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HEN Miller's train reached Darley and he alighted in the car-shed, he was met by a blinding snow-storm. He could see the dim lantern of the hotel porter as he came towards him through the slanting feathery sheet and the yet dimmer lights of the hotel.
"Heer! Marse Miller!" shouted the darky; "look out fer dat plank er you 'll fall in er ditch. Marse Alan Bishop is at de hotel, an' he say tell you ter stop dar—dat you couldn't git home in dis sto'm no how."
"Oh, he's in town," said Miller. "Well, I was thinking of spending the night at the hotel, anyway."
In the office of the hotel, almost the only occupant of the room besides the clerk, sat Abner Daniel, at the red-hot coal stove.
"Why," exclaimed Miller, in surprise, "I didn't know you were in town."
"The fact is, we're all heer," smiled the old man, standing up and stretching himself. He looked as if he had been napping. "We fetched the women in to do some tradin', an' this storm blowed up. We could 'a' made it home all right," he laughed out impulsively, "but the last one of 'em wanted a excuse to stay over. They are et up with curiosity to know how yore trip come out. They are all up in Betsy an' Alf's room. Go up?"
"Yes, I reckon I'd better relieve their minds."
Abner offered to pilot him to the room in question, and when it was reached the old man opened the door without knocking. "Heer's the man you've been hankerin' to see all day," he announced, jovially. "I fetched 'im straight up."
They all rose from their seats around the big grate-fire and shook hands with the lawyer.
"He looks like he has news of some kind," said Adele, who was studying his face attentively. "Now, sir, sit down and tell us are we to be rich or poor, bankrupt or robber."
"Don't put the most likely word last," said Abner, dryly.
"Well," began Miller, as he sat down in the semicircle. "As it now stands, we've got a chance to gain our point. I have a signed agreement—and a good one—that your price will be paid if we can get the citizens through whose property the road passes to donate a right of way. That's the only thing that now stands between you and a cash sale."
"They 'll do it, I think," declared Alan, elatedly.
"I dunno about that," said Abner. "It's owin' to whose land is to be donated. Thar's some skunks over in them mountains that wouldn't let the gates o' heaven swing over the'r property except to let themselves through."
No one laughed at this remark save Abner himself. Mrs. Bishop was staring straight into the fire. Her husband leaned forward and twirled his stiff fingers slowly in front of him.
"Huh! So it depends on that," he said. "Well, it does look like mighty nigh anybody ud ruther see a railroad run out thar than not, but I'm no judge."
"Well, it is to be tested two weeks from now," Miller said. And then he went into a detailed and amusing account of how he had brought Wilson to terms.
"Well, that beats the Dutch!" laughed Abner. "I'd ruther 'a' been thar 'an to a circus. You worked 'im to a queen's taste—as fine as split silk. You 'n' Pole Baker'd make a good team—you to look after the bon-tons an' him to rake in the scum o' mankind. I don't know but Pole could dress up an' look after both ends, once in a while, ef you wanted to take a rest."
"I'm always sorry when I heer of it bein' necessary to resort to trickery," ventured Mrs. Bishop, in her mild way. "It don't look exactly right to me."
"I don't like it, nuther," said Bishop. "Ef the land's wuth the money, an'—"
"The trouble with Alf," broke in Abner, "is that with all his Bible readin' he never seems to git any practical benefit out'n it. Now, when I'm in doubt about whether a thing's right or wrong, I generally find some Scriptural sanction fer the side I want to win. Some'rs in the Bible thar was a big, rich king that sent a pore feller off to git 'im kilt in battle so he could add his woman to his collection. Now, no harm ever come to the king that I know of, an', fer my part, I don't think what you did to yank Wilson into line was nigh as bad, beca'se you was work-in' fer friends. Then Wilson was loaded fer bear his-se'f. War's over, I reckon, but when Wilson's sort comes down heer expectin' to ride rough-shod over us agin, I feel like givin' a war-whoop an' rammin' home a Mini? ball."
"I sha 'n't worry about the morality of the thing," said Miller. "Wilson was dead set on crushing you to powder. I saw that. Besides, if he takes the property and builds the road, he 'll make a lot of money out of it."
After this the conversation languished, and, thinking that the old people might wish to retire, Miller bade them good-night and went to his own room.
A snow of sufficient thickness for sleighing in that locality was a rare occurrence, and the next morning an odd scene presented itself in front of the hotel. The young men of the near-by stores had hastily improvised sleds by taking the wheels from buggies and fastening the axles to rough wooden runners, and were making engagements to take the young ladies of the town sleighing.
"Have you ever ridden in a sleigh?" Miller asked Adele, as they stood at a window in the parlor witnessing these preparations.
"Never in my life," she said.
"Well, you shall," he said. "I 'll set a carpenter at work on my buggy, and be after you in an hour. Get your wraps. My pair of horses will make one of those sleds fairly spin."
About eleven o' clock that morning Alan saw them returning from their ride, and, much to his surprise, he noted that Dolly Barclay was with them. As they drew up at the entrance of the hotel, Alan doffed his hat and stepped forward to assist the ladies out of the sled.
"Miss Dolly won't stop," said Miller. "Get in and drive her around. She's hardly had a taste of it; we only picked her up as we passed her house."
Alan's heart bounded and then it sank. Miller was smiling at him knowingly. "Go ahead," he said, pushing him gently towards the sled. "It's all right."
Hardly knowing if he were acting wisely, Alan took the reins and sat down by Dolly.
Adele stepped up behind to say good-bye to Dolly, and they kissed each other. It was barely audib............