"Afraid of his business talents?" asks the other. "He has got plenty of them."

"No, afraid of his steadfastness in the faith of Joe Smith; afraid that he will refuse to pay his t.i.thing!" laughs Thomas. "They say he made a million last year, and he hates to give up a hundred thousand to the Church." Then he adds very seriously: "G.o.dby has gone back on them, and the Walkers are no more to be relied upon for Church dues, and this time they feel they cannot stand another apostasy, and will take desperate measures to stop it."

"Who knows but Tranyon some day may feel the fist of the Church upon him as heavy as it fell on the Morrisites?" says Jackson, lowering his voice to a whisper, and, in spite of herself, the girl, as she listens, cannot help wishing that the hand of the Mormon Church may smite this Tranyon, if it will be any aid to Harry Lawrence.

But the evening pa.s.ses, and next day Erma getting to thinking of her father again, it suddenly occurs to her to look in the directory, which she does, but there is no Travenion in its list of names.

The latter part of this day, which is a long one to her, she kills by a drive with Mrs. Livingston and Oliver to the Sulphur Springs, where they enjoy the baths. Mr. Livingston, as they return home, remarking on the softness the sulphur water has given to Erma's hands, would become very attentive and amatory and lover-like, did the girl but let him; but this serves to take her thoughts from that subject they will dwell on, though she says, "To-morrow papa must come, and he shall take me in the evening to Mr. Bussey's ball."

And the morrow does come, but with it no father, and the girl turns for forgetfulness to making her preparations for the evening _fete_. Once or twice, however, she grows disheartened and mutters, "I cannot go.

Dancing to-night would be a mockery," then suddenly cries to her maid, "The finest ball dress in my trunk,--the light blue one that I have never worn,--the one I was going to keep for San Francisco."

A second after she directs Marie to get out what jewels she is carrying with her, and murmurs to herself, "I must look my best to-night," for Miss Volatile has suddenly remembered that three days have elapsed and Harry Lawrence may be at the _fete_ this evening.

So, when the soft October night settles down upon the city, Mrs.

Livingston is astonished to find her charge in excited mood.

"My, how you will delight Oliver," babbles the widow, gazing in admiration at the light, graceful beauty of the young girl as she steps forth ready for the Bussey _soiree dansante_; and she does delight Oliver, who very attentively cloaks her from the evening air, which is growing cool as the autumn progresses in this valley. Then Mrs.

Livingston and Erma and Louise, who is robed in some white, float-away dress and already engaged for dances six deep, as she expresses it, to some of the Gentile gentlemen in the hotel, accompanied by Mr. Oliver, take carriage for the banker's ball.

Ferdie, the night being fine and the distance short, says he will walk, which he does in company with Lamar of the Thirteenth Infantry, and Jackson of the Bully Boy, the two latter smoking huge cigars, and Mr.

Chauncey affecting the more youthful cigarette.

At the portals of the banking-house a string of carriages is depositing most of the Gentile magnates, and some of the Mormon, though the Latter-Day Saints do not, as a rule, circulate very freely in outside society, their elders fearing the influence of the Gentile youth upon the maidens of Zion, as to marriage and giving in marriage.

The third story of the building has been arranged with a view of letting it for public b.a.l.l.s, and Mr. Bussey is utilizing it for his private one this evening. Here, in the large dancing room, the Livingstons and Miss Travenion are received by the hospitable banker and his wife, who are shaking hands with the stream of guests now pouring into the ball-room, and making it look quite bright, though very much diversified. Costumes that would grace a Newport _fete_ or Parisian ball-room alternate with the horrors of Mormon modiste invention, which is, like the country, crude. These atrocities of toilet are mostly worn by some pretty Mormon girls, who have persuaded their fathers, who are connected with the Zion's Co-operative stores or other Deseret industries, to bring them to this conglomerate ball; their escorts mostly being arrayed in the ample black broadcloth long-tailed frock coats that are considered the proper thing in mining camps and in extreme frontier society.

But as these latter dance with much athletic vigor and Western abandon, they add greatly to the life of the scene. The room is decorated with flags borrowed from Camp Douglas, its large rear windows opening onto a broad balcony, which has been made conservatory-like by flowering plants, and lighted by Chinese lanterns. Here Mr. Dames and his band play the "Blue Danube," which has just become popular, and other modern waltzes interspersed with old Mormon quadrille tunes, some of which were composed, Ferdie remarks, "before the Ark," for this gentleman has just come in, apparently very merry.

"Look and see if Kruger is not changed," he whispers into Erma's delicate ear.

"Why? He does look different. What has he been doing?" answers Miss Travenion.

"He has been getting his hair cut, _gratis_," giggles Ferdie; "likewise his beard trimmed and his hair shampooed. You see, Bussey, with Western hospitality, has furnished three barbers for the use of his guests, and Kruger, as he remarks, has just been going 'the whole hog.' He would have taken a bath if there had been conveniences in the gentlemen's waiting-room," continues Mr. Chauncey, greatly amused.

"He looks very happy over it," laughs Erma; for Kruger's countenance seems quite bland and genial this evening. His black broadcloth frock coat has been very well brushed, and his shirt front is apparently more ample and crumpled than ever, while his large boots have been very brightly shined by the bootblack on the corner opposite, and his gray eyes, as they roam over the ball-room, have an expression of triumph in them, though they apparently seek only one object. Meeting that, Lot Kruger gives a start, for they rest on Erma Travenion.

Then his...o...b.. grow watery and his thick lips tremble, and his jaws clench themselves, as he thinks, "If it should come to me,--all this; for the glory of the Church of the Latter-Day Saints."

For, robed in some creation of Worth that has been imported to America to make her seem a fairy, Erma's beauty is of the air not of the earth.

It is some light, gauzy, shimmering, gleaming thing, covered with tiny pink rosebuds,--thousands of them,--and floats about the girl's dazzling shoulders and gleaming neck and snowy maiden bosom, which is of such exquisite proportions and contours that it would make a sculptor's dream and an average man's ecstasy.

While over all this is a face beaming with some expectant joy, its blue eyes looking for somebody,--somebody who has not yet come.

For a moment Kruger steps forward, as if he would speak to her, but just then Mr. Oliver carries the young lady away to the dance, and sinking upon a seat, the Mormon follows Miss Beauty with his eyes everywhere she moves.

Unheeding the remark that Counsellor Smith, of the Seventies, makes to him, that his last Mrs. Smith is anxious to hear of his trip to the States, and that his (Smith's) daughters, by his first and second wives, Birdie and Desie, are quite ready for a dance, Lot drinks in the girl's loveliness as if it were new wine of such rare bouquet and wondrous flavor that he cannot take the goblet from his lips--wine upon which he will finally get drunk, perchance to his own undoing.

And the eyes of other men follow his also, for there is only one woman who approaches Erma's charm or grace that evening, and that is a young gra.s.s-widow from California, at present making a six months' sojourn in Salt Lake for the purpose of obtaining a divorce--a thing easily found in the United States courts in Utah at this time.

But all the time the girl seems languid; and Ollie, dancing with her, notices that the lightness has left her step, and she seems to dream; which, indeed, she does, thinking of a ball during the season in New York, to which her father on his last visit had taken her, and remembering how the old beau, _bon-vivant_ and club man had enjoyed meeting his former friends, companions and chums of other days, also the belles of the last decade of Manhattan society, whom he had greeted again as matrons and dowagers, and she murmurs to herself: "How happy I would be if papa were by me _now_ as he was _then_."

But at this moment Mr. Livingston starts, and wonders what change has come into Erma Travenion, for suddenly new life and vigor seem to enter the lithe waist his arm encircles; her cheek, before a little pale, becomes blushing as he gazes on it; and her eyes, which were downcast, grow bright and radiant, and her step, which was languid, becomes light as a sylph's.

Then he follows Erma's eyes, and sees the stalwart form of Harry Lawrence standing in the door, and looking just about the same as when he first entered Mrs. Livingston's supper party at Delmonico's; and Ollie says to himself, a second time in his life, the awful word, "d.a.m.n!"

A moment after the music ceases, and Captain Lawrence is by the girl's side, and their hands clasp; their eyes have already greeted.

"I have driven seventy-five miles to-day," he says eagerly. "Am I in time to have a dance with you?"

"Seventy-five miles," replies Erma. "Then you must be very tired."

"Not tired till I have a dance with you. Can I look at your programme?"

"Certainly," and she hands it to him.

But glancing at it, the young man remarks gloomily: "There is no vacant spot."

"No vacant spot but plenty of _crosses_. Take up your cross and follow me!" laughs Miss Travenion. Then she explains, "I always reserve a few dances by crosses for friends who come late," and something gets into her eyes which makes Lawrence very ardent and very bold.

So bold that, being borne away to another dance by Ferdie, Erma looks at her card and suddenly whispers, "Why, he has taken up _all_ my crosses,"

but though implored by a number of gentlemen who come up afterwards to erase some one of the many H. L.'s marked upon her programme, she shakes her head resolutely and says, "No, I stick to my written contracts,"

much to the disgust of Ellison of the Thirteenth Infantry, and Lamar, the dashing lieutenant, and Jackson of the Bully Boy.

So, a few moments after, Lawrence coming up for his first dance, she takes his arm more happily than she has ever done, to tread a measure; though she has been the belle of many Delmonico b.a.l.l.s and has floated about on the arms of the best cotillion leaders of New York and Boston.

A moment after, Harry Lawrence, who has lived his life in camps or on the frontier, puts his arm around this beauty of Manhattan society, and for the first time feels her heart beat against his. Then perhaps something more potent than the strains of the "Thousand and One Nights of Strauss" getting into his head, he dances with all his soul. Not perhaps in so deft a way as Ferdie, who is past master of the art, and glides the graceful Louise through the room in poetic motion, nor in the dashing manner of Lamar, fresh from cadet german and Mess Hall hops, with the California widow, but still with so powerful an arm that his partner feels confidence in him, and perhaps some emotion coming into her heart other than the mere pleasure of the dance; a very bright blush is on her cheek as they stop.

"Your step suits mine very well. You dance very nicely," she murmurs.

"Yes, for a man who has not tripped the light fantastic for years,"

replies the captain. Then he goes on, "But who couldn't dance with you?"

"Oh, many men, I imagine," laughs the girl. "That gentleman there, for instance," and following her eyes, Lawrence sees Lot Kruger with a very red face, damp from over-exertion, circling the room with a Mormon lady, the speed of a locomotive in his limbs and the vigor of a buffalo of the plains in his feet, bringing dismay and confusion to surrounding flounces and feminine trains wherever he goes.

Then his face grows dark.

"Don't speak of him!" he replies gloomily. "Let me throw off business for one night and be happy."

Which he does, dancing with Erma so often that Ollie becomes very sulky, and Mrs. Livingston feels it necessary to play the chaperon, which she does very deftly, mentioning to her charge that people are talking about her dancing continually with one gentleman.

"Oh," answers the young lady. "What does it matter in this town, where we shall remain but a day or two? Were it New York it might be different." Then she continues rather maliciously, "Besides, I rather like it. It makes Oliver so sulky."

Just here, however, a practical joke of Mr. Chauncey's drives all else out of the widow's head. That gentleman approaches, bearing on either arm two quite young and rather pretty women, one apparently American, the other with the light hair and blond eyes of a Scandinavian, and presents them with considerable impressment and form as the two _Misses_ Tranyon; very shortly after taking off one of the young ladies he has introduced to tread a measure.

"Ah," remarks Mrs. Livingston to the one left behind, "I hope that you and your sister are enjoying yourselves this evening."

"My _sister_?" giggles the lady, astonished.