Part 3

After a moment of silence he said, "My God, what will I do?"

"Young man, what would you have done had you not met that woman?"

"I would have gone West," he answered.

"Well--go West now. Go, before she comes back and has you under her influence. Go, and you will feel all the better in time."

"But it would be dishonorable to go in this way, with her money," said Edward.

"Ah! would it not be much more dishonorable to use her money to bring unhappiness to her and to yourself? And you can repay that money later--in fact, you will repay her much sooner if you go away than if you stay and go on the stage."

In his heart Edward felt that his adviser was right, and he thought he could bear the voice of Marie Louise saying, "He is right."

"I'll follow your advice," said Edward, shaking the old man's hand tenderly.

"God bless you, my boy! I feel that I have done a good act in my late days of life, and I know that you will thank the day you met me when later you think of this. Where will you go?"

"I don't know," answered Edward; trying to smile.

"I have a friend out in Montana who owns a big ranch. He is an old classmate of mine and I often go and spend the summer months with him. I will write a letter which you will take to him. He will give you something to do; it may not be very fine work, but I will guarantee that it will be healthy and conducive to happiness. Do you like horses?"

"Do I?" spoke up Edward, brightening considerably; "I should say I do."

"Good! Meet me here to-night at eight o'clock," and the old man walked out.

Edward lingered at the club for a short time, then went to his boarding-house, where he found his friend Ben waiting for him.

"Ben, I am going to leave the city," he said, after sitting down.

"Going to New York, I suppose," answered the Russian, smiling, and thinking that Edward had decided to follow Nellie.

"No, sir, I am going West. I have decided to quit the idea of going on the stage."

"What! Going West? What's the matter; Ed, are you crazy?"

"No, I don't think I am crazy, but I may have been," and then he explained the whole thing to his astonished friend, who finally agreed with him, but was sorry to part with Edward, and told him so.

"Never mind, old boy, we will meet again, when we have settled in life," said Edward, beginning to arrange his trunk for his early departure.

After supper he and the Russian walked to the Actors' Club, where the old man was waiting, with a letter addressed to

Mr. Frank Goodnow, Grass Village, Montana.

The three sat and talked until late. The Russian took a great fancy to the old actor, who in turn was favorably impressed by Ben. This meeting was the beginning of their friendship, and they visited each other, finding much pleasure in their relations.

It was decided that Edward would leave the next morning, and the old actor agreed to be at the station to bid him good-by.

When they returned to their room, Ben went to bed, but Edward sat down writing letters until late in the night. Among these letters, one was difficult to write satisfactorily, and he wrote many before he was satisfied with the one he was to send to Nellie. He bad decided not to let her know his whereabouts; this, at the suggestion of his friend, the old actor. The letter he decided to mail to Nellie, read as follows:

"DEAR AND KIND FRIEND NELLIE: After much thinking, I have come to the conclusion that I was not born to be an actor, and furthermore, that it would not be right for you and me to carry on our little romance. Life is not a dream, and while I have greatly enjoyed our little trip in dreamland, I foresee the day when we would both have to face life in its reality, and I feel that bright as life has been with you thus far, the day is not far distant when we both would see the clouds of unhappiness accumulate over our heads--and I know it is better to part in sunshine than in the shadow of unhappiness. I cannot find words to express how grateful I feel toward you for your extreme kindness to me. I leave it to your kind heart to imagine the greatness of my gratitude, and the immensity of the sacrifice I now make. The moments spent in your presence were the happiest of my life, and my soul never knew how much a human being could enjoy the happy dreams of life until I came under your influence. I will always remember you as the brightest star in the firmament of my life, and I will pray that you may never know the bitterness of misfortune. With a last loving kiss, good-by, and forgive me! My friend, Ben Oresky, will some day pay you back the loans you made me. "Yours, with best wishes for your future happiness, EDWARD."

He could not help but shed tears as he sealed this letter, but at the same time he felt satisfied. He felt like a man after accomplishing a hard duty; but it was done and he was almost proud of the fact.

The next morning, at the station where Ben accompanied him, they met the old actor who, true to his word, was there to bid him good-by.

Once more Edward was carried to an unknown country, but this time he felt easy. He was strong with the feeling of having sacrificed much for the sake of his duty, and already there seemed to be much more room in his heart for Marie Louise, of whom he could not think without blushing. After a day and a half of fast traveling he arrived at Grass Village where he was met by Mr. Goodnow, to whom he had written. This gentleman was a real western type, and Edward was pleased with the cordial manner in which he was received. After being taken to the house, Edward gave Mr. Goodnow his letter of recommendation from his old friend, and went upstairs to a room to wash himself. When he came down, he met the whole family, and felt at home from the first.

While Edward was getting acquainted with his new duties, his letter to Nellie had reached her, and as she read it, she felt hot tears come to her eyes, and for an instant her heart felt as if pierced by an arrow. She had never realized until then how much she really loved that young man. As she eat holding his letter in her hands, she saw her dream of anticipated happiness crumbled to pieces, and such a despair as had never before entered her soul came to her. "My God! My God!" she said, and then closed her eyes.

The heart of a woman is a strange thing, and Nellie's heart was one of the strangest. Having never before known what love was, she had all at once felt her whole being infected by a mighty passion, a passion such as no human being can feel twice, and now the object of her love had vanished. He was gone without even saying where. Her sorrow was almost as great as her love, and from this time Nellie King was a different woman. She broke her engagement in New York and came back to Chicago, where she tried in vain to learn where Edward had gone. The Russian had promised Edward not to reveal where he was, and he was true to his promise, hard as it was to refuse Nellie, to whom he owed his situation.

For twelve months Edward had lived on Mr. Goodnow's ranch, and his reputation as the best and most fearless rider on the ranch, as well as the most graceful, was a recognized fact, and that was enough to make him popular. His little mare, a perfect type of that class of horses, called "bronchos;" was the prettiest and swiftest on the ranch, and he had named her "Nellie," and indeed, any woman would have been proud to give her name to such a beauty. There were twelve cowboys on Goodnow's ranch, and every week, one of them had a day off, which was spent at his own discretion.

Cowboys as a class are a queer lot of men. They are fearless and brave to excess, and being isolated from society so much, they are often eccentric; but their eccentricity has its charms.

The fraternal feeling which exists among these men is of the genuine kind, and they are exceedingly generous in helping each other in case of misfortune. They practice all sorts of manly sports, and the feats they can accomplish on horseback are wonderful. It is an easy matter for some of them to lean on one side of their saddle while going at a great rate of speed, and pick up a small object on the ground. They are skillful shots in many ways, and one way that never fails to impress the "tenderfoot," is the shooting of a clay pipe at a distance of twenty-five feet, while held in the mouth of one of them, who apparently does not see much excitement in the act. It is great fun for them to "break in" a "tenderfoot," by which name they call any aspirant to the vocation of cowboy.

The meanest bucking bronco is brought to him to ride and behold! if the poor candidate cannot hold on to the saddle while the kicking brute is playing circus, the cowboys add to the excitement by their yells, often throwing small stones at the bucking cayuse.

Edward went through all their initiatory proceedings, and came out with the respect of the lookers-on; his popularity counted from that time.

Since his departure from Chicago, Edward had received many letters from his Russian friend, but very little had been said about Nellie. He was now a different man, not only in his general appearance, which was much improved by the open air life, but also morally. He had sent two hundred dollars to Ben, who paid it over to Nellie, and while he still felt more than a kindly feeling toward her, it was nothing like the old passion. On their "day off" cowboys usually go to some saloon, where they drink and play cards, and generally have as exciting a time as they can to make up for the monotony of their life in the field; but Edward preferred spending these days at the home of his employer, whose daughter Grace showed much partiality for the French lad, or French Ed, as he was now called by every one on the ranch.

Mr. Goodnow's only daughter Grace was a splendid young lady of eighteen, and quite a musician. She was very small and her face was too baby-like to be called real pretty, but her large blue eyes were soft and full of melancholy. She was a very interesting talker, and her horsemanship could not be excelled. She never failed to cause a smile of satisfaction on her father's face whenever she mounted Topsy, her spirited little thoroughbred black mare.

Grace always looked ahead to the time when French Ed was to come into town, because she took much pleasure in his company. It was great fun for her to ride his mare Nell, while he rode Topsy. Together, they would take long rides, sometimes taking their lunch with them, and stopping by some little running brook, where in the shade of some tree they would eat and enjoy life.

Grace was very much interested in everything that pertained to Edward's life. She too questioned him about his past, his schooldays, his folks, and one day she gave him one of her pictures to send to his sister. She never seemed to tire of hearing him talk, and he always found much pleasure in talking to her.

She admired him with that admiration that often leads to love, while he liked her with that feeling that is more than friendship and still cannot be called love. At times, Edward thought that he would like to take her little baby face in his hands and kiss her on the lips; but he knew what the result would be, and he contented himself in imagining how good it would be. Once, while Edward was singing a new song with Grace at the piano, he bent to see the notes, until his face rubbed against hers, and then he felt a strange dizziness come to his brain, and was raising his arms to put them around her neck, when she suddenly stood up and looked him straight in the eyes, and said, "Ed--"

Had she slapped him with her little hand he would not have felt nearly so bad as he did facing those large blue eyes, so reproachful and sad.

"Play 'El Diavolo,'" he asked her trying to hide his embarrassment, and she did.

Early the next morning Edward was on his way to his work. He had a distance of about twelve miles to ride, and the morning was so perfect that life seemed a blessing on such a day. It was one of those mornings that fill the soul with exhilaration, and makes you think of the greatness of the Creator of this wonderful world. The little wild flowers along the road were covered with dewdrops, which glistened under the first sun rays like millions of diamonds. The air was full of that sweet fragrance found nowhere but on the vast Western prairies, and Edward was thinking how good life was. He was nearing the place where thousands of steers were grazing, and was humming the air of a French song, when all at once he heard a rumbling noise. It was distant and much like the noise one hears when approaching the sea. Edward placed his hand to his ear and stopped the mare, in order to make out what was the meaning of that noise. Raising himself on his stirrups, he looked in the direction where the rumbling sound came from and saw a dark spot which kept growing as the noise increased, until a moment later the ground was actually trembling, while a big cloud of dust indicated the coming herd of crazed steers. It was a stampede--and while Edward had never seen one before, he knew its dangers. His little mare was now rearing and snorting with great evidence of fright, and Edward hardly knew what to do. He knew that to try and stop the maddened steers was an utter impossibility, but felt that it was his duty to try and do something to prevent the terrible disaster which is always sure to follow a stampede, when thousands of valuable animals fall of exhaustion and are trampled to death by the others, or, as sometimes happens, they dash themselves to death from some high precipice, where the first ones to reach are pushed over by the oncoming, until thousands have been sent to destruction. Edward knew this and he also knew that the stampede was now heading toward a dangerous marsh where thousands would perish, unless something was done to prevent them from going in the direction they were then taking. It is a fact that the best way to stop a stampede is to get the animals circling round, and this is often done by the cowboys, who ride with the leaders of the stampede, and lash them on the head until they gradually keep turning; but it is one of the most dangerous actions that a cowboy can be called to do. A stumble of the horse and both rider and horse are sure to be trampled upon by the frenzied herd, and of course, that means destruction.

Edward could soon distinguish some of the other cowboys, riding furiously by the side of the running herd, but apparently unable to reach the leaders, and in a moment he made up his mind to do it himself, and immediately starting his mare at a rather slow canter, he let the stampede come nearer and nearer until he could hear their hard breathing; then, taking his long lasso in his right band, he half turned himself on his saddle, and while at a very rapid gait, he kept striking the furious beasts in the face, until they began to alter their course, and turn to the right, which was exactly what he wanted. By this time the other cowboys had joined him, and the great moving mass was now beginning to circle around; but just then Edward's mare missed her footing and fell forward, turning a complete somersault and breaking Edward's right arm above the elbow. It was almost miraculous that he never let go of the reins, which he held with his left hand, but was again on the saddle as soon as his mare was on her feet, his right arm banging limp by his side, and causing the most excruciating pain as it moved with every motion of the mare. His face was also badly bruised, blood flowed freely from his mouth and nose, and when some of the cowboys came to his rescue he was riding on his saddle like a drunken man. They made a sling with a piece of lasso, and after bathing his face in the water of a near-by spring, they decided that two of them would go back to the village with Edward, while the rest would remain and watch the still excited herd. They started very slowly, knowing that the motion caused by cantering or galloping would make Edward's arm pain him much more; but Edward, after inquiring if his mare was badly hurt, and being told that except for some blood running from her nose, she seemed to be all right, they were surprised to hear him say: "Boys, let's go a little faster or we will never reach home."

The ends of the fractured bone could be heard grinding against each other at the galloping motion; but had it not been for the cold sweat that covered his pale face, no one would have known that Edward was suffering intense pain, except for the gritting of his teeth now and then.

At last they reached Mr. Goodnow's, and when Edward was helped into the house, he was so exhausted that he could not speak. The two other cowboys told Mr. Goodnow of the occurrence and of the heroic action by which Edward had saved many thousands of dollars.

"To hell with the steers!" said the rancher. "I would rather have lost the whole damned lot of critters than see this boy crippled and suffering like this."

When the doctor came, he said that Edward had sustained a compound fracture of the humerus and that it would take many weeks, in fact, two or three months before he would be able to use the arm. He also suggested giving chloroform, to reduce the fracture and set the arm, but Edward smiled faintly and said, "I guess I can stand a little more, doctor; go on with the job." After the arm was set, the doctor mentioned that it might be better if his patient was taken to the hospital, where he could see him every day.

"No, sir--we'll take care of him here, Doc; and don't spare the expense. Come every day, and I'll stand the bill myself," said Goodnow, and Edward noticed an expression of satisfaction upon Grace's face.

She washed his face carefully, and tenderly, and from this time she was his nurse, and a more faithful nurse never lived.

When the doctor came the next day, he found that Ed ward had not slept all night, and that while his arm was not very painful, his head was a source of great suffering. After taking his temperature, the doctor anxiously examined his head and ordered ice-packs to be continually kept on it, and taking Mr. Goodnow aside, the doctor informed him that Edward was suffering from cerebral fever, and that he would likely become delirious very soon.

Late in the afternoon, while Grace was placing fresh ice upon his head, he suddenly raised himself in bed, and grasping her hand he began to talk excitedly; but as he spoke in French, she could not understand him. Still, from the strange look in his eyes, she knew that Ed ward was delirious, and she called her father in.

"Lie down, Ed, lie down, like a good fellow," said Mr. Goodnow.

Edward stared at him an instant, and then fell heavily back in bed, still speaking French. After a while, he sat up again, and this time excitedly began to talk in English, asking, "Where is Nellie?"

"She is in the stable; lie down, Ed, lie down, my boy; Nellie is all right," said Mr. Goodnow, carefully pushing him back.

"I want to talk to her--bring her in here-I want her to sing for me--please bring her in here!"

"Poor fellow, he is completely out of his head--he wants to hear his mare sing," said Goodnow, who could not help but smile at the idea of Edward's mare singing.

Then Grace came in, and when Edward saw her, he seemed pleased, and trying to raise himself, he said: "Please, Nellie, sing me that old song--I mean that French song, you know?"

Grace looked at him, and tears came to her eyes when she noticed that tender and pleading expression on his face, and she hurried out of the room.

"She is mad at me, or she would not refuse to sing for me--oh, just once--let me hear 'Rendez moi ma patrie'."

From this time Edward was delirious and failed to know any one around him, and the doctor's prognosis was not very encouraging as to his ultimate mental recovery.

A great part of the time the poor fellow spoke French. It was much as if the cruel winds of adversity had blown back the pages of his life already lived, and he was apparently living them over again.

He spoke of his mother, Marie Louise, Benjamin, Nellie, but seldom mentioned the name of Grace. During many weeks he remained delirious. His arm had got well enough to permit him to move it without pain, but the light of intelligence seemed to have left him forever. His face was emaciated, and his eyes had lost their old-time brightness. A strange phenomenon was gradually changing the color of his hair from brown to white, especially on one side, where he had struck the ground when his mare stumbled, and his appearance was that of a man at least ten years older than he was. During all this time many letters bad been received at his address, but when handed to him, he never displayed the least interest, or tried to read them.

One day, Mr. Goodnow came back to the house with his friend, the old actor, who had taken so much interest in Edward, and it was really pitiful to witness the sorrowful expression on the actor's face as he held the hand of Edward, who failed to show any sign of recognition. When later, his old friend Ben came, it was the same thing, and the Russian cried like a child; but Edward showed no sign of any emotion, and his case was considered entirely hopeless.

He got well enough to roam around, but he never was allowed to go alone, and Grace was his most constant companion. She led him to the most beautiful places on the ranch, and once, while sitting in the shade near a flowing brook, where she read to him, she felt sure that he had given sign of returning intelligence when he had said, with a pleased smile, "Beautiful," but alas, it was only a flash, and his condition remained the same.

A few days later, during the quiet of the night, the horrible word "fire" was heard in the Goodnow's house, and the next instant the flames were coming through some of the windows. It seemed evident that everybody in the house was doomed to destruction, and when a great crash was heard, Goodnow leaped from a second-story window, where he expected his wife to follow; but the poor woman, thinking of the danger of her daughter, walked to the other part of the house, reaching the girl's room in time to see her escaping through the window. Then, already suffocating, she only had strength to reach the same window, but not enough to raise herself and leap over it, and the next instant the flames had enveloped her and she died a victim of her motherly love.

Grace, crazed by her anxiety for her parents, was running around and calling her mother and father, and when she found her father alone she knew that her mother was dead, because the part of the house where she slept was already nothing but a burning mass.

Until then, no one had thought of Edward, as it seemed useless to think of saving anybody who might still be in the burning house, and when Grace cried out: "Edward! Edward! where is he?" As his room was on the ground floor she went near his window, and smashing it, called him by name, and God knows it was not too soon, as the fire, which had apparently neglected that part of the house, seemed to come to it with renewed energy, and a moment later the whole house was wrapped by the cruel flames. When some of the neighbors, attracted by the glare, came to offer assistance they saw the most pitiful spectacle possible.

Grace was crying and running around calling for her mother, while Goodnow stood by, sobbing like a child. At a little distance from the house, sitting near a large tree, was Edward, looking strangely at the burning house, as if fascinated by the sight; and now and then clapping his hands, he would say, "Good play, is it not, Ben? But why don't she come back and sing again?"