Cowboys -- Fiction; Nevada -- History -- Fiction; Short stories, American; Western stories
Each day he blessed the fate which had called her from her home by the
Western sea and placed her under the same roof that sheltered him in
the rough little Nevada camp that called itself a town since a railroad
had found it, and given it a name.
Here Judge Blaine and his daughter settled themselves for the Summer.
That is, an array of suit-cases and handbags, great and small, and
a trunk or two, proclaimed the hotel their headquarters. That was
all. Every day saw the Judge up near the top of the mountain, getting
the Monarch’s new machinery into running order; while trails, and
roads--old and new--and even the jack-rabbit paths that lay like a
network over the land, saw more of the young woman in khaki than ever
the hotel did, so long as daylight lasted--the light which she grudged
to have go.
It was Evaleen herself who had suggested coming to Nevada with her
father, instead of spending the season in the usual way with Mrs.
Blaine and the other girls at whatsoever place fashion might dictate as
the Summer’s especial (and expensive) favorite for the time.
“Daddy, dear,” she had said, standing behind his chair, with both
arms tight clasped around his neck, “I’ve made up my mind to do
something that is going to surprise you. Listen; I’m not going with
Mamma and the girls when she shuts up the house for the Summer. But,
I--am--going--with--you! Oh, yes, I am! No, no! Not a word! I’ve
always wanted to know what a mining camp was like; and this is my
golden opportunity. You know you do want me there. Say so! While you
are putting up the new works, I can go roaming over the country in old
clothes. Listen to that, Daddy--old clothes! A lovely Summer; and not a
cent spent on gowns!”
Ways and means at just that time being matters of difficult solution
with the Judge, her argument had force and bore fruit. Midsummer found
them where the alkali plains stretched away to distant ranges, and the
duns and drabs of valleys reached across to the blended purples and
blues. Such distances! And such silence! She had never dreamed of their
like before.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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