Bob Hampton of Placer

Lieutenant Brant was somewhat delayed in reaching the scene of Miss

Spencer's social triumph. Certain military requirements were largely

responsible for this delay, and he had patiently wrestled with an

unsatisfactory toilet, mentally excoriating a service which would not

permit the transportation of dress uniforms while on scouting detail.

Nevertheless, when he finally stepped forth into the brilliant

moonlight, he presented an interesting, soldierly figure, his face

still retaining a bit of the boy about it, his blue eyes bright with

expectancy. That afternoon he had half decided not to go at all, the

glamour of such events having long before grown dim, but the peculiar

attraction of this night proved too strong; not thus easily could he

erase from memory the haunting witchery of a face. Beyond doubt, when

again viewed amid the conventionalities, much of its imagined charm

would vanish; yet he would see her once more, although no longer

looking forward to drawing a prize.

The dance was already in full swing, the exciting preliminaries having

been largely forgotten in the exuberance of motion, when he finally

pushed his way through the idle loungers gathered about the door, and

gained entrance to the hall. Many glanced curiously at him, attracted

by the glitter of his uniform, but he recognized none among them, and

therefore passed steadily toward the musicians' stand, where there

appeared to be a few unoccupied chairs.

The scene was one of color and action. The rapid, pulsating music, the

swiftly whirling figures, the quivering drapery overhead, the bright

youthful faces, the glow of numerous lamps, together with the ceaseless

voices and merry shuffling of feet, all combined to create a scene

sufficiently picturesque. It was altogether different from what he had

anticipated. He watched the speeding figures, striving in vain to

distinguish the particular one whose charms had lured him thither. He

looked upon fair faces in plenty, flushed cheeks and glowing eyes

skurried past him, with swirling skirts and flashes of neatly turned

ankles, as these enthusiastic maids and matrons from hill and prairie

strove to make amends for long abstinence. But among them all he was

unable to distinguish the wood-nymph whose girlish frankness and grace

had left so deep an impression on his memory. Yet surely she must be

present, for, to his understanding, this whole gay festival was in her

honor. Directly across the room he caught sight of the Reverend Mr.

Wynkoop conversing with a lady of somewhat rounded charms, and picked

his way in their direction.

The missionary, who had yet scarcely recovered from the shock of

Moffat's impulsive speech, and who, in truth, had been hiding an

agonized heart behind a smiling face, was only too delighted at any

excuse which would enable him to approach Miss Spencer, and press aside

those cavaliers who were monopolizing her attention. The handicap of

not being able to dance he felt to be heavy, and he greeted the

lieutenant with unusual heartiness of manner.