Arnold Bennett - "The Plain Man and His Wife"

William McKinley - "Compilation of the Messages and Papers of the Presidents"

Francis Fisher Browne - "The Every day Life of Abraham Lincoln"

Various - "Dew Drops, Vol. 37, No. 7, February 15, 1914"

Love the One You're With - by Emily Giffin
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The Nanny Diaries - by Emma McLaughlin and Nicola Kraus
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Book Review: The Dream by Gurbaksh Chahal
by Emily Giffin A novel about life, love, the choices we make, the choices we didn't make, and the 'what if?' At the age of 33, Ellen Graham seems to have it all. Her husband, Andy, is a handsome, successful lawyer and the brother of her best friend,

A / B / C / D / E / F / G / H / I / J / K / L / M / N / O / P / R / S / T / U / V / W / Y / Z

Gordon Keith written by Thomas Nelson Page

T >> Thomas Nelson Page >> Gordon Keith




Keith said that he had met "Miss Yorke." He had met her at Ridgely
Springs and also in New York. He was glad that it was dark, and that
Wickersham could not see his face. "A very pretty girl," he hazarded as
a leader, now that the subject was broached.

"Yes, rather. Going abroad--title-hunting."

"I don't expect Miss Yorke cares about a title," said Keith, stiffly.

"Mamma does. Failing that, she wants old Lancaster and perquisites."

"Who does? Why, Mr. Lancaster is old enough to be her father!"

"Pile's old, too," said Wickersham, dryly.

"She doesn't care about that either," said Keith, shortly.

"Oh, doesn't she! You know her mother?"

"No; I don't believe she does. Whatever her mother is, she is a fine,
high-minded girl."

Ferdy gave a laugh which might have meant anything. It made Keith hot
all over. Keith, fearing to trust himself further, changed the subject
and asked after the Rawsons, Wickersham having mentioned that he had
been staying with them.

"Phrony is back at home, I believes She has been off to school. I hear
she is very much improved?"

"I don't know; I didn't notice her particularly," said Wickersham,
indifferently.

"She is very pretty. Jake Dennison thinks so," laughed Keith.

"Jake Dennison? Who is he?"

"He's an old scholar of mine. He is inside now on the front seat; one of
your friends."

"Oh, that's the fellow! I thought I had seen him before. Well, he had
better try some other stock, I guess. He may find that cornered. She is
not going to take a clod like that."

Wickersham went off into a train of reflection.

"I say, Keith," he began unexpectedly, "maybe, you can help me about a
matter, and if so I will make it worth your while."

"About what matter?" asked Keith, wondering.

"Why, about that old dolt Rawson's land. You see, the governor has got
himself rather concerned. When he got this property up here in the
mountains and started to build the railroad, some of these people here
got wind of it. That fool, Rhodes, talked about it too much, and they
bought up the lands around the old man's property. They think the
governor has got to buy 'em out. Old Rawson is the head of 'em. The
governor sent Halbrook down to get it; but Halbrook is a fool, too. He
let him know he wanted to buy him out, and, of course, he raised. You
and he used to be very thick. He was talking of you the other night."

"He and I are great friends. I have a great regard for him, and a much
higher opinion of his sense than you appear to have. He is a very
shrewd man."

"Shrewd the deuce! He's an old blockhead. He has stumbled into the
possession of some property which I am ready to pay him a fair price
for. He took it for a cow-pasture. It isn't worth anything. It would
only be a convenience to us to have it and prevent a row in the future,
perhaps. That is the only reason I want it. Besides, his title to it
ain't worth a ----, anyhow. We have patents that antedate his. You can
tell him that the land is not worth anything. I will give you a good sum
if you get him to name a price at, say, fifty per cent. on what he gave
for it. I know what he gave for it. You can tell him it ain't worth
anything to him and that his title is faulty."

"No, I could not," said Keith, shortly.

"Why not?"

"Because I think it is very valuable and his title perfect. And he knows
it."

Wickersham glanced at him in the dusk.

"It isn't valuable at all," he said after a pause. "I will give you a
good fee if you will get through a deal for it at any price we may agree
on. Come!"

"No," said Keith; "not for all the money you own. My advice to you is to
go to Squire Rawson and either offer to take him in with you to the
value of his lands, or else make him a direct offer for what those lands
are really worth. He knows as much about the value of those lands as you
or Mr. Halbrook or any one else knows. Take my word for it."

"Rats!" ejaculated Wickersham, briefly. "I tell you what," he added
presently: "if he don't sell us that land he'll never get a cent out of
it. No one else will ever take it. We have him cornered. We've got the
land above him, and the water, too, and, what is more, his title is not
worth a damn!"

"Well, that is his lookout. I expect you will find him able to take care
of himself."

Wickersham gave a grunt, then he asked Keith suddenly:

"Do you know a man named Plume over there at Gumbolt?"

"Yes," said Keith; "he runs the paper there."

"Yes; that's he. What sort of a man is he?"

Keith gave a brief estimate of Mr. Plume: "You will see him and can
judge for yourself."

"I always do," said Wickersham, briefly. "Know anybody can work him? The
governor and he fell out some time ago, but I want to get hold of him."

Keith thought he knew one who might influence Mr. Plume; but he did not
mention the name or sex.

"Who is that woman inside?" demanded Wickersham. "I mean the young one,
with the eyes."

"They call her Terpsichore. She keeps the dance-hall."

"Friend of yours?"

"Yes." Keith spoke shortly.

The stage presently began to descend Hellstreak Hill, which Keith
mentioned as the scene of the robbery which old Tim Gilsey had told him
of. As it swung down the long descent, with the lights of the lamps
flashing on the big tree-tops, and with the roar of the rushing water
below them coming up as it boiled over the rocks, Wickersham conceived a
higher opinion of Keith than he had had before, and he mentally resolved
that the next time he came over that road he would make the trip in the
daytime. They had just crossed the little creek which dashed over the
rocks toward the river, and had begun to ascend another hill, when
Wickersham, who had been talking about his drag, was pleased to have
Keith offer him the reins. He took them with some pride, and Keith
dived down into the boot. When he sat up again he had a pistol in
his hand.

"It was just about here that that 'hold-up' occurred."

"Suppose they should try to hold you up now, what would you do?" asked
Wickersham.

"Oh, I don't think there is any danger now," said Keith. "I have driven
over here at all hours and in all weathers. We are getting too civilized
for that now, and most of the express comes over in a special wagon.
It's only the mail and small packages that come on this stage."

"But if they should?" demanded Wickersham.

"Well, I suppose I'd whip up my horses and cut for it," said Keith.

"I wouldn't," asserted Wickersham. "I'd like to see any man make me run
when I have a gun in my pocket."

Suddenly, as if in answer to his boast, there was a flash in the road,
and the report of a pistol under the very noses of the leaders, which
made them swerve aside with a rattling of the swingle-bars, and twist
the stage sharply over to the side of the road. At the same instant a
dark figure was seen in the dim light which the lamp threw on the road,
close beside one of the horses, and a voice was heard:

"I've got you now, ---- you!"

It was all so sudden that Wickersham had not time to think. It seemed to
him like a scene in a play rather than a reality. He instinctively
shortened the reins and pulled up the frightened horses. Keith seized
the reins with one band and snatched at the whip with the other; but it
was too late. Wickersham, hardly conscious of what he was doing, was
clutching the reins with all his might, trying to control the leaders,
whilst pandemonium broke out inside, cries from the women and oaths
from the men.

There was another volley of oaths and another flash, and Wickersham felt
a sharp little burn on the arm next Keith.

"Hold on!" he shouted. "For God's sake, don't shoot! Hold on! Stop the
horses!"

[Illustration: Sprang over the edge of the road into the thick bushes
below.]

At the same moment Keith disappeared over the wheel. He had fallen or
sprung from his seat.

"The ---- coward!" thought Wickersham. "He is running."

The next second there was a report of a pistol close beside the stage,
and the man in the road at the horses' heads fired again. Another
report, and Keith dashed forward into the light of the lantern and
charged straight at the robber, who fired once more, and then, when
Keith was within ten feet of him, turned and sprang over the edge of the
road into the thick bushes below. Keith sprang straight after him, and
the two went crashing through the underbrush, down the steep side of
the hill.

The inmates of the stage poured out into the road, all talking together,
and Wickersham, with the aid of Jake Dennison, succeeded in quieting the
horses. The noise of the flight and the pursuit had now grown more
distant, but once more several shots were heard, deep down in the woods,
and then even they ceased.

It had all happened so quickly that the passengers had seen nothing.
They demanded of Wickersham how many robbers there were. They were
divided in their opinion as to the probable outcome. The men declared
that Keith had probably got the robber if he had not been killed himself
at the last fire.

Terpsichore was in a passion of rage because the men had not jumped out
instantly to Keith's rescue, and one of them had held her in the stage
and prevented her from poking her head out to see the fight. In the
light of the lantern Wickersham observed that she was handsome. He
watched her with interest. There was something of the tiger in her lithe
movement. She declared that she was going down into the woods herself to
find Keith. She was sure he had been killed.

The men protested against this, and Jake Dennison and another man
started to the rescue, whilst a grizzled, weather-beaten fellow caught
and held her.

"Why, my darlint, I couldn't let you go down there. Why, you'd ruin your
new bonnet," he said.

The young woman snatched the bonnet from her head and slung it in his
face.

"You coward! Do you think I care for a bonnet when the best man in
Gumbolt may be dying down in them woods?"

With a cuff on the ear as the man burst out laughing and put his hand on
her to soothe her, she turned and darted over the bank into the woods.
Fortunately for the rest of her apparel, which must have suffered as
much as the dishevelled bonnet,--which the grizzled miner had picked up
and now held in his hand as carefully as if it were one of the birds
which ornamented it,--some one was heard climbing up through the bushes
toward the road a little distance ahead.

The men stepped forward and waited, each one with his hand in the
neighborhood of his belt, whilst the women instinctively fell to the
rear. The next moment Keith appeared over the edge of the road. As he
stepped into the light it was seen that his face was bleeding and that
his left arm hung limp at his side.

The men called to Terpy to come back: that Keith was there. A moment
later she emerged from the bushes and clambered up the bank.

"Did you get him?" was the first question she asked.

"No." Keith gave the girl a swift glance, and turning quietly, he asked
one of the men to help him off with his coat. In the light of the lamp
he had a curious expression on his white face.

"Terpy was that skeered about you, she swore she was goin' down there to
help you," said the miner who still held the hat.

A box on the ear from the young woman stopped whatever further
observation he was going to make.

"Shut up. Don't you see he's hurt?" She pushed away the man who was
helping Keith off with his coat, and took his place.

No one who had seen her as she relieved Keith of the coat and with
dexterous fingers, which might have been a trained nurse's, cut away the
bloody shirt-sleeve, would have dreamed that she was the virago who, a
few moments before, had been raging in the road, swearing like a
trooper, and cuffing men's ears.

When the sleeve was removed it was found that Keith's arm was broken
just above the elbow, and the blood was pouring from two small wounds.
Terpy levied imperiously on the other passengers for handkerchiefs;
then, not waiting for their contributions, suddenly lifting her skirt,
whipped off a white petticoat, and tore it into strips. She soon had the
arm bound up, showing real skill in her surgery. Once she whispered a
word in his ear--a single name. Keith remained silent, but she read his
answer, and went on with her work with a grim look on her face. Then
Keith mounted his box against the remonstrances of every one, and the
passengers having reentered the stage, Wickersham drove on into Gumbolt.
His manner was more respectful to Keith than it had ever been before.

Within a half-hour after their arrival the sheriff and his party, with
Dave Dennison at the head of the posse, were on their horses, headed for
the scene of the "hold-up." Dave could have had half of Gumbolt for
posse had he desired it. They attempted to get some information from
Keith as to the appearance of the robber; but Keith failed to give any
description by which one man might have been distinguished from the rest
of the male sex.

"Could they expect a man to take particular notice of how another looked
under such circumstances? He looked like a pretty big man."

Wickersham was able to give a more explicit description.

The pursuers returned a little after sunrise next morning without having
found the robber.



CHAPTER XV

MRS. YORKE MAKES A MATCH

The next day Keith was able to sit up, though the Doctor refused to let
him go out of the house. He was alone in his room when a messenger
announced that a woman wished to see him. When the visitor came up it
was Terpy. She was in a state of suppressed excitement. Her face was
white, her eyes glittered. Her voice as she spoke was tremulous
with emotion.

"They're on to him," she said in a husky voice. "That man that comed
over on the stage with you give a description of him, this mornin', 't
made 'em tumble to him after we had throwed 'em off the track. If I ever
git a show at him! They knows 'twas Bill. That little devil Dennison is
out ag'in."

"Oh, they won't catch him," said Keith; but as he spoke his face
changed. "What if he should get drunk and come into town?" he
asked himself.

"If they git him, they'll hang him," pursued the girl, without heeding
him. "They're all up. You are so popular.

"Me?" exclaimed Keith, laughing.

"It's so," said the girl, gravely. "That Dave Dennison would kill
anybody for you, and they're ag'in' Bill, all of 'em."

"Can't you get word to him?" began Keith, and paused. He looked at her
keenly. "You must keep him out of the way.'

"He's wounded. You got him in the shoulder. He's got to see a doctor.
The ball's still in there."

"I knew it," said Keith, quietly.

The girl gazed at him a moment, and then looked away.

"That was the reason I have been a-pesterin' you, goin' back'ards and
for'ards. I hope you will excuse me of it," she said irrelevantly.

Keith sat quite still for a moment, as it all came over him. It was,
then, him that the man was after, not robbery, and this girl, unable to
restrain her discarded suitor without pointing suspicion to him, had
imperilled her life for Keith, when he was conceited enough to more than
half accept the hints of strangers that she cared for him.

"We must get him away," he said, rising painfully. "Where is he?"

"He's hid in a house down the road. I have flung 'em off the track by
abusin' of him. They know I am against him, and they think I am after
you," she said, looking at him with frank eyes; "and I have been lettin'
'em think it," she added quietly.

Keith almost gasped. Truly this girl was past his comprehension.

"We must get him away," he said.

"How can we do it?" she asked. "They suspicion he's here, and the
pickets are out. If he warn't hit in the shoulder so bad, he could fight
his way out. He ain't afraid of none of 'em," she added, with a flash of
the old pride. "I could go with him and help him; I have done it before;
but I would have to break up here. He's got to see a doctor."

Keith sat in reflection for a moment.

"Tim Gilsey is going to drive the stage over to Eden to-night. Go down
and see if the places are all taken."

"I have got a place on it," she said, "on the boot."

As Keith looked at her, she added in explanation:

"I take it regular, so as to have it when I want it."

Under Keith's glance she turned away her eyes.

"I am going to Eden to-night," said Keith.

She looked puzzled.

"If you could get old Tim to stop at that house for five minutes till I
give Bluffy a letter to Dr. Balsam over at the Springs, I think we might
arrange it. My clothes will fit him. You will have to see Uncle Tim."

Her countenance lit up.

"You mean you would stop there and let him take your place?"

"Yes."

The light of craft that must have been in Delilah's eyes when Samson lay
at her feet was in her face. She sprang up.

"I will never forgit you, and Bill won't neither. He knows now what a
hound he has been. When you let him off last night after he had slipped
on the rock, he says that was enough for him. Before he will ever pull a
pistol on you ag'in, he says he will blow his own brains out; and he
will, or I will for him." She looked capable of it as she stood with
glowing eyes and after a moment held out her hand. She appeared about to
speak, but reflected and turned away.

When the girl left Keith's room a few moments later, she carried a large
bundle under her arm, and that night the stage stopped in the darkness
at a little shanty at the far end of the fast-growing street, and Keith
descended painfully and went into the house. Whilst the stage waited,
old Tim attempted to do something to the lamp on that side, and in
turning it down he put it out. Just then Keith, with his arm in a sling
and wrapped in a heavy coat, came out, and was helped by old Tim up to
the seat beside him. The stage arrived somewhat ahead of time at the
point which the railroad had now reached, and old Tim, without waiting
for daylight, took the trouble to hire a buggy and send the wounded man
on, declaring that it was important that he should get to a hospital as
soon as possible.

Amusements were scarce in Gumbolt, and Ferdy Wickersham had been there
only a day or two when, under Mr. Plume's guidance, he sought the
entertainment of Terpsichore's Hall. He had been greatly struck by Terpy
that night on the road, when she had faced down the men and had
afterwards bound up Keith's arm. He had heard from Plume rumors of her
frequent trips over the road and jests of her fancy for Keith. He would
test it. It would break the monotony and give zest to the pursuit to
make an inroad on Keith's preserve. When he saw her on the little stage
he was astonished at her dancing. Why, the girl was an artist! As good a
figure, as active a tripper, as high a kicker, as dainty a pair of
ankles as he had seen in a long time, not to mention a keen pair of eyes
with the devil peeping from them. To his surprise, he found Terpy stony
to his advances. Her eyes glittered with dislike for him.

He became one of the highest players that had ever entered the gilded
apartment on Terpsichore's second floor; he ordered more champagne than
any man in Gumbolt; but for all this he failed to ingratiate himself
with its presiding genius. Terpsichore still looked at him with level
eyes in which was a cold gleam, and when she showed her white teeth it
was generally to emphasize some gibe at him. One evening, after a little
passage at arms, Wickersham chucked her under the chin and called her
"Darling." Terpsichore wheeled on him.

"Keep your dirty hands to yourself" she said, with a flash in her eye,
and gave him such a box on the ear as made his head ring. The men around
broke into a guffaw.

Wickersham was more than angry; he was enraged. He had heard a score of
men call her by endearing names. He had also seen some of them get the
same return that he received; but none so vicious. He sprang to his
feet, his face flushed. The next second his senses returned, and he saw
that he must make the best of it.

"You vixen!" he said, with a laugh, and caught the girl by the wrist. "I
will make you pay for that." As he tried to draw her to him, she
whipped from her dress a small stiletto which she wore as an ornament,
and drew it back.

"Let go, or I'll drive it into you," she said, with fire darting from
her eyes; and Wickersham let go amid the laughter and jeers of those
about them, who were egging the girl on and calling to her to "give
it to him."

Wickersham after this tried to make his peace, but without avail. Though
he did not know it, Terpsichore had in her heart a feeling of hate which
was relentless. It was his description that had set the sheriff's posse
on the track of her dissipated lover, and though she had "washed her
hands of Bill Bluffy," as she said, she could not forgive the man who
had injured him.

Then Wickersham, having committed one error, committed another. He tried
to get revenge, and the man who sets out to get revenge on a woman
starts on a sad journey. At least, it was so with Wickersham.

He attributed the snubbing he had received to the girl's liking for
Keith, and he began to meditate how he should get even with them. The
chance presented itself, as he thought, when one night he attended a
ball at the Windsor. It was a gay occasion, for the Wickershams had
opened their first mine, and Gumbolt's future was assured. The whole of
Gumbolt was there--at least, all of those who did not side with Mr.
Drummond, the Methodist preacher. Terpsichore was there, and Keith, who
danced with her. She was the handsomest-dressed woman in the throng,
and, to Wickersham's surprise, she was dressed with some taste, and her
manners were quiet and subdued.

Toward morning the scene became hilarious, and a call was made for
Terpsichore to give a Spanish dance. The girl held back, but her
admirers were in no mood for refusal, and the call became insistent.
Keith had gone to his room, but Wickersham was still there, and his
champagne had flowed freely. At length the girl yielded, and, after a
few words with the host of the Windsor, she stepped forward and began
to dance.

She danced in such a way that the applause made the brass chandeliers
ring. Even Wickersham, though he hated her, could not but admire her.

Keith, who had found it useless to try to sleep even in a remote corner
of the hotel, returned just then, and whether it was that Terpsichore
caught sight of him as she glanced his way, or that she caught sight of
Wickersham's hostile face, she faltered and stopped suddenly.

Wickersham thought she had broken down, and, under the influence of the
champagne, turned with a jeer to Plume.

"She can't dance, Plume," he called across to the editor, who was at
some little distance in the crowd.

Those nearest to the dancer urged her to continue, but she had heard
Wickersham's jeer, and she suddenly faced him and, pointing her long,
bare arm toward him, said: "Put that man out, or I won't go on."

Wickersham gave a laugh. "Go on? You can't go on," he said, trying to
steady himself on his feet. "You can't dance any more than a cow."

He had never heard before the hum of an angry crowd.

"Throw him out! Fling him out of the window!" were the words he caught.

In a second a score of men were about him, and more than a score were
rushing in his direction with a sound that brought him quickly to
his senses.

Fortunately two men with cool heads were near by. With a spring Keith
and a short, stout young fellow with gray eyes were making their way to
his side, dragging men back, throwing them aside, expostulating,
ordering, and, before anything else had happened than the tearing of his
coat half off of his back, Wickersham found himself with Keith and Dave
Dennison standing in front of him, defending him against the angry
revellers.

The determined air of the two officers held the assailants in check
long enough for them to get their attention, and, after a moment, order
was restored on condition that Wickersham should "apologize to the lady
and leave town."

This Wickersham, well sobered by the handling he had received, was
willing to do, and he was made to walk up and offer a humble apology to
Terpsichore, who accepted it with but indifferent grace.

* * * * *

That winter the railroad reached Gumbolt, and Gumbolt, or New Leeds, as
it was now called, sprang at once, so to speak, from a chrysalis to a
full-fledged butterfly with wings unfolding in the sun of prosperity.

Lands that a year or two before might have been had for a song, and
mineral rights that might have been had for less than a song, were now
held at fabulous prices.

Keith was sitting at his table, one day, writing, when there was a heavy
step outside, and Squire Rawson walked in on him.

When all matters of mutual interest had been talked over, the squire
broached the real object of his visit; at least, he began to approach
it. He took out his pipe and filled it.

"Well, it's come," he said.

"What has come?"

"The railroad. That young man Rhodes said 'twas comin', and so it's
done. He was something of a prophet." The old fellow chuckled softly and
lit his pipe. "That there friend of yours, Mr. Wickersham, is been down
here ag'in. Kind o' hangs around. What's he up to?"