For an hour the Comet had been toiling upward by a circuitous and intricate way. But he had not lost in speed. Billie had made up her mind not to linger. If they must see these men into a safe hiding place it was well to get it over with as soon as possible.
They had not been permitted to light the Comet’s one illuminating eye, but had gone silently and swiftly along. It was now eight o’clock by the motor timepiece, but it was still light enough to see the road winding in front of them like a white ribbon in the blue gray atmosphere.
“We are most there now, young Miss,” Jim Bowles observed respectfully. He admired intensely this intrepid young woman who drove a car better than most men.
“Most where?” she asked calmly, but with inward quaking. “It’s better,” she thought, “to let him think I’m not frightened, but I am just the same.”
“Most to the place we’re goin’ to,” he remarked mysteriously.
“It’s very inconvenient for us,” she replied, gathering courage as she noted his respectful manner. “We had expected to reach Salt Lake City the day after to-morrow.”
“Salt Lake City,” he exclaimed. “Young lady, it’s lucky you spoke. I know a short cut through the mountains and I’ve got a friend as’ll show you the way.”
“But it’s just a pass, isn’t it? Not a road for automobiling.”
“Many a prairie schooner has passed that way, Miss, an’ wasn’t none the worse for it, neither. The road ain’t known to everybody, but it’ll save you half a day’s travel, an’ I’ll be glad to make you acquainted with it and protect you on the journey, too.”
“Only a few hours ago we were wishing to find a short cut to Salt Lake City,” she thought. “Wishes do come true in such an unpleasant manner sometimes.”
The Comet slowed down. The road became very steep and rugged, and straight above them loomed a precipice, like an immeasurable black wall. As they turned a curve a blast of cold air blew straight into their faces, and they began to feel strangely light, as if they had no bodies and were floating in space. Presently in the dim light they perceived three silent figures standing across the road, each with a shotgun.
“Draw in, men, it’s friends,” called Jim Bowles. “Take this road, Miss,” he added, pointing to a broad trail that appeared to have been cut through the rocks.
The motorists gave a start of surprise when the Comet presently slipped into what proved to be later a sort of cup in the side of the mountain, well hidden by the rocky walls surrounding it.
In the dim light they saw a group of log huts huddled close together, as if for companionship. There were lights in the windows, and framed in the doorway of the nearest hut was the figure of a woman whose face was turned anxiously in their direction.
Jim Bowles crawled slowly out of the motor car and began a whispered conference with his confederates.
“Mr. Moore,” said Miss Campbell, as she clutched his arm, “we are in a nest of robbers. Do you think we shall ever get out alive? Tell me the worst before they come back.”
“Don’t let them know you are frightened. These men admire courage more than anything else in the world. I will keep with you every moment. The man named Bowles owes his life to me, and even with all their lawlessness, these poor souls are not ungrateful. Don’t protest about anything, and don’t make any demands. Try to be perfectly calm and, above all, pretend to be pleased. I believe they’ll do the best they can for you tonight. They may even show us out of the gulch, although I doubt it.”
Miss Campbell lapsed into silence. She considered that Daniel Moore had a very optimistic turn of mind, considering the circumstances.
“You can’t git out of the gulch to-night, Miss,” said Jim Bowles, returning to the side of the car. “It’s too dark, and the roads ain’t good enough for night travel in that there machine. You’ll have to stay here tonight, but before we admit you into our happy homes you’ve got to take an oath, an’ if you break it it’ll be the worse for you. We don’t take no half measures.”
“What do you want us to promise, Jim?” asked Mr. Moore.
“You’ve got to promise before we let you leave this place that you never will tell to nobody what you know about it, and that the one that shows you the trail to-morrow morning won’t git pinched through you.”
Jim Bowles was not satisfied until he made each occupant of the motor car say solemnly: “I promise,” from Mary, with her high, sweet voice, to Daniel Moore in his deeper tones.
And now there came that crucial moment when the Motor Maids and Miss Helen Campbell were obliged to leave the protecting interior of the Comet and mingle with a band of mountain brigands.
“I can’t do it, Mr. Moore. I tell you, I shall simply die of fright,” Miss Campbell whimpered into the ear of Daniel Moore, who seemed like an old and intimate friend in this dangerous situation.
“You must,” he said, giving her his arm. “Keep up and don’t show you are frightened. If you trust them, they’ll do their best for you, as they have promised.”
Then followed Jim Bowles into the first cabin, where the woman had been waiting. She was not in sight now.
“Minnie!” called Jim, but there was no answer, and he left the house with an exclamation of annoyance.
The girls looked about them timidly. The strangeness and danger of their dilemma had made them silent. Mary clung to Elinor and Elinor pressed closely to Miss Campbell’s side, while Billie and Nancy kept their hands clasped together with that intimate grasp of two friends who need no words in which to express their feelings.
There were two rooms in the cabin. The first, a bedroom, and the back room a kitchen; and they were astonishingly clean and neat, considering the wildness of their occupants. No doubt this was due to Minnie, who now appeared, dark-eyed, handsome and defiant. She stood in the doorway, looking at them, half boldly and half timidly.
Then Miss Helen Campbell made what she considered afterward the effort of her life.
She walked straight up to Minnie and held out her hand.
“How do you do, my dear?” she said. “It’s very kind of you to take us into your nice little home. Shall we not be friends? I must introduce you to my four girls.”
She raised her heavenly blue eyes and gazed blandly into the girl’s fierce dark ones, taking Minnie’s limp hand into hers. Perhaps it had been many a day since a lady had spoken kindly to Minnie and treated her as an equal. At any rate, she melted completely.
“I’m glad you come,” she said, smiling broadly and showing two rows of even white teeth. “It’s awful lonely here sometimes when Jim’s away.” She looked across at Jim tenderly, and they all of them understood at once what it was that kept Minnie on this lonely mountain side.
It was not long before they were comfortably installed in Jim’s cabin. On the little stove in the back room bacon was sending out a pleasing aroma. Nancy was engaged in making an omelette. Elinor had charge of the tea, while Mary and Billie brought from the store of provisions in the Comet the best that it afforded in the way of jam, cheese and mixed pickles.
Minnie helped them when she could, but she was very shy and afraid of being in the way. Daniel Moore and Miss Campbell sat near the stove talking in low voices. Miss Campbell had related to him the story of their chance meeting with Evelyn Stone. Occasionally Jim Bowles came and stood in the doorway. There was an expression in his eyes half wistful and half amused as he regarded these unusual activities in his home.
“Invite Jim and Minnie to supper,” whispered Daniel Moore, “if you want to bind them to you with hoops of steel.”
It was never very difficult for the little lady to be charming, and having won over Minnie she had somewhat overcome her fears.
“Mr. Bowles,” she said with a graciousness that fairly captivated the brigand, “we cannot take possession of your house unless you promise to join us at supper. Will you sit here by me, and Minnie, you would rather sit with the girls, that is quite plain? Come, Mr. Moore.”
There was not room for all the party at the table, however, and Minnie ate her supper with Billie and Nancy on a bench by the stove.
With a sheepish smile on his face Jim Bowles sat down obediently at the table and for the first time in his life engaged in an agreeable conversation on terms of equality with a real lady.
“If everybody was as nice as you, ma’am,” he said, “I think I would be willing to—to—well, give all this up. It’s excitin’ but it’s dangerous, and it ain’t respectable.”
“Mr. Bowles,” said Miss Helen, “I believe you are an honest man at heart. No man could have such a devoted wife and not have some good in him. The moment you decide to give up this—this wild life and are looking for honest employment, I shall be glad to help you. There is my card. I have only one thing to ask in return: that you see us safely through the mountains to-morrow.”
“Granted!” cried Jim, taking the card she offered.
Minnie, who had left the bench and was standing near Miss Campbell’s chair, with a rapt expression on her face, cried out fiercely:
“If you only would, Jim! If you only would!”
Suddenly Jim stood up and stretched out his hand for silence.
“Listen!” he whispered.
In the distance came the sound of horses’ hoofs ringing out on the hard mountain road.
The door opened and one of the desperadoes thrust in his head.
“Beat it, Jim! Git to the cave! They’re comin’.”
“Ladies, remember your promise!” cried Jim, and with one bound he was out of the house and gone.
And then, as if this were not enough to shatter their nervous system into little bits, Minnie flung herself on the floor in front of Miss Campbell in a perfect passion of tears.
“You won’t give him up!” she cried, beating her hands together in misery. “You ain’t goin’ fer to give him up?”
Miss Campbell looked at Daniel Moore, but he refused to advise even by a glance.
Billie kneeled down beside Minnie and put her arm around the poor girl’s neck, while she looked appealingly at her cousin.
“My poor child,” said Miss Campbell, after a very perceptible pause, “we won’t tell on your husband. He is certainly a very lawless character, but maybe he’ll reform if he has a chance.”
“Thank you! Thank you!” cried Minnie, kissing Miss Campbell’s small hand with all the fervor of her warm nature.
“Now, Minnie, go about your work as if nothing had happened. The girls will help you, and leave the rest to me. Well,” she observed in a low voice to Daniel Moore, who was standing by the window, looking anxiously out, “if any one had told me this morning that this evening I should be protecting a train robber from the law, I should never have believed them in the world. But things seem to happen out in the West that never could happen in the East.”
At that moment fully half a dozen horsemen dashed up to the door.
“Go and sit down,” whispered Daniel Moore. “I think we might protect this poor girl if we can, wrong as it would seem to the law.”
The door was flung open and several pistols were pointed into the room.
“Don’t move! Keep still, everybody, or you know where you’re at!”
“Nobody has any intention of moving. Come in,” said Daniel Moore.
A big man in a black slouch hat strode in.
“Come out, Jim Bowles. Don’t try to escape. The house is surrounded. You’ll git shot for your pains if you do.”
“Jim Bowles is not in this house,” said Daniel Moore.
“Who are you?”
“My name is Moore. I come from Iowa.”
“And who might these be?” demanded the sheriff, pointing to Miss Helen and the girls.
“These ladies are taking a motor trip.”
“Let the women answer for themselves. Who are you?” demanded the sheriff roughly.
Miss Campbell drew herself up.
“Would you mind taking off your hat?” she said. “It is easier for me to reply to a man when he is not wearing a hat.”
The sheriff removed his hat quickly.
“Excuse me, ma’am,” he said. “We don’t often see ladies in this wild country.”
“We are a party of motorists.” said Miss Campbell. “We took the wrong road, and this very kind woman gave us shelter. To-morrow we hope to resume our journey.”
“Do you know you are probably in the cabin of one of the worst outlaws in the State?”
“Are you sure, sir? It is very difficult to believe, and where one is treated with so much hospitality one does not look for such things.”
The sheriff turned to Minnie:
“Where is your husband, girl?”
“I don’t know.”
“Is he hiding in this house? Tell me the truth.”
“Look for yourself!” cried Minnie, flinging wide the door into the bedroom.
“I believe there’s a mistake, Sheriff,” said one of the men. “The chief’s nest is farther up the mountain. These people could never have found it in a motor car.”
Presently the men left the house. There was a long, long interval when they sat listening with strained ears for sounds in the darkness. Once there were shots in the distance. At last, as their heads were drooping with fatigue and they yearned to lie down anywhere and sleep, the door opened and Jim Bowles crept cautiously in.
“Minnie will guide you to the Gap,” he said. “I will meet you there, and show you the short cut through the mountains. Good night. And, Miss Campbell, I’ll accept your proposition. I’ve been bad, I suppose, because I thought there wasn’t nobody good, even the people that claimed to be—an’ there wasn’t no use of me bein’, neither. But I was mistaken, by a long shot. You kin have back the money, too. I reckon I’ve got enough on hand to give the boys their share and still make it out. I was savin’ up to buy a ranch in Idyho. But there’s more ways than this of gittin’ on. Minnie, I reckon you’ll be glad. Ain’t you, gal?”
“Glad?” whispered Minnie, moving to his side and resting her cheek against his shoulder.
He kissed her shyly.
“I don’t want to git caught—understand?” he said. “But I’ve done with this old life forever, so help me.”
He raised his hand to heaven in token of his solemn oath.
“We’ll all help you, Jim,” said Daniel Moore.
But Miss Helen Campbell considered Jim and Minnie her private discovery and particular property, and that night, reposing on a steamer rug spread over their bed, she dreamed golden dreams of their future.
Billie slept later than her friends next morning. Even their movements about the room as they dressed did not disturb her, and when at last she opened her eyes the sun was pouring his rays through the small window of the cabin and outside was the glory of a mid-summer day; for it was June 21st, and was to be a memorable day in the annals of their trip.
“Dear me,” she exclaimed, “why doesn’t somebody repeat, ‘Go to the ant, thou sluggard, consider her ways and be wise.’ I seem to scent coffee in the air. Chief cook and bottle washer, what have you got for breakfast?”
“Corn bread from Minnie’s corn meal,” replied Nancy, who answered to this title, “and shirred eggs, the last in our storehouse, and chopped beef——”
“You lavish and wasteful young persons,” she cried. “How do you know we won’t need some of these things before we get back to civilization?”
“There are still baked beans,” said Nancy reproachfully. Nancy was a born cook, and, like other born cooks, she was only amiable when she was not interfered with.
“Go out and look at the scenery,” she continued, “and leave us in peace. We won’t starve. There’s a box of wheaten biscuit left.”
“I’d just as soon eat a bale of hay,” cried Billie contemptuously. “And there’s the Comet. He has to be fed this morning. How do I know that our provisions will last? If the food fails and the gasoline likewise, ‘et puis bon jour,’ as the song says.”
But Billie wasn’t really apprehensive. The day was too fine and her spirits too high.
“The truth is, we are all like the angels in heaven rejoicing over one sinner repented,” said Mary in a low voice, for Minnie could be seen approaching with a pail of water from the spring.
Toilets are meagre affairs in a cabin in the Rocky Mountains, and in a quarter of an hour Billie was fully clothed, washed and combed. Mary had closed the door of the cabin while she dressed.
“Don’t look out until you see it all at once,” she said. “It’s too wonderful to take it by piece-meal.”
Billie, therefore, had not an inkling of what was in store for her until she stepped out of the cabin.
Nothing on all her journeys with her father could equal the grand panorama which was revealed beyond the cabin door. They appeared to be in a world of peaks—“Mr. and Mrs. Peak, and all the young Peaks,” she wrote to her father later. In the far distance were snow-capped peaks and nearer were lesser peaks. The cabin was built alarmingly near the edge of a great cañon, at the foot of which, hundreds of feet below, lay a little green valley amazingly peaceful in all this rugged scenery, in which cattle no bigger than pinheads at that distance, were quietly grazing.
Billie trembled to think what they might have climbed the night before without suspecting it. This was certainly a good place for a robbers’ nest. The cabin was perched on a shelf in the side of the mountain, and brave were the men, Billie thought, who dared to climb the path that led to it.
It was a gay breakfast party that gathered around the small table that morning and Minnie’s eyes glistened with appreciation at sight of the white cloth and the bunch of wild flowers in the center, which had been Elinor’s contribution to the breakfast.
Even Daniel Moore reflected the good spirits of Miss Campbell and the Motor Maids, although his hat and coat and all his luggage had been carried away on the train. He had talked a little of Evelyn with Miss Helen before breakfast.
“Don’t you think she is beautiful, Miss Campbell?” he asked.
“I certainly do; but she is very young and impetuous, and we must be extremely careful what we do, especially if you think she has been influenced against you in some way. Her father seems dreadfully stern and cruel. It made me shiver even to look at him.”
“He’s really quite fanatic about his religion,” answered Mr. Moore. “And you know what such people are—almost madmen; but he is crafty and shrewd and very cruel, and I would hate to involve you and the girls in any trouble. That is the reason I was hurrying on to Salt Lake City. From the itinerary you gave me, I judged that would be your next address, and I wanted to stop you before you got into difficulties.”
“The girls have set their hearts on seeing Evelyn again,” said Miss Campbell, carefully refraining from mentioning that her own heart had some leanings in that direction also.
But the call to breakfast interrupted the conversation.
Another hour and the front of the little cabin appeared like an inscrutable face on the side of the mountain, with closed eyes and sealed lips. No need to bar the door now from the sheriff and his men, for the birds had flown. But because she was never to see the little house again, and because, in spite of everything, she had known some happiness there, Minnie dropped the calico curtain at the window and fastened the wooden latch on the door. It was the last rites before she buried her old life forever in the mountains and began a new one with Jim in the East.
With an expression of grave determination on her face she took her seat beside Nancy in the front and never once looked back until they had rounded the curve of the mountain.
Nobody talked much on that morning ride. Billie was engaged in guiding the Comet carefully along the dangerous road which cut through a cleft in the mountain, and in many places was just wide enough for the car to pass. Sometimes they were on the edge of such dizzy heights that Miss Campbell held her breath and clenched her teeth to keep from crying out.
“I dare not even whisper,” she said to herself, “for fear of startling that child at the wheel.”
She contented herself with clutching Daniel Moore’s arm, but in her heart she doubted if even Jim’s salvation was worth the risk of so many lives. As for the girls, they had hardly realized the dangers of the ride, so absorbed were they in the marvelous scenery. The snow caps of the distant ranges gleamed pink in the sunshine, and deep purple shadows lay on the ravines below.
As the Comet mounted up and up the steep grade, Miss Campbell’s head became lighter and lighter, and her fears seemed to slip away. The high altitude had a strangely intoxicating effect on Nancy, too. She began to laugh just from the sheer joy of living.
“I feel like an inhabitant of Mars,” she said. “Just a brains and a stomach, and no body. I haven’t but two sensations—hunger and happiness.”
“Minnie, it’s ten minutes of twelve o’clock,” said Billie presently. “Are we anywhere near the Gap?”
The car had now turned a curve on the mountain and was going down grade.
“It’s just down there,” answered Minnie, “but I don’t see Jim,” she added, looking about uneasily.
“Well, really——” began Miss Campbell, and paused.
The notion that Jim might not be there to guide them out of this wild country had never come to any of them.
“He’s had a long ways to go to get here,” said Minnie. “He’s had to travel all night on horseback, but if nothin’ happens to him, Jim’ll keep his word. He ain’t never broke it in his life.”
This was reassuring in one way, but discouraging in another—if nothing happened! Why had it not occurred to them that many, many things could happen?
Miss Campbell looked reproachfully at Daniel Moore.
“Don’t be uneasy,” he said. “I daresay we can get a guide if Jim doesn’t show up.”
The road now took a downward turn so precipitate that they wondered how the emigrant vans of the Mormons which had once traveled this way had been prevented from rolling over the horses and pitching headlong down the incline.
But the Comet made the down grade slowly and deliberately. Back of them they could see the road winding around the side of the mountain. Suddenly a group of horsemen came into sight around the curve. They were mere specks of black against the white roadway at this distance, but Minnie recognized them.
“Jim!” she called, her voice rising to a high treble, “Jim, man, it’s the sheriff!”
And then, looking like some wild creature which had been summoned out of the dark places of the earth, Jim himself appeared, running down the side of the mountain, stooping low like a hunted animal. The sweat poured from his face; his clothes were torn in ribbons and his hands were cut and bleeding.
“You see, I didn’t break my word,” he said; “but it ain’t likely I’ll escape now. I’m too tired. I’ve been runnin’ for half the night.”
Minnie was sobbing bitterly.
“Cousin Helen, couldn’t we——” began Billie.
“But, my dear, how can we? What shall we do, Mr. Moore?”
“We couldn’t hide him in the car. Besides, if they caught him, it would get you into no end of trouble,” answered Daniel.
“He could have saved himself if it hadn’t been for us,” said Nancy reproachfully.
“We could disguise him in Billie’s polo coat with a veil and goggles,” suggested Mary suddenly.
Don’t blame these good people for what they now proceeded to do. Certainly it was the wildest, most reckless and dangerous adventure ever engaged in by six sensible, well-brought-up people, and two of them at least old enough to know better. Remember only that their sympathies were very much engaged, and that every cent stolen from the limited express was to be returned. While the horsemen were hidden behind a wall of rock, Jim’s identity was changed. He became a female of uncertain age in a polo coat, an automobile bonnet, goggles and a chiffon veil, which concealed his countenance. And sitting between Miss Campbell and Daniel Moore on the back seat he resembled any other motorist on a long trip.
They moved slowly down into the valley, and the horsemen as they passed lifted their black felt hats with quite a gallant air to Miss Campbell and her party.
And so Jim was snatched from the clutches of the law. As he will not appear again in this story it will probably interest you to know what became of this highly romantic, daring individual. After turning over to the railroad by a secret agent—none other than Daniel Moore himself—a most remarkable letter, printed below (which you no doubt have seen, since it was published broadcast in every paper in the country) and returning every penny of the money taken that day from the passengers, Jim disappeared from the world as a public character. Taking his real name, Jim Dolan, he became a private citizen, and at this very moment Jim and Minnie Dolan are tenants of one of Miss Campbell’s beautiful farms in the vicinity of West Haven. They have two children and are useful members of society.
And all because a lady asked a common thief to eat supper with her and treated him as a guest.
Here is Jim’s letter to the railroad company, written in a large, sprawling handwriting:
“To Whom It May Concern—and chiefly the Union Pacific Railroad Company: The undersigned was once Jim Bowles, train robber. I am a reformed man from this day. I ain’t got religion exactly, but the world is a better place than I thought it was. I made a mistake. There are some mighty nice people in it, after all. I herewith return moneys took; henceforth from now on forever more, amen, I lead a new life, so help me God! There are two kinds of repentant sinners. The ones that pray all day for forgiveness and forgets to work, and them that works so hard they haven’t got no time to pray. I’m the last kind. I’m going to work. Amen!
“(signed) Jim Bowles—that was.”
Imagine a lovely valley, green and fertile, encircled by a great chain of mountains. Glistening to the westward, like a gem on its bosom, is a beautiful lake, and from the very heart of the valley rises the city itself. It nestles at the foot of a vast granite temple, which towers above the homes of the citizens like a great, gray mountain.
“Perhaps the Land of Canaan looked like this to the Israelites,” exclaimed Mary Price, as the Comet paused on the steep road in order to give our pilgrims their first glimpse of the old Mormon city. For the last thirty-six hours they had been surfeited with magnificent scenery.
“Snow-capped mountains and cañons and waterfalls are getting to be just everyday affairs,” wrote Billie to her father, still in distant Russia.
It was a rest to their eyes and their minds, therefore, to look down on this peaceful and exquisite valley, Evelyn’s home.
“It’s all very beautiful,” observed Miss Campbell. “I’m sure I never saw a more enchanting scene in my life. But there’s one thing that makes it more beautiful to me even than the Vale of Cashmere, and that’s a hot bath. I’m looking forward to a hot bath, my dears, and a good night’s rest on a hair mattress in the best hotel in the city. I trust you feel the same.”
The girls laughed.
“We look a good deal like a United States geological surveying party, after three months in the wilderness,” answered Daniel Moore, looking quizzically at the girls’ sunburned faces, and glancing down at his gray flannel shirt, borrowed from Jim Bowles.
“I do feel as if I had returned to my natural element,” said Elinor; “just a handful of dust. I am chewing dust and seeing dust and hearing dust. My hair is dust and so are my clothes.”
“After we are scrubbed and shampooed and manicured and fed and rested,” here put in Billie, “I shall write a note to your Evelyn, Mr. Moore.”
The young man hesitated.
“I’ve repented my bargain with you, Miss Billie. I’m afraid you might get into some kind of trouble. I should never forgive myself if I involved you in any difficulties.”
“Nonsense,” said Billie, who, having made up her mind to see Evelyn, was not going to be thwarted at the eleventh hour. “There could be no possible harm in my writing and asking her to call. Besides, we know her now anyhow, quite well. Don’t we, Helen?”
“Yes-s—,” hesitated her cousin. “But I agree with Mr. Moore, that we had better not make any more efforts to see Evelyn, although I can’t possibly see how we could become involved in any trouble by renewing our acquaintance.”
So the discussion came to an end. What this beautiful city with the mysteries which hung over it had in store for them, they could not even guess. Perhaps they would visit its chief points of interest like ordinary tourists, and perhaps, who knows, they might penetrate far deeper into its secrets. They were certain of one thing, however, that Daniel Moore, for all his self-contained and calm exterior, was consumed with an unquenchable flame of determination. By hook or by crook, he would see Evelyn Stone, and, provided she was willing, he would take her away from Utah.
“And we are likely to be the ‘hook or crook,’” observed Billie, through whose mind these thoughts were passing, as she guided the Comet into a broad, spacious street, lined with beautiful stone houses.
“Where does Evelyn live?” asked Nancy. “Couldn’t we go by the house on our way to the hotel?”
“Their town house is on this very street,” answered Evelyn’s lover, “but they are likely to be in the country at this time of the year. That’s another difficulty. You will see the place presently. It’s on the corner. Old Stone is a very rich person, I’m afraid. If he hadn’t had so much money, he wouldn’t have looked down on me as a son-in-law.”
Billie slowed up as they neared the fine granite mansion built by Evelyn’s father. The front shades were all pulled down, and there was not a sign of life about the place.
“It looks more like a prison than a home,” Billie exclaimed. “Does he keep his pretty Evelyn locked up there all winter?”
“I’m afraid so,” said Daniel ruefully. “She hasn’t had much liberty since she met me, anyhow. He’s an infernal old——”
Daniel broke off in the middle of a sentence, for the front door of the Stone house had opened, and there on the threshold, like a dragon at the castle gate, stood John James Stone. He could never be said to glance casually at anything, but his sharp eyes only rested for a moment on the passing motor car, and he turned on his heel and entered the house.
“The old fox is never away, you see,” ejaculated Daniel Moore.
But they soon approached an immense, splendid hotel, and the thought of hot baths and clean clothes was sweeter to the weary ladies at that moment than the most idyllic romance ever conceived.
It was to this hotel that Daniel Moore’s luggage had been checked, and there he found and redeemed it with the check the late train robber had considerately returned to him.
“You won’t see us again until seven o’clock to-night, Mr. Moore,” Miss Campbell had said. “And then you may not know us, we shall be so transformed with soap and water.”
“I may have news for you by then,” he said, as they separated at the elevator.
And that was the last they were to see of Daniel Moore for many a day to come.
“I suppose butterflies feel about as we do,” observed Nancy that evening as they filed down to dinner.
“Meaning when they cease to be worms and appear clothed in fine raiment,” asked Billie.
“Not so very fine,” answered Nancy, fingering a streamer of her pink sash with a tender touch, as she glanced complaisantly down at her lingerie frock.
Billie laughed teasingly.
“Little butterfly,” she said, “is there anything; you like better than pretty clothes?”
Nancy pouted and smiled.
“There is just this minute,” she answered. “Dinner with waiters and soup and mayonnaise and strawberry ice cream.”
They exchanged happy smiles over Nancy’s inconsequential menu.
After a month’s Gypsying, it was good to be civilized for a few days before the thirst for wandering came over them again, and they must push on toward California.
Daniel Moore was not at the appointed meeting-place, in one of the small sitting rooms. They waited impatiently for him for a quarter of an hour, and finally left word at the desk that he would find them in the dining room. There, in the interest of dinner and of the occupants of other tables, their recent fellow traveler completely passed from their minds.
“It takes a thousand miles of privation to appreciate real comfort,” observed Miss Helen Campbell, delicately nibbling the breast of a spring chicken. “My dear children, how very pleasant this is, to be sure.”
The Motor Maids fully agreed with her. The lights and the flowers, the music and the well-trained waiters, as well as the delicious dinner, afforded them supreme enjoyment for the moment. They tried to remember that less than seventy years had passed since the first ox-drawn emigrant wagon had entered the valley.
“And since that time all this has happened,” cried Mary dramatically. For it was she, more than the others, who loved the history of the places through which they passed. “They say Brigham Young saw it all in a dream,” she continued, “and the moment he set eyes on the valley and the lake, he said: ‘This is the place. Drive on.’”
“‘And forty years later Brigham Young laid the corner-stone for the Temple,’” read Billie from the guide book in a sing-song voice. “‘The architecture is composite——’ What’s that?”
She raised her eyes questioningly. “Why, you haven’t heard a word I——” she began.
Four pairs of eyes were turned toward the entrance of the dining room, where stood a tall, slender, young girl, in a white dress. Her red-gold hair was coiled low on her neck. Her arms hung limply at her sides, and she gazed with a listless air into space, without seeing any of the diners at the tables. Her father, the imperturbable John James Stone, was on one side of her, and on the other an equally imperturbable young man, with a stern, rather hard countenance, a square jaw and a mouth as inscrutable and enigmatic as the shut door of a tomb.
The head waiter conducted the party to a table in a far-distant corner of the room, where the girls could see them without staring rudely.
“That’s Evelyn Stone,” said a woman at the table next to them. “She’s with her fiancé, Ebenezer Stone. He’s her second cousin, you know.”
“When did you say they were to be married?”
“The day after to-morrow. That’s why they’re in town. She is to be married in the annex of the Temple on Saturday. They say she’s not over-anxious, either. There was another man in the case, you know. But something happened, and she’s consented to marry Ebenezer, who’s always wanted her. He’s a good Mormon and hard working. He’s made a lot of money, I believe——”
“He’s a piece of granite without any soul,” put in a man in the party.
“Strike it hard enough, and sparks will fly,” said one of the women.
The Motor Maids and Miss Campbell exchanged looks of dismay.
“Married the day after to-morrow,” they repeated in whispers. “And stopping in this hotel. Where, oh where, was Daniel Moore?”
They glanced at the door uneasily.
“I think we’d better not stop in here, children,” said Miss Campbell in a low voice. “It would be only a kindness to keep Mr. Moore from coming into the dining room while they are there.”
She led the way into the broad spacious hall of the hotel. But Daniel Moore had not been seen at the desk, nor was he in any of the parlors.
While they searched, Billie examined the hotel register. There on the same page with their own names were the three names—“John James Stone, Miss Stone, Ebenezer Stone.” Six lines above John James Stone, Daniel Moore had written his name in a fine, manly hand. Billie noted the number of Evelyn’s room, and then followed her friends up to bed.
“It’s too late for us to interfere, I am afraid,” said Miss Campbell sadly, as they stood in a silent little group in her room.
It was nine o’clock when Miss Campbell and the girls bade each other a final good night. They had talked the matter of Evelyn Stone to shreds and ribbons, but Miss Campbell was determined not to interfere.
“My dear children, you are young and romantic girls, and I am a hardened old woman, and from my knowledge of the world, I assure you it would be unpardonable for us to thrust ourselves into this strictly family matter. Miss Stone evidently doesn’t want to marry Daniel Moore, or she never would have consented to marry that flint-like person named Ebenezer. No one can be coerced into marriage these days,” she added emphatically, as if attempts were being made to force her into an unhappy marriage.
When Miss Campbell once and for all vetoed a question under consideration, the Motor Maids knew that the case was settled and there was no further appeal. Therefore, when those two intrepid fighters in all difficult battles, Nancy and Billie, retired to their bedrooms, their faces wore the downcast expression of the conquered. Nancy pressed a button which illuminated all the electric lights in the room, including four at the dressing table and a cluster in the center. Then she began silently examining a brown freckle on the end of her pretty nose. Billie sat near the open window in her favorite position, her hands clasping her knees. Nancy’s examining her freckle in the mirror was also a favorite position. The freckle, like the immovable cloud in the heavens at Terre del Fuego, was a permanent spot on Nancy’s physiognomy. When she examined it most closely she was thinking deeply, not of the freckle, but of something else. Billie also was immersed in meditation. Her brow was wrinkled—a danger signal with her. She was about to disobey.
“Nancy-Bell, I’ll do it,” she burst out at last.
“Well, why don’t you?” answered Nancy, not unprepared for the declaration.
“Have you guessed what it is?”
Nancy pointed silently to the telephone.
“You’re a mind reader, Nancy-Bell,” exclaimed the other in admiration.
“It isn’t much to read your mind,” answered her friend, not intending to be uncomplimentary. “Your eyes have been glued to the reflection of the telephone in the mirror for the last five minutes.”
“What shall I say to her, Nancy, dearest?”
Before Nancy could reply, she carefully removed her best frock and laid it away. Then she stretched herself on the bed. Nothing would induce her to lie down in that cherished garment.
“Say?” she began, stretching herself out comfortably. “Say—well—say ‘have you forgotten Fontainebleau?’”
“The very thing,” replied Billie. “She doesn’t know my name, of course. I might say—‘have you forgotten Prairie Inn? That was where we met her, and it wouldn’t involve Daniel. I think she’s down on him, Nancy. It’s a shame, poor fellow.”
“I imagine,” continued Nancy reflectively, “that she will go to her room early. She didn’t look as if she cared to linger in the company of Ebenezer. Perhaps they will stay down and smoke some of those big black cigars like that stony man was smoking when we first saw him. If you want to catch her alone, you’d better try her now, Billie.”
Billie rose and moved slowly toward the telephone.
“It’s against orders,” she said at last, with an expression not unlike a bad little boy’s.
“I know it,” said Nancy, her eyes twinkling mischievously.
“And it may get us into a peck of trouble,” went on Billie. “Will you stand by me, Nancy?”
“Did I ever fail you, Billie?”
“Never, Nancy-Bell; and it was an insult to your honor to have asked the question. Well, here goes.”
Billie marched to the telephone, and, with heroic decision, put the receiver to her ear.
“Miss Evelyn Stone’s room,” she said. “What’s that? Not allowed to call her up? Oh, very well. I’ll give my name—Miss Wilhelmina Campbell—an old friend—here for a few days.” She placed one hand over the mouthpiece and blinked at Nancy. “Shall I say Fontainebleau or Prairie Inn?” she called softly to Nancy, who, lying on her back on the bed, continued to peruse the brown spot on her nose by means of a small hand mirror.
“Prairie Inn,” said Nancy. “No—no, better say Fontainebleau. The father was at Prairie Inn.”
“Old Fontainebleau friend——” Billie called over the telephone. Then she put up the receiver. “The clerk will call us when he has delivered the message,” she explained. “But I’m scared, Nancy. I have a premonition of evil.”
The two girls waited breathlessly for five minutes. The telephone bell rang out.
Billie sprang to the receiver.
“Hello,” she said softly.
Then she turned quite pale, and placing her hand over the mouthpiece, she whispered: “It’s old Stony-face. Come quick. You can hear.”
Even across the room Nancy caught some of those vibrant base tones, and with her ear against the telephone, she heard every word he said.
“A friend of my daughter’s, you say? An old school friend, eh? Humph——”
Billie had not said that, but she made no denial.
“Campbell the name. Are you aware that my daughter is about to be married?”
“Oh, yes,” called Billie. “That’s why I wanted to see her. I—er—you know——”
She broke off lamely.
“Oh, Nancy, what shall I say? I’m so frightened.”
Nancy had a brilliant idea, and one most characteristic.
“I do so want to see her trousseau,” Billie repeated.
There was a deep laugh, which shook the wires like the roar of a lion.
“Girls are all alike,” he said. “They love finery. Evelyn has got the finest trousseau that money can buy. I suppose you have heard of it. I’ll have you connected with her room.”
Evidently, Mr. John James Stone had spoken to Wilhelmina from the office, where he had made careful inquiries: five ladies in a motor car registering from the East; chaperone very distinguished looking.
Billie waited at the telephone. The ordeal of conversing with John James Stone had brought beads of moisture to her forehead. But she was still not sure that the danger was over. A man like that would be capable of keeping himself connected so as to overhear the conversation. The notion flashed into her mind, just as a sweet voice said, “Yes?” and she determined to take no chances.
“Yes. Who is this?”
“This is Wilhelmina Campbell”—there was a long pause—“Billie Campbell,” she repeated. “Evelyn, have you forgotten that day at Fontainebleau?”
Billie had played her trump card now. There was nothing else she could do. But she was glad she had not mentioned Prairie Inn, for instantly the bass voice interrupted with—“I thought you said school friend?”
“How angry she must be,” thought Billie, “to have her father eavesdrop on her like this.”
Evelyn did not pause this time.
“How very nice to see you again. Are you stopping here long?”
“Only a few days. But you made me promise to look you up if ever I came to Salt Lake City, and here I am, you see. There isn’t very much time. Perhaps I can see you to-night——”
Billie and Nancy exchanged long, frightened glances. They were meddling in matters which did not concern them, and which Miss Campbell had forbidden them to touch.
“Do come to-night My room is No. 400, on the fourth floor.”
“I’ll be there right away,” said Billie, and she hung up the receiver. “Nancy, you’ll have to go to bed, and turn out all the lights. I’m so frightened about what I’m doing. It’s wrong, I suppose, but I don’t want the others to know anything about it.” She took Daniel Moore’s note from her satchel and slipped it in the neck of her dress. “No. 400,” she repeated to herself, as she hurried from the room. “He’s certain to go up on the first elevator. Fortunately, we’re on the same floor.”
She fled down a corridor; turned a corner and hurried down another, almost running into Ebenezer Stone, Evelyn’s stern fiance. She heard footsteps behind her, but she did not pause.
“You’ve been saying good-night, Ebenezer?” said the voice of Mr. Stone.
“Yes, Cousin John; and, by the way, there’s a little matter I wanted to see you about——”
Billie heard no more. She had reached No. 400, and old John James would be detained a moment. As she tapped on the door, she drew the letter out of her dress. Instantly the door opened, and Evelyn, beautiful and pale, and very unhappy, stood before her.
“Take this quickly,” whispered Billie. “Hide it somewhere. It’s from Mr. Moore.”
“Danny!” exclaimed Evelyn, hiding the letter under the pillow.
“Yes.”
“But he’s married.”
“He’s not anything of the sort. I should think you’d feel ashamed to treat him so badly.”
Billie was standing with her back to the door, and suddenly Evelyn threw both arms around her neck and gave her a good squeeze.
“You were the girl at the inn,” she whispered. “And you bring me such wonderful news. I thought—they said—they showed me a clipping”—her voice changed—“think of not having seen you since Fontainebleau. You’re the dearest, sweetest——”
Instinctively Billie felt that the father was standing at the door.
“Good old friends?” she heard him say, in his deep, hollow voice.
“I’m sure his body must be full of black caverns,” she thought.
“Father, this is Miss——” There was just a perceptible pause, and Billie felt certain that Evelyn was searching vainly in her memory for her name. With great presence of mind, she interrupted her:
“Oh, your father and I have met,” she said. “We were introduced over the telephone. I was afraid you might think I was a boy when you heard my name was ‘Billie Campbell,’” she added, turning and facing that tower of strength and sternness. The young girl and the big man exchanged a long glance. They were not unlike David and Goliath on the field of battle, and in her heart Billie knew there was going to be a struggle.
“Show the young lady your things, Evie,” he said, with a certain complaisant pride in his tone. As if to say: “We will dazzle this young person with our magnificence.”
Evelyn wearily led the way into the next room, which was her bedroom, and evidently had no outlet except through her father’s room. Billie glanced at the filmy laces and beautiful frocks with lukewarm interest. She was never particularly interested in clothes.
“It’s a pity Nancy-Bell missed the opportunity,” she thought.
Mr. Stone was called into the next room to the telephone, and in the two minutes he was away, Evelyn whispered:
“Where is Danny?”
“In town. You’re not going to marry that——”
“I’m afraid I must.”
“Come with us in the motor to San Francisco.”
Billie hardly realized her own words.
“I can’t, I can’t,” whispered Evelyn, in an agonized tone of voice.
“I must be getting back now,” said Billie, when the telephone conversation was over. “The things are lovely, Evelyn. Perhaps we shall see you to-morrow. We are going sight-seeing all day, but we shall be here for meals. Good-night.”