第22章

GWEN'S FIRST PRAYERS

It was with hesitation, almost with fear, that I began with Gwen;but even had I been able to foresee the endless series of exasperations through which she was destined to conduct me, still would I have undertaken my task.For the child, with all her wilfulness, her tempers and her pride, made me, as she did all others, her willing slave.

Her lessons went on, brilliantly or not at all, according to her sweet will.She learned to read with extraordinary rapidity, for she was eager to know more of that great world of which The Duke had told her such thrilling tales.Writing she abhorred.She had no one to write to.Why should she cramp her fingers over these crooked little marks? But she mastered with hardly a struggle the mysteries of figures, for she would have to sell her cattle, and "dad doesn't know when they are cheating." Her ideas of education were purely utilitarian, and what did not appear immediately useful she refused to trifle with.And so all through the following long winter she vexed my righteous soul with her wilfulness and pride.

An appeal to her father was idle.She would wind her long, thin arms about his neck and let her waving red hair float over him until the old man was quite helpless to exert authority.The Duke could do most with her.To please him she would struggle with her crooked letters for an hour at a time, but even his influence and authority had its limits.

"Must I?" she said one day, in answer to a demand of his for more faithful study; "must I?" And throwing up her proud little head, and shaking back with a trick she had her streaming red hair, she looked straight at him from her blue-gray eyes and asked the monosyllabic question, "Why?" And The Duke looked back at her with his slight smile for a few moments and then said in cold, even tones:

"I really don't know why," and turned his back on her.Immediately she sprang at him, shook him by the arm, and, quivering with passion, cried:

"You are not to speak to me like that, and you are not to turn your back that way!""What a little princess it is," he said admiringly, "and what a time she will give herself some day!" Then he added, smiling sadly: "Was I rude, Gwen? Then I am sorry." Her rage was gone, and she looked as if she could have held him by the feet.As it was, too proud to show her feelings, she just looked at him with softening eyes, and then sat down to the work she had refused.

This was after the advent of The Pilot at Swan Creek, and, as The Duke rode home with me that night, after long musing he said with hesitation: "She ought to have some religion, poor child; she will grow up a perfect little devil.The Pilot might be of service if you could bring him up.Women need that sort of thing; it refines, you know.""Would she have him?" I asked.

"Question," he replied, doubtfully."You might suggest it."Which I did, introducing somewhat clumsily, I fear, The Duke's name.

"The Duke says he is to make me good!" she cried."I won't have him, I hate him and you too!" And for that day she disdained all lessons, and when The Duke next appeared she greeted him with the exclamation, "I won't have your old Pilot, and I don't want to be good, and--and--you think he's no good yourself," at which the Duke opened his eyes.

"How do you know? I never said so!"

"You laughed at him to dad one day."

"Did I?" said The Duke, gravely."Then I hasten to assure, you that I have changed my mind.He is a good, brave man.""He falls off his horse," she said, with contempt.

"I rather think he sticks on now," replied The Duke, repressing a smile.

"Besides," she went on, "he's just a kid; Bill said so.""Well, he might be more ancient," acknowledged The Duke, "but in that he is steadily improving.""Anyway," with an air of finality, "he is not to come here."But he did come, and under her own escort, one threatening August evening.

"I found him in the creek," she announced, with defiant shamefacedness, marching in The Pilot half drowned.

"I think I could have crossed," he said, apologetically, "for Louis was getting on his feet again.""No, you wouldn't," she protested."You would have been down into the canyon by now, and you ought to be thankful.""So I am," he hastened to say, "very! But," he added, unwilling to give up his contention, "I have crossed the Swan before.""Not when it was in flood."

"Yes, when it was in flood, higher than now.""Not where the banks are rocky."

"No-o!" he hesitated.

"There, then, you WOULD have been drowned but for my lariat!" she cried, triumphantly.

To this he doubtfully assented.

They were much alike, in high temper, in enthusiasm, in vivid imagination, and in sensitive feeling.When the Old Timer came in Gwen triumphantly introduced The Pilot as having been rescued from a watery grave by her lariat, and again they fought out the possibilities of drowning and of escape till Gwen almost lost her temper, and was appeased only by the most profuse expressions of gratitude on the part of The Pilot for her timely assistance.The Old Timer was perplexed.He was afraid to offend Gwen and yet unwilling to be cordial to her guest.The Pilot was quick to feel this, and, soon after tea, rose to go.Gwen's disappointment showed in her face.

"Ask him to stay, dad," she said, in a whisper.But the half-hearted invitation acted like a spur, and The Pilot was determined to set off.

"There's a bad storm coming," she said; "and besides," she added, triumphantly "you can't cross the Swan."This settled it, and the most earnest prayers of the Old Timer could not have held him back.

We all went down to see him cross, Gwen leading her pinto.The Swan was far over its banks, and in the middle running swift and strong.Louis snorted, refused and finally plunged.Bravely he swam, till the swift-running water struck him, and over he went on his side, throwing his rider into the water.But The Pilot kept his head, and, holding by the stirrups, paddled along by Louis'