I love you. Do not treat me so coldly. I know I'm dirt under your feet, but I cannot bear this. You have not spoken to me for a month. I don't blame you but if you'll only forgive me now. Will you, Inez ? " "Mr. Wilson, do get up. Do not kneel there," pleaded Inez. "No, no, I'm here in the dirt at your feet. Where I ought to be to beg you forgiveness for my insults and brutishness." "You know," and there were tears in the sweet voice, "I wanted to be friends. I never dreamed of your so misunderstanding me. Perhaps I was to blame," inquiringly, "but I did not mean it so. I was just lonesome and wanted friendship and sympathy. There was no one but you." "I'm a brute," he said huskily, "but you will forgive me ?" "Oh, yes," and she offered her hand which was taken tenderly in both of his as he rose and stood beside her. He bent and kissed the hand he held and Inez saw his shoulders twitch with emotion and a big tear fall on the hand he held. Then she placed [48] FORGIVE ME! her other hand upon his head and patted the dark hair so dear to her and so near yet she felt so impossible, then "Sydney," she said, "let us be friends after this and not be fighting each other," smiling through her tears. "Sure Mike ! That's what we'll be. But can't we be more than friends," pleadingly. "Oh, Sydney, don't, or I'm afraid we can't be friends. What you ask is quite impossible and I must be going in, so good night," and she was gone. But not to rest and sleep. Was there mes- merism in the touch of his hands on hers, his tears, his kisses? Oh, Sydney Wilson, you can never know what they meant to the girl who loved, yea worshiped almost as an idol your unworthy clay. Was it a curse? What was this delirious joy of feeling once more his presence, of hearing his voice breathe his love for her? And yet, the bitter ever mingled with the sweet. They must part. They could be no more to each other. She knew in her inmost soul they could not be happy. She could not give herself away to one she felt was unworthy. And she walked the floor with clenched hands as she strove to conquer her erring heart. "I must overcome this. I must give him up. I cannot yield and bequeath to myself and him a [49] TAMING A VAQUERO life of unhappiness, if not of misery, and I know that would follow. Oh, God, help me ! My heart is broken," and crouching beside the bed she sat with her face buried in her hands, suffering as only such proud spirits can suffer. She neither cried nor moaned, but her heart seemed to weep drops of blood. And that night, that beautiful moon, his tender timid caresses, his words of loving endearment and tears, Inez will remember until her dying day. [50] CHAPTER XI SHE GOES HOME TO TELL FATHER GOOD-BYE The week following that night's events was a comparatively easy one to Inez. Raymond Van Everett was gone most of the time at the mines and Sydney was almost his saucy self again. Out across the plains could be heard his whistle again and about the corrals morning and evening his voice was heard singing softly, "Down in My Heart I've a Feelin' for You," and "In the Shade of the Old Apple Tree." A peace, unlike the tumult that had raged so long, filled Inez' heart, yet there lay a fear also, a fear that this could not last. "It is too good to be true," she murmured to herself. "Something will happen." Something did happen ! One evening as Inez was coming from a call at a neighbor's she met Raymond Van Everett coming toward her swiftly as if the bearer of evil tidings. She hurriedly advanced to meet him, then "Oh, what is it, Raymond?" she asked anxiously. "Oh, Miss Hardin Inez, I am so sorry, but word has just come that your father is dead." "My father dead? Oh, what shall I do? What shall I do?" she gasped. [51] TAMING A VAQUERO "Come with me, Inez, come to the house,'.' he answered gently. "Oh, yes, I must hurry. I must take this stage home," and she almost ran for the house. Once there, she packed a few things into a small suit-case and dressed herself warmly for her night's ride. In ten minutes she was ready, in fifteen she was in the rough "mud-wagon" on her way over the snowclad mountain on her sixty-mile stage trip. Can I describe to you that night's experience to the heartbroken girl ? Her father, her idolized father, he was dead dead ! But she must go to him. To those who were left. How they needed her now. Oh, that she was there ! And on and on rolled the stage ; first came the supper station where the driver and other pas- sengers ate and laughed laughed. How could they laugh? Then on their way again. The stage creaked and crawled up hill ; groaned and sped down. Would they never get there ? Would the night never pass? At the first streaks of the gray dawn they rolled into another station. Here they breakfasted and changed the "mud-wagon" for a coach, waiting it seemed to Inez an almost unbearable time. She could bear the motion, but to wait that was well-nigh impossible. The stage started again and Inez was relieved. [52] SHE GOES HOME TO TELL FATHER GOOD-BYE Once only did the driver speak to her. The passengers had climbed off to walk up a hill. "Are you going to the valley out of the snow, too?" he enquired respectfully. "I'm going down to my father's funeral," answered Inez, with a break in her voice. "Oh, I'm so sorry! I never knew," he answered apologetically, "I'm sorry I spoke." "That is all right," replied our heroine. "You have done no harm and need not apologize." "It is what comes to us all," he went on, in a lowered voice, "and you must bear up." "Yes, it comes to each of us and the most needful thing is to be prepared for it when it comes as my father was. No one could have been better prepared than he. His life was well spent, his aim to serve God and his fellow men. History may not record my father's life. It is not necessary; his record is written in the Book of Life." "I have heard of him. Such lives make this a better world and such men as me, better men. I'm glad you have spoken of him to me," then he relapsed into silence and silence was kept the en- tire day but for the words of cheer spoken to the horses ever and anon. Inez communed with herself and with God. Never had the great beyond opened so near to her, never had death come so near, never had [53] TAMING A VAgUERO she prayed with such fervor and with such faith. But the long- weary day came to a close at last and leaving the stage she crossed the familiar stile and the old foot-bridge, walked into the kitchen and found herself with her arms about her mother saying, "Mother, mother, don't cry, mother. I am here. I will help you bear it." Then the little ones gathered around her cry- ing, "Sister, oh sister, papa is dead." And she kissed them and wiped away their tears. Then after putting up her wraps, whispered to a dear, good neighbor woman, who stood pityingly by, "May I see him, please?" Uncovering the beloved face she stood look- ing at him, then falling on her knees she wept and prayed for herself. On her knees she vowed to be, with God's help, all "father" would have had her be and with a kiss on his dear dead brow she left him sleeping with a smile of heavenly peace on his face. [54] CHAPTER XII BACK TO LONESOME GLEN Several weeks elapsed before Inez again left home to go to her unfinished work. She dreaded yet longed to go. Not a word had come from Sydney, not one expression of sympathy even. But Raymond Van Everett had been profuse in expressions of condolence and Inez had answered his kindly letters as a matter of course. Arriving again at the boarding house she was met by Raymond and taken to the house. Everywhere she was met and cared for by Ray- mond; he seemed to be her ghost, so closely did he follow her. This irritated Inez, yet she did not wish to be harsh and irritable toward him and kept much to herself. This was also because she did not feel like taking part in the gaieties and gatherings there as well as to avoid Raymond. Sydney had not deigned to even notice her since her return. She could not understand him. He acted as if Inez had offended him and was more insulting than ever in his actions, by cut- ting off any offer of friendship from her until, hurt and almost angered by his treatment of her, Inez became mute. [55] TAMING A VAQUERO The loss of her almost idolized father was nearly unbearable and this was already breaking her heart. "Never mind," she said to herself, "it is only making my part easier for me after all. We could never be anything more to each other any- way. One more bitter drop in my already over- flowing cup will not make much difference." The persecutions of Van Everett were fewer. He was busy. The big mill and house were being built and he was overseeing it all. "You must come over and see it, Inez," he repeatedly said to her. "We want the benefit of your criticism and taste." Why the Mining Co. should desire any assistance from her remains a mys- tery to Inez to this day. She never went. She never wanted to go, never intended to go, never promised to go. Why should she go? And she didn't. The long spring days were coming. The flowers were out on the plains and hillsides. These, with the little ones, were her companions during these hard days of hers. But Van Everett, the easy going, self-indulgent son of fortune, in the meanwhile what hopes had he laid, what dreams had he dreamt of pos- sessing the lady of his fancy. In his self-satisfied [56] BACK TO LONESOME GLEN mind he had not a doubt but Inez would accept his suit when it became him to offer it. "We're the same as engaged," he confided to Sydney. "Of course we will have it announced later, after a decent respect is paid her father. Lord, I wish we were married today, but girls always want to wait and, of course, under the circumstances I humor her." "It didn't take you long to fix it up with her, it seems to me," answered Sydney. "You'll le^arn all about it after a while. You see, old chap, I've been in the business for sev- eral years, since I was sixteen. Never had any- thing to do much only amuse myself and the sweet things like me, so it was easy." "Miss Hardin doesn't strike me as the average 'sweet thing,' " remarked Sydney, dryly. "And I might add that the expression would be the last I'd apply to my affianced wife." "Oh, of course, Inez is different. Wouldn't marry her if she wasn't, but experience helps a fellow to win a girl like her." "Money helps, too, I reckon," was the sar- castic reply. "There's where you're off about Inez. She's refused every offer of mine to make her a pres- ent. That bothered me some," in an aggrieved voice. "She wouldn't let me bring her a thing. [57] TAMING A VAUERO When I was going to the city I asked her if she'd rather have a solitaire diamond ring or a cluster. She drew up her shoulders, and said with that flash in her eyes, 'I would accept neither, you may be sure. Do not insult me by such offers.' Of course, I said I would do as she wished, that I never meant to insult her. She has some queer democratic notions. I must humor them now, you understand." "Mighty funny she refused an engagement ring. Maybe she doesn't believe in wearing 'em, though, and if she doesn't nothing under heaven would make her wear one, the Lord knows," replied Sydney, with the air of a man who is tired of the subject. "Well, I wish she wasn't so queer that way for I planned all sorts of little pleasure trips for this summer and I'm afraid almost to mention them. Wanted to go down and get Madame, my mother, and Sis, then all go to the coast for a month or so. Now, if Inez won't go I can't stand it. Say, Syd, couldn't you speak to your mother and see if she'll ask Inez about it. Tell her it's quite the thing, you know, and she owes it to her health to go along. Something to that effect.'' "Oh, come off, come off," expostulated Sydney. "I couldn't do anything of that sort. Not on your life, Van ! I'd make a mess of it, and if she [58] BACK TO LONESOME GLEN suspected my having a hand in it she'd sure not go. Hates me worse'n poison. Settle your own spats with your fiancee. Don't call on me," and off he went for the big pasture to see about the "steers." Had Inez heard of this or any of the several like conversations of Van Everett to Sydney and various others at the boarding house during her absence and since her return she would have un- derstood Sydney Wilson's attitude toward her- self and she could have done nothing, would have done nothing, for among her faults was a pride that forbade any explanation. She was wrapped in sorrow and longing for her father, harassed with cares and work, broken- hearted. If she could have seen Sydney living down disappointment, making a man of himself in spite of her, proving worthy a true woman's love; could she have seen this even if she knew his life and hers must forever run apart, she could have rejoiced. But to see him daily cursing and rough and reckless of his life as he rode or drove about as if he entirely disregarded the blessing of life. And in her heart she longed to help him, to speak encouragement to him, to cheer him with her friendship. But loving him as she did she could not, and though her heart cried out [59] TAMING A VAQUERO "I could die if thou wouldst live, In a diviner mood," Yet she must suffer in silence and pray in agony that he might see the "higher and better way." [60] CHAPTER XIII SYDNEY MEETS WITH AN ACCIDENT A spring snow-storm, such as comes sometimes in the Coast Ranges of the Pacific Coast raged furiously during the night, and next morning the mountains were covered several inches with the "beautiful." The men from the camps and the ranches col- lected at the boarding house for a hunt. "The deer will be thick. Let's go out and kill a few," was the word everywhere. After cleaning and adjusting different parts of their trusty rifles they were off to the mountains riding their "cayuses" up to the thick snow, then tying up, and plunging by twos and threes into the dense wood where ranged the crafty bush-buck. The day passed and evening was closing in the more speedily because of the heavy clouds hanging low. All were anxiously awaiting the return of the hunters and commenting on their various skill in shooting, when a loud "Whoa !" caused every- one to look out. Soon Mr. Jones, a neighbor rancher, came up and asked for a lantern and for Mrs. Wilson. [61] TAMING A VAQUERO She came out at once and he said, "Mrs. Wil- son, don't be scared, but Syd has had a tumble and I came to get the little wagon to bring him home." "Oh, is he badly hurt? What shall we do?" she cried excitedly, for this reprehensible Sydney was the pride of his mother's heart. "No, no ! Just shook up a little and has a knee sprained. He'll be all right," was the reply as he hurriedly lighted the lantern and went to the barn. Mrs. Wilson hurried back into the little sitting room where the hired girl, Cora, Rosie, Miss Hardin, and the little ones sat dumb with fear, and sinking into a chair began sobbing hys- terically. Rosie, too, began crying and the little ones to weep, frightened at seeing their mother and sister so overcome. Inez, with her heart standing still, it seemed to her, calmed the children with her steady, "Hush, children, don't cry. You mustn't trouble mother now. Rosie, come let us a get a bed ready. They will be here soon and we must be prepared. Mrs. Wilson, calm yourself. Mr. Jones said he wasn't much hurt." "But he couldn't ride his horse. They had to come for the wagon. Sydney would never give [62] SYDNEY MEETS WITH AN ACCIDENT up so easily if he wasn't nearly killed. He is so plucky," cried the poor mother. "We must hope for the best. Never cross the bridge until you come to it, Mrs. Wilson. I shouldn't give you advice, I know, but you must bear up in this emergency," continued the steady voice, never faltering. "I know, and I must get the bed ready my- self. I do not need help, Miss Hardin, thank you," as Inez prepared to assist her, "but you may help Rosie finish the supper." Never was supper prepared so swiftly, and while waiting for the men Inez won a place in the heart of the young girl which she never lost. With a desire to comfort and relieve her anxiety, forgetful as always of her own aching heart, she spoke of God's plan. How not one sparrow fell without His knowledge, how each of us, so weak and unworthy, were always within the reach of His protecting arm "I only know I cannot drift, beyond his love and care," she quoted and continuing, " 'Like as a father pitieth his children,' He is our Father and we cannot get evil at His hands." Inez loved Rosie, his sister (she could not but love all that belonged to him), and from this night on that love was reciprocated, and a bond [6 3 ] TAMING A VAQUERO of sympathy wrought between them. Oh, mystic bond! A link in the chain of love eternal was forged then. Who can estimate the value of one soul united to another by love and sympathy? Inez, thy lonely soul need be lonely no more. Dear heart, God sees thy loving service; in His own time and way He will lead thee out of the darkness of sorrow into the light of a more per- fect understanding of His way. But voices are heard and the confusion of tramping feet. At the door his mother meets them carrying Sydney carefully on a rude litter. "Oh, don't be scared, mama, I'm all right," he answered roughly to her anxious inquiries, but fainted with the pain as they placed him on the bed. All but Mrs. Wilson and one of the older men were sent from the room, one was dispatched for the doctor and the others filed into the wash- room, then to the dining room. Inez helped Cora, the hired girl, wait on table as poor Rosie's face was tear-swollen and she had promised to keep the children quiet. Finally the meal was over, the children, Rosie, the hired girl Cora, and Inez sat down to eat. Inez helped all the children and led the conver- sation along other topics. She herself ate nothing but drank a cup of tea and excused her- [64] SYDNEY MEETS WITH AN ACCIDENT self. Meeting Raymond in the hall she inquired if Sydney were better now and how the accident had happened. The party of three, of whom he was one, had struck the trail of a big buck and they followed down the canyon to cut him off in his circular path. Sydney, always alert, the first on the trail, catching sight of him on the opposite side of the deep, seemingly impassable gorge, sprang lightly on a huge rock overhanging the edge, the bet- ter to shoot, and taking aim had just fired at the deer when the rock, loosened by storms, toppled over and both rolled to the bottom together. He was unconscious when they reached him, but was soon revived by the applications of snow. Jump- ing to his feet he called out, "I killed him, boys. I saw him fall just as the confounded rock turned me down," then with a groan sank back to the ground. One of the men helped him to the top of the gorge and another went for his horse. Soon, however, it became apparent to both men that spite of his "grit" he could ride no farther, so one had come home for the wagon as recited before. Mr. Jones and Mrs. Wilson would stay with him that night, he told Inez, and he added, "You must get to bed, Iny, you look like a ghost. On TAMING A VAQUERO your feet all day, tormented by those ignorant children and then waiting on table and helping with the work; I wish you wouldn't do such things." "Such things are very necessary, however, and why should not I bear my part of the bur- den of life? To lighten another's burden is surely meritorious and not disgraceful. Per- haps, Mr. Van Everett, you had best judge your own duties and leave me to judge mine. What I do is certainly nothing to you," was the answer rather haughtily and certainly not patiently said. "Don't, Inez, don't speak to me so. I didn't mean to hurt your feelings. Don't be angry with me. Say you are not angry," he persisted child- ishly as she turned away. "I'm not angry, but I'm tired and wish to be let alone. Good night," she finished abruptly and went into her room. And in that room she knelt in speechless agony. The man she loved better than all the world be- side, better than life itself, lay perhaps dying in the next room. She could hear his moans of pain, his muttered curses, but was debarred from entering the room; she could not see his loved face nor smooth his fevered brow. How she longed to take his dear head in her arms and pil- low it on her breast and kiss the dear lips that [661 SYDNEY MEETS WITH AN ACCIDENT she could still feel when he kissed her long ago. Would he die? He must not; he should not; he was not ready to die. "Oh, God, save him, save him, do not let him die. Let him live until he's ready to die," she prayed in silence and agony until worn out by her over-exertions of mind and body she sank to sleep on her knees beside the bedside and dreamed she was in a gar- den of blooming flowers and singing birds when Sydney came and kissed her. The kiss waked her, the night had passed and the dawn was breaking over the hills. [67] CHAPTER XIV THEY SPEAK AGAIN The time seemed long and dreary as day by day Inez dragged herself to school and mechan- ically performed her duties during the week following the accident. Every morning and evening she inquired of the anxious mother or the doctor, perchance, of the condition of the young Nimrod. All were hopeful of no permanent injury, yet anxious and fearful lest later developments should show in- ternal injury. So the week passed and on Friday evening moving about in the "big room" Inez was startled by a faint voice calling, "Mother!" No answer. Then again, "Mother, is that you?" Inez started to leave the room in search of her when he called again, "Bring me a drink, who- ever you are? I'm confoundedly thirsty. Been asleep." So filling a glass with water Inez opened his door, entered tremblingly and offered the glass of water. He did not speak but drank the water eagerly. "Shall I get you more?" asked Inez, with a tremor in her voice. [68] THEY SPEAK AGAIN "No, I don't want you to bring me anything. I didn't know it was you or I shouldn't have called. Thought you were at school. Sorry I bothered you," gruffly, turning away. "I am home earlier than usual. It wasn't any trouble at all. I was glad to do a little to help you. Are you not feeling better?" "I'm all right," with a flounce, followed by a grimace as he twitched his sprained limb. "Oh, you have hurt your limb. Where is your mother? I am so sorry. Let me call her. Can I not do something to relieve the pain?" im- ploringly. "Naw, leave me alone. I'm all right. Don't care if I kill myself," with another flounce. "Oh," begged Inez, "pray be quiet until your mother comes. What will she say ?" "Don't know and don't care. D d if I can see why a fellow must live. I'd rather a died. Hoped I'd be killed when I tumbled and I hope I'm hurt internally. Nobody cares," bitterly. "Oh, Sydney," and the words were wrung from her lips, "don't don't talk so." "Much you care," contemptuously, "life isn't worth the living anyway. The sooner I'm out of it the better for me." "But for me," and she reached out her hands and clasped his arm. "You know I care." [69] TAMING A VAgUERO "Hell!" burst from his lips like a coal of hissing fire. "Don't stay here with your lies," and with a look a look Inez never forgot, he shook from his arm her clinging hands. Motionless she stood as if grounded to the spot, her tears drying on her cheeks. But the stunned feeling was passing and she thought rapidly. She was cut to the quick, her heart seemed bursting, but pride, her indomitable pride came to her rescue. "Sir," she said, "that is the last insult you will ever offer me. I will never forget it nor for- give you as long as we both shall live. Rest as- sured I shall leave you. Rest assured I shall trouble you never again," and with the air of a wounded queen she turned and left him. In that moment, when life seemed to have sud- denly turned into a blank, barren oasis, her un- selfish lovable nature did not desert her. There was no anger, no desire for revenge. She thought first of his comfort and straightway called his mother in even audible tone, "Mrs. Wilson, your son wants you. Can I not help you in some way?" "No, thank you, Miss Hardin; you have worked so hard for me every day this week. You need rest," was the answer, in a grateful tone. [70] THEY SPEAK AGAIN The night was stormy and Inez was glad. She couldn't bear the brightness of the moon nor stars now. She could not go outside so walked backward and forward in her room until ex- hausted she sank into a chair and lighting her small lamp started to study a volume of selec- tions for elocution work. Over and over she conned the thrilling verse, dramatically gesticulating as she studied. Never had she studied so hard and long to commit a selection to memory; never was it so hard to fix her thoughts. She selected tragedy, for was she not living a sterner tragedy, sterner because real, than ever tragedian could conceive in fiction ? She did not shed a tear that night. She was beyond tears. Would she ever cry again, she wondered. She seemed to have drank the cup of bitterness to the very dregs. Her pride (and she was very proud) had been mortified to the utmost. Could she ever hold up her head again? How she suffered, not only pride but wounded love as well. She had loved him as men are loved but once in life. All her young faithful heart had gone, unwittingly, into his keeping. Off her guard she had betrayed to him her devoted love and had been repulsed cursed. She could not pray. Her heart seemed dying TAMING A VAQUERO within her and hour after hour she suffered as only a proud passionate nature can suffer. But unconsciousness mercifully closed over her mind and the night of hideousness passed into oblivion. 72 CHAPTER XV TAKING UP THE BURDEN Next morning Inez was too ill to rise. Rosie and Cora strove to do something for her but she answered, "I'm only weak and tired, girls; I'll be all right soon," so they left her to her own reflections and heartache. "Weak and tired, I think I am," mused our heroine. "I never gave way to such weakness before. I shall rise up and get well. No one shall ever know !" So resolving she arose and busied herself with her duties, so by Monday she was cheery and almost hopeful again. At the schoolhouse that morning Inez was seated at her table awaiting the opening hour. The children were playing about. She could hear their shouts of laughter and merriment. "Dear little thoughtless hearts, so free from care and pain. What would I not give to be a child again ?" And her thoughts traveled back to those dear, happy, care-free days with brothers and sisters at play; mother and father to guide. Her head bent low on the desk and soon her sobs shook her slight frame. [73] TAMING A VAQUERO She had not thought of her surroundings, of the children. But Rosie Wilson, always near teacher's side, came in just then and seeing "teacher" crying, ran to her with, "Oh, Miss Hardin, what is it? You are sick. You are not able to teach." But Inez sobbed on heart- brokenly until the children all began crowding around and she became aware of the huddled, frightened group about her; for indeed her vehement grief would have frightened larger peo- ple than these. So, checking her sobs and wiping her tears away, she replied, "Oh, no, dears ; I'm not sick. Don't be afraid! I'm just homesick and was crying for my mother. Am I not silly ?" smiling through her tears. Then the work went on and Inez cried no more. Her heart ached still but she made no sign nor moan in the long days that came and went. Only if one had been a close observer he would have seen her face grow paler, day by day, and thinner; her appetite failed her almost entirely and her cheery laugh was a thing of the past. Her conversation, too, fell to musing. Only with the children she smiled and even talked. If ever hearts break, Inez' broke that stormy night. And Sydney ? Sydney improved daily and was soon about with a share of invalid's crossness [74] TAKING UP THE BURDEN equal to that of the proverbial bear. Did he read Inez' suffering? Perhaps he did, but he made no sign only to speak to Van Everett thus, "You needn't be a rich man, Van, to feed Miss Hardin. She doesn't eat anything, anyway. She's a cheap investment." And Inez, over- hearing accidentally, wondered when Van Everett had ever "fed" her or made her an "investment." [75] CHAPTER XVI VAN PROPOSES BUT INEZ DISPOSES Sitting by the center table in the big room, endeavoring to collect her wandering thoughts and concentrate them on a new book, Inez was annoyed at Raymond's entering and seating himself beside her. She was not reading but kept on trying and did not deign to notice his ap- pearance. Finally, "Iny," he said low and softly. Inez read on without turning her head. "How very much interested you must be not to hear me come in and speak to you," came next and he took the book from her hand as he spoke. Then at her look of impatience he said, "I haven't had an opportunity to speak to you pri- vately for so long I was delighted to see you sit- ting here all alone. I was so glad." Inez waited indifferently. What did she care whether he were glad or sorry. Bah! He was tiresome. "There was something I wanted to speak about and have settled," he began pompously. "There has been so much confusion lately and you've been worried until I haven't had a chance to say what I wanted to." [76] VAN PROPOSES BUT INEZ DISPOSES "Well?" interrogated Inez, rising as if to leave the room. "Don't go, Iny, sit down. I want you to wait until I finish. You see I'm a pretty patient sort of guy and I haven't rushed things as I wanted to. I want to know when you can marry me? The new house is finished and our suite of rooms will suit you, I think. Now I want to go over about next week and as soon as school is out I want you to be ready to go to San Francisco with me. We'll marry there and " "What !" demanded Inez. "What do you mean, sir? Marry you! What delusion are you under? I'd as soon marry one of my school- boys. You must think I'm crazy. I never dreamed of such a thing." "Why, Inez, surely you saw from my actions and manner that I loved you. I thought you knew I did." "Your actions and manner!" sarcastically. "I have noticed neither except to notice they were distasteful to me. Let us have no more of this nonsense." "But I can't stand it. You're the only girl 1 ever wanted. You must surely love me?" in- quiringly. "Love you ! I most certainly do not. Why, you're nothing but a boy. I should rather think [77] TAMING A VAQUERO I never loved you nor thought of the like. If ever I love anybody it will be a full-grown man. I shall take no child to raise." "You'll be sorry for this," threateningly. "I could have kept you in luxury and would have made a lady of you." "Sir ! I am a lady and I am ashamed and em- barrassed to have listened to such a demonstra- tion of childishness. I will not say you are no gentleman but I'll say you act like a spoiled baby. You can leave my presence and if you wish to speak to me again learn to be a man." He bounced out all the world like a child de- nied some pleasure and left Inez laughing at the ridiculousness of the situation. "What next," she wondered. "Well, at least, he will annoy me no more." [78] CHAPTER XVII GOODBYE, LONESOME GLEN May Day dawned at last. Was ever May Day so fair, so beautiful, as this May Day among the California mountains? Inez could not but see the green, green hills, the roses blooming in such abundance; could not but hear the trilling of birds as they called to each other from tree to tree. But her heart was sad as she wended her way to the schoolhouse from whence came the merry shouts of young voices. How could she but feel sad when this was the last day she was to hear the merry voices, her last day at Lonesome Glen ? She wondered, as she walked her lonely path that morning, why she should feel sad. Surely, it would be more consistent of her to be glad to leave, glad to bear no more of what had come to be a death in life. But she loved these dear little people of Lonesome Glen, thoughtless and careless though they were, and most of all her heart clung to Sydney Wilson, rough, unkind, and reckless. It was of him she was thinking as she trod the solitary trail for the last time. Once only once was her reverie broken, and that as she was crossing a stream near the road. [79] TAMING A VA9UERO When about half way across a horseman gal- loped around the turn. He did not pause as the figure of Inez met his eye, but galloped on, splashing her white dress with mud as he crossed the stream. It was Sydney Wilson ! The last report was finished, the last lesson heard, the last song sung, the last good-bye spoken, and Inez was alone in the lonely, lonely schoolroom. She walked over to the organ and played a few soft chords to keep up her courage until Mrs. Wilson came to take her home from school, but her heart was too full, her courage fled, and with her head on the keyboard Inez wept for the little ones gone out of her life forever, for herself and "what might have been." The rest of that day was like a dream to Inez. She soon was on her way home, away from Lonesome Glen forever, and that night, in the village some miles away, with her head in "mother's lap," cried long and bitterly while mother soothed her, as only mothers can, re- alizing that here was a grief that she could not quite pet away, though Inez never by word or sign told of her love and its bitter ending. The next day and the next went by as they journeyed homeward. In her arms rested the little sister, pride of Inez' heart. Though her arms ached with the [80] GOOD-BYE, LONESOME GLEN strain, Inez would not give her up to her mother, but held her until the journey was ended and they were "home." [81] CHAPTER XVIII THREE YEARS LATER It will not be unmeet for us, considering the lapse of time, to take a retrospect and see for ourselves why "such and such" is so. There are no words to portray the wretched- ness and despair following Inez' return home. For weeks and months she failed daily, drag- ging about her household duties from day to day, finding her only relief in her solitary wanderings away from mother and the children, alone, where she could give way to her grief unheard. But Inez did not give up utterly. These soli- tary wanderings were spent in communion with herself; always she condemned her weakness and gathered strength to resist despair, to over- come failure. In her efforts to overcome she took to outdoor work. The cattle needed herding. She rode horseback, herding, day after day, often coming home at night almost unable to stand, but next morning was ready for the saddle again. Hunt- ing, too, was another pastime, and she tramped the long valley and surrounding hills with only the dog and her little rifle for company. The strenuous exercise made her sleep well and forget. [82! THREE YEARS LATER So the months and years went by. Inez was chief support and counselor for her mother. She was needed, and the necessity of living added to the joy of living. Do not think she conquered in a few months or in these years. She did not, but she struggled ever upward for the victory, every hour and day. Her life was colorless and prosaic. Children to train, mother to counsel, daily work and care, until another school called her into a snug valley dropped down in the Sierras. A lovely valley ! Through it flowed one of those crystal-clear mountain streams, carrying a river-like volume of water winter and summer, while on each side spread out a green valley gently sloping toward it. And the people ! Inez can never forget those dear people. They were so good, so kind, so broad-minded and unsuspicious. "May God's blessing be upon them," is her loving wish and prayer for them. Here for two years she labored among them, teaching the valley school, and sending out boys and girls each year to the Normal, High School and Business College to equip themselves the better for life and its work. For she could not live and conquer day by day without putting into the lives of the boys and girls in her care a desire to conquer. [83] TAMING A VAQUERO Now it is vacation and she is home once again. The dear home of her youth, the loved mother, the sisters and brothers all welcome her back. And Inez is glad to be home. For a time she enjoys the fellowship of dear ones; then her old restlessness comes over her again. She tries to shake it off, to work it off, but seemingly in vain, until a letter came to her from two of her boys from the school just finished, with the proud information that they are going to college. Impulsively, Inez declares that she will go down to the railroad and tell them good-bye, and is soon in her buggy driving toward the near-by town. [84] CHAPTER XIX "FOR OLD TIMES' SAKE" Sitting at the table in the parlor of the leading hotel of the little city, Inez was busily writing a letter while she waited for the arrival of the boys. She glanced at the door every few moments in expectation. She was alone in the room, as it was the middle of the afternoon of a warm August day and the guests were mostly down at the river resort. While she was thus engaged a young man walked into the outer office, and drawing the register toward him started to sign his name, when a low whistle of surprise found its way through his lips. "By George! Inez Hardin here," was the thought framed in his mind, then signing his name under hers with the remark under his breath, "not so bad, our names to- gether. Hum! Quite a coincidence. I believe I'll look her up." Inez glanced up as he walked into the room with considerable of his old nonchalance. She was surprised, but because of her past victories was able to meet his "Hello ! Why, Miss Hardin, who'd have thought, of meeting you?" with a cold, distant bow, not even deigning to notice his [85] TAMING A VAQUERO outstretched hand. For it was Sydney Wilson ! After three years of scarcely hearing mention of each other they had met again. In Inez' mind there was no thought of relent- ing, no intention of friendliness. She reinforced her determination with a thought of his past brutality, his insulting manner toward her, his curses. She almost shuddered and, with the hor- ror of his treatment upon her, she turned coldly to her letter, which she addressed and sealed. He sat down on the other side of the table, watching her. Perhaps he read something of her feeling in the cold, studied expression of her face, but he would not leave her, as she clearly desired him to do. Instead, after the moment's intense silence following his advent, he spoke in an embarrassed manner unusual to him. "Inez Miss Hardin," he stammered, "you seem to have forgotten old friends." No answer. Inez busied herself putting the stationery in the box and closing up the box. "Had she heard?" he wondered. He tried again. "Aw, I say, come out of that ! Here, I'm trying to say something agreeable and just aching to know what you've been doing to get prettier every day since I saw you last and getting your mouth closed up like an oyster " [86] "FOR OLD TIMES' SAKE" Her eyes flashed fire as she looked straight across the table at him, and the look silenced him. He fingered the box on the table nervously, and, avoiding her eyes, continued : "Let by- gones be bygones and let's be friends for old times' sake." Old times? A lump in Inez' throat pre- vented her from answering for a few seconds, then she spoke. "Sir, you are mistaken. I owe you nothing for 'old times' sake.' Your kindly (?) actions of 'old times' do not make me desire to renovate them. Nor shall I. If you desire an acquaint- ance with me let that acquaintance begin now. I am no 'old times' friend. Do not mistake me. I would those times were blotted out of my life." "Now, now," he broke in, in his old way the way that made Inez' courage almost fail, "I never meant to to what can I say? I'm willing to say I was mistaken about several things. Most any one would have been in my place. Isn't that enough?" "Yes," steadily, "it is enough. Quite enough to make me strongly adhere to my determination to blot those days from my life forever." "Tarnation ! Your memory's too good alto- [87] TAMING A VAQUERO gather. You can't mean to cut an old friend altogether because of of things no one was exactly to blame for. Come, now ! You know you can't be so mean," reaching for her hand across the table. She drew back as if his touch were pollution, and answered in a suppressed voice : "Stop ! I am not in a humor for conversation with you. I mean what I say and more. / shall never forget! Once again, drop the past or we are strangers and worse than strangers. For a stranger I could not feel the repulsion I feel for you. You have never been honorable in your dealings with me, you have not acted the man, then, nor since. You have not lived down one single unworthy act, but glory in the roughness and brutal satisfaction of having caused suf- fering. My gentlemen friends must be men. I neither seek nor desire your friendship." "Aw, go it! Throw me down. Of course, I'm dirt under your feet. You're educated. You're 'way above me. Uhhuh ! That's the way you've always treated me, Miss Inez Hardin. Your friends are gentlemen. Oh, yes, of course." "There is no use my explaining to one who doesn't wish to understand. Taunts are childish weapons and we're man and woman. I count [88] "FOR OLD TIMES' SAKE" no difference in station or learning. You know where the difference lies. While you're taunt- ing me with my disparaging your station, do not forget you cursed me for forgetting mine, do not forget that you made our friendship impossible." "Oh, the d 1 ! You want to quarrel. Didn't I say let bygones be bygones?" "And I said we would begin a new acquaint- ance if any at all," calmly decisive. "That means for me to get out," rising from his chair, with his eyes on her. "As you please, sir !" coldly polite. "Gosh almighty! I'll be switched if I go," sinking back into his, seat. Inez walked to the street door, much as she had left him in the sick-room long ago. He remembered, and he writhed as he remembered. Just then the door opened almost in her face and two fresh-faced boys of seventeen or eighteen came in ; seeing her, they vied with each other to shake hands first, but she solved the problem by giving each a hand as she said, "George and Malcolm, I was afraid I'd miss you." The man by the table saw her face soften and glow at sight of them and her old, sweet smile beam out, sweeter than of old as she looked [89] TAMING A VAQUERO joyfully and lovingly on them. He was glad that his position was at right angles from them when they sat down on a divan, one on each side of her. "Now, boys, let's hear all about this lovely scheme of yours," she smiled, as she leaned back among the cushions. She was forgetting the man. So together they told her, first one, then the other, of their hopes and plans and aims. Then, as if inspired, she told them of the world, of its temptations and snares and pitfalls. She appealed to all that was noble and true and honorable in them. She pictured their respective families, the dear old father and mother, who worshiped the one; the widowed mother and sisters of the other. In her voice was a world of entreaty, of love, of pleading for all that was upright and manly and righteous. No sniveling cant to shame their boy hearts, but a plain talk of plain facts, where purposes and weaknesses were shown, the one in its beauty often so hard to follow ; the other like angels of light, often so easy to beguile. "My boys," she said, "never forget that to be a man is your first duty. A man your sister is proud to call brother; a man whom any good woman would gladly call friend. So much of [90] "FOR OLD TIMES' SAKE" joy for yourselves and for others is your portion for being such men, while a wretched life for yourselves and misery for many others follows an unworthy life." Thus she talked earnestly on, and they were encouraged to talk freely of their ideas of man- hood, why she tried to tell them how they would be compassed about by hundreds who thought only of selfish interests and sordid, brutal, low lives. They, too, had found many already who followed brute instinct. They understood; they would be careful. "All aboard for the south-bound train!" came in sonorous tones from the 'bus driver without, so with a good-bye and grips of the hand which nearly paralyzed their teacher, the boys ran for the 'bus. Inez watched them out of sight with dewy eyes and a low-breathed, "God guide them, the blessed boys." Then her mind came back from the boys and long, long days of teaching them in the little gray schoolhouse in the green upland valley, and of the others still being taught there; came back to the time before the boys' arrival and to the man at the table still. Her heart stirred as she saw his dejected atti- tude. She wondered what he thought of her for what she had said to the boys. She had [91] TAMING A VAQUERO spoken out of the fulness of her heart to them. She had forgotten him and her grievances in her inspiration on their behalf, though her inspira- tion had perhaps been born of the longings to have him the man she had striven to idealize. Slowly she walked back to the table to pick up her stationery, preparatory of going to her room. He did not look up as she approached, but slowly rising, stood before her. She gathered up her box to go. He confronted her. "Will you not wish a new acquaintance suc- cess in his life in his undertakings?" he asked, and he half held out his hand. Her face took on a strong, purposeful look; in her eyes was no faltering, but steadfast re- solve as she answered : "I do, with all my heart. Never doubt it," and she clasped the hand for a brief moment, then said, "Good-bye," and was gone without his saying a word. 92 CHAPTER XX TWO LETTERS The October days were growing shorter. Each day the sun seemed to set nearer and nearer the south. Inez was reading in her room overlooking the orchard and brown meadows beyond, where the sun was even now creeping behind a distant hill. A loud knocking aroused her, and she called, "Who is it ? " "Only me, sis," was her biggest brother's answer. "Here's a letter for you," and he tossed it in her lap and shut the door. She looked at the address on the envelope. The handwriting was unfamiliar. She slowly broke the seal and read: My Dear Teacher: I just feel inspired to write to you tonight. Firstly, I feel as if I'd neglected you shame- fully all these years, and I want to renew and strengthen our old friendship. And secondly, I want to thank you for doing so much for us when you stayed with us long ago. Sydney said he saw you in town not long ago and he thought I ought to let you know I hadn't forgotten you. As if I could. [93] TAMING A VAQUERO Mamma and little sister are well and I'm so grown up you'd never know me in the world. And oh, Miss Hardin, you'll be so glad, I know, to hear that Sydney has gone to Berkeley to attend the State University. He just took a sudden notion he wanted to go. You know he always made fun of your education. But I know now he was only teasing you. He used to be such a tease. Do you remember? ("Re- member?" thought Inez.) There is no news. But you must write to me soon and often and send me a picture of you so I can tell how you look now. Your loving friend, ROSIE WILSON. P. S. Mamma sends her love. I am writing to Sydney. Shall I tell him anything for you next time ? A smile passed over our heroine's face at the naivete last words, but in her heart was a joy unspeakable, a feeling of great good to come of this. She knew it wasn't a freak, a "sudden notion" on his part. He was a man of twenty- four, not an immature boy, and she hoped, nay felt, that this was born of a higher and better desire, a desire to be a "man," to make himself all he ought to be. [94] TWO LETTERS And when she went again to her school near by it was with a free and joyous feeling of vic- tory and success. Her inspiration was no longer in any measure forced nor her enthusiasm strained. Teaching school was unalloyed joy now. Did the children catch her exuberant enthu- siasm? They seemed to, for never did ma- chinery move more smoothly than these sys- tematic enthusiasts, fired with their teacher's buoyant air of victory. So the winter glided by and the long, rainy spring opened the eyes of the flowers asleep under the snow. Still it rained and all seemed to Inez beautiful the green, green leaves of the new-clad trees, the spring flowers, and the rain dripping, drip- ping through and upon them. Through this misty, murky twilight in day- time came her brother, again bearing a letter with strange handwriting upon it. He knocked at the schoolhouse door; she opened it, and he handed the letter, damp from the dampness everywhere present, to her, and as quietly left her with the little school. The classes were busily preparing their tasks; she had fifteen minutes before her first class would recite, and could read it. [95] TAMING A VAQUERO Dear Friend (it ran) I am simply bubbling over with a something I can't keep nor under- stand. You could never in the wide world guess what it is. But you'll die of curiosity if I don't come to the point. Prepare to be astonished, then. Before pro- ceeding I must tell you I came back from where I've been staying for these nearly three years, and what do I hear but that Sydney Wilson is a university student? Will wonders never cease? But that isn't the grand something. He went last fall, so I expect you've heard of that. Now, I went to see Mrs. Wilson. You know I loved her, though I didn't think much of Sydney, especially of the way he teased you, though I know you never paid any attention. Of course, I asked about Sydney. They had just received a letter in which he told them about his studies and everything. But now for it! He actually teaches a lot of little vagabonds Saturday and Sunday afternoons. Regular little street gamins. They live in the dirty slums and are a disreputable lot. He wrote : "I am trying to teach them how, in spite of conditions which are too horrible to describe, they may still be men and good citizens; trying to keep them out [96] TWO LETTERS of reform school and penitentiary. We have regular text-books and a great many stories of how an oppressed boy may rise into a great man- hood. As I have said, George and Malcolm are my right-hand men. Now, doesn't that take your breath away? It makes me feel stunned. Nothing coud surprise me now. If I hear that he is studying theology and is going to be a "fire-eater" preacher, I'll fold my hands and say, "Thy will be done." I know you'll scold me for my levity, but pray don't. Think of the shock I've had. You, with your theory of "sermons in running brooks and good in everything" will not experience what has been the fate of Your rattle-pated CORA. Inez read and reread the quotation from this letter, then glancing at the clock she said, from force of habit, as she laid the letter in her desk, "First class, reading." But the reading was like the sound of distant murmurs to her ears. Her thoughts had flown away and away to her "tamed vaquero," and in her heart was a deep, restful content, the content that waits. THE END [97] UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY Los Angeles This book is DUE on the last date stamped below. NIl REC'D LD-URl AU6 251993 orm L9-32m-8,'58(5876s4)444 1158 01190 1708 PS 3505 C43715t