And then began a whooping and cheering that made the place a pandemonium, which even the unwonted feminine presence in their midst could not keep in abeyance. Gold and silver, flowing like water, passed from hand to hand, making some rich, and others poor; for in the camp such indebtednesses were settled on the instant, and no man shirked.
When accounts were apparently squared, Jerry, wild with enthusiasm, sprang up in front of the cart in which the sisters sat, and shouted lustily:
“Our horse has won the race! Hurrah for Whirlwind and Bill Will!”
When the cheer had been repeated to the echo, Jerry, taking fresh breath, went on:
“And hurrah for the sisters and the orphans, too, I say! March up here, every mother’s son of you, and ante up half your winnin’s for the orphans! Here you are, old girl,” he said, throwing a big handful of gold into her lap. “That’s half of my pile, and if ever you tackle an orphan o’ mine, teach it to bet its last dollar on the winnin’ horse! Come ahead, boys! Every last one o’ you throw in half your pile, and the devil take the one that refuses!”
For the next five minutes, the gold and silver coins fell like pouring hailstones into the old sister’s ample lap, and while this was going on, Bill Will, with quiet, stealthy footsteps, approached the cart from the other side, and poured his contribution into the lap of the younger sister. Those who noticed it were not aware that it was not the half, but the whole of his winnings, of which he so disposed. Nor did they notice that, among the coins, was a little woodland flower, which he had stooped and gathered.
This small and worthless offering was not wholly overlooked, however, for before she turned over her rich tribute of gold to her companion, the little sister took the flower and hid it in the folds of her gray gown—an action that was clearly seen by one.
Presently the old man stirred up his drowsy horse, and the cart began to move. He had thanked the crowd for their generous charity, in the name of the sisters, whose order did not permit them such public speech.
The men stood watching the departure of the cart with a certain wistfulness. The sight of these good women had roused them to unwonted musings. But of the tragedy taking place beneath their eyes, they had no imagination—for in that moment, a man and a woman who had loved with the supreme passion of their hearts, and who had been separated by an inexorable fate, had looked their last into each other’s eyes.
PRINTED AT THE LAKESIDE PRESS, CHICAGO
FOR HERBERT S. STONE & CO.
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