Behind them
stretched the long line of wagons, the ponderous freighters of the
Santa Fe Trail, rolling into Independence from the Spanish towns that
lay beyond the burning deserts of the Cimarron. They filed by in slow
procession, a vision of faded colors and swarthy faces, jingle of spur
and mule bell mingling with salutations in sonorous Spanish.
As the day grew warmer, the doctor complained of the heat and went back
to the wagon. David and the young girl rode on together through the
green thickness of the wood. They had talked a little while the doctor
was there, and now, left to themselves, they suddenly began to talk a
good deal. In fact, Miss Gillespie revealed herself as a somewhat
garrulous and quite friendly person. David felt his awed admiration
settling into a much more comfortable feeling, still wholly admiring
but relieved of the cramping consciousness that he had entertained an
angel unawares. She was so natural and girlish that he began to
cherish hopes of addressing her as "Miss Susan," even let vaulting
ambition carry him to the point where he could think of some day
calling himself her friend.
Pages:
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39