Dakota Indians -- Wars, 1876 -- Fiction; Little Bighorn, Battle of the, Mont., 1876 -- Fiction; Western stories
"I have already discussed the matter briefly with Mrs. Herndon, wife of
the superintendent of the Golden Rule mines. She is a refined
Christian lady, beyond doubt the most proper person to assume such a
charge in this camp. There is very little in such a place as this to
interest a woman of her capabilities, and I believe she would be
delighted to have such an opportunity for doing good. She has no
children of her own."
Hampton flung his sodden cigar butt out of the window. "I'll talk it
over to-morrow with--with Miss Gillis," he said, somewhat gruffly. "It
may be this means a good deal more to me than you suppose, parson, but
I 'm bound to acknowledge there is considerable hard sense in what you
have just said, and I 'll talk it over with the girl."
Wynkoop held out his hand cordially, and the firm grasp of the other
closed over his fingers.
"I don't exactly know why I didn't kick you downstairs," the latter
commented, as though still in wonder at himself. "Never remember being
quite so considerate before, but I reckon you must have come at me in
about the right way."
If Wynkoop answered, his words were indistinguishable, but Hampton
remained standing in the open door watching the missionary go down the
narrow stairs.
"Nervy little devil," he acknowledged slowly to himself. "And maybe,
after all, that would be the best thing for the Kid."
CHAPTER VI
"TO BE OR NOT TO BE"
They were seated rather close together upon the steep hillside, gazing
silently down upon squalid Glencaid. At such considerable distance all
the dull shabbiness of the mining town had disappeared, and it seemed
almost ideal, viewed against the natural background of brown rocks and
green trees. All about them was the clear, invigorating air of the
uplands, through which the eyes might trace for miles the range of
irregular rocky hills, while just above, seemingly almost within touch
of the extended hand, drooped the blue circling sky, unflecked by
cloud. Everywhere was loneliness, no sound telling of the labor of man
reached them, and the few scattered buildings far below resembling mere
doll-houses.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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