"Awh! thanks," remarks Ollie, being compelled to the same, and accepting it, he finds it to his astonishment to be a very good one,--much better than the average weed he would get in a New York club: for this young man does not know that the Western mining man and speculator uses the very best of cigars, wines, and all creature comforts, even when his luck is hard and his pocket almost empty.

A moment after Mr. Lot Kruger pa.s.ses the two, and gives Harry a by no means kindly glance, for he has noticed the attentions of this gentleman to the daughter of his old friend, and does not like them.

This feeling is perhaps also felt, though at this time in a lesser degree, by Mr. Oliver Livingston, who somehow or other has arrived at the conclusion that Miss Travenion likes to listen to the conversation of this gentleman from the West, and does not like it very much more than Mr. Kruger.

Consequently, when the engineer rings the bell and the conductor cries, "All aboard!" Harry Lawrence has made one active and one at present pa.s.sive enemy, though he is rapidly growing to be a hero in Mr. Ferdie's imagination; and as for Buck Powers, he has loved and admired this young engineer of the Pacific Railway for years, as nearly every other employee of the same, especially those engaged in its early building, have done ever since he ran the lines in Nebraska when that State was a howling wilderness of Indians, wild animals, trappers and prairies.

Then the train, getting under headway, pa.s.ses with illuminated Pullmans and flashing headlight into the night of the plains. Miss Travenion, with a new interest in her mind as to this Western gentleman chance seems to have thrown into her way, looks out of her stateroom--the car is half empty, most of its male pa.s.sengers being in the smoking room with their after-dinner cigars. Among them, Ferdie and Ollie.

Captain Lawrence is at the other end of the car, conversing with Mrs.

Livingston and Louise.

Erma carelessly picks up a book,--one of Ferdie's purchases, the volume on the Union Pacific Railway; and glancing languidly over its pages, sees a picture of Indians attacking a hand-car, and reads, "Elm Creek Ma.s.sacre" in large type. Beneath it is an account of the heroism of Captain Harry Storey Lawrence.

Then the brakeman cries out "Elm Creek." The train pauses for a moment, and gazing out, she can see the station house on the side track. A moment after, the locomotive dashing on again, she finds herself peering into the darkness that lies upon the low stretch of prairie, and wondering exactly whereabouts the man sitting so quietly and conversing with Mrs. Livingston, made his fight; and her imagination getting the better of her, she seems to see the stalwart figure, which is commencing to interest her, standing on a little hand-car on that lone prairie, surrounded by Indians and fighting them off, and saving the section men surprised at their work, as they drop their tools and run from their labor; and she sees his dark eyes, that she has commenced to know very well, flashing with determination as he encourages the fleeing laborers, and getting them on the car, they make their running fight towards the station, and hears the cracking of the deadly rifles and the whoops of the pursuing savages.

She is interrupted in this fantasie by Mr. Livingston's placid voice, saying, "What are you reading, Erma?" for she still has the volume in her hand.

"Only an account of the construction of this railway," says the young lady, and she pa.s.ses him the volume.

Looking over the account of the "Elm Creek Ma.s.sacre," Ollie's eyes open rather widely; but, a moment after, he remarks sneeringly: "This fiction of the Rocky Mountains seems to make quite a hero of your friend Lawrence. I wonder if he wrote the book himself?" And the gentleman chuckles to himself, imagining he has been rather witty.

Miss Travenion's reply rather disconcerts him.

"I am glad you call him my friend," answers the girl, a gleam of admiration in her blue eyes. "Any man who could do what is written there, is worthy to be any woman's friend."

"Oh, indeed," says Mr. Livingston, rather nettled at this; partly because he thinks his joke is not appreciated, and partly because he does not care about Erma Travenion showing an interest in any other man save his own small self. "I suppose you will soon make a first-cla.s.s border ruffian out of your hero?" Then he utters oracularly: "I wonder how it is that some girls seem to take such interest in 'men of blood.'"

"I don't take interest in 'men of blood,'" cries Miss Travenion, rather warmly, for this remark about border ruffians is not pleasing to her; "but I do take interest in the men of courage, determination and manhood, who are risking their lives to make this country a greater America."

But here she gets a surprise from Ollie, who, incited by the beauty of the girl, which is made greater by her enthusiasm, replies suddenly: "If I thought you would like it, Erma, I myself would become a pioneer."

The idea of Mr. Ollie's turning frontiersman, proves too much for Miss Travenion's control; she bursts into a fit of laughter, which disconcerts the young man, and makes him retreat from her, with a plaintive, "I meant what I said. I didn't believe you would treat my expression of regard for you with a jeer."

Left to herself, however, Erma goes into more thought about this man who has risked his life for others, and even after she has gone to bed, as she turns upon her pillow, visions of Captain Harry Storey Lawrence, fighting Indians, come to her, and she wakes up with a suppressed scream, for he is about to be scalped, and finds that it is only the shriek of the locomotive, and the war-whoops of the Indians are only the outcries of the porter, announcing that they are approaching Sydney, where they have thirty minutes for an early breakfast.

CHAPTER VI.

MR. FERDIE DISCOVERS A VIGILANTE.

So, making a hasty toilet, Miss Travenion steps out of her stateroom to find the car empty, it having already arrived at the eating-station, and the pa.s.sengers having departed from it.

On the platform, however, she is greeted by Ferdie, who cries out: "Come along, Miss Lazy Bird. All the rest are in at breakfast. I have got some news for you."

"News about whom?" says the girl lightly.

"About the Indians. There's some off there. You needn't be afraid! I've got my revolver on, and if they act nasty, I'll fix 'em as Cap Lawrence does," says the boy, and he leads her a few steps to one side, where Erma sees a Sioux buck, two squaws and a pappoose--the warrior on a pony and flourishing about in a red blanket and soldier hat, though his leggings are of the scantiest proportions.

The squaws, as is their wont, extend their hands for stray coins, though the Sioux are by no means such beggars as their more degraded cousins, the Piutes on the Central Pacific in Nevada. Looking at these unedifying redskins, Miss Travenion finds that Cooper's novels, which she had once regarded as facts, have immediately become fictions.

"I was going to get my rifle," babbles Ferdie at her ear, "but Buck Powers told me I'd be jugged if I shot at 'em. They're at peace now."

Then he goes on confidentially: "I have interviewed Buck about Cap Lawrence, and it cost me about two dollars in indigestible candies and peanuts, but I got the information. Buck says the Cap is a snorter on Injuns."

"Don't use such language in my presence, Mr. Chauncey," cries Erma sternly.

"Oh, I am only quoting Buck," answers Ferdinand. "Buck says the Cap has killed hundreds of buffalo and rafts of Indians--heaps of them. Say!

What's the matter with you? I thought you'd like to listen to the history of your Indian killer," continues Ferdie, surprised; for the girl has turned suddenly away from him and is pa.s.sing on towards the eating-house.

Then he suddenly e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.es, "Well, I'm blizzarded!" a queer wild notion having got into his brain. And he has guessed very nearly the truth; for Miss Travenion, for some reason, which is at present indefinite to herself, is not altogether pleased at hearing this Western gentleman's name always connected with deeds of blood.

In the dining-room she finds her party seated at a table, at which a chair has been reserved for her, but Captain Lawrence is not with them, and looking about, she sees him at another table.

Then Ferdie, bolting his food, finishes his breakfast in about five minutes, and departs in search of Western adventure and information, not on the main platform of the station, but in out-of-the-way saloons and shanty barrooms; methods of frontier slumming that are productive during his trip of one or two decided sensations to this young gentleman, as well as the rest of his party.

Shortly after Mr. Chauncey's departure, the meal being finished, Miss Travenion wanders with Mr. Ollie to the platform, and notices Harry smoking his cigar, and surrounded by a lot of the train men and station officials, who seem to crowd around him at every stop they make, as if anxious to do him honor, Buck Powers among the number.

A moment after, Mr. Livingston having left her, the news-boy sidles up to her and remarks, having an eye to both business and pleasure, "I've got some prime California peaches saved up for you. You weren't out when I come through the train before breakfast--two dandies at ten cents apiece. The Cap chewed one this morning and said it was fine. Ain't he a stem-winder, though?" goes on the boy. "He was the most popular man on the line when it was built. You needn't pay for them peaches unless they're good."

"Thank you, Mr. Powers," answers the girl, giving the boy a bright smile, for somehow she is quite pleased to note that Captain Lawrence seems so well liked by all who know him.

"Call me Buck! Side-track the Mr. Powers! You make me feel as if you were offish," says the youthful news-agent, giving Erma a glance of admiration.

"Very well, Buck," laughs the girl. "You may bring me the peaches," and would perhaps say more to him, did not Mr. Lot Kruger, who seems somehow to always have his eyes upon her, casting a quid of tobacco out of his ample mouth, approach her and suggest affably, "Prairie air seems to bloom you up this morning, Miss."

Then her party being about her, Erma finds herself compelled to introduce the Western Lot to them all. These introductions are very affably received by Mr. Kruger, who insists on shaking hands with the whole party, an attention not very well received by Oliver, though Mrs.

Livingston, thinking from his peculiar toilet he is in some degree a Western border ruffian, and it will be best for her personal safety to be very polite to him, receives him with effusive but nervous politeness, to the joy of Lot's soul. So he seats himself beside her, and goes into a free and easy conversation with the widow, giving her his views of things in general and the West in particular.

Turning from them towards her own stateroom, Erma chances to meet Captain Lawrence, who is just entering the car. Allured by the bright nod she gives him, this gentleman ignores the pleasure of an after-breakfast cigar, and sits down to a long conversation with the young lady, which is interrupted by occasional visits from Mr. Oliver Livingston, who comes up at odd times to ask Miss Travenion if he can do anything for her comfort, for he is getting annoyed at Erma's giving her time to an outsider, as he terms the engineer, and were it not that Oliver Ogden Livingston has such an appreciation of his own charms, intellect and social position, he would be jealous, which would be a fearful tax on his placid nerves, that are not accustomed to violent emotions.

As the train pa.s.ses along, the captain incidentally mentions a few things of interest in sight from the cars, stating to Miss Travenion that they will soon be in sight of the Rockies, and this leads to the girl's asking him about the "Elm Creek" affair, which he puts away, saying that it was not much, though there were a great many wild doings, both by the Indians and the whites, during the construction of the road, and some recollection coming upon him from the past, the young man's face grows dark, and he suddenly changes the subject, saying that Indian fights are not generally half so desperate as some affairs that took place in the late war.

This produces questions from Erma, and she learns a good deal of Lawrence's early life; how his father emigrated from Ma.s.sachusetts, being a nephew of that celebrated seaman Lawrence, whose words are still remembered--"Don't give up the ship"--and of this relationship and memory the young man seems very proud.

He tells her that his father is now a large farmer in Eastern Iowa, and the girl drawing him out by deft suggestions, learns that he was educated for a civil engineer, but at the breaking out of the war, left college and went to soldiering, and became, after a year or two of fighting, captain of an Iowa battery.

The conversation goes on very pleasantly until he suddenly cries out, "The Rocky Mountains!" and shows her snow-clad peaks looming up amid the blue sky to the west, just as the train is running into Cheyenne, where something occurs that gives Miss Travenion a great shock, and makes her change her opinion considerably about this young gentleman, to whom she has devoted so much of her thoughts in the last twenty-four hours.

Like most of the sensations of this life, it comes unexpectedly.

She has just finished a comfortable sort of dinner in the Cheyenne eating-house, and is sauntering about, watching the change of locomotives, and trying to get a good look at Long's Peak, which is so distant that she can hardly tell whether it is snow or cloud, when she is joined by Mr. Ferdinand, who shocks her by whispering these astonishing words: "Come around the corner and I'll show you a telegraph pole where Captain Lawrence hung a man."

"Hung a man? You are crazy," returns the young lady indignantly; then she sneers, "Buck Powers invents silly stories to incite you to buy more candy."

"Not at all crazy, but rather up to the snuff," retorts Ferdie, who apparently is strongly excited and profoundly impressed. "Besides, Buck didn't tell me this. I have just met a gambler in that barroom over there"--he points to a shanty drinking saloon, some hundred yards down the track--"and he says Cap Lawrence hung his pard, Nebraska Bill, to a telegraph pole."