XXIII. THE HAPPY VALLEY
In thinking of the Yosemite, Angela had, half-unconsciously, pictured herself and Nick Hilliard alone in the valley together, separated from "mere tourists" by a kind of magic wall. But down it tumbled with her first moment at El Portal; and behold, on the other side of the wall were hundreds of eager young men and women who no doubt resented her existence as much as she resented theirs.
The huge veranda of the log-built hotel, on the hill above the railway, swarmed with brides and bridegrooms. It was extremely early in the morning, and everybody was sleepy, even those who had passed their night in the hotel, not in the train; nevertheless, though good-natured, one and all wore an air of square-chinned, indomitable determination which puzzled Angela.
Something was evidently about to happen, something of immense importance, for which each man with all his feminine belongings intended to be ready if possible before any one else. Angela watched the silent preparations with impersonal interest while she waited for Hilliard to come from the office and tell her about the special carriage for which he had telegraphed.
By this time a hasty breakfast had been snatched, and in a crowded dining-room full of laughter and chattering she had resigned herself to the falling of the magic wall. Other people had a right to enjoy the Yosemite and she must not grudge them their place. "I suppose," she said to Kate, who stood beside her on the veranda, "that all these nice girls and men are going off for different excursions. They seem a good deal excited. I wonder why?"
Just then a stage drawn by four splendid horses drove up the veranda steps. Something was shouted. Angela could not catch the announcement, for she had all she could do not to be carried off her feet in the general rush. A dozen of the firm-faced men and resolute girls made a dash for the box seat. With no malice in their eyes, they fought and wrestled with each other; and it was a case of the best man wins. Those worsted in the struggle with the utmost good-nature contented themselves with the next best places; and so on to the back seat, into which the weakest fell, almost before the driver had brought his horses to a full stop. Away tore the stage with its laughing load, and another vehicle whirled up to the hotel steps, to be filled in a breathless instant.
As Angela stood watching, fascinated yet appalled, Nick came out to her, with the air of a general who has lost a battle.
"How glad I am," she whispered, "that we haven't got to fight for our lives like that. I simply couldn't do it."
"Mrs. May, we have got to!" he groaned. "I've failed, after all my boastings of what I could do for you in the Yosemite. A private carriage can't be had, and they've made a rule that no one's allowed to book a seat in advance. When the stage for the Sentinel Hotel comes along, I shall swing you on to the box seat, if I kill ten men."
Angela rebelled. She pitied herself so intensely that she had no compassion left for Nick. "What—dash people away, and push ahead of them? I'd rather—yes, I'd rather turn back to San Francisco."