CHAPTER VI

A Wager

Peggy Webster was standing alone, smoothing the shaggy coat of one of the pair of mules hitched to their wagon. Her brother had gone into the hotel nearby to find a physician for their new acquaintance.

Peggy was not wearing her Camp Fire dress. She was under the impression that it made her more conspicuous in coming to a fashionable hotel, such as this one. The guests might or might not understand the reason for her unusual costume.

However, being Peggy, characteristically her toilet was of the simplest and most convenient kind. She had on a short, tan-colored corduroy skirt and jacket, a cream silk blouse and a corduroy hat. She also wore riding boots of brown leather, finding them more convenient than ordinary shoes.

Yet, in spite of her simplicity, perhaps because of it, she made a charming figure. She was of medium height and slender, with broad shoulders and narrow hips; although Peggy was sixteen, she still suggested in the carriage of her head and body the vitality and grace of a boy rather than a girl. It was difficult to analyze this quality of the girl’s which, however, people recognized at once. It may have come from a certain independence of spirit—a love of outdoor things—a straightforwardness and an avoidance of the emotions which most girls enjoy. Yet none of these qualities are essentially boyish, since ninety-nine boys out of a hundred may not possess them, but the description is used for want of a better one.

From the three months of living outdoors Peggy’s olive skin was a deeper tone and her color more brilliant. In her Camp Fire costume she sometimes wore her hair loose; but on occasions like this, it was braided and fastened close about her small head. In looking close at Peggy, what one was forced to admire in her most was the clearness and beauty of her dark eyes, which stared straight into yours with a perfect faith that the ideals of every human being were as clear and sincere as her own. Another charm was the unconsciously proud tilt of her short, straight nose and chin.

Glancing up to see if her brother had finished his errand, Peggy saw an immaculate figure coming toward her over the carefully tended grounds of the hotel.

She waved a friendly hand toward him, the young man returning her greeting more languidly.

“Gotten up regardless, aren’t you Ralph?” Peggy remarked good-naturedly, as Ralph Marshall joined her.

She did not dislike him as Bettina Graham did; indeed Peggy rarely disliked any one. And Ralph had been coming to their place in New Hampshire for a portion of his holidays for several years. He was ordinarily sweet-tempered and obliging and his affectations and lack of interest in serious matters only amused Peggy, if she happened to think of them at all, while they made Bettina angry.

“Oh, I am showing the West how the thing ought to be done,” he answered with equal good temper, surveying himself with a not unpleasant vanity. For Ralph was extraordinarily good looking—rather too much so to be desirable in a man, according to some ideas. In spite of the fact that it was morning, Ralph was wearing a tennis costume of such amazing perfection that he suggested a magazine advertisement.

“I thought you would soon get tired of roughing it on Mr. Gardener’s ranch,” Peggy went on. “After a while, Ralph, you will have surveyed all human occupations and found none of them worth the effort of pursuing, won’t you?”

Ralph laughed. “I say, Peggy, that is unworthy of you. Such severity should have come from Bettina Graham. Why can’t you think I left the Gardener ranch in order to be nearer the Camp Fire girls, even if you are not enthusiastic over my society? By the way, Terry Benton and Howard Brent are here with me for a few weeks. They both felt a holiday was due them, and naturally, as I was so near, I wished to see the Grand Canyon.”

Peggy nodded. “I am glad Howard Brent is with you, I like him.”

This also was characteristic of Peggy Webster. Most girls would not have been willing to be so straightforward in expressing an interest. But really it did not occur to Peggy that she should not state her liking for Howard Brent as freely as if he had been a girl; and, of course, there was no reason why she should not.

However, Ralph felt slightly annoyed. He was accustomed to being both admired and flattered by his girl acquaintances. Even Bettina Graham’s dislike of him was more agreeable than Peggy’s good-natured indifference.

Moreover, Peggy’s expression had at this instant changed, as she went quickly forward to greet the two young men who were advancing toward them.

“It is awfully good luck to have you so near our camp again; I hope you will both come over to see us,” Ralph heard her say the moment after she had shaken hands with the newcomers. She had not suggested a visit to him.

Howard Brent and Terry Benton in a lesser degree were types of men whom Peggy might have been expected to admire.

Howard Brent was the son of an Arizona ranchman and was himself one. He was a big, strong, fearless fellow of about twenty; having spent most of his life outdoors, he was nearly as dark in appearance as Peggy herself and almost as straightforward. Terry, of course, was an Irishman and, although he also lived outdoors, he had the Irish subtleties and the ability to laugh at himself, which Peggy could not at this time of her life understand.

A short time after, while the little group of four were continuing to talk, Dan Webster came out from the hotel. Ralph Marshall introduced him to his two friends and straightway they fell into a discussion of future plans.

Dan was younger than the other men and had never been west before. But he had spent his life in the New Hampshire woods and was devoted to outdoor sports. Moreover, he was tremendously grateful and enthusiastic over the suggestion of his two new acquaintances, that he join them in the hunting and tramping expeditions which they were then planning.

He knew Ralph Marshall, of course, and they were friendly enough, but had no particular liking for each other.

“You are not going to join in these strenuous enterprises, are you, Ralph?” Peggy asked as she and Dan were about to climb back into their wagon to return to their own camp.

“Why not?” Ralph demanded, flushing a little, not so much from Peggy’s tone, which had been nothing but friendly, but from the attitude which he suspected in the other three men.

“Oh, for no reason at all,” Peggy returned quickly, “only that I thought you liked other amusements better. You know I don’t think a great deal of trying to destroy things, although so long as I like to eat what Dan kills I suppose I can’t criticise his hunting.”

In her first speech Peggy had had no idea of hurting Ralph’s feelings, or even his self-esteem, which is what people are apt to hurt in us. Therefore, appreciating the fact that he seemed a little uncomfortable, she had attempted to change the subject. Moreover, in saying good-bye she gave her hand last to Ralph, looking at him with an appeal for forgiveness for her unconscious awkwardness. Under the circumstances she found it impossible to apologise openly.

Ralph Marshall had not Peggy’s generosity of nature. He said good-bye with perfect politeness, but the girl still felt that he was chagrined.

“Bully girl, isn’t she? As good a sport I should think as the best kind of a fellow!” Howard Brent exclaimed after Dan and Peggy had driven off.

For a moment Terry Benton whistled softly before replying. Then, being an Irishman, he was a little enigmatic.

“They are made differently, aren’t they, girls? We men may be cut after the same pattern, but sometimes I believe no two girls are alike. Personally I like the old-fashioned types better. Peggy Webster would be the best kind of a comrade I expect, but somehow I suppose, being Irish, I could stand for a little more sentiment than she possesses.”

In point of fact Terry was then thinking of Sally Ashton, by whom, since their first meeting, he had been strongly attracted. But there was no distinction in this, as Sally attracted most men. She also made most of them believe that she was filled with exquisite, womanly emotions, when, in reality she had not half the hidden depth of feeling that Peggy’s finer and more sincere nature concealed.

Ralph Marshall had been listening to his two friends, without entering into the conversation, but he now shrugged his shoulders.

“Oh you and Benton are both wrong, Brent; girls are all alike. It is only that they are better actresses than men are and can appear to be different. I’ll bet Peggy Webster is as sentimental and as vain as most of them. I’ll wager I can prove it to you. She is an only girl and has lived surrounded by an adoring family. I don’t suppose she has ever had any man pay her the least attention. If she had she would be like all the rest.”

Terry Benton laughed. “Friend Ralph is a trifle annoyed, isn’t he? Hasn’t Mistress Peggy been sufficiently impressed? Anyhow, Marshall, you can be pretty sure she will never change her temperament for either of us.”

Ralph shrugged his shoulders.

“Oh, I don’t know. I’ll bet you a hundred I could make her like me if I tried hard enough.”

“Taken,” Terry Benton replied quickly.

Until this moment Howard Brent had been silent during the conversation which his own words had innocently provoked. However, his face had crimsoned and he was now looking rather angry.

“You men are a couple of—oh, you know well enough what I would like to call you without my saying the word,” he added. “But, in any case, kindly don’t consider me a third in this transaction. It is rather hard luck to have had to stay and hear this much of your conversation.” He turned angrily away.

Terry Benton followed him.

“Oh, don’t take a joke so seriously, Howard. Marshall is ridiculous about himself, although he is a fine enough chap in some ways. I only took up that proposition of his because I thought it would be a good thing for him to lose. He needs to be taken down by a Peggy or two.”

Although the two men were walking away, it was still possible for Ralph Marshall to overhear what they were saying. He felt fairly uncomfortable.

He had spoken at first without any particular realization of the significance of his words and without any direct intention of involving himself in a wager, which certainly appeared objectionable upon the face of it. Then, as often happens, the situation had gotten beyond him.

He wished now that he had never mentioned Peggy. It was bad form for men to discuss a girl with other men, and certainly it was a good deal worse form to have made so absurd a bet concerning one. It was Benton’s own fault. He should not have taken him up so quickly; he should have understood that he had spoken without thinking.

Nevertheless Ralph was not sure that he would not still like to prove to Terry that he could make good.