On Monday, Wednesday, and Friday evenings the Miners' Retreat was a
scene of wild hilarity, for it was then that Mr. Moffat, gorgeously
arrayed in all the bright hues of his imported Mexican outfit, his long
silky mustaches properly curled, his melancholy eyes vast wells of
mysterious sorrow, was known to be comfortably seated in the Herndon
parlor, relating gruesome tales of wild mountain adventure which paled
the cheeks of his fair and entranced listener. Then on Tuesday,
Thursday, and Saturday nights, when Mr. McNeil rode gallantly in on his
yellow bronco, bedecked in all the picturesque paraphernalia of the
boundless plains, revolver swinging at thigh, his wide sombrero
shadowing his dare-devil eyes, the front of the gay Occidental blazed
with lights, and became crowded to the doors with enthusiastic herders
drinking deep to the success of their representative.
It is no more than simple justice to the fair Phoebe to state that she
was, as her aunt expressed it, "in a dreadful state of mind." Between
these two picturesque and typical knights of plain and mountain she
vibrated, unable to make deliberate choice. That she was ardently
loved by each she realized with recurring thrills of pleasure; that she
loved in return she felt no doubt--but alas! which? How perfectly
delightful it would be could she only fall into some desperate plight,
from which the really daring knight might rescue her! That would cut
the Gordian knot. While laboring in this state of indecision she must
have voiced her ambition in some effective manner to the parties
concerned, for late one Wednesday night Moffat tramped heavily into the
Miners' Retreat and called Long Pete Lumley over into a deserted corner
of the bar-room.
"Well, Jack," the latter began expectantly, "hev ye railly got the
cinch on that cowboy at last, hey?"
"Dern it all, Pete, I 'm blamed if I know; leastwise, I ain't got no
sure prove-up. I tell ye thet girl's just about the toughest piece o'
rock I ever had any special call to assay. I think first I got her
good an' proper, an' then she drops out all of a sudden, an' I lose the
lead. It's mighty aggravating let me tell ye. Ye see it's this way.
She 's got some durn down East-notion that she's got ter be rescued,
an' borne away in the arms of her hero (thet's 'bout the way she puts
it), like they do in them pesky novels the Kid 's allers reading and so
I reckon I 've got ter rescue her!"
"Rescue her from whut, Jack? Thar' ain't nuthin' 'round yere just now
as I know of, less it's rats."