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A Debt of Honor
A Debt of Honor / The Story of Gerald Lane's Success in the Far West
CHAPTER I
THE CABIN IN THE FOOTHILLS
Our story opens in a cabin among the foothills of Colorado. It was built of logs, and was not over twelve feet in height. In the center was a door, with a small window on each side. Through the roof rose a section of funnel, from which issued a slender cloud of smoke.
Let us enter.
The interior of the cabin is a surprise – being comfortably furnished, while a carpet covers the floor. On one side is a bureau, a few portraits are on the walls, a pine bedstead and an easy-chair, in which is reclining a man of middle age whose wasted form and hollow cheeks attest the ravages of consumption. From time to time he looked wistfully toward the door, saying in a low voice: “Where is Gerald? He is gone a long time.”
Five minutes later the sound of hoofs was heard outside, and a boy of sixteen galloped up from the canyon on the left, and, jumping off at the portal, tethered his pony and pushed open the door of the cabin. He was a marked contrast to the sick man, for he was strongly made, with the hue of health in his ruddy cheeks, and a self-reliant, manly look upon his attractive face.
“How do you feel, father?” he asked gently.
The sick man shook his head.
“I shall never be any better, Gerald,” he answered slowly.
“Don’t look on the dark side,” said Gerald.
“See, I have brought you some medicine.”
He took from the side pocket of his sack coat a bottle, which he placed on the table.