Bob Hampton of Placer

Just now the vision of that tantalizing girl continued to haunt his

memory, and would not down even to the glorious hope of a coming

campaign. The mystery surrounding her, her reticence, the muttered

insinuation dropping from the unguarded lips of Murphy, merely served

to render her the more attractive, while her own naive witchery of

manner, and her seemingly unconscious coquetry, had wound about him a

magic spell, the full power of which as yet remained but dimly

appreciated. His mind lingered longingly upon the marvel of the dark

eyes, while the cheery sound of that last rippling outburst of laughter

reëchoed in his ears like music.

His had been a lonely life since leaving West Point and joining his

regiment--a life passed largely among rough men and upon the desolate

plains. For months at a time he had known nothing of refinement, nor

enjoyed social intercourse with the opposite sex; life had thus grown

as barren and bleak as those desert wastes across which he rode at the

command of his superiors. For years the routine of his military duties

had held him prisoner, crushing out the dreams of youth. Yet, beneath

his mask of impassibility, the heart continued to beat with fierce

desire, biding the time when it should enjoy its own sweet way.

Perhaps that hour had already dawned; certainly something new,

something inspiring, had now come to awaken an interest unfelt before,

and leave him idly dreaming of shadowed eyes and flushed, rounded

cheeks.

He was in this mood when he overtook the Rev. Howard Wynkoop and marked

the thoughtful look upon his pale face.

"I called at your camp," explained Wynkoop, after the first words of

greeting had been exchanged, "as soon as I learned you were here in

command, but only to discover your absence. The sergeant, however, was

very courteous, and assured me there would be no difficulty in

arranging a religious service for the men, unless sudden orders should

arrive. No doubt I may rely on your coöperation."

"Most certainly," was the cordial response, "and I shall also permit

those desiring to attend your regular Sunday services so long as we are

stationed here. How is your work prospering?"

"There is much to encourage me, but spiritual progress is slow, and

there are times when my faith falters and I feel unworthy of the

service in which I am engaged. Doubtless this is true of all labor,

yet the minister is particularly susceptible to these influences

surrounding him."

"A mining camp is so intensely material seven days of the week that it

must present a difficult field for the awakening of any religious

sentiment," confessed Brant sympathetically, feeling not a little

interested in the clear-cut, intellectual countenance of the other. "I

have often wondered how you consented to bury your talents in such a

place."