XXVII
THE DRUMMING WHEELS
Bending Bow is but an insignificant side-track on themountain-buttressed plain some thirty miles from Denver; and I would forthe sake of the two young persons whose romance this is, that it mighthave been a meeting-point with a delayed train.
When the first of the switch-lights flashed past the windows of theTadmor, Brockway went out and stood on the step ready to drop off whenthe speed should slacken sufficiently to permit it. While hanging fromthe hand-rail he glanced ahead and saw that which made his heart glad.The signal-lamp at the station turned a crimson eye toward the train,and that meant orders, and a few more seconds of precious time.
At the first shrill sigh of the air-brakes, he sprang off and ran besidethe private car, trying to peer into the darkened windows, and takingall sorts of risks considering the hazard he ran of lighting upon thewrong one.
But good fortune was with him. Before the smoking wheels had quiteceased grinding fire out of the brake-shoes, he came to a window with atiny corner of a handkerchief fluttering beneath it. It was Gertrude'ssignal, and he understood then that he had been keeping tryst on thewrong side of the car as it stood on the spur-track in Denver. Thewindow was closed and curtained like the others, but it went upnoiselessly when he tapped on the glass.
Now it was pitchy dark, both within and without, but love has sharpenedsenses and eyes which no night has ever yet been black enough to befool."Frederick!" said a soft voice from within, and there was joyfulsurprise in the single word. Then a hand came out to him, and hepossessed himself of it as one who will keep that which is his.
"God bless you," he whispered; "I hardly dared hope to find you up."
"I wasn't up," said the tender voice, with a touch of sweet shyness init; "but I couldn't go to sleep for thinking how disappointed you mustbe. How did you find out we were going?"
"By the merest chance; but it's all right now--your father has just beenin to see me."
"Has he? Oh, I hope you didn't quarrel!"
"Not at all," said Brockway, reassuringly. "We sat together and smokedlike two Indians at a pow-wow, and neither of us said a word for nearlyhalf an hour. After that, he got up to go away, and then he thoughtbetter of it and sat down again, and we had it out about the telegramsand other things. That cleared the air a bit, and before he left, heaccepted the situation without saying so in so many words, and promisedto graft me on the C. & U. in some place where I can earn more money.Don't cry; it's too good to be true, but the fact remains."
"I'm not crying, but I'm glad enough to do a much more foolish thing.You won't let my money make any difference now, will you?"
"Your money isn't in it, and I think I made your father understand thatI'd never have spoken if I hadn't known you were going to lose it."
"But I--I haven't lost it. Didn't he tell you?"
"Tell me what?"
"About Cousin Chester and Hannah Beaswicke; they were married thisevening. I don't understand the legal part of it, but papa says thatsaves my money. You won't let it make any difference?"
Brockway gripped the small hand as if he were afraid it might escape himafter all, and tried to flog himself around to the new point of view. Itwas a breath-taking process, but he compassed it more quickly sincethere was no time for the nice weighing of scruples. Moreover, it wastoo late to give poverty-pride a second hearing. So he said:
"I can't let it make a difference now, but I shall always be glad that Iasked you when we both believed you were going to lose it. And I oughtto have guessed about your cousin's marriage, but I didn't--I helped himfind the County Clerk, and wondered why he was so anxious about it. I'mglad you didn't have to break his heart."
She laughed happily. "There was no question of hearts between us; heknew it, and I knew it; and when he spoke to me to-night, we settled itdefinitely. Are you glad or sorry? about the money, I mean."
"Both, I think; glad for your sake, though."
"I'll go and live in the five-roomed cottage with you, if you like, andwe'll forget all about it."
"I believe you'd do it"--Brockway glanced up, and, seeing the red signalstill displayed, blessed the tardy operator who was doubtless bunglingthe train-order--"but I shan't insist." Then with a touch of graverearnestness: "We are properly engaged now, aren't we?"
"I should hope so"--shyly.
He took a ring from his pocket and slipped it over the finger of thecaptive hand.
"It isn't every one who goes prepared," he said, with quiet humor; "itwas a gift from a train-load of Grand Army people I took across lastyear; and I've carried it in my pocket ever since because I didn't thinkI had any right to wear diamonds. Will you wear it for me?"
"Always."
"Will you wear it to-morrow--before all the others? I'm coming in tobreakfast, you know. Your father asked me."
"I said always."
_Conductor Graffo_, coming out of the telegraph office with a scrap oftissue paper in his hand: "All abo-o-ard!"
"That parts us again," said Brockway, sorrowfully. "Good-night, dear;God keep you safe"--the air-brakes sighed sympathetically, and he kissedher hand and released it--"till to-morrow." His face was at the window,and two soft arms came out of the square of darkness and went about hisneck, and two lips that he could not see brushed his cheek.
"Till to-morrow," she repeated; and then the train began to move and shelet him go quickly that he might run no risk of stumbling.
The engine groaned and strained, filling the air with a jarring as ofnearby thunder; the steam hissed from the cylinders, and the greatdriving-wheels began once more to measure the rails. Brockway swunglightly up to the step of the Tadmor, and when the last switch-lamp hadshot backward into the night, went to his berth to wrestle with hishappiness until tardy sleep came, bringing in its train a beatificvision in which the song of the drumming wheels became the overture to awedding march, and the mellow blasts of the whistle rang a merry peal ofjoy-bells.
THE IVORY SERIES
AMOS JUDD. By J. A. Mitchell, Editor of "Life" IA. A Love Story. By Q. [Arthur T. Quiller-Couch] THE SUICIDE CLUB. By Robert Louis Stevenson IRRALIE'S BUSHRANGER. By E. W. Hornung A MASTER SPIRIT. By Harriet Prescott Spofford MADAME DELPHINE. By George W. Cable ONE OF THE VISCONTI. By Eva Wilder Brodhead A BOOK OF MARTYRS. By Cornelia Atwood Pratt A BRIDE FROM THE BUSH. By E. W. Hornung THE MAN WHO WINS. By Robert Herrick AN INHERITANCE. By Harriet Prescott Spofford THE OLD GENTLEMAN OF THE BLACK STOCK. By Thomas Nelson Page LITERARY LOVE LETTERS AND OTHER STORIES. By Robert Herrick A ROMANCE IN TRANSIT. By Francis Lynde IN OLD NARRAGANSETT. By Alice Morse Earle SEVEN MONTHS A PRISONER. By J. V. Hadley "IF I WERE A MAN." By Harrison Robertson SWEETHEARTS AND WIVES. By Anna A. Rogers A CIVILIAN ATTACHE. By Helen Dawes Brown
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