"Indeed!" and Mrs. Herndon's voice was not altogether pleasant. "I
understood she was entirely alone and friendless. Are you that man who
brought her out of the canyon?"
Hampton bowed as though half ashamed of acknowledging the act.
"Oh! then I know who you are," she continued, unhesitatingly. "You are
a gambler and a bar-room rough. I won't touch a penny of your money.
I told Mr. Wynkoop that I shouldn't, but that I would endeavor to do my
Christian duty by this poor girl. He was to bring her here himself,
and keep you away."
The man smiled slightly, not in the least disconcerted by her plain
speech. The cutting words merely served to put him on his mettle.
"Probably we departed from the hotel somewhat earlier than the minister
anticipated," he explained, quietly, his old ease of manner returning
in face of such open opposition. "I greatly regret your evident
prejudice, madam, and can only say that I have more confidence in you
than you appear to have in me. I shall certainly discover some means
by which I may do my part in shaping this girl's future, but in the
meanwhile will relieve you of my undesired presence."
He stepped without into the glare of the sunlight, feeling utterly
careless as to the woman who had affronted him, yet somewhat hurt on
seeing that the girl had not once lifted her downcast eyes to his face.
Yet he had scarcely taken three steps toward the road before she was
beside him, her hand upon his sleeve.
"I won't stay!" she exclaimed, fiercely, "I won't, Bob Hampton. I 'd
rather go with you than be good."
His sensitive face flushed with delight, but he looked gravely down
into her indignant eyes. "Oh, yes, you will, Kid," and his hand
touched her roughened hair caressingly. "She's a good, kind woman, all
right, and I don't blame her for not liking my style."
"Do--do you really want me to stick it out here, Bob?"
It was no small struggle for him to say so, for he was beginning to
comprehend just what this separation meant. She was more to him than
he had ever supposed, more to him than she had been even an hour
before; and now he understood clearly that from this moment they must
ever run farther apart--her life tending upward, his down. Yet there
was but one decision possible. A life which is lonely and
dissatisfied, a wasted life, never fully realizes how lonely,
dissatisfied, and wasted it is until some new life, beautiful in young
hope and possibility, comes into contact with it. For a single instant
Hampton toyed with the temptation confronting him, this opportunity of
brightening his own miserable future by means of her degradation. Then
he answered, his voice grown almost harsh. "This is your best chance,
little girl, and I want you to stay and fight it out."