Starting from the big hotel in a new direction every day the
Pittsburgers explored the valleys and the cañons, for the lake and the
springs nestle in the Pilot Mountains and the scenery is everywhere
new. Mount Pilot itself rises loftily to the north, and from its sides
may be seen every peak in the range.
One day, for a novelty, the whole party went down to Medicine Bend,
nominally on a shopping expedition, but really on a lark. Medicine
Bend is the only town within a day's distance of Glen Tarn Springs
where there are shops; and though the shopping usually ended in a
chorus of jokes, the trip on the main line trains, which they caught at
Sleepy Cat, was always worth while, and the dining-car, with an
elaborate supper in returning, was a change from the hotel table.
Sometimes Gertrude and Mrs. Whitney went together to the headquarters
town--Gertrude expecting always to encounter Glover. When some time
had passed, her failure to get a glimpse of him piqued her. One day
with her aunt going down they met Conductor O'Brien. He was more than
ready to answer questions, and fortunately for the reserve that
Gertrude loved to maintain, Mrs. Whitney remarked they had not seen Mr.
Glover for some time.
"No one has seen much of him for two weeks; he had a little bad luck,"
explained Conductor O'Brien.
"Indeed?"
"Three weeks ago he was up at Crab Valley. They had a cave-in on the
irrigation canal and two or three men got caught under a coal platform
near the steam shovel. Glover was close by when it happened. He got
his back under the timbers until they could get the men out and broke
two of his ribs. He went home that night without knowing of it, but a
couple of days afterward he sneezed and found it out right away. Since
then he's been doing his work in a plaster cast."
Their return train that day was several hours behind time and Gertrude
and her aunt were compelled to go up late to the American House for
supper. A hotel supper at Medicine Bend was naturally the occasion of
some merriment, and the two diverted themselves with ordering a wild
assortment of dishes. The supper hour had passed, the dining-room had
been closed, and they were sitting at their dessert when a late comer
entered the room. Gertrude touched her aunt's arm--Glover was passing.
Mrs. Whitney's first impulse was to halt the silent engineer with one
of her imperative words. To think of him was to think only of his
easily approachable manner; but to see him was indistinctly to recall
something of a dignity of simplicity. She contented herself with a
whisper. "He doesn't see us."
At the lower end of the room Glover sat down. Almost at once Gertrude
became conscious of the silence. She handled her fork noiselessly, and
the interval before a waitress pushed open the swinging kitchen door to
take his order seemed long. The Eastern girl watched narrowly until
the waitress flounced out, and Glover, shifting his knife and his fork
and his glass of water, spread his limp napkin across his lap, and
resting his elbow on the table supported his head on his hand.