The Award of Justice; Or, Told in the Rockies: A Pen Picture of the West

As the shadows began to lengthen, and the sun seemed hovering over a snow-crowned peak that stood out boldly against the western horizon, Houston was seen approaching the house, and at a little distance, Maverick and his two sons. Lyle, who was then standing on the outer edge of the group, talking with Miss Gladden, was quick to observe a sudden movement on Ned’s part, as, turning toward his brother, he made some brief remark in low tones, regarding the approaching trio. She well knew the tenor of his remark, and watched closely to see its effect.

She saw Morton Rutherford glance in the direction indicated by a slight motion of Ned’s head, and then, though he betrayed no surprise by word or movement, an expression of astonishment crossed his face, but only for an instant. His features grew white and stern, and he watched every movement of the three figures, as, with stealthy, slouching gait and suspicious looks, they stole around the corner of the house, and the expression of his eye seemed to Lyle like that of a judge passing sentence on a condemned criminal.

He did not look at Lyle immediately, perhaps he was conscious of the eyes watching him so narrowly from under the heavily drooping lids, fringed with long, golden lashes, but when he did look toward her, there was a depth of meaning in those dark eyes which she could not fathom.

Twenty-four hours before, Lyle standing there, under those circumstances, would have been crushed with humiliation, but in the light of the revelation of the night before, she met his glance with an expression which to him seemed utterly inscrutable. There was neither shame nor apology written on her face, as with a calm, bright smile, and the same self-possessed manner, she turned and passed into the house.

Upon entering the dining-room, Lyle heard angry words in the kitchen, and paused to listen. The voice was Maverick’s.

“Who in hell is that new feller you’ve got up here?”

“That’s the brother of the young feller that was here a spell ago,” answered the voice of Minty, who was just emerging from the pantry.

“Damn you! who asked you to say anything? Git out of here,” he roared, and Minty made a hasty retreat into the cellar.

“Who’s that new feller out there?” he again demanded of his wife.

“His name is Rutherford, and he’s a brother of the young man that come out here with Mr. Houston,” was her reply.

“What’s his business here?”

“I guess he hain’t got none, he seems to be out here for pleasure like his brother.”

“Pleasure!” growled Maverick, with an oath, “there’s too many of ’em, damn ’em, out here for pleasure; I’d give some of ’em some pleasure that they ain’t a lookin’ for, if I had a chance.”

His wife made no response.

“What’s that girl Lyle tricked out in such finery for?” he next asked.

“They’re clothes that Miss Gladden give her,” Mrs. Maverick replied, “and it saves us jest so much, so you needn’t growl; besides she looks nice.”

“Looks nice!” said Maverick, contemptuously, “you’re always bound to stick up for her! Look here, old woman,” he added, in a lower tone, but which Lyle could hear, “have you been tellin’ that girl anything? She don’t own me for her daddy lately, I notice; now, if you’ve been puttin’ her or anybody else onto anything of the kind, I can tell you you’ll be damned sorry for it before you git through with me.”

“I hain’t said a word, it’s jest a notion she’s took, I dun’no why. I hain’t said nothin’ nor I ain’t a goin’ to, as long as you behave yourself, Jim Maverick, but the proofs is all ready in case you don’t treat me and her jest as you’d orter.”

A terrible oath burst from Maverick’s lips, but the entrance of the two boys and Minty, prevented any further conversation on this subject; and Lyle, seated in the little porch whither she had retreated from the dining-room, reflected on what she had just heard, its meaning seeming very clear to her in the light of what Miss Gladden had told her the night before.

There were proofs then in existence, probably in that very house, as to her identity. Her friends were correct in their surmises: she had been stolen, and the villain who had committed the deed, even now trembled with apprehension lest his villainy should become known. Those proofs she must have, and it would be worse than useless to demand them of either Maverick or his wife. She must search for them. This she resolved to do, day by day, as opportunity afforded, until there should be no nook or corner which she had not thoroughly explored.

As Lyle recalled all that occurred within the past twenty-four hours, the most eventful period within her recollection thus far, she felt that she had virtually broken with the old life and all its associations, and that she stood upon the threshold of a new life, higher, nobler,–perhaps sweeter,–than any of which she had ever dreamed.

The return of the little company of friends to the house interrupted her thoughts, but not before she had decided fully as to her future course.

After supper, it was decided to spend that first evening on the summit of one of the nearest mountains, to watch the glories of the sunset, and to give Morton Rutherford a bird’s-eye view of the beautiful scenery, before introducing him to its details.

But on the second evening, the entire party set forth for the trip to the cascades, for which Ned was so especially desirous.

Mr. Houston and Miss Gladden led the little procession, Houston carrying her guitar. Ned had constituted himself Lyle’s escort by taking the violin, and they came next, while Morton Rutherford and Arthur Van Dorn brought up the rear.

Their two boats were already awaiting them, and Ned, having assisted Lyle to a seat, turned to Van Dorn.

“Mr. Van Dorn,” he said in his blandest tones, “may we have the pleasure of your company in our boat?”

As Van Dorn laughingly accepted the invitation, Morton Rutherford turned toward his brother, saying:

“Are you not going to extend an invitation to me, also?”

“Unfortunately,” said Ned, with as much dignity as he could assume, “this boat will seat but three people.”

“Is that so!” replied his brother, with a curious downward inflection, “unfortunately, then, for Mr. Houston and Miss Gladden, you will have to take the other boat, as I am going in this one myself,” and stepping lightly into the boat, he pulled it quickly out into the water, leaving Ned in a state of bewilderment, alone on shore, as Mr. Houston and Miss Gladden were already seated in their boat, and watching this little by-play.

There was a general laugh at Ned’s expense, as he clambered into the other boat, exclaiming good-naturedly:

“Well, Mort, that’s an awfully shabby trick, but then, it’s all I can expect of you, anyhow.”

“It’s all you deserve, after such attempted selfishness on your part,” replied his brother.

They rowed across the lake in the soft light, the glory of the setting sun still reflected from the surrounding peaks, the music of their boat songs accompanied by the dip and plash of the oars.

At last they reached the cascades, and rounding a little promontory, the glory of that wondrous scene suddenly burst upon them. For a moment Mr. Rutherford sat speechless, and Lyle, facing him, silently enjoyed his surprise and his ecstasy as keenly as he enjoyed the wonderful beauty about him. In his face, she read the same capacity for joy or for suffering which Nature had bestowed upon herself, and when his eyes suddenly met hers again, he saw the tears glistening in their shining depths, and with quick, intuitive sympathy, readily understood the cause.

For a while they rowed back and forth in almost silent admiration; then the boats were brought side by side at the foot of the cascades, and the air resounded with song; sometimes their voices all blending together in exquisite harmony, then in twos and threes, while occasionally, some beautiful old song would be given as a solo.

It had been an evening of rare enjoyment for each one, and they were just about to turn their boats homeward, when Ned Rutherford exclaimed:

“I say, don’t let us leave this spot until Miss Maverick sings that song she gave us the first time we came out here, the first we ever heard her sing. I never can forget that song, and it is always associated with this place.”

The others joined in the request. Lyle hesitated. Could she trust herself to sing that song to-night? It was easy to sing when love had come to another’s heart, but could she sing it now that he had come to her own?

She consented, and the oars rested once more. With her eyes fixed on the distant mountains, Lyle began her song:

“Love is come with a song and a smile.”

At the first words, Morton Rutherford started, and as he fixed his eyes on the beautiful singer, her fair form and shining hair outlined against the silvery cascades, it seemed to him the loveliest sight of his whole life.

Her voice, exquisitely sweet as she began, gained in expression and power, until she sang as she had never sung before; and as the last notes died away, Houston, bending his head low, whispered to Miss Gladden:

“Leslie, my dear, do you think now that Lyle’s heart is not susceptible? She never could sing that song in that way if she knew nothing of love.”

And Miss Gladden made no reply, for her own heart was too full for words.

The song was ended, and Lyle’s eyes suddenly met the dark ones fixed upon her face, and though no words were spoken, she read in their depths that hers was not the only heart to which love had come.

CHAPTER XXXVIII

That night the diminutive lamp that did duty in the room assigned to the two brothers burned till long past the hour of midnight. By its dim light, Ned Rutherford indited a letter to his fiancee, while his brother quietly paced back and forth, the entire length of the small apartment, his hands clasped behind him and his head thrown back,–his usual attitude when in deep thought.

“Getting up another article on the application of electric force?” inquired Ned, as he paused to watch his brother.

“No,” was the reply, “I am thinking at present of a force far more subtle and more powerful than that of electricity.”

“Why, how’s that?” asked Ned in surprise, “I thought electricity was one of your pet hobbies.”

“Never mind about my pet hobbies,” said his brother, with a smile, “just continue your writing for the present.”

Half an hour later, as Ned folded and sealed the voluminous letter, and placed upon it the long, foreign address, his brother, watching him with a curious half smile, said:

“I shall have to give you credit for a great deal of constancy, Ned, more than I really supposed you possessed.”

“How’s that?” asked Ned, with a slight blush, “to what do you refer.”

“To your fidelity to your affianced,” Morton replied, “under the rather adverse circumstances that attend your suit, and notwithstanding the unusual attractions by which you have been surrounded here.”

“Well, as to that,” said Ned, slowly, “I don’t know as I deserve so very much credit. Houston appropriated Miss Gladden to himself pretty soon after we came here, and besides, she isn’t exactly my style, after all; she would suit Houston a great deal better than me.”

“Ah,” said his brother, quietly, “and what of the younger lady? Perhaps she is not your style, either?”

“Well, no, I should say not,” Ned replied, with the least perceptible scorn in his tone, “not but what she is a lovely girl, and I respect her, and feel sorry for her, but I should think one glimpse of her family would decide that question, once for all.”

“Ned,” said Morton Rutherford, pausing in his walk, directly in front of his brother, “is it possible that you are so blind as not to see that Miss Maverick, as you call her,–I prefer to call her Lyle,–has no connection whatever with the family in which she lives?”

“Do you think so?” Ned inquired, with surprise, “I remember Houston and Miss Gladden expressed the same opinion when I was here before, but I don’t think they had any proof that such was the case, and even if it were so, I don’t see how it helps the matter much, for nobody knows to what sort of a family she really does belong.”

“Ned,” said his brother, indignantly, “I know nothing of the opinion of Houston or Miss Gladden upon this subject, but where are your own eyes, and where is your reason? If you discovered one of the rarest and most beautiful flowers known to exist in the plant world, in a heap of tailings out here among these mines, would you immediately conclude that, because you had found it there, it must be indigenous to the spot? Look at that girl, and tell me if there is one trace in feature, in form, in manner, or in speech, of plebeian blood, and then will you tell me that she is in any way connected with people such as these? They are not merely plebeian, they are low, debased, criminal. They are criminals of the deepest dye, not only capable of any villainy, but already guilty, and to such a degree that their guilt has made them shrinking, skulking cowards.”

“But, Mort, if you are correct, and I don’t say that you are not, how does she come to be in such a place as this, with no memory of anything different?”

“Through the villainy of that man whom you pointed out to me as her father; through his villainy, and in no other way.”

“You think she was stolen?”

“I do; I can see in his face that he has committed some terrible crime,–perhaps many of them,–and he is afraid to look a stranger in the eye; and a glance at that beautiful girl is enough to fasten upon him one of his crimes. She is from a family whose blood is as pure from any taint, physical, mental, or moral, as is your own, and unless I am greatly mistaken, she is not wholly unconscious of this herself.”

“Great Heavens!” exclaimed the younger brother, “I never dreamed of all this! If it is really as you think, I only wish we could find her true home, and have her restored to it, and make that scoundrel suffer for his crime.”

“If it is among the possibilities, it shall be done,” said Morton Rutherford, quietly, but in a tone which startled Ned with its volume of meaning. The latter looked up in quick surprise, a question on his lips, but he knew his brother’s face too well; the question was not asked, and he only said:

“Good for you, Mort, and here’s my hand; I’m with you on this, whatever you do.”

For the next few days, nothing of any special import occurred at the camp. Houston, soon after the arrival of Morton and Ned Rutherford, had written to his uncle that preparations were now about completed, and everything was so nearly in readiness that he and his party had better come out immediately to one of the western cities, from which they could be summoned by telegraph on short notice. Accordingly, Mr. Cameron had already left New York, and in company with his attorney and the English expert, was now on his way west, Mrs. Cameron also accompanying him as far west as Chicago, where she was to stop with friends while he went on to the mines, as she had insisted that she would feel much happier to be nearer her husband and Everard, so that she could more easily reach them in the event of any trouble at the mines.

Van Dorn was progressing well with his work, and the machine would soon be ready for its trial test, though he said he would in all probability first have to go to Silver City, in order to have replaced one or two small but important parts which had been broken in the long, westward journey.

Lyle, in the midst of the strange happiness which had lately come to her heart, had not forgotten her resolve to search for the proofs, of such importance to her. On the contrary, she had now a new and powerful incentive which gave additional zest to her efforts, although, thus far, they had proved unsuccessful.

One afternoon, after having made a particularly thorough but fruitless search, she stole quietly out of the house, and following the little path along the shore of the lake, soon found herself in her favorite retreat among the rocks, a secluded place from which there was no sign of human habitation; only the mountains in their vast solitudes were visible, their silent grandeur more eloquent than words. It was a spot that she had loved even in her childhood, and which had, in later years, been her resort for study and reflection.

In a brief interview with Jack, at the cabin, the previous evening, she had told him of her increasingly distinct recollections of her mother, of the angry words between Maverick and his wife which she had overheard, and of her search which she felt would yet result in her obtaining possession of the necessary proofs of her identity.

To her surprise, Jack, while commending the course which she was taking, yet seemed strangely averse to talking much with her upon the subject. At last, as she was leaving the cabin, he had taken her hands in his, saying, in a strangely tender tone:

“My dear Lyle, because I say little, you must not think I take no interest in this affair which concerns you so closely. I am deeply interested, more deeply than you will probably ever know, but it is for many reasons a painful subject to me, one full of bitter memories; but I have one favor to ask of you, my dear child, which I know you will grant for the sake of the memory of the happy hours we have spent together,–it is this; that whatever proof you may succeed in finding, you will first bring to me.”

“Certainly I will, dear Jack,” Lyle had replied, wondering at his manner, “in whom should I confide if not in you, who have been my first and best friend.”

And he, his dark, piercing eyes looking into the depths of her own, their gaze softened by tender affection, had replied:

“Yes, your friend always, Lyle, remember that; none truer or more devoted to you or your welfare; but before long, my dear, your heart will learn, if it has not learned already, the difference between friendship and love.”

With burning cheeks and tearful eyes Lyle recalled his words, and pondered deeply on the strange bond that seemed, in some way, to exist between his life and hers, but the longer she tried to solve the problem, the deeper and more obscure it seemed.

In the midst of her reflections, she heard a light step upon the rocky footpath, and looking up, saw Morton Rutherford approaching. So absorbed was he in the study of the masses of rock about him, on which had been traced by the finger of the centuries, in wonderful hieroglyphics, the early history of the earth, that for a time he was unconscious of her presence there. When he saw her he raised his hat and came quickly forward.

“I beg your pardon,” he said, in deep, musical tones, “I supposed myself alone with my own thoughts; am I intruding? if so, send me away at once.”

“No, stay, if you please,” said Lyle.

“Thank you,” he answered, seating himself on the rocks at a little distance, “you appeared so lost in thought I feared my coming might annoy you.”

“No,” she replied, “my thoughts were too perplexing, I was growing weary of them.”

Mr. Rutherford glanced at the surrounding mountains; “Were you, too, trying to fathom the mystery of the eternal hills?” he asked.

“No,” was her reply, “I have never attempted anything so far beyond me as that; I have found more mysteries in every-day, human life than I could solve.”

Morton Rutherford was silent for a few moments, then he said in low tones:

“I hope you will pardon me when I say, that to me, your own life here, under the existing circumstances and conditions, is a mystery, one which seems capable of but one solution.”

“And what would be your solution?” she asked quickly.

He saw that she understood his meaning, and was watching him intently, eagerly, and he said:

“Permit me to reply to your question by asking one in return. Do you not believe that your life had a beginning elsewhere than here, and under far different conditions?”

“It is more than a belief with me, it is a certainty, and yet, strange as it may appear to you, this knowledge has come to me but recently, and even now, I know nothing of what those conditions may have been, except that they were totally unlike these that exist here.”

“You interest me very much are you willing to tell me how you arrived at this knowledge of which you speak?”

Very briefly, and without going into details, Lyle, in response to the magnetic sympathy of those dark eyes, gave a vivid outline of her life, and of the vague impressions which of late were becoming distinct recollections, and of her hope of soon finding tangible evidence regarding the life which was daily growing more and more of a reality.

Mr. Rutherford listened with intense interest to the strange story, and when she had finished, he said slowly, as he took a short turn up and down the rocky path:

“Believe me, I have not listened to this through mere, idle curiosity; much as your story has interested me, it has not surprised me, for I read the truth almost from our first meeting.”

Lyle gave him a smile of rare sweetness and deep significance; “I am glad to know that,” she said simply.

“Why so?” he asked, pausing and seating himself beside her; “Did you think I could fail to recognize the soul that looked out to welcome me when I first came, no matter amid what surroundings I found it?” Then, as she remained silent, he continued, his tones thrilling her heart as no human voice had ever done before:

“Since the hour that I first met you, Lyle, life has changed for me,–I think perhaps it will never be quite the same again for either of us. I know that I love you with a love that, whether reciprocated or not, can never die; that henceforth, you will be,–you must be,–a part of my very life. Let me care for you and help you; let me help you in your search for the home for which you were created, and of which you are worthy; but, Lyle, before you search any farther for that home, will you not consent to become the queen of my home, as you are already the queen of my heart?”

Lyle lifted her head proudly, though the tears glistened on the long, golden lashes; “Do you ask me that, here and now, knowing nothing as yet, of what the future may reveal?”

“I do; I have no fear for the future if I but have your love. Do you think that, perhaps, in the days to come, amid other and different surroundings, you might find some one whose love your heart would choose in preference to mine?”

“Never!” cried Lyle, impulsively, turning with outstretched arms to him, “You are the only one I have ever loved,–the only one I could ever love!”

“Then that is enough for me,” he replied, drawing her closely to his breast; “you have come forth from the years of the wretched past, with a soul star-white and shining, and I have no fears for the future.”

When the little group of friends assembled that evening, it was not long before some one discovered that a small diamond ring, of exquisite, antique design, which Morton Rutherford had worn, had, in some manner, become transferred to Lyle’s hand. “Wear this, for the present,” he had said, in taking it from his own hand, “until I can obtain a costlier one for you,” but Lyle had insisted that once placed upon her hand, there it must remain, as she would prize it far above any other which money could buy; and such had been the final decision.

When this significant fact had been discovered by one of the little company, the intelligence was speedily telegraphed to the rest, and Morton and Lyle soon found themselves the recipients of hearty and affectionate congratulations from the others.

The astonishment depicted on Ned’s face, when he comprehended the turn affairs had taken, was beyond description, but in the little excitement which prevailed for a few moments, it passed unnoticed, so that he had sufficiently recovered himself to join very gracefully in the general congratulations when his turn came.

A few hours later, however, as he went out for a stroll with Van Dorn, while his brother and Houston started out in the direction of Jack’s cabin, his astonishment found expression.

“Great Scott! but I never was so dumfounded in my life! I tell you what, Van, I believe people lose their wits when they are in love!”

“On whose experience do you base your highly original remark, your brother’s or your own?”

“Well, both, and lots of others besides. I never yet saw a person who was in love that didn’t act just the reverse of what you would expect, or of what they would under ordinary circumstances. Now, look at us two, for instance. Look at me! Everybody calls me rash and impetuous, and Mort is always lecturing me for it, and it’s always my way to rush head-first into anything that comes along, and here I’ve been making love, in the regular, orthodox fashion, to a girl I’ve known ever since I wore knickerbockers, and playing propriety and all that to my prospective father-in-law; and now see Mort! the most precise, deliberate fellow you ever saw, never says or does anything that isn’t exactly suited to the occasion, you know; and here he goes and tumbles head over heels in love with a pretty girl the first time he sees her, and when he doesn’t know a blessed thing about her, and, by George! engages himself to her before he’s known her a week! If that isn’t a case of clear-gone lunacy, then I never saw one.”