diff options
| -rw-r--r-- | .gitattributes | 4 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | 75131-0.txt | 11555 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | 75131-h/75131-h.htm | 14488 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | 75131-h/images/cover.jpg | bin | 0 -> 758008 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 75131-h/images/frontispiece.jpg | bin | 0 -> 58540 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 75131-h/images/mcclurg.jpg | bin | 0 -> 11547 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | LICENSE.txt | 11 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | README.md | 2 |
8 files changed, 26060 insertions, 0 deletions
diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/75131-0.txt b/75131-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d689877 --- /dev/null +++ b/75131-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11555 @@ + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 75131 *** + + + + + + +FROM THE WEST TO THE WEST + + + + +[Illustration: _Jean beheld a tall, sunburned young man._—_Page 185_] + + + + + FROM THE WEST + TO THE WEST + + Across the Plains to + Oregon + + BY + ABIGAIL SCOTT DUNIWAY + + With Frontispiece in Color + + [Illustration] + + CHICAGO + A. C. McCLURG & CO. + 1905 + + COPYRIGHT + A. C. MCCLURG & CO. + 1905 + + Published April 7, 1905 + + THE UNIVERSITY PRESS, CAMBRIDGE, U. S. A. + + + + + TO + + THE HISTORICAL SOCIETY OF OREGON + + AND HER RISEN AND REMAINING PIONEERS + + I AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATE + + THIS BOOK + + ABIGAIL SCOTT DUNIWAY + + + + +PREFACE + + +Not from any desire for augmented fame, or for further notoriety than has +long been mine (at least within the chosen bailiwick of my farthest and +best beloved West), have I consented to indite these pages. + +The events of pioneer life, which form the groundwork of this story, are +woven into a composite whole by memory and imagination. But they are not +personal, nor do they present the reader, except in a fragmentary and +romantic sense, with the actual, individual lives of borderers I have +known. The story, nevertheless, is true to life and border history; and, +no matter what may be the fate of the book, the facts it delineates will +never die. + +Fifty years ago, as an illiterate, inexperienced settler, a busy, +overworked child-mother and housewife, an impulse to write was born +within me, inherited from my Scottish ancestry, which no lack of +education or opportunity could allay. So I wrote a little book which I +called “Captain Gray’s Company, or Crossing the Plains and Living in +Oregon.” + +Measured by time and distance as now computed, that was ages ago. The +iron horse and the telegraph had not crossed the Mississippi; the +telephone and the electric light were not; and there were no cables under +the sea. + +Life’s twilight’s shadows are around me now. The good husband who shaped +my destiny in childhood has passed to the skies; my beloved, beautiful, +and only daughter has also risen; my faithful sons have founded homes +and families of their own. Sitting alone in my deserted but not lonely +home, I have yielded to a demand that for several years has been reaching +me by person, post, and telephone, requesting the republication of my +first little story, which passed rapidly through two editions, and for +forty years has been out of print. In its stead I have written this +historical novel. + +Among the relics of the border times that abound in the rooms of the +Oregon Historical Society may be seen an immigrant wagon, a battered +ox-yoke, a clumsy, home-made hand-loom, an old-fashioned spinning-wheel, +and a rusty Dutch oven. Such articles are valuable as relics, but they +would not sell in paying quantities in this utilitarian age if duplicated +and placed upon the market. Just so with “Captain Gray’s Company.” It +accomplished its mission in its day and way. By its aid its struggling +author stumbled forward to higher aims. Let it rest, and let the world go +marching on. + + A. S. D. + +PORTLAND, OREGON, January 15, 1905. + + + + +CONTENTS + + + PAGE + + I. A REMOVAL IS PLANNED 15 + + II. EARLY LIFE IN THE MIDDLE WEST 22 + + III. MARRYING AND GIVING IN MARRIAGE 28 + + IV. OLD BLOOD AND NEW 35 + + V. SALLY O’DOWD 43 + + VI. THE BEGINNING OF A JOURNEY 50 + + VII. SCOTTY’S FIRST ROMANCE 55 + + VIII. A BORDER INCIDENT 62 + + IX. THE CAPTAIN DEFENDS THE LAW 68 + + X. THE CAPTAIN MAKES A DISTINCTION 76 + + XI. MRS. MCALPIN SEEKS ADVICE 84 + + XII. JEAN BECOMES A WITNESS 92 + + XIII. AN APPROACHING STORM 99 + + XIV. A CAMP IN CONSTERNATION 106 + + XV. CHOLERA RAGES 113 + + XVI. JEAN’S VISIT BEYOND THE VEIL 121 + + XVII. FATHER AND DAUGHTER 128 + + XVIII. THE LITTLE DOCTOR 134 + + XIX. A BRIEF MESSAGE FOR MRS. BENSON 142 + + XX. THE TEAMSTERS DESERT 148 + + XXI. AN UNEXPECTED ENCOUNTER 156 + + XXII. THE SQUAW MAN 163 + + XXIII. THE SQUAW ASSERTS HER RIGHTS 170 + + XXIV. A MORMON WOMAN 177 + + XXV. JEAN LOSES HER WAY 184 + + XXVI. LE-LE, THE INDIAN GIRL 191 + + XXVII. JEAN TRANSFORMED 197 + + XXVIII. THE STAMPEDE 203 + + XXIX. IN THE LAND OF DROUTH 209 + + XXX. BOBBIE GOES TO HIS MOTHER 217 + + XXXI. THROUGH THE OREGON MOUNTAINS 223 + + XXXII. LETTERS FROM HOME 229 + + XXXIII. LOVE FINDS A WAY 238 + + XXXIV. HAPPY JACK INTRODUCES HIMSELF 246 + + XXXV. ASHLEIGH MAKES NEW PLANS 253 + + XXXVI. HAPPY JACK IS SURPRISED 258 + + XXXVII. NEWS FOR JEAN 264 + + XXXVIII. THE BROTHERS JOURNEY HOMEWARD TOGETHER 271 + + XXXIX. THE OLD HOMESTEAD 283 + + XL. THE UNEXPECTED HAPPENS 290 + + XLI. “IN PRISON AND YE VISITED ME” 299 + + XLII. TOO BUSY TO BE MISERABLE 303 + + XLIII. JEAN IS HAPPY—AND ANOTHER PERSON 307 + + + + +FROM THE WEST TO THE WEST + + + + +I + +_A REMOVAL IS PLANNED_ + + +On the front veranda of a rectangular farmhouse, somewhat pretentious for +its time and place, stood a woman in expectant attitude. The bleak wind +of a spent March day played rudely with the straying ends of her bright, +abundant red-brown hair, which she brushed frequently from her careworn +face as she peered through the thickening shadows of approaching night. +The ice-laden branches of a leafless locust swept the latticed corner +behind which she had retreated for protection from the wind. A great +white-and-yellow watch-dog crouched expectantly at her feet, whining and +wagging his tail. + +Indoors, the big living-room echoed with the laughter and prattle of many +voices. At one end of a long table, littered with books and slates and +dimly lighted by flickering tallow dips, sat the older children of the +household, busy with their lessons for the morrow’s recitations. A big +fire of maple logs roared on the hearth in harmony with the roaring of +the wind outside. + +“Yes, Rover, he’s coming,” exclaimed the watcher on the veranda, as the +dog sprang to his feet with a noisy proclamation of welcome. + +A shaggy-bearded horseman, muffled to the ears in a tawny fur coat, +tossed his bridle to a stable-boy and, rushing up the icy steps, caught +the gentle woman in his arms. “It’s all settled, mother. I’ve made terms +with Lije. He’s to take my farm and pay me as he can. I’ve made a liberal +discount for the keep of the old folks; and we’ll sell off the stock, the +farming implements, the household stuff, and the sawmill, and be off in +less than a month for the Territory of Oregon.” + +Mrs. Ranger shrank and shivered. “Oregon is a long way off, John,” she +said, nestling closer to his side and half suppressing a sob. “There’s +the danger and the hardships of the journey to be considered, you know.” + +“I will always protect you and the children under all circumstances, +Annie. Can’t you trust me?” + +“Haven’t I always trusted you, John? But—” + +“What is it, Annie? Don’t be afraid to speak your mind.” + +“I was thinking, dear,—you know we’ve always lived on the frontier, and +civilization is just now beginning to catch up with us,—mightn’t it be +better for us to stay here and enjoy it? Illinois is still a new country, +you know. We’ve never had any advantages to speak of, and none of the +children, nor I, have ever seen a railroad.” + +“Don’t be foolish, Annie! We’ll take civilization with us wherever we go, +railroads or no railroads.” + +“But we’ll be compelled to leave our parents behind, John. They’re old +and infirm now, and we’ll be going so far away that we’ll never see them +again. At least, I sha’n’t.” + +The husband cleared his throat, but did not reply. The wife continued her +protest. + +“Just think of the sorrow we’ll bring upon ’em in their closing days, +dear! Then there’s that awful journey for us and the children through +more than two thousand miles of unsettled country, among wild beasts and +wilder Indians. Hadn’t we better let well-enough alone, and remain where +we are comfortable?” + +“A six months’ journey across the untracked continent, with ox teams +and dead-ax wagons, won’t be a summer picnic; I’ll admit that. But the +experience will come only one day at a time, and we can stand it. It will +be like a whipping,—it will feel good when it is over and quits hurting.” + +“You are well and strong, John, but you know I have never been like +myself since that awful time when your brother Joe got into that trouble. +It was at the time of Harry’s birth, you know. You didn’t mean to neglect +me, dear, but you had to do it.” + +“There, there, little wife!” placing his hand over her mouth. “Let the +dead past bury its dead. Never mention Joe to me again. And never fear +for a minute that you and the children won’t be taken care of.” + +“I beg your pardon, John!” and the wife shrank back against the lattice +and shivered. The protruding thorn of a naked locust bough scratched her +cheek, and the red blood trickled down. + +“I need your encouragement, in this time of all times, Annie. You mustn’t +fail me now,” he said, speaking in an injured tone. + +“Have I ever failed you yet, my husband?” + +“I can’t say that you have, Annie. But you worry too much; you bore a +fellow so. Just brace up; don’t anticipate trouble. It’ll come soon +enough without your meeting it halfway. You ought to consider the welfare +of the children.” + +“Have I ever lived for myself, John?” + +“No, no; but you fret too much. I suppose it’s a woman’s way, though, +and I must stand it. There’s the chance of a lifetime before us, Annie.” +He added after a pause, “The Oregon Donation Land Law that was passed +by Congress nearly two years ago won’t be a law always. United States +Senators in the farthest East are already urging its repeal. We’ve barely +time, even by going now, to get in on the ground-floor. Then we’ll get, +in our own right, to have and to hold, in fee simple, as the lawyers +say, a big square mile of the finest land that ever rolled out o’ doors.” + +“Will there be no mortgage to eat us up with interest, and no malaria to +shake us to pieces, John? And will you keep the woodpile away from the +front gate, and make an out-of-the-way lane for the cows, so they won’t +come home at night through the front avenue?” + +“There’ll be no mortgage and no malaria. One-half of the claim will +belong to you absolutely; and you can order the improvements to suit +yourself. Only think of it! A square mile o’ land is six hundred and +forty acres, and six hundred and forty acres is a whole square mile! We +wouldn’t be dealing justly by our children if we let the opportunity +slip. We’ll get plenty o’ land to make a good-sized farm for every child +on the plantation, and it won’t cost us a red cent to have and to hold +it!” + +“That was the plan our parents had in view when they came here from +Kentucky, John. They wanted land for their children, you know. They +wanted us all to settle close around ’em, and be the stay and comfort of +their old age.” And Mrs. Ranger laughed hysterically. + +“You shiver, Annie. You oughtn’t to be out in this bleak March wind. +Let’s go inside.” + +“I’m not minding the wind, dear. I was thinking of the way people’s +plans so often miscarry. Children do their own thinking and planning +nowadays, as they always did, regardless of what their parents wish. Look +at us! We’re planning to leave your parents and mine, for good and all, +after they’ve worn themselves out in our service; and we needn’t expect +different treatment from our children when we get old and decrepit.” + +“But I’ve already arranged for our parents’ keep with Lije and Mary,” +said the husband, petulantly. “Didn’t I tell you so?” + +“But suppose Lije fails in business; or suppose he gets the far Western +fever too; or suppose he tires of his bargain and quits?” + +A black cloud scudded away before the wind, uncovering the face of the +moon. The silver light burst suddenly upon the pair. + +“What’s the matter, Annie?” cried the husband, in alarm. “Are you sick?” +Her upturned face was like ashes. + +“No; it’s nothing. I was only thinking.” + +They entered the house together, their brains busy with unuttered +thoughts. The baby of less than a year extended her chubby hands to her +father, and the older babies clamored for recognition in roistering glee. + +“Take my coat and hat, Hal; and get my slippers, somebody. Don’t all jump +at once! Gals, put down your books, and go to the kitchen and help your +mother. Don’t sit around like so many cash boarders! You oughtn’t to let +your mother do a stroke of work at anything.” + +“You couldn’t help it unless you caged her, or bound her hand and foot,” +answered Jean, who strongly resembled her father in disposition, voice, +and speech. But the command was obeyed; and the pale-faced mother, +escorted from the kitchen amid much laughter by Mary, Marjorie, and Jean, +was soon seated before the roaring fire beside her husband, enjoying +with him the frolics of the babies, and banishing for the nonce the +subject which had so engrossed their thoughts outside. The delayed meal +was soon steaming on the long table in the low, lean-to kitchen, and +was despatched with avidity by the healthy and ravenous brood which +constituted the good old-fashioned household of John Ranger and Annie +Robinson, his wife. + +“Children,” said Mrs. Ranger, as an interval of silence gave her a chance +to be heard, “did you know your father had sold the farm?” + +A thunderbolt from a clear sky would hardly have created greater +astonishment. True, John Ranger had been talking “new country” ever since +the older children could remember anything; the theme was an old story, +invoking no comment. But now there was an ominous pause, followed with +exclamations of mingled dissent and approval, to which the parents gave +unrestricted liberty. + +“I’m not going a single step; so there!” exclaimed Mary, a gentle girl of +seventeen, who did not look her years, but who had a reason of her own +for this unexpected avowal. + +“My decision will depend on where we’re going,” cried Jean. + +“Maybe your mother and I can be consulted,—just a little bit,” said the +father, laughing. + +“We’re going to Oregon; that’s what,” exclaimed Harry, who was as +impulsive as he was noisy. + +“How did you come to know so much?” asked Marjorie, the youngest of John +Ranger’s “Three Graces,” as he was wont to style his trio of eldest +daughters, who had persisted in coming into his household—much to his +discomfort—before the advent of Harry, the fourth in his catalogue of +seven, of whom only two were boys. + +“I get my learning by studying o’ nights!” answered Hal, in playful +allusion to his success as a sound sleeper, especially during study hours. + +“Of course you don’t want to emigrate, Miss Mame,” cried Jean, “but you +can’t help yourself, unless you run away and get married; and then you’ll +have to help everybody else through the rest of your life and take what’s +left for yourself,-if there’s anything left to take! At least, that is +mother’s and Aunt Mary’s lot.” + +“Jean speaks from the depths of long experience,” laughed Mary, blushing +to the roots of her hair. + +“I’m sick to death of this cold kitchen,” cried Jean, snapping her +tea-towel in the frosty air of the unplastered lean-to. “Hurrah for +Oregon! Hurrah for a warmer climate, and a snug cabin home among the +evergreen trees!” + +“Good for Jean!” exclaimed her father. “The weather’ll be so mild in +Oregon we shall not need a tight kitchen.” + +“Is Oregon a tight house?” asked three-year-old Bobbie, whose brief +life had many a time been clouded by the complaints of his mother and +sisters,—complaints such as are often heard to this day from women in the +country homes of the frontier and middle West, where more than one-half +of their waking hours are spent in the unfinished and uncomfortable +kitchens peculiar to the slave era, in which—as almost any makeshift was +considered “good enough for niggers”—the unfinished kitchen came to stay. + +The vigorous barking of Rover announced the approach of visitors; and +the circle around the fireside was enlarged, amid the clatter of moving +chairs and tables, to make room for Elijah Robinson and his wife,—the +former a brother of Annie Ranger, and the latter a sister of John. +The meeting between the sisters-in-law was expectant, anxious, and +embarrassing. + +“How did you like the news?” asked Mrs. Robinson, after an awkward +silence. + +“How did you like it?” was the evasive reply, as the twain withdrew to a +distant corner, where they could exchange confidences undisturbed. + +“I haven’t had time to think it over yet,” said Mrs. Ranger. “My greatest +trouble is about leaving our parents. It seems as if I could not bear to +break the news to them.” + +“Don’t worry, Annie; they know already. When Lije told his mother that +John was going to Oregon, she fainted dead away. When she revived and sat +up, she wanted to come right over to see you, in spite of the storm.” + +“Just listen! How the wind does roar!” + +“I don’t see how your mother can live without you, Annie. I tried very +hard to persuade Lije to refuse to buy John’s farm; but he would have +his way, as he always does. Of course, we’ll do all we can for the +old folks, but Lije is heavily in debt again, with the ever-recurring +interest staring us all in the face. John will want his money, with +interest,—they all do,—and we know how rapidly it accumulates, from our +own dearly bought experience, the result of poor Joe’s troubles!” + +“I hope my dear father and mother won’t live very long,” sighed Mrs. +Ranger. “If John would only let me make them a deed to my little ten-acre +farm! But I can’t get him to talk about it.” + + + + +II + +_EARLY LIFE IN THE MIDDLE WEST_ + + +The surroundings of the budding daughters of the Ranger and Robinson +families had thus far been limited, outside of their respective homes, +to attendance at the district school on winter week-days when weather +permitted, and on Sundays at the primitive church services held by +itinerant clergymen in the same rude edifice. + +Oh, that never-to-be-forgotten schoolhouse of the borderland and the +olden time! Modelled everywhere after the same one-roomed, quadrangular +pattern,—and often the only seat of learning yet to be seen in school +districts of the far frontier,—the building in which the children of +these chronicles received the rudimentary education which led to the +future weal of most of them was built of logs unhewn, and roofed with +“shakes” unshaven. One rough horizontal log was omitted from the western +wall when the structure was raised by the men of the district, who +purposely left the space for the admission of a long line of little +window-panes above the rows of desks. A huge open fireplace occupied +the whole northern end of the room; rude benches rocked on the uneven +puncheon floor and creaked as the students turned upon them to face the +long desks beneath the little window-panes, or to confront the centre +of the room. The children’s feet generally swung to and fro in a sort +of rhythmic consonance with the audible whispers in which they studied +their lessons,—when not holding sly conversation, amid much suppressed +giggling, with their neighbors at elbow, if the teacher’s back was turned. + +The busy agricultural seasons of springtime and summer, and often +extending far into the autumn, prevented the regular attendance at school +of the older children of the district, who were usually employed early +and late, indoors and out, with the ever-exacting labors of the farm. + +Up to the time of the departure of the Ranger family for the Pacific +coast and for a brief time thereafter, the most of the summer and all +of the winter clothing worn in the country districts of the middle West +was the product of the individual housewife’s skill in the use of the +spinning-wheel, dye-kettle, and clumsy, home-made hand-loom. + +But, few and far between as were the schoolhouses and schooldays of the +border times, of which the present-day grandparent loves to boast, there +was a rigorous course of primitive study then in vogue which justifies +their boasting. Oh, that old-fashioned pedagogue! What resident of the +border can fail to remember—if his early lot was cast anywhere west of +the Alleghanies, at any time antedating the era of railroads—the austere +piety and stately dignity of that mighty master of the rod and the rule, +who never by any chance forgot to use the rod, lest by so doing he should +spoil the child! + +The terror of those days lingers now only as an amusing memory. The pain +of which the rod and the rule were the instruments has long since lost +its sting; but the sound morals inculcated by the teacher (whose example +never strayed from his precept) have proved the ballast needed to hold a +level head on many a pair of shoulders otherwise prone to push their way +into forbidden places. + +And the old-fashioned singing-school! How tenderly the memory of the +time-dulled ear recalls the doubtful harmony of many youthful voices, as +they ran the gamut in a jangling merry-go-round! Did any other musical +entertainment ever equal it? Then, when the exercises were over, and the +stars hung high and glittering above the frosty branches of the naked +treetops, and the crisp white snow crunched musically beneath the feet of +fancy-smitten swains, hurrying homeward with ruddy-visaged sweethearts +on their pulsing arms, did any other joy ever equal the stolen kisses of +the youthful lovers at the parting doorstep,—the one to return to the +parental home with an exultant throbbing at his heart, and the other to +creep noiselessly to her cold, dark bedroom to blush unseen over her +first little secret from her mother. + +And there is yet another memory. + +Can anybody who has enjoyed it ever forget the school of metrical +geography which sometimes alternated, on winter evenings, with the +singing-school? What could have been more enchanting, or more instructive +withal, than those exercises wherein the States and their capitals were +chanted over and over to a sort of rhymeless rhythm, so often repeated +that to this day the old-time student finds it only necessary to mention +the name of any State then in the Union to call to mind the name of its +capital. After the States and their capitals, the boundaries came next +in order, chanted in the same rhythmic way, until the youngest pupil had +conquered all the names by sound, and localities on the map by sight, of +all the continents, islands, capes, promontories, peninsulas, mountains, +kingdoms, republics, oceans, seas, rivers, lakes, harbors, and cities +then known upon the planet. + +In its season, beginning with the New Year, came the regular religious +revival. No chronicles like these would be complete without its +mention, since no rural life on the border exists without it. Much to +the regret of doting parents who failed to get all their dear ones +“saved”—especially the boys—before the sap began to run in the sugar +maples, the revival season was sometimes cut short by the advent of an +early spring. The meetings were then brought to a halt, notwithstanding +the fervent prayers of the righteous, who in vain besought the Lord of +the harvest to delay the necessary seed-time, so that the work of saving +souls might not be interrupted by the sports and labors of the sugar +camp, which called young people together for collecting fagots, rolling +logs, and gathering and boiling down the sap. + +Many were the matches made at these rural gatherings, as the lads and +lasses sat together on frosty nights and replenished the open fires under +the silent stars. + +To depict one revival season is to give a general outline of all. The +itinerant preacher was generally a young man and a bachelor. In his +annual returns to the scenes of his emotional endeavors to save the +unconverted, he would find that many had backslidden; and the first week +was usually spent in getting those who had not “held out faithful” up to +the mourners’ bench for re-conversion. + +Agnostics, of whom John Ranger was an example, were many, who took a +humorous or good-naturedly critical view of the situation. But the +preacher’s efforts to arouse the emotional nature, especially of the +women, began to bear fruit generally after the first week’s praying, +singing, and exhorting; and the excitement, once begun, went on without +interruption as long as temporal affairs permitted. The rankest infidel +in the district kept open house, in his turn, for the preacher and +exhorter; and once, when the schoolhouse was partly destroyed by fire, +John Ranger permitted the meetings to be held in his house till the +damage was repaired by the tax-payers of the district. + +The kindly preacher who most frequently visited the Ranger district as a +revivalist would not knowingly have given needless pain to a fly. But, +when wrought up to great tension by religious frenzy, he seemed to find +delight in holding the frightened penitent spellbound, while he led +him to the very brink of perdition, where he would hang him suspended, +mentally, as by a hair, over a liquid lake of fire and brimstone, with +the blue blazes shooting, like tongues of forked lightning, beneath his +writhing body; while overhead, looking on, sat his Heavenly Father, as a +benignant and affectionate Deity, pictured to the speaker’s imagination, +nevertheless, as waiting with scythe in hand to snip that hair. + +“I can’t see a bit of logic in any of it!” exclaimed Jean Ranger, as she +and Mary, accompanied by Hal, were returning home one night from such a +meeting. + +“God’s ways are not our ways,” sighed Mary, as she tripped over the +frozen path under the denuded maple-trees, where night owls hooted and +wild turkeys slept. + +Harry laughed immoderately. “Jean, you’re right,” he exclaimed. “I’m +going to get religion myself some day before I die, but I’ve got first to +find a Heavenly Father who’s better’n I am. There’s no preacher on top o’ +dirt can make me believe that the great Author of all Creation deserves +the awful character they’re giving Him at the schoolhouse!” + +“Don’t blaspheme, Hal. It’s wicked!” said Mary. + +“I’m not blaspheming; I’m defending God!” retorted Hal. + +“You used to be a sensible girl, Mame,” said Jean; “and you could then +see the ridiculous side of all this excitement just as Hal and I now see +it. But you’re in love with the preacher now, and that has turned your +head.” + +Jean was cold and sleepy and cross; but she did not mean to be unkind, +and on reflection added, “Forgive me, sister dear. I was only in fun. +I have no right to meddle with your love affairs or your religious +feelings, and neither has Hal. S’pose we talk about maple sugar.” + +Mary did not reply, but her thoughts went toward heaven in silent, +self-satisfying prayer. + +The Reverend Thomas Rogers—so he must be designated in these pages, +because he yet lives—was the avowed suitor for the hand and heart of +Mary Ranger; and the winsome girl, with whose prematurely aroused +affections her parents had no patience,—and with reason, for she was +but a child,—was the envy of all the older girls of the district, any +one of whom, while censuring her for her folly in encouraging the +poverty-stricken preacher’s suit, would gladly have found like favor in +his eyes, if the opportunity had been given her. + +But while romantic maidens were going into rhapsodies over their hero, +and many of the dowager mothers echoed their sentiments, most of the +unmarried men of the district remained aloof from his persuasions and +unmoved by his fiery eloquence. But they took him out “sniping” one +off-night in true schoolboy fashion; and while Mary Ranger dreamed of him +in the seclusion of her snug chamber, the poor fellow stood half frozen +at the end of a gulch, holding a bag to catch the snipes that never came. + +“If I were not too poor in worldly goods to pay my way in your father’s +train, I’d go to Oregon,” he said, a few nights after the “sniping” +episode, as he walked homeward with Mary after coaxing Jean and Hal to +keep the little episode a secret from their parents,—a promise they made +after due hesitation, but with much sly chuckling, as they munched the +red-and-white-striped sugar sticks with which they had been bribed. + + + + +III + +_MARRYING AND GIVING IN MARRIAGE_ + + +The destinies of the Ranger and Robinson families had been linked +together by the double ties of affinity and consanguinity in the first +third of the nineteenth century. Their broad and fertile lands, to +which they held the original title-deeds direct from the government, +bore the signature and seal of Andrew Jackson, seventh President of +the United States; and their children and children’s children, though +scattered now in the farthest West, from Alaska and the Hawaiian Islands +to the Philippine Archipelago, treasure to this day among their most +valued heirlooms the historic parchments. For these were signed by Old +Hickory when the original West was bounded on its outermost verge by the +Mississippi and Missouri rivers, and when the new West, though discovered +in the infancy of the century by Lewis and Clark (aided by Sacajawea, +their one woman ally and pathfinder), was to the average American citizen +an unknown country, quite as obscure to his understanding as was the Dark +Continent of Africa in the days antedating Sir Samuel Baker, Oom Paul, +and Cecil Rhodes. + +The elder Rangers, who claimed Knickerbocker blood, and the Robinsons, +who boasted of Scotch ancestry, though living in adjoining counties +in Kentucky in their earlier years, had never met until, as if by +accident,—if accident it might be called through which there seems to +have been an original, interwoven design,—the fates of the two families +became interlinked through their settlement upon adjoining lands, +situated some fifty miles south of old Fort Dearborn, in the days when +Chicago was a mosquito-beleaguered swamp, and Portland, Oregon, an +unbroken forest of pointed firs. + +There was a double wedding on the memorable day when John Ranger, Junior, +and pretty Annie Robinson, the belle of Pleasant Prairie, linked their +destinies together in marriage; and when, without previous notice to the +assembled multitude or any other parties but their parents, the preacher, +and the necessary legal authorities, Elijah Robinson and Mary Ranger took +their allotted places beside their brother and sister, as candidates for +matrimony, the festivities were doubled in interest and rejoicing. + +“It seems but yesterday since our bonnie bairns were babes in arms,” said +the elder Mrs. Robinson, as she advanced with Mrs. Ranger _mère_ to give +a tearful greeting to each newly wedded pair. And there was scarcely a +dry eye in the assembled multitude when the mother’s voice arose in a +shrill treble as she sang, in the ears of the startled listeners, from an +old Scottish ballad the words,— + + “An’ I can scarce believe it true, + So late thy life began, + The playful bairn I fondled then + Stands by me now, a man!” + +Her voice, which at first was as clear as the tones of a silver bell, +quavered at the close of the first stanza and then ceased altogether. +But by this time old Mrs. Ranger had caught the spirit of the ballad, +and though her voice was husky, she cleared her throat and added, in a +low contralto, the impressive lines, paraphrased somewhat to suit the +occasion,— + + “Oh, fondly cherish her, dearie; + She is sae young and fair! + She hasna known a single cloud, + Nor felt a single care. + And if a cauld world’s storms should come, + Thy way to overcast, + Oh, ever stan’—thou art a man— + Between her an’ the blast!” + +At the close of this stanza, Mrs. Ranger’s voice broke also; and the good +circuit rider, parson of many a scattered flock, who had pronounced the +double ceremony, caught the tune and, in a mellow barytone that rose upon +the air like an inspired benediction, added most impressively another +stanza: + + “An’ may the God who reigns above + An’ sees ye a’ the while, + Look down upon your plighted troth + An’ bless ye wi’ His smile.”[1] + +“It’s high time there was a little change o’ sentiment in all this!” +cried a bachelor uncle, whose eyes were suspiciously red notwithstanding +his affected gayety. “I move that we march in a solid phalanx on the +victuals!” + +The primitive cabin homes of the borderers of no Western settlement +were large enough to hold the crowds that were invariably bidden to a +neighborhood merrymaking. The ceremonies of this occasion, including +a most sumptuous feast, were held on the sloping green beneath an +overtopping elm, which, rising high above its fellows, made a noted +landmark for a circumference of many miles. + +People who live apart from markets, in fertile regions where the very +forests drop richness, subsist literally on the fat of the land. Having +no sale for their surplus products, they feast upon them in the most +prodigal way. Although through gormandizing they beget malaria, not +to say dyspepsia and rheumatic ails, they boast of “living well”; and +the sympathy they bestow upon the city denizen who in his wanderings +sometimes feasts at their hospitable boards, and praises without stint +their prodigal display of viands, is often more sincere than wise. + +The lands of the early settlers, with whom these chronicles have to +deal, had been surrounded, as soon as possible after occupancy, with +substantial rail fences, laid in zigzag fashion along dividing lines, +marking the boundaries between neighbors who lived at peace with each +other and with all the world. These fences, built to a sufficient height +to discourage all attempts at trespass by man or beast, were securely +staked at the corners, and weighted with heavy top rails, or “riders,” +so stanchly placed that many miles of such enclosures remain to this +day, long surviving the brawny hands that felled the trees and split the +rails. In their mute eloquence they reveal the lasting qualities of the +hardwood timber that abounded in the many and beautiful groves which +flourished in the prairie States in the early part of the nineteenth +century, when Indiana, Illinois, and Missouri comprised all that was +generally known as the West. + +Much of the primitive glory of these diversified landscapes departed long +ago with the trees. The “Hook-and-Eye Dutch,” as the thrifty followers +of ancient Ohm are called by their American neighbors (with whom they +do not assimilate), are rapidly replacing the old-time maple and black +walnut fences with the modern barbed-wire horror; they are selling off +the historical rails, stakes and riders and all, to the equally thrifty +and not a whit more sentimental timber-dealers of Chicago, Milwaukee, +and Grand Rapids, to be manufactured into high-grade lumber, which is +destined to find lodgment as costly furniture in the palatial homes, +gilded churches, great club-houses, and mammoth modern hostelries that +abound on the shores of Lake Michigan, Massachusetts Bay, Manhattan +Island, and Long Island Sound. But no vandalism yet invented by man can +wholly despoil the rolling lands of the middle West of their beauty, nor +rob Mother Nature of her power to rehabilitate them with the living green +of cultivated loveliness. + +Original settlers of the border-lands had little time and less +opportunity for the observation of the beautiful in art or nature. Their +lives were spent in toil, which blunted many of the finer sensibilities +of a more leisurely existence. The hardy huntsman who spent his only +hours of relaxation in chasing the wild game, and the weary mother +who scarcely ever left her wheel or loom and shuttle by the light of +day, except to bake her brain before a great open fire while preparing +food, or to nurse to sleep the future lawmakers of a coming world-round +republic, were alike too busy to ponder deeply the far-reaching +possibilities of the lives they led. + +Such men of renown as Lincoln, Douglas, Baker, Grant, Logan, and Oglesby +were evolved from environments similar to these, as were also the +numerous adventurous borderers not known to fame (many of whom are yet +living) who crossed the continent with ox teams, and whose patient and +enduring wives nursed the future statesmen of a coming West in fear and +trembling, as they protected their camps from the depredations of the +wily Indian or the frenzy of the desert’s storms. + +Rail-making in the middle West was long a diversion and an art. The +destruction of the hardwood timber, which if spared till to-day would be +almost priceless, could not have been prevented, even if this commercial +fact had been foreseen. The urgent need of fuel, shelter, bridges, public +buildings, and fences allowed no consideration for future values to +intervene and save the trees. + +In times of a temporary lull in a season’s activities, when, for a +wonder, there were days together that the stroke of the woodman’s ax was +not heard and the music of the cross-cut saw had ceased, the settler +would take advantage of the interim to draw a bead with unerring aim upon +the eye of a squirrel in a treetop, or bring down a wild turkey from its +covert in the lower branches; or, if favored by a fall of virgin snow, +it would be his delight to track the wild deer, and drag it home as a +trophy of his marksmanship,—an earnest of the feast in which all his +neighbors were invited to partake. + +Then, too, there were the merrymakings of the border. What modern banquet +can equal the festive board at which a genial hostess, in a homespun +cotton or linsey-woolsey gown, presided over her own stuffed turkey, huge +corn-pone, and wild paw-paw preserves? What array of glittering china, +gleaming cut-glass, or burnished silver, can give the jaded appetite of +the _blasé_ reveller of to-day the enjoyment of a home-set table, laden +with the best and sweetest “salt-rising” bread spread thick with golden +butter, fresh from the old-fashioned churn? The freshest of meats and +fish regularly graced the well-laden board, in localities where the +modern _chef_ was unknown, where ice-cream was unheard of, and terrapin +sauce and lobster salad found no place. House-raisings, log-rollings, +barn-raisings, quilting bees, weddings, christenings, and even funerals, +were times of feasting, though these last were divested of the gayety, +but not of the gossip, that at other times abounded; and the sympathetic +aid of an entire neighborhood was always voluntarily extended to any +house of mourning. There were few if any wage-earners, the accommodating +method of exchanging work among neighbors being generally in vogue. + +Such, in brief, were the daily customs of the early settlers of the +middle West, whose children wandered still farther westward in the +forties and fifties, carrying with them the habits in which they had +been reared to the distant Territory afterwards known as the “Whole of +Oregon,” which originally comprised the great Northwest Territory, where +now flourish massive blocks of mighty States. + + * * * * * + +Prior to the time of the departure of the subjects of these chronicles +for the goal of John Ranger’s ambition, but one unusual occurrence had +marred the lives and prosperity of the rising generation of Rangers and +Robinsons. To the progenitors of the two families the mutations of time +had brought problems serious and difficult, not the least of which was +the infirmity of advancing years. This they had made doubly annoying +through having assigned to their children, when they themselves needed it +most, everything of value which they had struggled to accumulate during +their years of vigorous effort to raise and educate their families. + +In the two households under review, all dependent upon the energies and +bounty of the second generation of Rangers and Robinsons, there were +besides the great-grandmother (a universal favorite) two sexagenarian +bachelor uncles and two elderly spinsters, the latter remote cousins +of uncertain age, uncertain health, and still more uncertain temper, +who had long outlived their usefulness, after having missed, in their +young and vigorous years, the duties and responsibilities that accompany +the founding of families and homes of their own. It was little wonder +that drones like these were out of place in the overcrowded households +of their more provident kinspeople, to whom the modern “Home of the +Friendless” was unknown. What plan to pursue in making necessary +provision for these outside incumbents, even John Ranger, the optimistic +leader of the related hosts, could not conjecture. + +“We’ve fixed it,—Mame and I,” said Jean, one evening, after an anxious +discussion of the question had been carried on with some warmth between +the two family heads, in which no conclusion had been reached except a +flat refusal on the part of Elijah Robinson to quadruple the quota of +dependants in his own household. + +“And how have you fixed it?” asked her father, who often called Jean his +“Heart’s Delight.” + +“Our bachelor uncles and cousins are just rusting out with +irresponsibility!” she cried with characteristic Ranger vehemence. “They +ought to have a home of their own and be compelled to take care of it. +There’s that house and garden where you board and lodge the mill-hands. +Why not give ’em that and let ’em keep boarders? The boarders, the four +acres of ground, and the cow and garden ought to keep them in modest +comfort. This would make them free and independent, as everybody ought to +be.” + +“But the boarding-house belongs with the farm. I’ve sold it to your +uncle.” + +“Then let Uncle Lije lease or sell it to them, share and share alike.” + +“What is it worth?” asked Mary. + +“Only about three hundred dollars, the way property sells now,” said her +uncle. + +“Then let ’em pay you rent. The place ought to support them and pay +interest and taxes.” + +“Yes,” cried Mary; “the old bachelor contingent, that worry you all so +much because you keep ’em dependent on your bounty, can take care of +themselves for twenty years to come, if you’ll only let ’em.” + +“The proposition is worth considering, certainly,” said their father, +smiling admiringly upon his daughters. + +“And we’ll consider it, too,” said the uncle. “That much is settled.” + + + + +IV + +_OLD BLOOD AND NEW_ + + +“I can’t see why old folks like us will persist in living after we’ve +outgrown our usefulness,” exclaimed Grandfather Ranger, one sloppy March +evening, as he entered the little kitchen and placed a pail of foaming +milk upon the clean white table. The severely cold weather had given way +to a springtime thaw; but a wet snow had begun falling at sundown, and +a soft, muddy liquid made dirty pools wherever his feet pressed the +polished floor. + +“You’re right, father; we’ve lived long enough,” sighed the feeble mother +of many children, following her husband’s footprints with mop and broom. + +“If you and John think you’ve lived long enough, what do you think of +me?” cried the great-grandmother, who had passed her fourscore years and +ten, but who still amply supported herself (if only she and the rest of +the family had thought so) as she sat from early morning till late at +night in her corner, knitting, always knitting. + +“Never mind, grannie,” said her son, swallowing a lump that rose unbidden +in his throat. “You’ve as good a right to life, liberty, and the pursuit +of happiness as any fellow that ever put his name to a Declaration of +Independence! There’ll be room for you in the cosiest corner of this +little house as long as there’s a corner for anybody. Don’t worry.” + +“But this state of things isn’t just or fair!” exclaimed the wife, +folding her last bit of mending and dropping back into her chair. “It +seems to me that we, as parents, deserve a better fate in our old days +than any set of bachelor hangers-on on earth, who’ve never had anybody +but themselves to provide for. If Joseph would only come back, or the +good Lord would let us know his fate, I could endure the rest.” + +“There, there, mother! Not another word. Haven’t I forbidden the mention +of his name?” + +“But he was our darling, father. I can’t dismiss him from my thoughts as +you say you can.” + +“We must keep the grandchildren in ignorance of his existence, wife. It’s +bad enough in all conscience for the stain of his misguided life to rest +on older heads. We must forget our unfortunate son.” + +“I can never forget my bonnie boy,—not even to obey you, father!” + +The back door, which had been unintentionally left ajar, flew open, and +Jean, who had for the first time in her life heard a word of complaint +from her grandparents, or a word from them concerning her mysterious +Uncle Joe, burst suddenly into the room and knelt at the feet of her +grandmother, her whole frame convulsed with sobs. + +“Forgive us, darlings, do!” she cried as soon as she could control her +voice to speak. “You’ve borne so much sorrow, and we never knew it! We +never meant to be thoughtless or unkind, but I see now how ungrateful we +have been. We must have hurt your feelings often.” + +“Don’t cry, Jean,” and the thin hand of the grandmother stroked the +girl’s bright hair. “We don’t often repine at our lot. I am sorry you +overheard a word.” + +“But I am not sorry a single bit, grandma. We children have been +thoughtless and impudent. I can see it all now. We didn’t ever mean to +complain, though, about you, or grandpa, or you either, grannie dear. +We only meant to draw the line at bachelor great-uncles and meddlesome +second and third cousins, who ought to have provided themselves in their +youth with homes of their own, as our parents did.” + +“Do you think they can help themselves hereafter, Jean?” + +“Why, of course! The feeling of self-dependence will make ’em young and +strong again,—though they don’t deserve good treatment, for they ought to +have had homes and families of their own in their youth, as you did.” + +“It’s too late to lodge a complaint of that kind against them now, Jean,” +said the grandmother, with a smile. + +“Did you overhear all we were talking about?” asked the grandfather, his +head bowed upon his cane. + +“I am afraid I did, grandpa. I was cleaning the slush from my shoes, and +I couldn’t help overhearing, though I hate eavesdroppers, on general +principles. They never hear any good of themselves. But, say, grandpa, +what about our Uncle Joe, whom I heard you denounce so bitterly? You +haven’t said _I_ mustn’t speak his name, you know.” + +“Don’t talk about him, child, to us or anybody else. He’s an outlaw. +Dismiss him from your thoughts, just as I have.” + +“Your uncle may not be living now, Jean; if he is alive, I hope he’ll +find a better friend than his father,” exclaimed the great-grandmother, +speaking in a tone of reproach that surprised none more than herself. + +“Tell me all about it, grand-daddie darling! Do! I know there’s a sad +secret somewhere in the family. Something unusual must have happened a +long time ago to bring us all under the ban of poverty. I have heard +hints of it now and then all my life; and now I must hear the whole +story. The schoolmaster will tell me if you don’t.” + +“No, no, Jean,” exclaimed her grandfather, anxiously. “Don’t speak of +family affairs outside. It is never seemly.” + +“Neither is it seemly or just to keep members of the family in ignorance +of family affairs when all the rest of the neighborhood knows all about +’em! We ought to know all, grandma darling. The reason children are so +often unreasonable is that they don’t understand.” + +“‘I have been young and now am old, yet have I not seen the righteous +forsaken nor his seed begging bread,’” said the grandfather, his head +still bowed low upon his staff and his white locks falling over his +stooping shoulders. “Let us not repine, mother.” + +“I am not repining, father, but I do feel so—so disappointed with the +outcome of all our hard struggles that I can’t always be cheerful.” + +“We’d just begun to get our heads above water when it happened, Jean,” +said the old man. “We’d been making a new farm. You see, we’d manumitted +our slaves before we left Kaintuck, and we had to begin with our bare +hands in this new country and work our way from the ground up. We’d only +got a part o’ the children raised when the older ones began to get it in +their heads to get married. But our second son took to book-learning, and +we sent him off to Tennessee to finish his schooling. That cost a pile o’ +money. Then we had to set out the married ones. We’d got things going in +tol’ble shape and was beginning to get on our feet again, when Joseph—” + +“Do stop, husband. Don’t tell any more; please don’t,” cried the +grandmother, nervously stroking the bright young head that nestled in her +lap. “I cannot bear to hear it, though I thought I could.” + +“Let him go on, grandmother dear! I don’t want to be driven to the +schoolmaster for the information that I am bound to get someway. When I +have grandchildren of my own, I’ll tell ’em everything they ought to know +about the family, and then they won’t be teased by the school-children, +as we are.” + +“We had to mortgage the farm,” continued the grandfather; “and then there +came a financial panic. The wild-cat banks of the country all went to +pieces, and the bottom kind o’ fell out o’ things.” + +“But why did you borrow money, grandpa? Why was it necessary to mortgage +the farms?” + +“We did it because we had to stand by Joe in his trouble.” + +“What did you hear at school, darling?” asked the grandmother. + +“Oh, nothing much. But one day Jim Danover got mad at me because I +went head in the class; and he said I needn’t be puttin’ on airs, for +everybody knew that my uncle had been hung.” + +“Good Lord! has it come to that?” cried the great-grandmother, dropping +her knitting to the floor and clasping her withered hands over her +knees. “I’ve always told you that you’d better tell the older children +about it yourself, John.” + +“No, Jean; your uncle wasn’t hung,” said the old man; “but he got into +trouble, and we all believe he is dead. He was the pride and joy of us +all. He was so promising that we gave him all the education that ought to +have been distributed evenly through the family.” + +“But John and Mollie took a notion to get married young, and you know +that ended their chances,” interposed the mother. + +“Your uncle’s trouble would never have come upon him and us if he had +stayed out o’ that college,” exclaimed the great-grandmother, who did not +approve of the course the family had taken with Joseph at the beginning +of his college days. + +“That’s true, grannie,” replied the father; “but he ought to have kept +out o’ the scrape, college or no college.” + +“Do go on,” cried Jean. + +“Your Uncle Joe got mixed up in a hazing frolic, or something o’ that +sort,” resumed the grandfather. “One or two of the students got hurt, +one of ’em so bad that he died,—or it was given out that he died,—and +the blame fell on Joe. He declared he wasn’t guilty, but the college +authorities had to fix the blame somewhere, though the case was +uncertain. They never proved that the boy was dead, but we raised the +money and bailed Joe out o’ jail. When the story was started that the +fellow had died, Joe skipped his bail and left us all in a hole. That was +what made and has kept us poor.” + +“Did you never hear of the other man, grandpa?” + +“Oh, yes; he turned up, but too late to do Joe or the rest of us any +good.” + +“Poor dear Uncle Joe!” + +“You’d better say poor dear all the rest of us,” cried the +great-grandmother, who had staked and lost her little all in the great +calamity. + +“But Uncle Joe was sinned against, grannie dear. How he must have +suffered!” + +“Them that’s sinned against are often greater sufferers than them that +sins,” was the sad reply. + +“When the bail was jumped, the hard times set in with all of us,” resumed +the grandfather. “The banks, as I was saying, went broke, the interest on +the mortgages piled up, and the notes fell due. The crops got the rust +and the weevil, and everything else went wrong. You see, Jean, when a man +starts down hill, everybody tries to give him a kick. The long and the +short of it is that mother, here, and grannie and I have been the same as +paupers for more than a dozen years.” + +“I must be going, though you must first tell me how you two and dear old +grannie are going to live when we are away in Oregon. Your way seems very +uncertain,” said Jean. + +“Your father has made some kind of a bargain for our support with your +Uncle Lije. But he’s sort o’ visionary, and he never has much luck. If he +loses the property, we can go to the poorhouse.” + +“Are you to be allowed no stated sum to live on? Will you have no means +of your own to gratify your individual wishes or tastes?” + +“No, child; not a picayune.” + +“What’s a picayune?” + +“A six-and-a-quarter-cent piece.” + +“I’m just as wise as I was before.” + +“They’re wellnigh out o’ circulation nowadays, though I used to come +across ’em frequently when I was sheriff,” said the old man. + +Jean covered her face with her hands and burst into tears. + +“Don’t worry about us, dearie,” said the old man. “There is One above us +who heareth even the young ravens when they cry. There is not a sparrow +that falleth to the ground without His knowledge. Your Uncle Lije will +move into the old homestead when you are all gone. Your father built this +cottage for us when he assumed the mortgage, as you know. We won’t be +entirely alone, but we’ll miss you all; and we’ll try to remember that we +are of more value than many sparrows.” + +“I’ve heard such talk as that all my life, grandpa. But I can’t help +thinking that it would have been better to keep the ravens from having +anything to cry about in the first place, and to save the sparrows from +falling.” + +“If none o’ God’s creatures ever had any hard experiences, they’d never +know enough to enjoy their blessings, Jean. A child has to stumble and +hurt itself many times before it learns to walk steady. We’ve all got +to be purified and saved, as by fire, before we are fit to stand in the +presence of the awful God.” + +“The God I love and worship isn’t an awful God,” cried Jean. “I couldn’t +love Him if He were awful. My earthly daddie whipped me once. No doubt +I deserved the punishment, but I couldn’t love him for a whole month +afterwards. And I’d have hated him for the rest of my life if I hadn’t +deserved the whipping.” + +“Didn’t it do you any good?” + +Jean confronted her grandfather, her eyes flashing. “No, sir!” she cried. +“I ought not to have been whipped, and I wasn’t a bit repentant after the +punishment. I was sorry beforehand, though, and said so.” + +“What was your offence, Jean?” + +“I dropped a pan full of dishes and broke more than half o’ the lot. They +fell to the floor with a crash, and scared me half to death.” + +“Didn’t the whipping make you more careful afterwards?”. + +“Not at all; it only made me mad and afraid and nervous, so I broke +more dishes. But the next time it happened, I hid the broken pieces in +the ash hopper, and when they were found, I saved myself a whipping by +telling my first lie.” + +“The Lord chasteneth whom He loveth, my child.” + +“I once saw a mill-hand strike his wife,” retorted Jean, “and he said, as +she rubbed her bruises, ‘I love you, Mollie. Take another kick!’ But I +must go now. Be of good cheer. And remember, when I get to Oregon and get +to making money, you shall have every cent that I can spare.” + + + + +V + +_SALLY O’DOWD_ + + +Great excitement prevailed in the rural neighborhood when it became +generally known that John Ranger, Junior, had sold the farm and was +preparing to dispose of his sawmill and all his personal belongings, with +the intention of departing to the new and far-away West in an ox-wagon +train with his family,—an undertaking that seemed to his friends as +foolhardy as would have been an attempt to reach the North Pole with his +wife and children in a balloon. + +Of more than ordinary ability, enterprise, and daring, John Ranger had +long been a man of note in his bailiwick. Twice he had represented his +county in the State Legislative Assembly; but when the Old Line Whigs of +his district offered to nominate him for Congress,—“No, gentlemen!” he +exclaimed. “I started out early in life to assist my good wife in rearing +and educating a big family of young Americans. I frankly admit that we’ve +got a bigger job on hand than either of us imagined it would be when we +made the bargain; but that doesn’t lessen our mutual responsibility. +There is always a regiment, more or less, of unencumbered men in waiting +in every locality, ready and willing to wear the toga of office; so, with +thanks for the proffered honor, I must beg to be excused.” + +But there was one office, that of justice of the peace, which he +never refused, and to which he had been so often re-elected that the +appellation of “Squire” had grown to belong to him as a matter of course. +One room of the great barnlike farmhouse had long been set apart as his +office; and many were the litigants who remained after office hours to be +entertained at his hospitable board. + +“It’s a lot of trouble, having so much extra company on account of your +office being in the house,” his wife said at times; “but it’s better than +having you away two-thirds of your time down town, so it is all right.” + +“There’s a woman going round the corner to the office,” exclaimed Mary, +one evening, just as her father had settled himself before the fire to +enjoy a frolic with the little ones. + +“It’s that grass widow, Sally O’Dowd,” said Mrs. Ranger. + +“She’s booked for a solid hour,” snapped Marjorie, “and we’ll have to +delay supper till nine o’clock.” + +The Squire had barely time to reach his office by an inner passage and +seat himself before the fire, when Mrs. O’Dowd—an oversized, plainly +dressed, intelligent-looking woman, who was remarkably handsome, +notwithstanding the expression of pain upon her face—entered the office +and stood silent before the open fire. + +“Well,” exclaimed the Squire, impatiently, motioning her to a chair, +“what can I do for you now?” + +“Oh, Squire!” she cried, ignoring the proffered chair and dropping on her +knees at his feet, her wealth of rippling hair falling about her face and +over her shapely shoulders like a deluge of gold, “I want you to take me +with you to Oregon.” + +“What! And leave your children to the care of others? I didn’t think that +of you, Mrs. O’Dowd.” + +“But what else can I do? You know the court has assigned the custody of +all three of my babies to Sam.” + +“Yes, Sally; but you can see them once in a while if you stay here.” + +“The court gave them to Samuel and his mother absolutely, you know.” + +“Yes, yes, child; and while in one way it is hard, if you look at it +in a practical light, you will see that it was best for the children. +You couldn’t keep them with you and go out as hired help in anybody’s +kitchen; and you have no other means of support any more.” + +“If I stay here, I cannot have even the poor privilege of caring for +them, except when they’re sick. I must get entirely away from their +vicinity, or lose my senses altogether.” + +“I thought that was what was the matter when you married the fellow, +Sally. You certainly had lost your senses then.” + +“But love is blind, Squire—till it gets its eyes open; and then it is +generally too late to see to any advantage. Little did my dear father +think, when he made a will leaving his homestead, his bank account, and +all his belongings to me, that he was reducing my dear mother and me to +beggary.” + +“But that wouldn’t have happened if you hadn’t married that worthless +fellow, Sally.” + +“But the _if_ exists, Squire. I married the fellow. It was an awful +blunder,—I’ll admit that. But it wasn’t a crime. It should have been no +reason for robbing me. And yet this marriage was made the legal pretext +for permitting the robbery. Oh, I was so glad when my dear mother died! +I couldn’t have shed a tear at her grave if I’d been hung for my seeming +heartlessness. Poor mother! I was made an unwilling party to a robbery +that beggared her and myself. Then, when I could no longer endure the +presence of the robber and his accomplice, and live, I was doubly, yes, +trebly robbed, by being deprived of my children.” + +The Squire cleared his throat and spoke huskily. + +“That will was a sad mistake of your father’s, Sally. He should have left +his property to your mother. It was wrong to put her means of livelihood +in jeopardy by leaving all to you. He ought to have known you’d marry, +and that the property would accrue to your husband.” + +“But mother insisted that all should be left to me. She even waived her +right of dower, in my interest—as she thought.” + +“Well, Sally, you can’t say that I didn’t warn you.” + +The woman laughed hysterically. “Much good that warning can do me now!” +she cried, rising to her feet and unconsciously assuming a dramatic pose. +“We hadn’t been married a week when he ordered my mother out of my house. +And then he installed his own mother in my home, and expected me to be +silent. Oh, I am so glad my dear mother is dead! I would rejoice if my +poor, defrauded children were all dead also.” + +The Squire cleared his throat again and leaned forward on his hands. “The +law recognizes the husband and wife as one, and the husband as that one, +Mrs. O’Dowd.” + +“Yes, yes, I know that, to my bitter sorrow,” she said with a meaning +smile, her white teeth shining through her parted lips and her eyes +flashing. The woman sank upon the hearth, looking strangely white and +calm. + +John Ranger sighed helplessly. “I worked the underground railroad last +night for all it was worth, in the interest of some runaway niggers,” +he said under his breath; then audibly, “The laws of the land must be +obeyed, my child.” + +“The law is a fiend,” cried Jean, who had entered the room unobserved +and had stood listening in the shadow of the chimney jamb. “I’ll never +rest till this awful one-sided power is broken. You know yourself that +it’s a monster, daddie. I know you know it, or you’d never help a run—” + +He put his finger on his lips, and the girl changed the subject. The +underground railroad was a forbidden topic in the Ranger household. + +“Because Sally Danover knew no better than to become the wife of an +unworthy man,—who knew what he was about, though she didn’t,—the law +declares that all the benefits resulting from the fraudulent transaction +must accrue to the villain in the case, and all the penalties must be +borne by his victim. What would you do to such a fellow, daddie, if I +should marry him?” + +John Ranger did not answer, but gazed steadily into the fire, his brow +contracted and his thoughts gloomy. + +“Sally, cheer up!” cried Jean, shaking the woman by the shoulder. +“Daddie’s a whole lot better man than he thinks he is. I’ve seen him +tested. You’re as good as a nigger, if you _are_ white, and he’ll help +you.” + +“You don’t know what you’re talking about, my daughter. It’s a crime to +break the law, and crime must be followed by fitting punishment.” + +“If you get caught, you get punished,” cried Jean, laughing in her +father’s face. “To break such a law would be an act of heroism for which +I should be glad to be arrested and sent to jail! It would be an act +of heroism beside which the defence of the Stars and Stripes would be +cowardice!” she cried in a transport of fury. + +“Come, Jean,” said her father, rising, “we must go to supper. Won’t you +join us, Mrs. O’Dowd?” + +“Food would choke me,” said the visitor, bowing herself out. + +“Hang the luck!” said the Squire, as the door slammed behind her. + +“What are you going to do to help the poor woman, John?” asked Mrs. +Ranger, as the family sat at the belated meal. + +“Ask Jean.” + +“What do you know about the case, daughter?” + +“She thinks she knows a lot,” interrupted her father. “She’d ’a’ made a +plaguy good lawyer if she’d only been born a boy.” + +“Who knew best what I ought to be,—you or God?” asked Jean, her eyes +glowing like stars. + +“I give it up,” replied her father, smiling. + +“I was reading to-day,” said Mrs. Ranger, “of a man down East who lured +his runaway wife back home by stealing the babies and then warning +everybody through the papers, and by posters, not to trust or harbor her, +under penalty of the law. The woman held out quite a spell, but cold and +hunger got the better of her at last; and when the stolen children fell +sick, she went back to her lawful protector and stayed till she died, as +meek as any lamb.” + +“Sally Danover won’t go back to Sam O’Dowd; she’ll die first,” cried +Mary; “and I glory in her grit.” + +“You haven’t answered my question, John,” said Mrs. Ranger. “What do you +propose to do with Sally O’Dowd?” + +“I s’pose I’ll have to take her to Oregon and let her take a new start. +She says she must get away from here, or go insane.” + +“I’d go crazy if I had to leave my children, John.” + +“You can boast, Annie; you can afford to. But if you were in Sally’s +shoes, you’d sing a different song.” + +Mrs. Ranger shrugged her shoulders. + +“I can’t see why women with good husbands and happy homes are so ready +to censure less fortunate women for breaking bonds that are unbearable,” +said her husband. “Women are women’s worst enemies.” + +“Sam O’Dowd’s no woman,” exclaimed Jean. “There’s not a woman on top o’ +dirt that’d treat any man as he’s treated Sally.” + +“I guess it’s about an even stand-off,” rejoined her mother. + +“No,” cried Jean. “The conditions are not equal. No woman has the power +to turn her husband out of doors. Even if it is her own house, he is its +lawful master. Women don’t stand any show at all compared with men.” + +“Jean is going to-morrow to see Sam O’Dowd’s mother. She can make matters +smooth for Sally if anybody can,” said the Squire. + + * * * * * + +“The sale of our effects is only two weeks off, John,” said his wife, +when they were alone. “I want to reserve a few things that are sacred. +There’s Baby Jamie’s cradle, that you made from the hollow section of +that old gum-tree that stood in the back pasture. Do you remember how +nicely I lined it with the back breadths of my wedding dress?” + +“Could I forget it, Annie?” + +“Then there’s my mother’s little old spinning-wheel. It was my +grandmother’s and great-grandmother’s. May I keep it for Mary?” + +“It won’t pay to haul such things over the plains, Annie. Better let your +mother keep ’em here till there’s a transcontinental railroad.” + +“But that won’t come in my time, John.” + + + + +VI + +_THE BEGINNING OF A JOURNEY_ + + +The sale of Squire Ranger’s effects proceeded without unnecessary delay. +The sawmill, the first portable structure of its kind ever seen west of +the Wabash River, was eagerly purchased on credit by a waiting customer, +and work at the mill went on without interruption. What a primitive +affair it was! And how like a pygmy it seems as the resident on the +North Pacific’s border recalls its littleness, and contrasts it with the +mammoth mills of Oregon, the lower Columbia, and Puget Sound, which grasp +in their giant arms the dead leviathans of the primeval forest, and set +their teeth to work tearing to pieces the patient upbuilding of the ages +gone! + +The motive power of John Ranger’s sawmill consisted of about a dozen +superannuated horses, some spavined, some ringboned, some wind-broken, +all more or less disabled in some way; these were regularly harnessed, +each in his turn, to a set of horizontal radiating shafts attached to a +rotating centre, above which, on a little platform, stood the driver, +with a whip. + +“I know it’s wicked to kill the trees and cut them up into boards; it’s +just as wicked as it is to kill pigs and cattle,” was Mary Ranger’s +comment when she first beheld the frantic work of the raging saw, which, +screaming like a demon, ate its way through hearts of oak and hickory, +or tore the slabs from the sides of the black-walnut and sugar-maple +patriarchs with ever unsated ferocity. + +But this sawmill had long been a boon to the entire country, as was +evidenced by the multiplication, since its advent, of framed houses, +barns, bridges, schoolhouses, and churches, which suddenly sprang into +vogue, not to mention the many miles of planked highways that rushed into +fashion before the railroad era in the days when “good roads conventions” +were unheard of. + +Children born and reared in cities—subject, if of the tenant class, to +frequent changes of habitation, or, if their homes are permanent, to +frequent intervals of travel—can have little idea of the love which +children of the country cherish for the farms and homes to which they are +born, and in which their brief lives are spent. The very soil on which +they have trodden is dear to them, and seems instinct with sentience. +They make a boon companion of everything with which they come in contact, +whether pertaining to the earth, the water, or the air. Their little +gardens are familiar friends; the flowers of the wildwood are loving +entities; the brook that sings in summer through the tangled grass and +sleeps in winter under a bed of ice is always a communing spirit. The +sighing winds chant rhythmic lullabies in the treetops, and the language +of every insect, bird, and beast has, to them, a distinctive meaning. The +blue heavens are their delight, and the passing clouds their friends. The +sun, the moon, and the stars hold converse with them, and the changing +seasons bring to them, each in its turn, peculiar joy. + +But, dearly as they loved the old home and its surroundings, the Ranger +children, who had never crossed the boundary of township number twelve, +range three west, in which they were born, looked forward eagerly to +the forthcoming journey. Once only had Mrs. Ranger ventured beyond the +township limits since leaving the Kentucky home of her childhood; and +that was many years before, when she went with her husband to the county +seat to attach her mark to the fateful mortgage, upon which the accruing +interest seemed always to be maturing at the time when she or the +children were the most in need of books or shoes or clothing. + +“I wasn’t allowed to learn to write in my childhood,” she falteringly +explained to the notary, when, after affixing her mark, she watched him +as he attached his seal to the document which was to be as a millstone +about her neck forever after. “My father always thought that education +was bad for girls,” she added. “He said if they knew how to write they’d +be forging their husbands’ names and getting their money out of the bank. +And he said, too, that if girls learned to write, they’d be sending love +letters to the boys.” + +“It’s never too late to learn,” was the notary’s reply. “If I were you, I +would learn to write when the children learn. You can do it if you try.” + +“I’d be glad to, if I could find the time; but it’s hard to learn +anything for one’s own especial benefit with a baby always in one’s arms. +When the children get big enough to learn to write, I’ll try, though.” + +And she did; with such success that she never after signed her name with +a cross. + + * * * * * + +“I’m glad we’ve got that mortgage off our hands at last, Annie,” said her +husband as they counted up the somewhat disappointing returns after the +sale of their personal effects was over. + +“But you’re not morally free from it, John, or even legally so. If the +purchaser should fail, the load would then revert to Lije, you know. +Say, John, can’t I deed my little ten-acre farm to my father and mother? +It never cost you anything. I took care of old man Eustis for six long +years; and you know he gave the little farm to me as pay for my services, +absolutely.” + +“Haven’t I paid its taxes all along, Annie?” + +“And have I earned nothing all this time, my husband?” + +“Oh, yes, you’ve earned a living; and you’ve got it as you went along, +haven’t you?” + +Mrs. Ranger made no reply, but being silenced was not being convinced. + +“Be patient,” said Jean, aside. “I’ll manage it.” + + * * * * * + +Several pairs of great brown-eyed oxen, with which the children had +become familiar in their days of logging about the sawmill, were easily +trained for the long journey; but others, untamed and terrified, as if +pre-sensing the trials awaiting them through untracked deserts, submitted +to the yoke only under the cruelest compulsion. New wagons, stanchly +built and covered with white canvas hoods, stretched tightly over hickory +bows, were ranged on the lawn, under the naked, creaking branches of +the big elm-tree. Provisions, resembling in quantity the supplies for +a small army, were carted to the front veranda, awaiting shipment down +the Illinois and Mississippi rivers to St. Louis, to be reshipped up the +Missouri to the final point of loading into wagons for crossing the Great +American Desert, as the Great Plains were then known. + +Visitors, including friends and relatives from far and near, came to the +dismantled house in great relays, and the business of Squire Ranger’s +office as justice of the peace increased a dozen fold. All this commotion +involved increasing labor for Mrs. Ranger, who faded visibly as she +silently counted the intervening days before the hour of final separation +from her sorrowing parents. If the Squire suffered at the thought of +parting with anybody, he made no sign except to complain of a “pesky +cold” that made his eyes water, which he attributed to the “beastly +climate.” + +“The spirit of adventure that inspires my husband to emigrate does not +permit him to foresee danger,” was Mrs. Ranger’s ever-ready reply to the +numerous prophets of evil who came to condole, but got only their labor +for their pains. “I will not try to interfere with his plans. I started +out as a bride to walk the road of life beside him, and I mean to do as I +agreed.” + +But the good wife grew thinner and whiter as the days sped on; and when +at last the wagons were all ranged in line, with every yoke of oxen in +place; when the last farewell had been spoken; when the last audible +prayer had ascended heavenward, and the command to move on had been +given,—she sank on her feather bed in the great family wagon and closed +her eyes with a feeling of thankfulness akin to that of the sufferer from +a fatal malady who realizes that his last hour has come. + +“‘He giveth His beloved sleep,’” said Mary, softly, as she covered her +mother with a heavy shawl. + + * * * * * + +It was now the first of April, a fitful, gray, and misty day. A soft +breeze was stirring from the south, and straggling rays of sunlight +struggled through occasional rifts in the straying clouds. The spring +thaw had at last set in. The sticky soil adhered to the feet of man and +beast, and clung in heavy masses to the wheels of wagons. + +The dog, Rover, who had always willingly remained at home on watch during +the family’s absence at church or elsewhere, had hidden himself at +starting-time; but he was found waiting in the road when the party was +several miles out on the way, and, when discovered, approached his master +with drooping tail and piteous whine. + +There were tears in the eyes of the strong man, of which he was not +ashamed, as he dismounted from the back of Sukie, his favorite mare, and, +stooping, patted the dog affectionately on the head. + +“They didn’t fool ’oo, did ’ey, Rovie?” said Bobbie, as he hugged the +dog, unmindful of his muddy coat. + +“Come to me, Rover,” exclaimed Mrs. Ranger, who had been refreshed by +her nap. The dog obeyed, and, wet and dirty as he was, attempted to hide +himself among the baggage. But his hopes were blasted by a peremptory +command from his master: “Go back home and stay with grandfather!” The +poor brute jumped, whining, to the ground and affected to obey; but he +reappeared a dozen miles farther on, at the Illinois River’s edge; and +when the ferry-boat, which he was forbidden to enter, was out of reach of +either command or missile, he sat on his haunches on the river-bank and +howled dismally. + +“Don’t you think a dog has a soul, daddie?” asked Jean, through her tears. + +“How should I know, daughter?” was the husky response. “I’m not yet +certain that a man has a soul.” + + + + +VII + +_SCOTTY’S FIRST ROMANCE_ + + +The home that was to be the abode of the Ranger family during the journey +was an over-jutting wagon-box,—Harry called it a “hurricane deck,”—made +to fit over the running gear of a substantial wagon, in which a dozen or +more persons might be stowed away at night in crosswise fashion. It was +named “the saloon” by the teamsters, in jocose recognition of its owner’s +well-known teetotal habits, and was assigned to the women and children as +their especial domicile. + +“It will be your duty to keep a daily record of our journey, Jean.” + +This was the first official order issued by Captain Ranger after he had +been formally elected as commander of the expedition, and was given under +the thickly falling snow, amid the bustle and confusion of making the +first camp. + +“What sort of a record?” + +“A daily write-up of current events. Here is a brand-new blank-book I +have bought for the purpose. And here’s a portable inkstand, with some +lead pencils, a pocket knife, and a box of pens. I’ve selected you as +scribe because you won the prize in that competitive contest over the +doings of Bismarck.” + +“But that was a different proposition, daddie.” + +“It’s all in the same line, Jean. You have a record to preserve now. You +must keep your credit good. Look to your laurels, and don’t forget!” + +And Jean, partly from innate ambition, but chiefly because she was under +orders from which she knew there could be no appeal, kept, through all +the tedious journey, a diary, from which the chronicler of these pages +proposes to cull such fragments as may fit into the narrative, without +strict regard to chronology, though with due regard to facts. + + * * * * * + +“We made camp last night in the discomfort of a driving snowstorm,” +wrote the scribe under date of April 2. “But in spite of our sorrow +over our departure from home and loved ones, the most of us were jolly, +and we made the best we could of the situation. To-night, after a day’s +disagreeable wheeling through mud that freezes at night and thaws by day, +making travel nasty, sticky, and tedious, we stopped for camp near an +isolated farmhouse, where the goodwife is disheartened and sick, and the +children are ragged, dirty, and frightened. + +“The storm has abated, and the sky is clear. Our teamsters are kneeling +on the ground around our mess-boxes, which are used for tables at +mealtime, and stored in the ends of the wagons when we are moving ahead.” + +“There, I can’t think of another word to write.” She closed the book with +a bang. + +For many minutes after gathering around the tables, all were too busy +with the supper to make any attempt at conversation. + +Beans and bacon, coffee and crackers, and great heaps of stewed fruits, +were reinforced by mountains of steaming flapjacks, which Mary and +Marjorie took turns at baking, their eyes watery from the smoke of the +open fire, and their cheeks reddened by the wind. + +“Wonder what’s become o’ Scotty,” said Captain Ranger, as he knelt in the +absent teamster’s place at table and helped himself bountifully. + +“He filled our water-buckets and was off like a shot,” said Hal. “He +ought to show up at mealtime. Ah, there he comes.” + +“Where’ve you been, Scotty?” asked the Captain. “Here’s plenty of room. +Kneel, and give an account of yourself.” + +“So you’re in love, eh, Scotty? and with that pretty widow in the next +camp?” + +The questioner was a tall, lanky teamster, answering to the appellation +of Shorty. + +“Never in love before,” said Scotty, as he swallowed his coffee with a +gulp. + +An uproarious laugh ran around the table. + +“Her hair is like the flower o’ Scotia’s broom in springtime, and the +sheen o’ her eyes is like Loch Achray!” exclaimed Scotty, as he passed +his plate for a fresh relay of flapjacks. + +“A love affair doesn’t spoil his appetite,” laughed Marjorie. + +“I want you all to understand that no falling in love’ll be allowed on +this journey,” said the Captain, dryly. “There’ll be time enough for that +kind o’ nonsense after you get to Oregon and get settled.” + +“Love, like death, has all seasons for its own, sir,” retorted Scotty, +with a deferential bow. + +“Women and war don’t go together,” replied his employer. “And you’ll find +this journey is a good deal like war before you’re done with it.” + +“Everything is fair in both love and war, sir.” + +“Excuse me,” said a woman in black, with a low, mellow voice and blond +complexion, who might have heard herself discussed if she had listened. +The clatter around the table stopped instantly. + +“We’re in a quandary, mamma and I,” she said, blushing. “Our matches are +damp and won’t burn. I thought perhaps—” + +A half-dozen men were on their feet in an instant, and half-a-dozen hands +went suddenly into half-a-dozen pockets, while half-a-dozen blocks of +matches were forthcoming in less than half a minute. + +“Here are more than I need, gentlemen, and I thank you ever so much,” she +said, taking the offer from Scotty; and, with a bow and a smile to all, +she was gone. + +“The red of her lips is like rubies, the white of her teeth is like +pearls, and her voice is a symphony,” said Scotty, looking after her as +she ran. + +“Scotty’s attack is as sudden as it is serious,” laughed Lengthy, a +short, stocky teamster, whose nickname was a ludicrous misfit. + +“What freak o’ fate do you s’pose it was that brought that beauty out +here on a journey like this?” asked Yank, a Southern-born teamster, whose +accepted nickname was another palpable misnomer, and who dropped his +_r_’s, like a negro preacher. + +“I know!” cried Bobbie, his fingers dripping with molasses. “She came to +meet Scotty.” + +The laugh that followed disconcerted the child, who ran, abashed, to his +mother in the family wagon. + +“I thought,” exclaimed Sambo,—a gaunt Vermonter, who dropped his _g_’s +as frequently as Yank dropped his _r_’s,—“I thought there’d be several +ladies comin’ along, to keep us company.” + +“Can you tell us why Mrs. O’Dowd didn’t join us?” asked Yank, turning +deferentially to the Captain. “I thought we were to have the pleasure +of one woman’s company,—I mean in addition to the ladies present, of +course.” + +Jean exchanged furtive glances with her father, who averted his face, and +said: “That’s a conundrum, Yank. Ask me something easy.” + + * * * * * + +The next noticeable entry in Jean’s diary was made on the fifth of April, +and was as follows:— + +“The snow this morning is four inches deep. We camped last night in the +mud and slush, in a narrow lane, after a hard day’s wheeling through the +miry roads. Mother, dear woman, is weary and weak, but daddie got her a +warm room in the farmhouse near us, where we children are allowed to go +sometimes to thaw our marrow-bones by a pleasant fire. + +“April 6. Cloudy to-day, with a threat of rain. But mother urges a +forward movement, so Mary and Marjorie are packing the mess-boxes, and +daddie says I must write up this horrid diary. There is nothing to write +about. The country through which we are struggling is swampy, monotonous, +muddy, and level. Cheap, rickety farmhouses are seen at intervals; the +bridges are gone from most of the swollen streams; our way goes through +narrow, muddy lanes, with crooked, tumble-down fences; and we see, every +now and then, a discouraged-looking woman and a lot of half-clad children +peeping through open doors, from the midst of a crowd of half-starved +dogs. Daddie says these frontier people (and dogs) are the forerunners of +all civilization; but I think they’re the embodiment of desolation and +discouragement. + +“April 7. The ague has broken out among our teamsters. We stopped +to-night at a farmhouse, where suspicious women treated us like so many +thieves. The whole family were barefoot, and lacked everything but +numbers. Mother says that starvation has aroused their cupidity, and we +mustn’t mind their suspicious airs. They had no feed for sale for the +stock, and no supplies to sell for our table; but there were plenty of +guns and dogs,—the latter a thieving lot,—from which we shall be glad to +escape when we again see morning. Weather and roads no better. + +“April 8. Mother quite ill again; but the skies are clear, and she +insists on moving forward. + +“April 11. No food for man or beast to be had for love or money. We must +move onward, sick or well. + +“April 12. A better-settled region. The scenery is often fine. +Pussy-willows peep at us from marshy edges, and birds are singing in +the budding treetops. Sick folks no better. Bought a liberal supply of +corn for the stock, and a lot of butter, eggs, and chickens for the rest +of us, so we have a feast in prospect. Camped on the edge of a pretty +little village, on a nice green grass-plat. Daddie took us girls to a +prayer-meeting. The good people eyed us askance. Evidently they thought +us freaks. Certainly our slat sunbonnets and soiled linsey-woolsey +dresses were not reassuring.” + + * * * * * + +The next day, at nightfall, the party reached Quincy, on the Mississippi, +and camped on a flat bit of upland outside of the city’s limits, where +many other wayfarers, like themselves, had halted and encamped. + +“Did you notice Scotty?” asked Marjorie, approaching Jean, who sat on a +wagon-tongue, trying to think of something out of the ordinary to jot in +her journal. + +“What’s he up to now?” + +“He’s been preening his feathers like a turkey-gobbler for the last +half-hour. Guess our pretty widow and her aristocratic mamma have +caught up with our train. Just watch him! See how the ex-scientist, +ex-statesman, ex-orator, and now ex-almost-anything is making a fool of +himself!” + +“All people, of both sexes, get a spell of the simples, sooner or later,” +laughed Jean. “Daddie says that when the system is in the right condition +to catch it, one gets it bad.” + +“Guess I’ll ride out and look over the town a little, Annie,” said the +Captain to his wife after the family had retired for the night. “I want +to look out a little for our Scotty. He seems to need a guardian.” + +Scotty, though a characteristic specimen of the educated Scotchman, was +a loyal adherent of the institutions of his adopted country. He had been +a member of the constitutional conventions of two border States, and was +known as a writer and orator of no mean ability. But, like many another +brilliant man, he had passed his fortieth year without acquiring a home, +a family, or a competence. He was well versed in the “Rise and Fall of +Republics,” and had travelled much in foreign lands,—themes of which he +never tired. But he could never reduce ox-driving to a science. + +Captain Ranger rode to the top of the bluffs, where he leisurely +contemplated the scene. Lights reflected from town and river danced and +gleamed, but barely made the darkness visible in the muddy streets. +Church bells rang, steamers whistled, and longshoremen tugged at heavy +loads. Powerful horses propelled great, clumsy freight-wagons through the +unpaved streets. Foot passengers picked their way through slop and mud. + +“Railroads will come here some day,” said the Captain to himself. “They +will compete with the river traffic and cripple it. Other towns, like +Chicago, will divert the trade, and there is no telling what the end will +be. What a busy, bustling world it is, anyhow!” + +“Halloa, Captain!” + +“Well, I’m blanked if it isn’t Scotty!” + +“I’ve been to call upon the widows we met in the beginning of our +journey, sir, and I’ve been thinking it would be a handsome thing for you +to do if you’d take them into our company, Captain Ranger.” + +“We’ll see about it, Scotty; but I’m afraid you won’t earn your salt if I +let them join us. I s’pose I’ll have to risk it, though.” + + + + +VIII + +_A BORDER INCIDENT_ + + +The public roads or thoroughfares through which the party floundered when +crossing the sparsely settled counties of western Illinois, which had +noticeably improved during the day or two of travel from the East toward +Quincy, grew almost impassable on the Missouri side of the Mississippi +River. Heavy freight-wagons, each bearing an immense load of merchandise, +chiefly hides and furs from the Northwest Territory, had stirred the mud +in the narrow lane to a seemingly inexhaustible depth; and the long spell +of freezing by night, followed daily by the inevitable thaw, caused the +many unbridged streams to overflow their banks and inundate the wide +wastes of bottom land through which the ox teams were compelled to wander +blindly, in continual danger of disaster. But the most disagreeable +experiences resulted from the frequent snow-storms, which generally +occurred at camping-time, accompanied by chilling winds and intermittent +falls of rain or sleet, covering the earth with a glare of ice. + +“When I get to heaven, I mean to ask Saint Peter to assign all cooks to +high seats,” said Jean one evening, as, balancing a tray laden with tin +cups and saucers, she paused above the heads of the men kneeling at the +mess-boxes, and in apparent innocence upset a steaming cup upon the head +of Yank. + +“No harm done, I assure you, Miss Rangeah. Don’t mention it!” he said, +affecting not to feel the burn at the back of his neck, whereat Jean grew +repentant. + +“Do you s’pose Saint Peter will pay any heed to the request of a slip of +a girl like you?” asked Hal. + +“I’ll not be a slip of a girl when I go through the gates o’ heaven, but +a mature matron, famous and honored.” + + * * * * * + +“We are in a slave State now,” wrote Jean, under date of April 16; “and +from my limited experience I am forced to conclude that slavery is more +deteriorating in its effects upon the white people we meet than it is +upon the blacks. The primitive cultivating of the soil we saw in central +Illinois, where the white men do their own farming, was bad enough, God +knows; but the shiftless, aimless, happy-go-lucky work of the Missouri +‘niggers,’ as they style themselves, is even worse. The white men we +see at times are idle, pompous, and lazy. The white women are idle and +apathetic; and the children are aimless and discouraged. Daddie says +slavery is wrong, and no contingency can make it right; but I notice that +he doesn’t propose any remedy.” + + * * * * * + +Prairie schooners were not known as “ships of the desert” then, for +Joaquin Miller had not yet sought or acquired fame; and no Huntington +or Holladay had made a transcontinental railway track, or tunnelled the +sierras of the mighty West to open the way for the iron horse. Even the +overland stage was an improvement as yet unknown; for Holladay had not +yet established his relay stations, or sent his intrepid drivers out +among the savages as heralds of approaching civilization. + +“Daddy says humanity’s a hog,” was the leader in Jean’s next entry in +her diary. “The weather continued so bad, mother was so wan and weak, +and the stock were so nearly starved, that he decided to stop over for +a day or two near a farmhouse and barnyard, where there seemed a chance +to purchase food for man and beast. But we were glad to move on after +a rather brief experience. The farmer doubled the price of his hay and +grain every morning after ‘worship,’ reminding those of us who could not +choose but hear his daily dole of advice to God, of Grandpa Ranger’s +story of a planter and merchant he knew in his youth, of whom it was said +that he would call his slaves to their devotions in the morning with a +preamble like this: ‘Have you wet the leather? Have you sanded the sugar? +Have you put meal in the pepper and chicory in the coffee? Have you +watered the whiskey? Then come in to prayers!’” + +The necessities of these farmers were born of isolation; and the +opportunities for barter and dicker with passing emigrants stirred the +acquisitive spirit within them into vigorous action. The prices of their +hitherto unsalable commodities went up to unheard-of figures, increasing +in geometrical progression. But Captain Ranger, having created a market +in the remote country places in Illinois for supplies of coffee, tea, +calico, and unbleached cotton cloth, had prepared himself at Quincy with +such commodities, and was able to adjust his trade somewhat to the law of +supply and demand. + + * * * * * + +Oh, those teamsters of the plains! No jollier crowd of brave, +enduring, accommodating men ever cracked cruel whips over the backs of +long-enduring oxen, or plodded more patiently than they beside the slowly +moving wagons, as, wading often over shoe-tops through the muck and mire +of the Missouri roads of early springtime, they jollied one another +and cracked their whips and sang. Each misfit nickname was accepted as +a joke, and none of the men inquired as to the origin of his peculiar +cognomen. But Hal, being more inquisitive than they, asked troublesome +questions of his sisters, who were in the secret. + +“Better tell him, girls,” said their mother. “He’ll be in honor bound to +keep the secret then. Won’t you, dear?” + +“Jean did it,” said Marjorie. + +“Then suppose you confess,” said Hal. + +“It was this way,” she explained after a pause of mock seriousness. “The +first night we were in camp, after we had washed the dishes, it occurred +to me to write each teamster’s name and paste it to the bottom of his +plate. I didn’t know the real name of one of ’em from Adam’s, so I wrote +them down as Scotty, Limpy, Yank, Shorty, Sawed-off, and so on. We didn’t +intend to perpetrate a misfit, but a joke, and we struck both. Scotty +got the correct title, though it merely happened so. But you just watch +’em! Limpy’s as straight as an Indian; Sawed-off stands six feet two +in his socks; Lengthy is no taller when he stands up than when he lies +down; Yank is a characteristic slave-owner; and Sambo is an ingrained +abolitionist!” + +“We couldn’t have made such a lot o’ misfits if we had tried a week,” +said Mary. “But the men all think Hal did it; so the suspicion doesn’t +fall on us; and you get the credit for being somewhat of a wag, Mr. Hal.” + +“It’s nothing new for men or boys to take the credit for what their +sisters do,” said Jean, as Hal strode away, satisfied that in protecting +his sisters from a piece of folly, by accepting it as his own, he was +acting the part of a man. “Adam set the example; and where would Herschel +have been if he hadn’t had a sister?” + +“Adam might have been in a box if he couldn’t have had Eve,” laughed +Marjorie; “for there would then have been nobody to raise Cain.” + +“Or the Ranger family,” added Jean. + + * * * * * + +Several days of tedious, laborious travel brought the wanderers into an +open, sparsely timbered, almost unsettled part of the State of Missouri. +The snow and sleet gave way to brighter skies, the roads and sloughs were +drying up, and the higher grounds were gradually arraying themselves in +robes of green and gold. + +“Here is vacant land, and lots of it,” said Mary, as she viewed the +virgin prospect of a mighty settlement in undisguised admiration. “This +is a beautiful world!” and she sighed deeply, her face toward the rising +sun. + +“Don’t look backward,” cried Jean. “Remember Lot’s wife.” + +“There’s no use in trying to look backward,” urged Hal. “Dad will never +halt till he lands us on the western shore of the continent, on the +eastern hem of the Pacific Ocean. He says this country’s too old for him. +The wild turkeys are all killed off, or scared out o’ sight; the deer and +elk are gone for good; and the country’s played out.” + +“Wait a few years, and there’ll be railroads gridironing this whole great +valley of the Mississippi,” said Jean. “There’ll be towns and cities +springing up in a hundred places. Farms and orchards and handsome country +homes will cover these rolling prairies. The native groves will be more +than quadrupled by cultivation, and schoolhouses and churches will spring +into existence everywhere.” + +“I wish you’d talk like this to your father! Won’t you, Jean?” asked Mrs. +Ranger. + +“You couldn’t hire him to live in a slave State!” cried Jean. + +“The Reverend Thomas Rogers might manage to get this far on the way +toward the setting sun without much money,” smiled Mrs. Ranger, +meaningly. “The children favor our stopping here, on Missouri soil,” she +added, as her husband joined the group. “Don’t you think the idea a good +one, John?” + +“What! And let the word go back among our people at home that we’d +flunked? No! I’d die first, and then I wouldn’t do it,” exclaimed her +husband, petulantly. + +Mrs. Ranger burst into tears. + +“There, there, Annie! Don’t worry. But don’t ask me to settle, with my +children, in a slave State. Father left Kentucky when I was a boy to get +away from slavery and its inevitable accompaniment of poor white trash. +There is an irrepressible conflict between freedom and every form of +involuntary servitude that exists under the sun. This nigger business +will lead to a bloody war long before Uncle Sam is done with it, and I +doubt if even war will settle it.” + +“But Oregon may come into the Union as a slave State, John. You know that +the extension of slavery is the chief theme that is agitating Congress +now.” + +“I’ll have a chance to fight the curse in Oregon, Annie. But it is a +settled condition here. I’ll fight it to the bitter end, if I get a +chance!” He strode away to look after the cattle and men. + +“Dear, patient mother!” cried Jean, stroking her mother’s cheek tenderly. +“Your head is as clear as a bell. But there’s a whole lot o’ common-sense +in what daddie says, too. We’ll soon have settled weather; then you won’t +mind travelling. We all think you’ll be well and strong as soon as we get +settled in Oregon.” + +“Maybe so, if I could only live to get there,” faltered the feeble woman. +“But—” + +“But what, mother?” + +“Nothing. I was only thinking.” + +Jean’s heart sank. “You must get to bed, mother dear,” she said lovingly. + +The Ranger children, tired out with the fatigue and excitement of the +day, were soon locked in the deep sleep of healthy youth and vigor. Not +so Mrs. Ranger. The regular breathing of her sleeping loved ones soothed +her nerves, but she seemed preternaturally awake. + +A gentle breeze stirred the white wagon-hood overhead. Sukie, who was +tethered near, neighed gently as Mrs. Ranger spoke her name, and came +closer to be stroked. + +“Is de Cap’n heah?” asked a dusky figure with a child on its hip, as it +edged its way between the mare and the wagon-wheel. + +“He’s out with the cattle at present. Is there anything I can do for +you?” + +“Hide me, quick! De houn’s is aftah me, honey. I’ve jes’ waded de crick, +and dey’ve lost de trail. Quick, missus; an’ I’ll sarve ye forever!” + +The low baying of the bloodhounds proclaimed that they were again on the +trail. + +“Climb in here! Be quick!” exclaimed Mrs. Ranger, making room for the +quaking fugitive. “I’ve never tried to sleep with a nigger and her baby, +but I can stand it if I have to,” she said to herself, as the refugee +took the place assigned to her. + + * * * * * + +“What in thunder are you up to now?” asked her husband when he looked +in upon his wife and children in the morning and discovered the dusky +intruder. + +“Trying to help you to circumvent the institution you are so ready to +fight, which, as you say, is wrong, and no contingency can make right,” +replied his wife, her cheeks and eyes aglow with mingled satisfaction and +excitement. + + + + +IX + +_THE CAPTAIN DEFENDS THE LAW_ + + +“Don’t you know it’s against the laws of your country to harbor a runaway +nigger?” asked the Captain, in genuine alarm. “We’ll never get off o’ +Missouri soil in this world if we’re caught hiding this wench and her +pickaninny among our traps. She’s got to get away from here in a hurry.” + +“So far as the laws go, I don’t care a rap, John. I, nor no other woman, +ever took a hand in making any of ’em. And as for Missouri soil, it’s +good enough for anybody. I’m quite enamored of it; and I feel perfectly +willing to stay here as long as I live.” + +“I don’t want to make no trouble for nobody, massa,” sobbed the fugitive, +peeping from her covert like a beast at bay. “De missus done tuk keep o’ +me ’dout ’siderin’ any consikenses. Didn’t ye, honey?” + +“There was nothing else I could do,” said Mrs. Ranger, firmly, though her +cheeks blanched with an unspoken fear. + +“Dey was goin’ to sell me down Souf, an’ keep my coon for a body-servant +for his own pappy’s new bride dat’s a-comin’ to de plantation nex’ week. +Wusn’t dey, dawlin’?” holding aloft her mulatto offspring, who blinked at +the rising sun. “’Fo’ God, massa, I won’t make a speck o’ trouble. I’ll +jest keep a hidin’ till we git across de Missouri Ribbah. Take me ’long +to Oregon, an’ ye won’t nebbah be sorry.” + +“I’ve already agreed to take along one widow and her babies,” said the +Captain, exchanging glances with Jean. “It doesn’t seem possible to add +to the number.” + +“Jes’ le’ me ride a hidin’ in a wagon till I get across de Missouri +Ribbah, massa! I kin take keer o’ myself an’ my pickaninny too, if you’ll +turn me loose among de Injuns.” + +“It is the slaveholding, free American white man that the poor creature’s +afraid of,” said Mrs. Ranger, with a bitter smile. + +Again the deep baying of the bloodhounds betokened the finding of the +trail. + +“Climb back into the wagon, quick,” cried the Captain, “and take care +that you keep out o’ sight! Deluge the wagon-wheel and all around it +with water, gals. Don’t let the wench put her nose out, Annie. Hang the +luck! When it comes to such a pass that a runaway wench would rather +trust herself and her brat among the red savages of the plains than +among her white owners in a free country, I get ashamed of a white man’s +government. What’s the wench’s name?” + +“She said it was Dugs.” + +“The devil!” + +“Don’t swear, John. She didn’t name herself.” + +“And the name of the coon?” + +“Geo’ge Washin’t’n, sah. I named him for de faddah o’ de kentry. He’s as +han’some a coon as ebber had a white daddy. Ain’t ye, honey?” And the +mother held him close. “Yo’s a flower o’ slavery, ain’t ye, dawlin’?” a +hidden meaning in her voice. + +Again the deep baying of the bloodhounds was heard. But they were taking +the back trail. The fugitive laughed. + +“De way we larn ’em dat trick is a niggah’s secret,” she said, as she +again hid herself and child. + +“My massa didn’t use to b’lieve in slavery, missus,” she said, as the +baying of the dogs grew faint and distant. “When massa first ’herited +his slaves, he used to tell us he’d set us free. But he got a habit o’ +holdin’ on to us, an’ it jist growed on him. It was like de whiskey +habit. It got fastened on him good an’ ha’d, and he didn’t talk ’bout +manumittin’ us no mo’. He didn’t want to sell me, he said, but I was +prope’ty, an’ times got bad, an’ he was ’bleeged to have money to pay his +debts. His new wife’s ’spensive, awful, an’ he had to sell some o’ de +niggahs. If he’d sol’ me an’ Geo’dy Wah too, I wouldn’t ’a’ runned away. +But when he said he’d sell me, an’ keep my coon to be his new wife’s +niggah, I couldn’t stan’ it nohow, so I scooted!” and the negress laughed +heartily. + +“Do you think you can hide her for a week, Annie? We’ll be across the +Missouri River, by that time.” + +“I’ll do my best, John. We’re running a terrible risk, though. Sometimes, +when I think of the sins of this so-called free government, all committed +in the name of Liberty, I long to turn rebel, and do my best to destroy +it, root and branch.” + +“I had a husban’ once, suh. But massa tuk a liken’ to me, so he sol’ him +down Souf,” said the fugitive. + +“And this baby?” + +“Is my massa’s own coon. Massa wouldn’t ’a’ sol’ him nohow.” + +“Be quick!” cried Jean, her breath hot with indignation. “Hide yourself! +You mustn’t let the teamsters see you here. They’re coming in with the +cattle now.” + +“Gimme some quilts an’ blankets, honey. Dah! Hol’ ’em up, so! Now lemme +make an Injun wickiup in one end o’ dis yah wagon. Geo’ge Washin’t’n ’ll +be still as a lamb. Won’t ye, my putty ’ittle yallow coon?” + +The baby, with its tawny skin, blue eyes, and blackish-brown, tangled +curls, looked elfish as he nestled close to his mother’s breast and gazed +affrighted into her turban-shaded eyes. + +“Sh-sh-sh!” cried Jean; “the men are almost here. Keep close to your den +and be very quiet.” + + * * * * * + +Day after day passed wearily along; but if the teamsters suspected aught, +they made no sign. And day after day the teams wended their way westward +without betraying the commission of this crime against the commonwealth +of the great new State of Missouri and the free government of the United +States of America, which it would have been base flattery to call a +misdemeanor; as its perpetrators would have learned to their cost if they +had been caught in the act. + + * * * * * + +“You don’t seem as happy as formerly,” said Captain Ranger to his wife +at the close of a long and trying day. “If the risk we’re running by +harboring that runaway nigger is making you uneasy, we can turn her out. +A man’s first duty is to his own flesh and blood.” + +“It isn’t that, John. The woman is no trouble; and her baby’s so afraid +of bloodhounds that she keeps him as quiet as a mouse. I’m willing to +risk my life to get them both away from their white owners and out into +the Indians’ country, where they may have at least comparative freedom. I +am not afraid.” + +“Then what is the matter, dear?” + +She toyed caressingly with his hair and beard, but said nothing. They +were seated on a log by the roadside, and a laughing rivulet sprawled at +their feet. + +“Speak, Annie; don’t hesitate. I can hear your heart beat. What’s the +matter?” + +“You remember my little farm, John? It’s only ten acres, you know.” + +“Yes; what of it?” + +“You won’t be angry, John?” + +“Of course not. What about it?” + +“I want to deed the place over to my mother before we leave the State o’ +Missouri.” + +His manner changed instantly. + +“I thought that matter was settled,” he said tersely. “Can’t you let me +have a little peace?” + +“I have held my peace as long as my conscience will let me, dear. You +didn’t settle anything about it. You merely put me off, you know.” + +“Well?” + +A man can put a world of meaning into a monosyllable sometimes. + +“I want you to let me deed that piece of property to my mother. If the +deed were made to my father, and she should outlive him, she’d be only +allowed to occupy it free from rent for one year after his death; but if +it is made hers absolutely, and he should outlive her, he’ll be allowed +to have a home and get his living off it as long as he lives. You see, it +makes a difference whether it is a cow or an ox that is gored,” and she +smiled grimly. + +“The women are all getting their heads turned over the question of +property,” said Captain Ranger to himself as he watched the rivulet +playing at his feet. + +“Jean’s been putting this into your head, Annie,” he said after a painful +silence. + +“The child has a strong sense of justice, inherited from you, John. You +know she is wonderfully like you.” + +“Yes, yes, Annie. I wish she had been a boy instead o’ Hal. She’d have +made a rackin’ good lawyer.” + +“I’ll admit that she advised me to urge you to make the deed, John.” + +“Very well; we’ll see about it sometime, Annie” and he arose to go. + +Mrs. Ranger’s heart sank. + +“Why is it that men who are proverbially just and upright in their +dealings with their fellow-men are so often derelict in duty where women, +especially their own wives, are concerned?” she asked herself as she +tottered by his side in silence. + +The next morning found her unable to rise. A racking cough, which had +disturbed her all through the night, was followed at daybreak by a +burning fever. Her husband, who had slept like a top in an adjoining +tent, was startled when he saw the ravages the night had left upon her +pinched, white face. + +“You caught cold last night, darling,” he said, as he prescribed a simple +remedy. “You ought not to have been sitting out in the night air.” + +“That didn’t hurt me, John.” + +“Then it is the apprehension you suffer on account o’ that wench that is +making you sick.” + +“No, John; it isn’t that at all.” + +“Then what is it?” + +“Ask Jean. I have nothing more to say.” + +But there was no time for further parleying. The breakfast was ready, and +the hurry of preparation for departure was the theme of the hour. + + * * * * * + +“We reached camp in a pouring rain last night and pitched our tents, amid +much discomfort, on the outskirts of the little town of St. Joseph,” +wrote Jean on the morning of the fifth of May. “But I haven’t much time +for you, my journal, for there are other things to claim attention,” and +she shut the book with the usual impatient bang. + +“Got any blank deeds along with you, daddie?” she asked, after it was +announced that they were to be ready to break camp the next morning. + +“Yes; why?” + +“Because we must have that deed of Grandma Robinson’s all ready for +mother to acknowledge before a notary in the morning, as we go through +town on our way to the ferry.” + +“Your mother isn’t able to attend to any business.” + +“She isn’t able to put it off, daddie dear.” + +“Very well; I’ll see about it.” + +“But I want the blank form now, so I can have it all ready when we go +through town. Mother has the original deed, and I can easily duplicate +it. I’ll search for a blank among your papers, if you don’t object.” + +“You have no idea how this little act of justice will help mother to +regain her health,” said Mary. “She’s been haunted by a fear that you’d +put it off till it would be too late.” + +Captain Ranger did not reply; but his silence was considered as consent, +and Jean hurried away to prepare the deed. + +“I’ve been dreaming about an island somewhere in mid-ocean,” said +Marjorie, “where women could hold their own earnings, just as men do in +the United States; where they had full liberty to help the men to make +the laws, for which they paid their full quota of taxes, just as the +women do in Missouri and Illinois and, for aught I know, in Oregon.” + +“I’ve paid the taxes on that ten-acre farm for a dozen years,” said her +father. + +“Yes, out of mother’s income from it,” retorted Marjorie. “It has always +been rented, you know.” + +The subject was dropped for the nonce, though John Ranger did not feel +wholly at ease, he hardly realized why. But the next day, as the train +was moving through the principal street on its way to the river-front, +he stopped his team hard by a notary’s office and tenderly assisted his +wife to alight. Here, with her thin and trembling fingers, Annie Ranger +affixed her signature to her last earthly deed of conveyance, her eyes +beaming with joy. + +“Are you satisfied now?” asked her husband, as he lifted her to her seat +in the wagon, where she watched Harry rushing away to the post-office +with a big envelope containing the precious deed. + +“Yes, dear; and I am so glad I didn’t have to make my mark! When I get to +Oregon, I’ll manage somehow to earn the money to pay you what I owe on my +taxes, John.” + +“Don’t speak of that,” her husband exclaimed, feeling half ashamed of +himself, for a reason he did not divine. + +“Then you’ll never try to hold those old tax receipts as a lien on the +property?” + +“Nonsense, Annie! Do you think I’m a brute beast?” + +“No, darling. I would to God all men were as good as you are, my own +dear, precious husband.” + + * * * * * + +They were nearing the Missouri River now, and in the rush that ensued, +the family had no opportunity for further exchange of confidences for +many hours. + +“Look!” cried Marjorie, after the last loaded wagon had been crowded on +to the big ferry-boat, and they had started to a point several miles +up the river to make a landing on the opposite bank. “There’s a posse +of officers. They’re after Dugs, I know they are, ’cause they’ve got +bloodhounds with ’em, and they’re signalling the boat to stop and come +back.” + +“She can’t do it,” said the captain of the ferry, after a hurried +conference with the captain of the train, as he suspiciously thrust his +closed hand into the breeches pocket over his hip. + +“You can come out of hiding now, Sally O’Dowd,” exclaimed Captain Ranger, +as soon as the last team was safely up the opposite bank. + +“I thought it was Dugs they were after,” said Mary. + +“So ’twas; and me too,” cried the grass widow, as she jumped to the +ground, surrounded by her three children. “Sam O’Dowd was one o’ the +posse. I saw him. He couldn’t have taken me; but he was after my babies.” +She hugged her children, as she laughed and wept by turns in a transport +of joy. + +“Don’t cry, Sally,” said the Captain, coaxingly. “You’re in the Indian +country, safe and sound.” + +“Before Sam can get a requisition from the Governor of Illinois to +reclaim your babies, and before the Governor o’ Missouri can give that +party o’ slave-catchers the power to arrest Dugs and her coon, we’ll have +you out under the protection of the Indians!” said Mrs. Ranger, with a +meaning smile. + + + + +X + +_THE CAPTAIN MAKES A DISTINCTION_ + + +“I thought it was arranged that Sally was to join us at Quincy, on the +Mississippi,” said Captain Ranger, after they were safely landed in the +Indians’ territory. + +“That was the agreement between Jean and myself,” interposed the +frightened fugitive, still holding her babies close; “but I overheard +a conversation at St. Louis that changed my plans. I was in hiding, +down among the wharf-rats and niggers on the river-bank, in a cheap +hash-house, half scow and half log cabin. The walls were thin, and I +couldn’t sleep much, so I heard most everything that was going on, out o’ +doors and in. And one night by the help of the good Lord I overheard a +voice that I knew was Sam’s. He was telling a pal that he was hunting his +runaway wife. He said she had stolen his babies, and he meant to get ’em, +dead or alive.” + +“I thought you’d led him off on an altogether different scent,” exclaimed +Jean. + +“So did I. But it appears that his mother got on the scent somehow, and +betrayed me. I don’t know why she did it, for she was over-anxious to be +rid of the children. But I suppose she was moved by an impulse of spite +or revenge. I heard Sam say he’d overhaul us at Quincy, so I had good +reason to change my route.” + +“You had a close call, Mrs. O’Dowd!” exclaimed the Captain, earnestly. +“I don’t know as he could have put me in limbo for harboring you, but +he could have made it go hard with me for hiding the children. I hate a +law-breaker; but what is a fellow to do in such a case?” + +“God has been merciful to me, Squire. I felt all along that I would get +away safe and sound.” + +“Wouldn’t God have done a better job to have saved you in the first +place?” asked the Captain, dryly. + +“How did you get money to pay your travelling expenses?” asked Mary. + +“I’ve a confession to make to you and Mrs. Ranger, Captain. Will you +promise not to scold?” + +“I’ll know better what to promise after I’ve learned the provocation. +Don’t be afraid to tell the truth. Speak out. Don’t mind the gals.” + +“I stole three hundred dollars—it was my own money—from Mother O’Dowd,” +she whispered. “It didn’t seem so very wicked. She got my home without +any equivalent, you know.” + +“Oh, Sally! How could you?” asked Mrs. Ranger, her cheeks blanching. + +“Do you think it was wicked to take my own money and my own children, +when I had the opportunity?” + +“It was a theft, certainly, under the law; and it is always wrong to +steal,” retorted Mrs. Ranger. + +“We must uphold the majesty of the law, if necessary, at the muzzle of +our guns!” said the Captain, loftily. + +“How about Dugs and her coon?” asked Jean, with a silvery laugh. + +“That was different. Slavery, as I have often said before, is wrong, and +no contingency can make it right.” + +“You are making a distinction where there is no perceptible difference, +except in the matter of complexion,” exclaimed Mrs. Ranger. + +“Did Dugs, the slave, have money?” asked Mrs. O’Dowd. + +“Dugs hasn’t taken me into her confidence,” said the Captain. “What in +creation are we to do with you all?” + +“There’ll be a way, John; don’t worry,” said his wife. “‘Trust in the +Lord and do good, and verily thou shalt be fed.’” + +“Do you know,” said Sally, turning to the Captain, “that the pretty +little blonde in black, whom I see over yonder, is a jewel? I met her on +the street this morning, on her way to the ferry, with her mother and her +carriage and wagons and drivers. I was getting desperate with the fear +that I couldn’t overtake you; and I knew there was no time to be lost. +So I told her my story. I may have exaggerated somewhat, for I told her +you had agreed to take me and the babies to Oregon. I said I had been +detained (which was true) and I must overtake you before you crossed the +river. She didn’t wait to ask a question, but bundled us all into her +carriage without a word.” + +“Didn’t I tell you you could trust my daddie?” asked Jean, aside. “He’s a +whole lot better than he thinks he is.” + +“Father thinks he is a stickler for the law,” said Mary, with a chuckle. + + * * * * * + +Indians came and went in great numbers around and into the company’s +first night’s camp on the plains, sometimes growing insolent in their +persistent demands for food and articles of clothing, but on the whole +peaceable and friendly. Every man, woman, and child was under orders to +give them no cause for offence, the Captain hoping, by example, to disarm +hostility. But he soon learned that this liberal policy brought hordes +of beggars; and the necessity of carefully guarding their freight was +made apparent the next morning, when they found their breakfast supplies +had been stolen, and with them the cooking utensils. The Captain found +it necessary to send a messenger back to St. Joseph to purchase fresh +supplies before they could go on. + +The next day’s drive over the beautiful prairie was without unusual +incident. The roads were good, the soil rich, and the undulating +landscape perfect. + +“Lengthy and Sawed-off are bringing in a buffalo,” cried Hal. + +“We had one yesterday,” said Mrs. Ranger. “The game ought not to be +slaughtered in this wasteful manner. You ought to stop it, John.” + +“Men are still in a state of savagery,” replied her husband. + +“The instinct to kill is as strong in us as it was in the days of +Agamemnon,” said Scotty. + +“Or the Cæsars,” exclaimed the little widow. + +“We’ll need this meat for food before we get to Oregon,” said Mrs. +Ranger, surveying the huge carcass of the fallen monarch thoughtfully. +“We must cut the flesh into strips and dry it, Indian fashion, in the +sun.” + +“But we can’t stop to dry it, Annie,” exclaimed her husband. + +“We needn’t stop, John. We can get the men to cut it into strips while +in camp. Here is a ball of strong cord. We can string the strips of meat +on the cord and festoon it along the outsides of the wagon covers.” + +“A woman is a born provider,” exclaimed Scotty. “We men may take to +ourselves the credit for the care of women and children, but we’d soon be +on the road to starvation if it were not for the protecting care of the +mother sex, to help us out.” + +Mrs. Ranger, pleased with the praises of her family and the teamster, +sank back on her pillows and slept fitfully. + +“It pays a mother to rear a family of loyal children,” said Mrs. O’Dowd +to Mrs. McAlpin, with whom she had become quite intimate. “I’d rather +be an honored mother, like Mrs. Ranger, than be a Queen Elizabeth or a +Madame de Staël.” + + * * * * * + +“I believe I’ll reconnoitre a little, Annie, if you don’t mind,” said the +Captain, after the camp was still. “I’d like to study the lay o’ the land +from the adjacent heights. You won’t miss me?” + +“No, John. Or, I mean, I won’t mind it. You must learn, sooner or later, +to depend upon yourself for company, my dear. And you’d better practise a +little beforehand.” + +“What do you mean, Annie?” + +“Can’t you see that I’ll not be able to finish this journey, John?” + +“Nonsense, Annie! Just be patient till we get to Oregon. I mean to build +you a pretty room, away from the noise of the household, where you’ll +enjoy the fruits of your labors. I’ve hired Dugs to be your body-servant +during the remainder of your days.” + +“I’ll change her name, John. I’ll have nobody around me that answers to +the name of Dugs. It isn’t a good name for a dog.” + +“What’ll you call her?” + +“Susannah.” + +“What if she objects?” + +“She’s already agreed to the change, if it suits you and the girls.” + +John Ranger laughed. + +“So-long!” he cried, and galloped away to a point overlooking a bend in +the river, where he loosened the reins and allowed the mare to nibble the +tender herbage, which, tempted by the sunshine, was clothing the moist +earth in a covering of grass and buttercups. + +“O life,” he cried, “what a mystery you are! How puny, yet how mighty! +The living rain comes down in silent majesty upon the sleeping earth; the +living sunshine melts the ice and snow; and the living earth, awakening +from her season of hibernation, answers back to rain and sun with a power +of reproduction that defies the mighty law of gravitation, and sends +outward and up toward the living sky the living vegetation that sustains +the living man. O sky, all a-twinkle with your myriads of stars, how +inscrutable you are in your infinitude! And how like a worm of the dust +is man, who has no power to hold in the precious body of even the woman +he loves the mystery of existence, of which Creation is the only master!” + +Below him, so far away that it gleamed like a silver ribbon in the +starlight, ran the muddy Missouri, carrying in its turbid waves the +_débris_ of the Mandan district, and bearing on its troubled breast the +throng of river craft at whose little windows hundreds of lights were +twinkling, like diamonds on parade. Beyond gleamed the moving steamers +and their accompanying hosts of lesser boats, now nestling close to the +water’s edge, and now climbing in irregular fashion toward the uplands at +the town of St. Joseph; and, far beyond, his mental eyes beheld the homes +of his own and his Annie’s beloved parents. + +“I do wonder if it is really wrong for me to leave them in their old +age, and take Annie away also,” he said to himself, half audibly, as he +continued his gaze over the dim expanse of silence that surrounded him on +every hand. + +There was no answer. He gave Sukie the rein and bowed his head upon his +hands, and wept. How long he remained alone, absorbed in the mingled +emotions that possessed him, he did not know. He took no note of time, +and Sukie moved leisurely over the plain, daintily cropping the tender +grass. + +“I was ambitious, selfish, and exacting,” he exclaimed at last, as a +sharp gust of wind slapped him in the face. “Annie doesn’t complain; but +she is fading from my sight. It is all my fault. If she could be happy, +she would soon be well. I wonder if I ought not to take her back to her +father and mother and her childhood’s home. Everybody would laugh; but +what should I care? Are not the life and happiness of my wife worth more +to me than all the world’s approval?” Then, after a long silence, he +tightened the reins and said: “Come, Sukie; let’s go back to camp. Right +or wrong, I must go ahead. I’ve burned my bridges behind me.” + +As he expected, Scotty was found sitting in the midst of an audience at +Mrs. McAlpin’s camp-fire. He was discoursing on his travels in Egypt, and +had collected about him quite a crowd. + +“The earth is old, very, very old,” the teamster was saying. He arose to +make room for Captain Ranger, as he passed the reins to Jean, who, with +Mary and Marjorie, had been an enraptured listener. “The comparative +topography of Central America and northern Africa excites the liveliest +speculation. When I was in Darien, I found many features among the ruins +abounding in the jungles of the isthmus, strikingly similar to those +one sees in the land of the Pyramids. True, the analogy is not always +apparent, because the almost total absence of rain in Egypt is exchanged +for an almost total lack of dry skies in Panama and Yucatan. Science +scoffs at my assumptions, because I cannot prove them; but I’d bet a +million if I had it, and wait for the fact to be proven—as it surely will +be some day—that there was once a continuous continent between the homes +of the early Pharaohs and those of a prehistoric people who inhabited the +two Americas.” + +“I’ve often reached a similar conclusion myself when visiting the +prehistoric scenes of both hemispheres,” said Mrs. McAlpin. “Sometime, +not so very remote in the history of the planet, there must have been a +sudden and awful cataclysm, such as might result from a change in the +inclination of the earth’s axis, of which history can as yet give no +authentic account.” + +“Then the fabled Atlantis may not be so much of a fable, after all,” +exclaimed Mary. + +“Do you suppose any of you know what you are talking about?” asked +Captain Ranger. + +“The world has scarcely yet begun to read the testimony of the air, the +earth, the water, and the rocks,—especially of this Western Continent,” +said Scotty, with a respectful bow to his captain. + +“That’s true,” remarked Mrs. McAlpin, rising to end the interview. +“Travel in any direction broadens and enlightens anybody who has eyes to +see or ears to hear.” + +“Or a soul to think,” echoed Jean. + +“Say, Scotty, have you watered your steers?” asked Captain Ranger, in a +sarcastic tone. + +“By Jove! I forgot. Good-evening, ladies!” The teamster turned away, +crestfallen. + +“Excuse me, madam; I didn’t intend to be rude,” said the Captain, as +he paused to say good-night; “but we’ve embarked on a journey in which +theories must be set aside for duties sometimes,—that is, if we’re ever +to see Oregon.” + + + + +XI + +_MRS. McALPIN SEEKS ADVICE_ + + +The next forenoon Captain Ranger rode up alongside the carriage of Mrs. +McAlpin and her mother, in which Jean was posing as driver and guest, and +said: “I hope I gave you no offence in speaking as I did to Mr. Burns +last night.” + +“No offence at all, Captain. Don’t mention it; you were simply +discharging your duty. But”—and Mrs. McAlpin hesitated a little—“would +you mind exchanging your mount with Jean for a little while? I am quite +sure she will enjoy a canter on the back of Sukie, and I wish to counsel +with you a little. I am sorry to impose upon your good nature.” + +Mrs. Benson took little notice of the Captain or of her daughter, but +leaned back on the cushions, apparently absorbed in a book. + +“I want your candid opinion,” said Mrs. McAlpin. “Do you consider the +marriage ceremony infallible? Is it an unpardonable sin to break it, +except for a nameless reason? I have an object in asking this question +that is not born of mere curiosity.” + +“Nothing of human origin is infallible, madam; and, for aught I can see +to the contrary, nothing is infallible anywhere.” + +“Do you believe it is better to break a bad bargain than to keep it?” + +“That depends upon circumstances.” + +“Why do you evade my question?” + +“Because I can’t see what you’re driving at.” + +“Then I’ll come at once to the point. Suppose you had been born a woman?” + +“That isn’t a supposable case.” + +“But we’ll let it rest for the present as if it were. Suppose you +were born to be a woman,—we’ll put it that way for the sake of +illustration,—and suppose, while you were yet a child, you had been +married to a man many years your senior—married just to please somebody +else—in defiance of your own judgment or desires?” + +“Millions of women are married in that way every year, madam. Look at +India, at China, at Turkey, and at many modern homes, even in England and +America! It would seem to be the exception and not the rule where women +get the husbands of their choice. I know it is the fashion to pretend +they do; for a woman has to become desperately weary of her bargain +before she’ll own up honestly to a matrimonial mistake.” + +“But suppose one of those women had been yourself; don’t you think if you +had been so married in childhood, that you would have rebelled openly as +soon as you reached the years of discretion?” + +“Nonsense, Daphne!” interrupted Mrs. Benson. “You harp forever on a +single string. Suppose you discuss the weather, for a change.” + +“There are points on which my estimable mother and myself do not agree,” +said the daughter, with a sad smile. “Don’t mind her, please. I have +learned that you are a wise and just man, and I am in need of advice. +What would you do if, although you had obeyed the letter of the human +law, you knew in your own soul that your marriage was a sin?” + +“Don’t talk like that in my presence, Daphne! I cannot bear it!” +exclaimed her mother, petulantly. + +“When I left the States I hoped to get away from everybody’s domestic +troubles,” said the Captain, earnestly. “Please don’t tell me about +yours—if you have any—unless it is in my power to assist you.” + +They had reached a narrow and rocky grade, where careful driving was +necessary to avoid disaster. + +“We must turn aside here, ladies,” the Captain exclaimed suddenly, as he +dexterously alighted and guided the horses by the bits to the only point +of advantage in sight. “Cattle and horses ought never to be compelled to +travel together. You can’t hurry a steer except in a stampede, and then +Old Nick himself couldn’t stop him.” + +“They remind me of more than one pair of mismated bipeds I have met,” +said Mrs. McAlpin. + +The Captain stood at the horses’ heads till the last of the jolting and +complaining wagons had safely passed the perilous bit of roadway. Then, +guiding the team back to the road, he resumed his seat in the carriage, +his lips compressed like a trap. + +“Don’t you think Mr. Burns is a wonderful man?” asked Mrs. McAlpin, in a +desperate effort to rekindle a conversation. + +“He’s a fellow of considerable genius in some ways, but a mighty poor +ox-driver.” + +“He reminds me of many a woman I have seen,” continued Mrs. McAlpin, “who +has failed to get fitted into her proper niche. His mind isn’t fitted to +his work. I have seen women chained by circumstances to the kitchen sink, +the wash-tub, the churn-dash, and the ironing-board, who never could make +a success of any one of these lines of effort, though they might have +made excellent astronomers, first-class architects, capable lawyers, good +preachers, capital teachers, or splendid financiers. It is a pity to +spoil a natural statesman or stateswoman to make a poor ox-driver or an +indifferent housekeeper.” + +“You seem to take great interest in Scotty,” remarked the Captain. + +“I do. We have travelled extensively through the same lands, though we +had never met until our orbits chanced to coincide on this journey. He +has a retentive memory, a wide experience, and a keen appreciation of the +beautiful, both in nature and art, and so have I. He is as much out of +place as an ox-driver as I should be in a cotton-field. He’s a perfect +mine of information, though, about a lot of things.” + +“Then why not take counsel of him, instead o’ me?” + +“He would hardly be a disinterested adviser.” + +“Ah, I see!” + +Mrs. McAlpin blushed. “He has not spoken to me one word of love, +Captain,—if that is what you mean. I am not an eligible party,” and the +lady used her handkerchief to wipe away a tear. “I want your opinion +about getting a divorce from a union that I detested long before I ever +met Mr. Burns. It is unbearable now.” + +“Hush, Daphne! Not another word,” interposed her mother. “Strangers have +no right to an insight into our family affairs.” + +“But I must speak to somebody. Stay, Captain!” laying her hand upon his +arm as he was about to leave the carriage. + +“Are you running away from your husband, madam?” he asked, resuming his +seat. + +“You guess correctly, sir.” + +“I suspected it all along; but it was none of my business in the +beginning, nor is it now. But I confess that it looks as if I were making +it my business to conduct a caravan of grass widows to Oregon, judging +from the present aspect of affairs.” + +“To make a long story short,—for I see you are growing restless,—I was +married in my callow childhood, married in obedience to my mother’s wish. +She was a widow and poor; my suitor was accomplished and rich. If he’d +been a sensible man he would have courted and married my mother, who +adores him. But old men are such idiots! They’re always hunting young +women, or children, for wives.” + +“You’re complimentary.” + +“Beg your pardon; present company is always excepted. They imagine that +young and silly girls will make happy and contented wives,—when any +person not overcome by vanity knows that no young man or young woman can +be truly enamored of anybody that’s in the sere and yellow leaf. What +would you think of a woman of mamma’s age, for instance, making love to a +boy? And if such a boy should consent to marry her, who believes that he +would be content with his bargain after his beard was grown?” + +“Ask me something easy,” said the Captain. + +“My father was a physician; and it was my childhood’s delight to study +his books, attend his clinics, and make myself generally useful among +his patients. I never dreamed of surrendering my person, my liberty, my +will, and the absolute control of my individuality to the commands of any +human being on earth except myself, till after the deed was done for me +by another. No wonder I rebelled when I reached the years of maturity and +discretion.” + +“Mr. McAlpin was a good man and a gentleman, Captain Ranger,” interrupted +Mrs. Benson. + +“Yes, mamma; he was always ‘good.’ He never whipped his wife; he gave +her everything that money could buy. There is no reason that the law can +recognize for me to be dissatisfied. But I don’t belong primarily to +myself, and I don’t like it. Mamma here, with her ideas of woman’s place +in life, would have made him an excellent and happy wife.” + +“He was always a gentleman, Daphne,” repeated her mother. “Don’t do him +an injustice.” + +“Yes; and I was his personal and private property. I was a beautiful +animal, as he thought, to bedeck with his trinkets and show off his +wealth; but I was nobody on my own account. I was simply his echo,—or +supposed to be,—and nothing else.” + +“Daphne, you forget that this carriage, these horses, our wagons and +oxen, and the supplies for this journey are all the product of his +bounty.” + +“They are the product of my jewels, Captain. This outfit is mine; it was +bought with my own heart’s blood! I owe nothing to Donald McAlpin.” + +“Do you think you have dealt justly by your husband?” asked the Captain. +There was reproof and impatience in his tone. + +“I owe him nothing, sir. I am in the same line with Dugs,—a runaway +chattel. That is all.” + +“But Dugs, whose name now is Susannah, did not enter into her bargain +voluntarily.” + +“Neither did I. My mother made the bargain.” + +“How did you escape, Mrs. McAlpin? And why did you undertake this +journey?” + +“Mr. McAlpin was called away to England last year, to inherit an +additional estate. Mamma was too ill to go, so I stayed to nurse her. I +had been his body vassal for four years, and was at last a woman grown. +One taste of liberty was enough. I will never be his vassal again. I +decided to make this very unusual journey to elude pursuit. He’d not +think of searching for me outside of the United States or Canada; least +of all in the Great American Desert, whither we are bound. I mean to lose +myself for good and all in Oregon.” + +“And so now you are seeking a divorce?” + +“Yes, sir; that is, when I reach Oregon.” + +“Thousands of other women have borne far worse conjugal conditions all +their lives, and died, making no outward sign, Mrs. McAlpin. Men also +have their full share of these afflictions, which they bear in silence to +the bitter end.” + +“That is their own affair, sir. If other people choose to wear a ball +and chain through life, that is their privilege. I would not do their +choosing for them if I could.” + +“What course would you pursue if you had children?” + +“Then I suppose I should be compelled to die with my feet in the stocks. +Children might have diverted my mind and helped to save my sanity, +though. I’ve prayed for them without ceasing, but in vain. I’m going to a +remote country, a new country, where new environments make newer and more +plastic conditions. The laws of men, one-sided as they are, will divorce +me after seven years.” + +“And what is Scotty going to do during all this time?” + +“If he loves me as he thinks he does, he’ll wait. If it’s only a passing +fancy, he’ll get over it in time. I will not permit his attentions now, +nor until Donald McAlpin divorces me and gets another wife.” + + * * * * * + +Captain Ranger’s union with the gentle bride of his choice had been +so natural, and their lives together had been so harmonious, despite +their many cares and sorrows, that neither of them had ever harbored +a thought of living apart from the other. Differences of opinion they +had sometimes, and now and then a brief, angry dispute, but the end was +always peace; and he remembered now, with a pang of self-reproach, that +in all such encounters he, whether right or wrong, had invariably gained +his point. + +“You are my guiding star, my faithful wife,” he whispered, as he gently +assisted her from the wagon after they had halted for the night. “Come +with me, dear, and get some exercise, while Sally and Susannah help the +other girls to get supper.” + +“I don’t see why we mightn’t end our journey here, John,” said his wife, +as they gazed abroad over the vast expanse of table-land that stretched +away on every side, intersected here and there with streams, their +courses marked by stately rows of cottonwood just bursting into leaf, +their bases hedged with pussy-willows. “Here are land and wood and water +as good as any we passed yesterday. This surely will be a rich and +thickly settled country some day.” + +“But it is all Indian country, my dear. I wish you would talk about +something else.” + +They returned to the camp in silence. + +“I wish the girls were as tractable as you are, Annie,” he said an hour +later, after having had a heated dispute with his daughters over some +trifling disagreement. “They are as headstrong as mules.” + +“Being girls, they take after you, John,” replied his wife, with a smile. +“I’m afraid their husbands won’t find them as tractable as I have been.” + + * * * * * + +“Bring on more of your flapjacks and bacon, Miss Mary,” cried Scotty, as +Mary poised a big pile of the steaming cakes over the heads of the hungry +men who knelt at the mess-boxes. + +“You seem to be regaining your lost appetite,” exclaimed Sawed-off. “Have +you and the widder cried quits?” + +“That’s our business,” was the curt reply. + +It was late when Mary sought her mother’s couch for a brief visit that +night. She was weeping silently, and her mother caressed her tenderly. +“I know your heart is troubled, darling,” said Mrs. Ranger, “but do not +be discouraged. Be of good cheer. Every cloud has a silver lining.” And +Mary’s heart was comforted, though her reason could not tell her why. + + + + +XII + +_JEAN BECOMES A WITNESS_ + + +“How’s your journal getting on, Jean?” asked her father, one evening, +after all was still in camp. + +Mrs. Ranger had been unusually nervous and timid all day, and Susannah +had been in constant attendance upon the wagon-bed full of little +ones,—seven in all,—who had been more than usually unruly, fretful, and +quarrelsome. + +Jean looked ruefully at her father. “The pesky thing isn’t getting along +at all!” she exclaimed. “There’s nothing to inspire one to write. There’s +no grass for the cattle, no wood for the fires, and no comfort anywhere.” + +“Then write up the facts. Don’t allow yourself to get morbid. Don’t be so +listless and lackadaisical.” + + * * * * * + +It was now the twentieth of May; and under this date, in restive +obedience to her father’s command, Jean began her entries again:— + +“We came about eighteen miles to-day. And such a day! It has been +drizzly, disagreeable, and cold from morning till night, with no cheery +prospects ahead. We hear of an epidemic of measles having broken out on +the road, endangering much life among children and such grown folks as +didn’t have sense enough to get the disgusting disease before they left +their mothers’ apron-strings. We passed several newly made graves by the +roadside to-day,—a melancholy fact which interested mother deeply. + +“Indians, for some reason, are keeping out of our sight. As we are right +in the midst of the summer haunts of many tribes, we are shunned, +possibly on account of the contagious diseases among the whites, which +are said to kill off Indians as the Asiatic plague kills Europeans. Our +company has escaped the epidemic so far; so there is one blessing for +which we may be thankful. + +“We forded a stream to-day, called the Little Sandy, in the midst of +a driving rainstorm, and are now encamped in a deep, dry gulch; that +is, we call it dry, because the water runs away nearly as fast as it +falls. There is a fine spring on the hillside; and some green cottonwood +which we found at the head of the gulch is being slowly coaxed into the +semblance of a fire. + +“May 21. The skies cleared this morning, and we have found some good +grazing for the poor, half-famished stock. We haven’t travelled over a +dozen miles, but we must stop and give the animals a feed. We have passed +extensive beds of iron ore to-day, outcroppings of which are seen in +every direction. + +“May 22. We yoked up early this morning and came three miles, to the +banks of the Big Sandy. The day is clear, but the roads are still muddy +after the rain. The early morning was dark and foggy, the air was raw and +cold, and the outlook was cheerless in the extreme. Some of the horses in +a neighbor’s outfit stampeded, and it has taken nearly the whole day to +recapture them. + +“May 23. We hear rumors of Indian raids ahead of us, and mother is much +alarmed. We must not stop for Sunday, but must hurry on to get past the +danger-point. If the Indians knew how defenceless we really are, they +would rout the camp before morning. + +“The sluggish waters of the Big Sandy are swarming with larvæ. Daddie +says it’s lucky they’re not mosquitoes yet; but the trains coming along a +week hence will be terribly annoyed by the intruders, who are now unable +to molest us. + +“May 24. We are following the Little Blue,—a muddy stream about a hundred +feet in width. + +“May 25. We met to-day a long train of heavily loaded wagons coming +from Fort Laramie with great mountains of buffalo robes. At this rate, +the buffalo will all be killed off in a very few years. The frightened +creatures are now so wild that it is next to impossible to get a shot +at one of them; and the antelope are even more timid. Why is man such a +destructive animal, I wonder? + +“The men driving the freight-teams we met were a mixed-up lot of Indians, +Spaniards, and French and Indian half-breeds. Their speech was to us an +unintelligible jargon in everything but its profanity, which was English, +straight. There was one white man in the crowd, or maybe two of them. +They were on horseback, and kept aloof from the common herd. A peculiar +apprehension overcame me as I gazed at one of these strangers. He was +large, bronzed, and portly, and sat his horse like a centaur; or perhaps +I should come nearer the truth if I said like an Englishman. My heart +beat a strange tattoo as I watched him. Somehow, it seemed to me that he +was in some way concerned with some of our company. I did not understand +the feeling, but it wasn’t comfortable.” + +“There, daddie!” she cried, exhibiting the written pages. “Don’t say I’m +neglecting my journal now!” + + * * * * * + +The twilight had deepened. Below the camp ran a deep ravine, at the +base of which a little brook sang merrily. Clumps of cottonwood, badly +crippled by wayfarers’ axes, struggled for existence here and there. +In her haste to reach the covert of the bushes unobserved, Jean ran +diagonally over a settlement of prairie dogs, near which the campers +had inadvertently pitched their tents. The Lilliputian municipality was +evidently well disciplined, for at the sound of approaching footsteps the +same sharp, staccato bark, of mingled warning and authority, that had +for an instant startled the foremost team at camping-time, was heard, and +every little rodent dropped instantly out of sight. Profound silence fell +at once upon the little city, which had before been a bedlam of voices. + +Jean reached the foot of the ravine and stopped to listen, her heart +beating hard. “I am sure Sally made an appointment to meet somebody in +this ravine to-night,” she said to herself, “and I’m just as sure she’ll +need a friend. Women are such fools where men are concerned.” She heard +the sound of human voices, and pressed her hand hard over her heart. + +“I know you think you’re safe from arrest,” said a voice she knew to be +Sally O’Dowd’s. “As your wife, I may not be able to give legal testimony +that will send you to the gallows; but you’re not beyond the pale of +lynch law.” + +A mocking laugh was the only audible response. + +“I haven’t even told the Squire,” resumed the woman’s voice. “Nobody +knows about it but you and me and the unseen messengers of God.” + +Again that mocking, brutal laugh, followed by oaths, with words of +commingled anger and exultation. Jean held her breath. + +“S’posing you could testify,—which you can’t, for that divorce is tied +up on appeal,— my oath would be as binding as yours, Mrs. O’Dowd. And I +would swear to God that it was you did the deed. It would be easy enough +to make any court believe my story, for it was common talk that you +rebelled all the time against such a litter of babies.” + +“O God, have mercy!” + +“Nobody saw me kill the brat but you, Sally. It would have been bad +enough if the young ones had come one at a time, being only a year apart; +but when it came to two pairs of twins inside o’ thirteen months, it was +time to call a halt.” + +“Are you never to have any mercy on me, Sam?” + +“Come back to me as my lawful wife, and you’ll see. I’ll be easy enough +to get along with if you’ll treat me right.” + +The wife was struck dumb with astonishment. + +“Come back to me, darling!” The mocking tone gave way to one of cooing +tenderness. Jean saw his dusky figure through the shadows. “You see +you’re in my power, Sally. Better make a virtue of necessity. You can +coax the Squire to let me join his train. I will even be a teamster, if +necessary, for your sake and the children’s.” + +“What?” cried the woman, in sincere alarm. “Could I be your wife after +I’ve seen you kill one of our children before my very eyes? No, no! Go +your way, and let me go mine in peace. If you will leave me and the three +surviving babies alone, I’ll never tell anybody about the murder. I swear +it!” + +Again that brutal laugh. + +“Do your worst, Sally O’Dowd! You can’t prove that I killed the brat. You +haven’t any witness.” + +“I have the silent witness of my own conscience; and so have you, Sam +O’Dowd. Do you think that I am such an idiot as to come out here to meet +you alone?” + +“She knows he’s a coward,” thought Jean, “and she’s bluffing.” + +“Now see here, Sally! You love me; you know you do; you’ve told me so a +thousand times.” + +“I did love you once, Sam; but that was so long ago that it seems like a +far-off dream. I despise, I loathe, I abhor you now!” + +“Then this’ll settle it. I’ll go to the Squire and tell him we’ve buried +the hatchet, and I’m going with you to Oregon. I don’t care a rap whether +you hate me or not. But if you give me any trouble, I’ll swear that you +did that killing.” + +“Oh, help me, pitying Christ!” wailed the unhappy woman. “Is there, in +all this world, no Canada to which a fugitive wife may flee, and no +underground railroad by which to reach it?”. + +Again arose that brutal laugh upon the air. The belated bird in the +bushes cooed to its mate, and the prairie dogs chattered in the distance. + +“Don’t be afraid of him, Sally,” cried a clear voice from the depths of +the cottonwoods. “A tyrant is always a coward. I heard your confession, +Sam O’Dowd; and as I am not your wife, I can be a witness.” + +There was no more brutal laughter. A horse stood picketed and stamping +at the head of the gulch, and the murderer hurried toward it with heavy +strides. Jean listened with eager attention till he mounted and rode +rapidly away. + +“Are you still there, Sally?” she asked, as the hoof-beats died away in +the distance. + +“Yes, Jean; but where are you, and why are you here?” + +“The Holy Spirit guided me, I reckon. I was just possessed to come. I +didn’t know I was following you, or why I came; but I just did it ’cause +I had to.” + +“It was hazardous, Jean. He might have killed us both.” + +“He’s too big a coward to kill a more formidable foe than his own baby. +But you were an idiot to meet him out here, Sally.” + +“He was with that freighters’ outfit, but on horseback. He came to me +a few minutes before camping-time, when I was walking for exercise. I +didn’t want a scene at camp, so I agreed to meet him out here alone, if +he would keep out of sight.” + +“You’re a bigger fool than Thompson’s colt, and he swam the river to +get a drink,” said Jean. “But we mustn’t linger here. He may have a +confederate.” + +“Not he, Jean. He’s too suspicious to trust a confederate.” + +“Let’s go back to camp, anyhow, Sally; mother will be missing us. But +you needn’t be afraid of Sam again. I’ve settled his hash,” she said, as +they hurried to the open. “Isn’t it a terrible thing to be married?” she +added, as soon as she could speak again. + +“No, Jean. Marriage under right conditions is the world’s greatest +blessing. All enlightened men and women prefer to live in pairs, and +make each other and their children as happy as possible. I admit that I +made a big mistake when I married; but your mother didn’t, because your +father is one of God’s noblemen. The fault isn’t in marriage, but in the +couple, one or both of whom make the trouble, when there is trouble. But +the conditions between husbands and wives are not equal. Law and usage +make the husband and wife one, and the husband that one. Where both +the parties to the compact are better than the law, it doesn’t pinch +either one; but when a woman finds herself chained for life to a sordid, +disagreeable, stingy, domineering man, the advantages of law and custom +are all on his side. It is no wonder that trouble ensues in such cases.” + +“But, young as I am, I have seen wives that could discount almost any man +for meanness,” said Jean. “There are women, now and then, who take all +the rights in the matrimonial category, and their husbands haven’t any +rights at all.” + +“Women sometimes inherit the strongest traits of their fathers; I admit +that. And such women can outwit the very best husbands.” + +“I’ve read of a woman,” said Jean, musingly, “Elizabeth Cady Stanton by +name, who went before a legislative assembly in New York a few years +ago, and secured the passage of a law enabling a married woman of that +State to hold, in her own right, the property bequeathed to her by her +father. And then, as if to prove that women are idiots, there were women +in Albany who refused to associate with their financial savior any more. +They said she had left her sphere. But never mind. The world is moving, +and women are moving with it.” + +The camp-fires had died to heaps of embers, the lights were out in the +tents and wagons, and all except themselves were settled for the night. + +“Don’t say anything to anybody about my meeting with Sam, will you, Jean?” + +“Not unless he annoys you again. Then I’ll be ready to meet him with +facts.” + +“He might put your life in jeopardy, my dear.” + +“Jeopardy nothin’!” cried Jean, adopting the slang of the road. “He’s too +big a coward to put his neck in danger. But just you wait! I’ll live to +see an end to one-sided laws and a one-sexed government. See if I don’t! +And the men will fight our battle for us, too, as soon as they are wise +enough.” + +“If you don’t come across a matrimonial fate that’ll change your tune, my +name isn’t Sally O’Dowd,” exclaimed her companion, as they drew near the +camp. + +“Your name isn’t O’Dowd, but Danover,” cried Jean. “You’re safe in making +such a prophecy on such a basis.” + + + + +XIII + +_AN APPROACHING STORM_ + + +“We came eighteen miles to-day,” wrote Jean, under date of May 28, “and +halted for the night opposite Grand Island, in the Platte River, where +we find both wood and pasture. All day we floundered through the muddy +roads, occasionally getting almost swamped in heavy and treacherous +bogs, with ‘water, water everywhere, nor any drop to drink.’ I’m too +tired to write, and too sleepy to think.” + +On the evening of May 29 she added: “We started early, and reached +Fort Kearney after eight miles of heavy wheeling, where we halted to +write letters for the folks at home, and examine many things quaint and +crude and curious. The old fort is weather-worn, and a general air of +dilapidation pervades its very atmosphere. There are two substantial +dwellings for the officers, though; and they (I mean the officers) keep +up a show of military pomp, very amusing to us, but quite necessary to +maintain in an Indian country, to hold the savage instinct in check. The +officers were very gracious to daddie, and very kind and condescending +to the rest of us. They made us a present of some mounted buffalo-horns, +some elks’ antlers, and the stuffed head of a mountain sheep, all of +which, mother says, we’ll be glad to leave at the roadside before the +weary oxen haul them very far. + +“A week ago a party passed us, going westward with a four-wheeled wagon, +two yokes of discouraged oxen, two anxious-looking men, two dispirited +women, and about fourteen snub-nosed, shaggy-headed children. On their +wagon-cover was a sign, done in yellow ochre, which read: ‘Oregon or +bust!’ To-day we met the same outfit coming back, and no description +from my unpractised pen can do it justice. The party, doubtless from +over-crowding, had quarrelled; and the two families had settled their +dispute by dividing the wagon into two parts of two wheels each. On the +divided and dilapidated cover of each cart were smeared in yellow ochre +the words, ‘Busted, by thunder!’ + +“May 30. We forded the Platte to-day. It is a broad, lazy, milky sheet of +silt-thickened water, with a quicksand bottom. It is about two miles wide +at this season of the year at the ford, and is three feet deep. + +“The day was as hot as a furnace, and the sunshine burned us like +blisters of Spanish flies. Our wagon-beds were hoisted to the tops of +their standards to keep them from taking water, and at a given signal +from daddie, they were all plunged pell-mell into the quicksand, over +which teams, drivers, wagons, and all were compelled to move quickly to +avoid catastrophe. + +“Poor dear mother suffered from constant nervous fear because of the +quicksand and the danger that some of the children might be drowned. +It took us two and a half hours to ford the stream; but we reached the +opposite bank without accident, and camped near an old buffalo wallow, +where we get clearer water than that of the Platte, but we are not +allowed to drink it till it has been boiled. Cholera has broken out in +the trains both before and behind us; and daddie lays our escape from +attack thus far to drinking boiled water. We have no fuel but buffalo +chips, and almost no grass for the poor stock. The game has disappeared +altogether, and the fishes in the Platte don’t bite. But we have plenty +of beans and bacon, coffee, flour, and dried apples; so we shall not +starve. + +“June 1. The day has been intensely hot. The stifling air shimmers, and +the parched earth glitters as it bakes in the sun. The mud has changed to +a fine, impalpable dust, and the loaded air is too oppressive to breathe, +if it could be avoided. We passed a number of newly made graves during +the day. We meet returning teams every day that have given up the journey +as a bad job. Daddie often says he’d die before he’d retrace his tracks, +and then he wouldn’t do it! We found at sundown, just as we were losing +hope, a bountiful spring of clear, cold water, beside which we have +halted for the night. + +“June 3. Another insufferably hot day. But we encountered at nightfall +a stiff west wind, which soon arose to a gale, in the teeth of which we +with difficulty made camp and cooked our food. Heavy clouds blacken the +sky as I write, and vivid flashes of sheet lightning, which blind us for +a moment, are followed by thunder that startles and stuns. + +“June 4. The storm passed to the south of us, on the other side of the +Platte. But daddie has ordered the tents and wagons staked to the ground +hereafter every night, as long as we are travelling in these treeless, +unsheltered bottom-lands, as he says we would have been swept away _en +masse_ into the river if last night’s storm had squarely struck our camp.” + +The hoods of the wagons, so white and clean at the outset, were now of an +ashen hue, disfigured by spots of grease, and askew in many places from +damage to their supporting arches of hickory bows. Heavy log-chains, for +use in possible emergencies, dangled between axles, and the inevitable +tar-bucket rode adjacent on a creaking hook, from which it hung suspended +by a complaining iron bail. + + * * * * * + +“The incessant heat by day, followed by the chilly air of night, is +perilous to health, John,” said Mrs. Ranger, one evening, as she +lay wrapped in blankets in the big family wagon, watching the usual +preparations for the evening meal. + +He gazed into her pinched, white face with sudden apprehension. + +“Don’t be afraid of the cholera, dear,” he said tenderly. “I understand +the nature of the epidemic, and I don’t fear it at all. Cholera is a +filth disease, and we are guarding against it at every point. Your blood +is pure, darling. There’s nothing the matter with you but a little +debility, the result of past years of overwork. Time and rest and change +of climate will cure all that. No uncooked food or unboiled water is used +by any of us, and no cold victuals are allowed to be eaten after long +exposure to this pernicious, cholera-laden air. You can’t get the germs +of cholera unless you eat or drink them.” + +That Captain Ranger should have thus imbibed the germ theory of cholera +long in advance of its discovery by medical schools, is only another +proof that there is nothing new under the sun. A newer system of medical +treatment than that of the Allopathic School, styled the Eclectic by its +founders, had come into vogue before his departure from the States. + +Many different decoctions of fiery liquid, of which capsicum was supposed +to be the base,—conspicuous among them a compound called “Number +Six,”—proved efficacious in effecting many cures in the early stages of +cholera; and the contents of Captain Ranger’s medicine chest were in +steady demand long after his supplies for general distribution had been +exhausted. + + * * * * * + +“Can you imagine what this wild-goose chase of ours is for?” asked Mrs. +Benson. + +“I undertook it to gratify my good husband,” was Mrs. Ranger’s prompt +reply. + +“And I to gratify my daughter.” + +“Excuse me, ladies; but I came along to please myself,” interposed Mrs. +O’Dowd. + +“I, too, came to please myself,” cried Jean; “that is, I made a virtue of +necessity, and compelled myself to be pleased. There are two things that +mother says we must never fret about: one is what we can, and the other +what we cannot, help. Every human being belongs primarily to himself or +herself, and to satisfy one’s self is sure to please somebody.” + +“But a married couple belong, secondarily, at least, to each other,” said +Mrs. Ranger. “No couple can pull in double and single harness at the same +time.” + +“Some day,” said Mrs. Benson, “it will become the fashion to read your +journal, Jean; and then the dear public will both praise and pity our +unsophisticated Captain, who led these hapless emigrants out on these +plains to die.” + +“That’s so, Mrs. Benson,” exclaimed Jean; “and they won’t see that it’s +all a part of the eternal programme. Evolution is the order of nature, +and one generation of human beings is a very small fraction of the race +at large.” + +“Haven’t you gossiped long enough, mamma?” asked Mrs. McAlpin, +petulantly. “Your supper is ready and waiting. What has detained you so +long?” + +“I was listening to the chat of the Ranger family. They are an uncommon +lot; very clever and original.” + +“Yes, mamma; they talk like oracles. A little brusque and unpolished, +but that will be outgrown in time. You’re looking splendid, mamma! The +society of your neighbors is a tonic. You must take it often.” + +“I wish we might all stop here, Daphne.” + +“We’ve no more right to these lands of the Indians than we have to—” + +“Oregon,” interrupted her mother. “Oregon was Indian territory +originally.” + +Jean approached with a plate of hot cakes, saying: “I fell to thinking so +deeply over the problems we had been talking about that I forgot what I +was doing, and baked too many cakes. They’re sweet and light, and we hope +you’ll like them.” + +“Thank you ever so much, Miss Jean!” said Mrs. McAlpin. “I congratulate +you with all my heart upon the way you cheer your mother, my dear. You +are a jewel of the first water!” + +“We all try to keep mother in good spirits,” replied Jean. “Dear soul! +she’s weak and nervous; and what seem trifles to us often appear like +mountains to her. Never can I forget, to my dying day, the look of terror +that came into her gentle eyes when we were crossing the Platte that day +in the quicksands. The raised wagon-bed had tilted, for some cause. I +suppose the weight of so many of us was not evenly distributed; and we +should all have been pitched into the water if it had not been that dear +mother hustled us to the other side. She forgot her own danger in her +effort to save the children, giving her orders like a sea captain in a +storm. Each of us grabbed a baby,—Susannah’s coon fell to my lot,—and we +clung like death to the upper edge of the wagon-bed till the danger was +over, and the great lopsided thing settled back to its place. + +“But I must go now. Daddie’s calling me to write up that pestilent old +journal!” + + * * * * * + +On the evening of the 4th of June, the train had its first encounter with +a blizzard. + +Captain Ranger, seeing the approach of the storm, as did the cattle and +horses, ordered a sudden halt a little way from the banks of the Platte. +The day, like a number of its predecessors, had been oppressively hot; +but about five o’clock a sudden squall came up, though not without +premonitory warning in the way of a calm so dead that not a blade of +grass was quivering. The wagon-hoods flapped idly, like sails becalmed in +the tropics. Suddenly the air grew icy cold, bringing at first a moment +of relief to suffocating man and beast. + +“Gather your buffalo chips in a hurry,” exclaimed the Captain, addressing +the girls. “Get ’em under cover in the tents, under the wagon-beds; +anywhere so they’ll keep dry. Turn out the stock in a jiffy, boys. Head +’em away from the river. Drive ’em up yonder gulch. Be on the alert, +everybody!” + + + + +XIV + +_A CAMP IN CONSTERNATION_ + + +“Stake down the wagons,” was the next order. “Don’t stop to pitch any +more tents. Don’t try to kindle any fires.” + +Scarcely had the orders been obeyed before a darkness as black as Erebus +had settled upon the camp like a gigantic pall. It was a peculiar +darkness, permeated by an ominous, silent, intangible, vibrating, +appalling Something! A silence that could be felt was in the air. The +oxen in the gulch bellowed in terror; the horses neighed. The stillness +of the air was oppressive, portentous, awful. The women clasped the +children in close embrace. The children clung to their protectors in +silent terror. All hands save the teamsters, who were out with the stock +at the mouth of the ravine, where they were stationed to guard the +animals against stampede, crouched under the wagons in the Cimmerian +blackness. Anon, a blinding flash of sheet lightning, followed by others +and yet others in bewildering succession, awoke a rolling, roaring, +reverberating cannonade of thunder. Guided by the flashes of lightning, +the frightened men left the cattle to their fate and, returning to the +camp, took refuge under the wagons. Hailstones as big as hens’ eggs fell +by hundreds of tons, displacing the awful silence with a cannonade like +unto the heaviest artillery of a great army in battle. + +The wind blew a terrific gale. The chained wagons rocked like cradles. +Several heavy vehicles in a neighboring train, not being chained to the +ground, as the Ranger wagons had been, were upset and their contents +ruined by the hail and rain. Others were blown bodily into the river. +Luckily no lives were lost. The cattle and horses, pelted by the hail +till their bodies were bruised and bleeding, huddled together at the head +of the gulch for mutual protection. + +The storm lasted less than twenty minutes, and ceased as suddenly as it +began. The black clouds soared away to the northward, leaving a blue +starlit sky overhead, and underfoot a mass of hail and mud. The Platte, +having caught the full fury of a cloud-burst a few miles above the camp, +rose rapidly, threatening the frightened refugees in the wagons with a +new danger. But the shallow banks were high enough to confine the mad +rush of muddy water within an inch or two of the top, thus averting the +horror of a flood which, had it come, would have completed the havoc of +the storm. + +The lightning, as though weary of its display of power, retreated to the +distant hills, and played at hide-and-seek on the horizon’s edge, while +Heaven’s Gatling guns answered each pyrotechnic display with a distant, +growling, intermittent roar. + +Mrs. McAlpin’s carriage was a total wreck; but her wagons remained +intact, and she and her mother escaped to them in safety. + +The morning revealed a scene of desolation. The earth in all directions +as far as the eye could see had been torn into gulleys by the mad rush +of falling hail and rain, each seeking its level in frantic haste. +Hailstones lay in heaps, some soiled by contact with the liquid mud, some +as clean and white as freshly fallen snow. + +The contents of Mrs. McAlpin’s carriage were entirely gone. Nothing +remained of the vehicle but one of its wheels and some shreds of its +cover, which were found half buried in the mud. Of the harness, nothing +was left but a bridle bit, in which was lodged a woman’s glove, and near +it the remains of a palm-leaf fan. + +“We should all be thankful that no lives were lost,” said Mrs. Ranger, +who was looking on while Sally O’Dowd and Susannah assisted her +daughters, who, with Mrs. Benson and Mrs. McAlpin, were exposing the wet +and dilapidated paraphernalia of the camp to the hot rays of the morning +sun. + +“But we’d have a heap mo’ to thank Gahd fo’, missus, if He’d hel’ off dat +stawm,” exclaimed Susannah, with a characteristic “yah! yah! yah!” + +At eleven o’clock the order was given to bring in the stock, and prepare +to move on, when it was discovered that Scotty was missing. + +“We s’posed he was helpin’ Mrs. McAlpin’s men, as he generally does, to +get her things to rights, so we didn’t bother our heads about him,” said +Sawed-off, who was Scotty’s partner of the whip and yoke. “I’ve been +doing the most of his share of the work ever since we’ve been on the +road.” + +Scotty was nowhere to be found. An organized search was begun at once, +and all thought of moving on was abandoned till the Captain should learn +his fate. The cattle and horses were turned out on the range for another +badly needed half-holiday. Through all the remainder of the day the +anxious quest continued. Mrs. McAlpin was as pale as death. Her sombre +weeds, worn for no known reason, formed a fitting frame for her pinched +and anxious face and bright, abundant hair. Her mother was visibly +agitated. Mrs. Ranger lay on her feather bed all through the trying +afternoon, her eyes closed and her lips moving as if in prayer. + +“Night again, and no Scotty!” exclaimed Captain Ranger, his voice husky +with feeling. As no trace of the man had been discovered, the organized +search was called off. + +“Scotty’s death was one of the freaks of the flood,” said Hal. + +“None of you ever did Scotty justice,” exclaimed Mary, as she descended +upon the party with a heaped plate of their staple food. + +“That’s what,” echoed Jean, as she brought on the beans and bacon. + +“Scotty knew more in a minute than half of us can ever learn,” cried +Marjorie, with whom he was a favorite. + +“Yes,” said the Captain, dryly. “He’s a genius, Scotty is! He’ll turn +up presently. Doubtless he’s off somewhere studying a new stratum of +storm-clouds. He has killed two of my leaders already by making them +start the whole load while his mind was on the incomprehensible and +unknowable in nature. But I’ll wager he knows enough to look out for +himself in a crisis.” + +“He was a whole mine of information about other things, if he didn’t know +much about driving oxen,” sobbed Jean. + +“He isn’t dead!” exclaimed Mrs. McAlpin. “I mean to continue the search +myself to-night.” + +“You’ll get caught by a panther!” cried Bobbie. “I haven’t seen ’em, but +I know they’re there!” + +“Where, Bobbie?” asked Marjorie. + +“Up in the gulch. I can see ’em with my eyes shut!” and the child, not +understanding the laugh that followed at his expense, hastened to the +wagon where his mother lay, to receive the consolation that never failed +him. + + * * * * * + +“It won’t be against the laws of God or man for me to love Rollin if he +is dead,” said Mrs. McAlpin to herself, as she crept shivering from her +retreat in her wagon to the ground. Throwing a shawl over her head, she +hastened out in the direction in which Scotty was hurrying when she had +last seen him. The cattle, quite satisfied from the unusual effects of +a day’s rest and a full meal, chewed their cuds quietly, or lay asleep +in the best sheltered spots they could command, breathing heavily. She +wandered fearlessly among them, calling frequently for the lost man, but +received no response save an occasional “moo” from an awakened cow, or a +friendly neigh from Sukie, who was tethered near. + +The morning star rose in the clear blue of the bending sky as her search +went on, and she knew that the long June day was breaking. Flowers of +every hue, newly born from the convulsions of the recent storm, smiled at +her in their dewy fragrance; and in the branches of a crippled cottonwood +a robin began his matin song. A meadow lark, disturbed in its languorous +wooing by the lone watcher’s footsteps, soared upward in the crystal +ether, sending back, when out of her sight, a swelling note of triumph, +prolonged, triumphant, sweet. + +“Rollin! Rollin Burns!” she called, repeating the name in every note of +the scale. + +At length a long, low moan startled her. She listened eagerly for a +moment, and repeated her call. Whence had come that moan? There was no +repetition of the sound. She spoke again, calling the name in a higher +key. + +Another moan—it might have been an echo from the canyon’s walls—came, +more distinct than the first, but the echoing gulch gave no indication of +its location. + +“Call again, Rollin! It is I,—your own Daphne!” + +“Is it indeed you, Daphne?” + +She pinched herself to see if she was really awake. She had never heard +her Christian name spoken by Burns before. The name sounded strangely +sweet in the breaking twilight, and in spite of her apprehension and +uncertainty her soul was glad. + +“Call again, Rollin! Help is near.” + +“Come this way, Daphne! I am in a cave, almost under your feet. A bowlder +that I stepped upon rolled over, loosened by the storm, and let me +through into the bowels of the earth. My leg is broken. I must have been +unconscious. I have swooned or slept, or both. Be careful how you tread. +There are badgers in this hole, and I have heard rattlesnakes.” + +“Which way, Rollin? Where are you?” + +The sound of his voice seemed to come from beneath her feet. + +“Is the storm over?” + +“Yes, long ago. It’s been over for thirty-six hours. But I can’t locate +you.” + +“Here, I tell you! Under this rock. If it had fallen directly on me, I +should have been a goner. For God’s sake, be careful, or you’ll break +your own dear neck! Don’t get excited. Run for help, and don’t stir up +the rattlesnakes.” + +The injured man had fallen at first by the turning of the rock, as he had +stated, giving his leg a twist that broke it, and, by the turning of his +body in falling farther, had overturned the bowlder again, and thus was +held a prisoner. + +Mrs. McAlpin peered into a narrow aperture through which the coming +daylight had entered. Their eyes met. + +“Daphne!” + +“Rollin!” + +“So near and yet so far!” cried the prisoner, as he struggled to free +himself. A spasm of pain overspread his face, and a dew, like the death +damp, settled on his hair and forehead. + +“O God! he has fainted again!” she cried, running with all her might and +screaming for help. + +“What in thunder is the matter now?” exclaimed Captain Ranger, as he +emerged, half dressed, from his tent. + +“I’ve found Rollin! He’s imprisoned in a cave, with a broken leg! Fetch +spades and a mattock to dig away the dirt from the rock! Be quick!” cried +Mrs. McAlpin, leading the way. + +Nobody heard the robins sing, or paused to enjoy the triumphant melody of +the lark. + +Scotty was still in a merciful swoon. Very carefully the men loosened the +rock from its hold on his legs, and with their united strength rolled it +away from the mouth of the cave. + +“It’s damned lucky you are, old boy!” cried Yank, as the crippled man +regained consciousness. “That rock would have crushed you to pulp if the +walls of the cave hadn’t saved you.” + +“A miss would have been as good as a mile!” replied Scotty, as he fainted +again. + +“Who’s going to set these bones?” asked Sawed-off. “It’s a bad fracture, +compound and nasty. There’s no severed artery, though, which is lucky, or +he’d ’a’ bled to death. Captain Ranger, did you ever set a broken bone?” + +“Never.” + +“I’ll do it,” exclaimed Mrs. McAlpin. “Cut away his boot. Bring a cot +from the camp. Bring some adhesive plaster. Captain, can you make some +splints? Stay! I’ll cut away the boot. There! Steady! Slow! If we can set +the bones before he recovers consciousness, so much the better.” + +The cot with its unconscious burden was carried to the side of the +widow’s wagon. + +“Bring water and more bandages, girls.” + +“Where did you get your skill?” asked the Captain, as Mrs. McAlpin felt +cautiously for the broken bones and deftly snapped them into place. + +“It isn’t a very bad fracture,” she said, unheeding the question, as she +held the bones together while the orders for splints and bandages were +being obeyed. + +“Some water, quick, and some brandy!” she said in a firm voice, though +her cheeks were blanching. She held stoutly to her work till the limb was +securely encased in the proper supports. But when her patient recovered +consciousness and looked inquiringly into her eyes, she fell, fainting, +into the Captain’s arms, and was carried to his family wagon, her eyelids +twitching and her muscles limp. When she recovered, she found herself +reclining in the wagon beside Mrs. Ranger, who was gently chafing her +face and hands. + +“All this has been too much for you, dearie,” said the good woman. + +“Where’s Rollin?” + +“In your mother’s wagon. We have rigged him up a swinging bed, and Mrs. +Benson will see that he wants for nothing. You are to ride here, in the +big wagon, with me.” + +“You have no room for me in here. You and I, and Mary and Jean, and +Marjorie and Bobbie, and Sadie and the baby and Sally, and the three +little O’Dowds, and Susannah and George Washington can’t all ride and +sleep in this narrow space. We’d offend the open-air ordinances of +heaven.” + +“It is all arranged, my dear; don’t worry. Our overflow has gone to +another wagon. We’ll have plenty of room.” + +“But Mr. Burns?” + +“Your good mother has taken entire charge of him. She is behaving as +beautifully in this crisis as you are, my dear.” + + + + +XV + +_CHOLERA RAGES_ + + +“Cholera is epidemic everywhere along the road,” wrote Jean in her diary +on the 8th of June. “Our company is not yet attacked, but our dear mother +is seriously alarmed. She counts all the graves we pass during the day, +and sums them up at night for us to think about. Some days there is a +formidable aggregate.” + +The fame of Mrs. McAlpin’s skill as a physician and surgeon, and of +Captain Ranger’s marvellous medicine-chest, grew rapidly in the front and +rear of the Ranger train as the epidemic spread. + +“It is lamentable to note the lack of forethought in many people,” +Captain Ranger would say, as he dealt out his supplies of “Number Six,” +podophyllin and capsicum, which grew alarmingly scant as the demand +increased, and his patience was sorely tried. But he never refused aid +to any who applied for it; and the “woman doctor,” who because of her +proficiency was considered little else than a witch, was scarcely given +time to eat or sleep. + +“How do you keep your company from catching the cholera?” asked the +anxious father of a numerous family, most of whom had fallen victims to +the scourge. + +“Common-sense should teach us to allow no uncooked or stale food to be +eaten, and no surface or unboiled water to be drunk. Let all companies +be broken into small trains, and keep as far apart from each other as +possible. Rest a while in the heat of every noonday. Don’t be afraid +of the Indians, or of anything or anybody else. The greatest enemy of +mankind is fear.” + +But in spite of both his precept and his example, the cholera continued +its ravages; and Captain Ranger, to avoid contact with the epidemic, and, +if possible, relieve Mrs. Ranger’s mind of apprehension, changed his +course from the main travelled road, and turned off to the north by west, +leaving the multitude to their fate. + +“The other trains can follow if they choose, and we can’t help it,” he +said to his wife; “but I must get my family away from the crowd, as the +best way to save us all from the nasty epidemic.” + +“Isn’t there danger of getting lost, John, or of getting captured by +the Indians?” asked Mrs. Ranger, as the teams were headed for the Black +Hills,—a long, undulating line, which looked in the shimmering distance +like low banks of dense fog. + +“My compass will point the way, Annie. The Indians will give us no +trouble if we treat them kindly. They’re a plaguy sight more afraid of us +than we have any reason to be of them.” + +Mrs. Ranger, blessed with full confidence in her husband’s ability +to accomplish whatsoever he undertook, leaned back on her pillows and +guarded the children from danger, as was her wont. + +On June 15, Jean made another entry in her much-neglected journal, as +follows:— + +“We have travelled all day between and over and around, and then back +again, among low ranges of the Black Hills. The scenery is grand beyond +description, and the road we are making as we go along, for others to +follow if they are wise, is good. Lilliputian forests of prickly pears +spread in all directions, and are very troublesome. Their thorns, barbed, +and sharp as needle-points, are in a degree poisonous. We laugh together +over our frequent encounters with the little pests, though our poor +wounded feet refuse to be comforted. But we are missing the long lines +of moving wagons, before and behind us, swaying and jolting over the +dusty roads we’ve left to the southward, and we are glad to be alone, +or as nearly so as our big company will permit. The streams we cross at +intervals are clear, and the water is sweet and cold. + +“Mother seems in better health and spirits since we have removed her from +the constant sight of so much suffering and death. + +“Dear, patient, faithful, loving mother! Will her true history, and +that of the thousands like her, who are heroically enduring the dangers +and hardships of this long, long journey, be ever given to the world, I +wonder?” + +Near nightfall, on their second day’s journey away from the main +thoroughfare, they encountered a long freight-train, in charge of +fur-traders, the second thus met since their travels began. Every wagon +was heavily loaded with buffalo robes which had been prepared for market +by the tedious, patient labor of Indian women. As the wives and slaves +of English, French, Spanish, and Canadian hunters and traders, these +women followed the fates of their grumbling and often cruel lords and +masters through the vicissitudes of a precarious existence, with which +nevertheless they seemed strangely content. + +The leader or captain of the freighters’ outfit was a tall, bronzed, and +handsome Scotchman, whose nationality was betrayed at a glance. Captain +Ranger bargained with him for a big, handsomely dressed buffalo robe, +paying therefor in dried apples and potatoes. + +“Our men are getting scurvy from the lack of fruit and vegetables,” the +leader said, as the exchange was concluded. “When they are in camp the +squaws keep them supplied with berries, camas, and wapatoes. But they +can’t bring the women out on a trip like this, away from the scenes of +their labors.” + +“Here’s a present for you, Annie,” said Captain Ranger, bringing a soft, +heavy, furry robe to his wife, and spreading it over her much-prized +feather bed. “It will help you to bear the rough jolting over the rocky +roads.” + +“Thanks, darling. You are very kind and thoughtful, but I shall not need +it long.” + +“Oh, yes, you will, Annie! We’ve passed the cholera belt. The sun rides +higher every day; and I’m sure you’ll soon be all right.” + + * * * * * + +“Did you notice that big handsome Scotchman who seemed to be the boss +of that freighters’ outfit?” asked Mrs. McAlpin, addressing Jean, and +emerging from her hiding-place in one of the wagons after the outfit had +passed out of sight and hearing and the Ranger company had encamped. + +“Yes, Mrs. McAlpin. He seemed master of the situation.” + +“Do you think he discovered me or mamma?” + +“I didn’t think to notice whether he saw either of you or not.” + +“I kept out of his sight, and made mamma do likewise.” + +“Did you know him?” + +“May I trust you, Jean?” + +“Why, certainly! What’s up?” + +“I need you, Jeanie; I need a friend with a level head.” + +Mrs. McAlpin’s face was gray, like ashes, and her aspect of fear was +startling. + +“What under heaven is the matter?” asked Jean. + +“That man is my husband!” + +“Then I congratulate you. Daddie was much pleased with him. But I thought +your husband was a man of leisure, travelling in Europe, or Asia, or +among the ruins of Central America. You told me he was an archæologist. +Did you expect to find him here on these plains?” + +“No, Jean, or I should not have been here myself. Only think of it! I +started on this journey on purpose to hide myself away from him for +good and all. He had gone to England a year ago to claim a vast estate, +and I planned to leave Chicago for this wild-goose chase on purpose to +avoid him. I had no idea he’d ever think of taking up a business like +freighting in a fur company. But there is no way to foresee the acts of a +man who has more money than he knows what to do with. I suppose he grew +weary of the Old World.” Mrs. McAlpin sighed. + +“Are you quite sure it was he?” + +“It could not have been anybody else. I’d know that voice if I heard it +in Kamchatka. And I saw him, too. I cannot be mistaken.” + +“And you are determined not to live as his wife any more?” + +“I simply cannot, will not, live a lie any longer.” + +“Why do you tell me about this, Mrs. McAlpin? I’m nothing but an +inexperienced girl.” + +“But you have more discretion than most grown-up people.” + +“That’s ’cause I’ve never been in love, I guess. They say that all people +when in love are fools.” + +“I want you to go with me to meet that man to-night, Jean.” + +“I? What for?” + +“I’m going to talk it out; and I’ll need a witness.” + +“Absurd! You remind me of a moth around a candle. Does your mother know +about this?” + +“No. I let her think an Indian was wanting me for a wife, and she +remained hidden till the freighters had gone. The rest was easy. She is +mortally afraid of Indians.” + +“I can’t imagine why you desire an interview with a man you are trying to +avoid. How did you arrange a meeting?” + +“I sent him a note by Hal, who thinks I want to buy a buffalo robe like +your mother’s.” + +“To be plain with you, Mrs. McAlpin, you’re a fool.” + +“I know it. But I confess to you that I want to see him so I can defy +him.” + +“If you want sensible advice, go to daddie.” + +“I don’t want anybody’s advice. I just want you to accompany me, and keep +hidden so as to be close at hand during the interview. He has no idea +that he is going to meet Daphne Benson.” + +As Jean had been forbidden by her father to continue her rides in Mrs. +McAlpin’s company, she did not feel satisfied with herself during this +stolen interview. + +“Then you didn’t let your husband know it was you who wanted to see him?” + +“Of course not. What do you take me for?” + +“I’ll certainly take you for one of the silliest women on earth if you +don’t give up this interview.” + +“I believe, after all, that you’re right, Jeanie. But I thought, if I met +him unexpectedly out here in these wilds and put him upon his honor, he +would never try to trouble me again. I have something very important to +say to him.” + +“Then wait till we get to Oregon. We must go back to camp at once. It is +time all honest folks were at home in bed.” + +They found Mrs. Ranger sitting alone on a wagon-tongue, shivering in the +sharp night air. + +“I’m very ill, my daughter,” she said; “dangerously so. I’ve been +watching and waiting for you the past half-hour. Where have you been?” + +“She’s been pommelling a little common-sense into my addled noddle,” said +Mrs. McAlpin. + +“I’ve been taking a little walk with Mrs. McAlpin, mother dear, that’s +all. But what’s the matter, mother? Where’s daddie?” + +“Asleep, poor man. I don’t want him disturbed. Get me the bottle of +‘Number Six.’ There!” taking a draught of the fiery liquid. “I’ll soon be +better. Go to bed.” + +Jean never could forgive herself for not sounding an alarm. During the +remainder of the short summer night Mrs. Ranger wrestled with her fate, +suffering and unattended. The heavy breathing of the weary oxen as they +slept, or the low chewing of their cuds in the silence, the occasional +hoot of an owl, or the sharp scream of a belated eagle, the sighing of +the wind in the juniper-trees, and the acute pangs of her suffering +body occupied her half conscious thoughts as she patiently awaited the +dawn, which broke at last, spreading over earth and sky the radiance of +approaching sunrise. + +“John dear, come quickly; I’m very sick, and I believe I’m dying!” cried +the lone sufferer at last. + +Her husband was instantly aroused. + +“Why didn’t you call me long ago, darling?” he asked, crawling from +beneath a tent and rubbing his eyes to accustom them to the light. A +deadly fear blanched his cheeks as his wife fell back in convulsions in +his arms. + +She opened her eyes after a prolonged spasm of pain and gave him a look +of melting tenderness. + +“Make the biggest tent ready, boys!” he called, holding her close. +“Fetch the feather bed and the buffalo robe. Get hot water, Sally. Get +everything, everybody,” he exclaimed, carrying her in his arms and pacing +excitedly to and fro. + +“Oh, why did I bring you out here into this wilderness?” he sobbed, as he +laid her on the bed and chafed her stiffening fingers. “Only live, and +the remainder of your days shall be as free from care as a bird’s!” + +“But I shall not live, John,” she whispered during a brief lucid +interval, her eyes beaming with love and devotion. “Or, rather, I shall +not die, but awake into newness of life. This body is worn out, but that +is all. The life that animates it will never die, though I am going away.” + +No effort that circumstances permitted was spared to retain the vital +spark. Not a man, woman, or child in the company would have hesitated at +any possible sacrifice to keep her spirit within the body, or to give her +ease and comfort in passing to the land of souls. + +The afternoon was wellnigh spent when she grew easier. A prolonged +interval of consciousness followed. + +“Where’s Bobbie?” she asked in a whisper. + +“Here, mother!” cried the child, who had been a dazed and silent watcher +all the day. + +“Bless his little life!” she whispered with a look of unutterable love. + +“Come, Bobbie dear,” said Jean, “let’s go out and see if we can’t find +heaven, where God is. Mother is going there to live with the angels. +Let’s see if there’ll be any room for us.” + +“There’ll be room for me, Jeanie; there’ll have to be, for I’m going to +die before long.” + +“Why do you think so, Bobbie?” + +“Cos I just am. I dreamed I went to heaven. It was a tight house, too, +like Oregon, or Texas.” + +“You mustn’t think you’re going to die, Bobbie.” + +“There isn’t any surely death,” said the child. “It is just going to +heaven.” + + + + +XVI + +_JEAN’S VISIT BEYOND THE VEIL_ + + +To the surprise of her sorrowing loved ones, Mrs. Ranger rallied before +sundown, after a stupor of several hours, her eyes bright and her +faculties wonderfully clear. + +“It seems hard to leave you alone in this wilderness, John,” she said in +a low whisper, while feebly clasping her husband’s hand. + +The sun’s expiring rays fell upon the open tent, illuminating her angelic +face, settling like an aureole upon her bright brown hair, and causing +her eyes to glow like stars. “I’m not afraid of death, dear. I am not +even afraid to leave you alone with the children in the wilderness, for I +know you’ll do your duty. But I am sorry to leave all the burden for you +to carry alone. There is One who heareth even the young ravens when they +cry. Trust in Him, dearest. He doeth all things well.” + +“How can I give you up?” cried the distracted husband, stroking her pale +cheeks and forehead tenderly. + +“You won’t be giving me up, John. God will let me come to you sometimes +to bless and comfort you. I know He will; for He is good, and His mercy +endureth forever. I couldn’t leave you to go far away if I tried, dear, +and I’ll never try. Do try to be a Christian, John.” + +“I’ve always been a Christian, according to my lights, my darling; and +God Himself can’t keep me away from you in heaven,—if there is a God and +a heaven,” he added under his breath, unable, even in that trying hour, +to lay aside his doubts. + +“God is just, and He will give you the benefit of every honest doubt, +John.” + +“But He ought to let me keep you, darling; I need you, oh, I need you!” + +“All is well, my husband. I am safe, and so are you, in the Everlasting +Arms. Call the children; I must be going. Don’t you hear the angels sing?” + +The children were aroused, but she had relapsed into unconsciousness, and +it was fully an hour before her reason again returned. + +“Mother,” she said once, while her mind was wandering, “did you get my +deed? Are you snugly settled in the little house? I tried very hard +to provide for your and father’s welfare in your last days, and—” Her +concluding words were inaudible. + +“Yes, darling, your parents are provided for; there is no doubt about +it,” cried her husband, as she awoke again to semi-consciousness. And if +ever a man experienced a thrill of supreme satisfaction in the midst of +a grave sorrow, that man was Captain John Ranger, of the overland wagon +train. + +“Mary!” + +It was her next word of consciousness. + +“Come close, dear; and Jean, and Marjorie, and Harry. The light has +faded, and I cannot see you, darlings. But be good. Obey your father. +Take good care of Bobbie, Sadie, and Baby Annie. God bless—” The sentence +was not finished. + +There was another prolonged convulsion. Her husband released her hand +and closed her eyes, believing all was over. But while they all waited, +silent and awe-stricken, as if expecting a resolute move from some one, +she opened her eyes again and whispered, “John!” + +“Yes, Annie. John is here.” + +For an instant she beamed upon him with a look of unutterable love. Then, +as if attracted by a familiar voice, she turned her gaze toward the only +space in the tent where no one was standing. + +“Yes,” she cried in clear, ringing tones; and her brightening eyes grew +strangely full of eager expectation. “I’m coming! Tell grannie I’ll be +ready for her when she comes to heaven!” + +“Leave me alone with my dead!” said the bereaved husband, as he cleared +the tent of other occupants and threw himself upon the ground beside the +still and cold and irresponsive body. No longer animated by the invisible +power that for forty years had thrilled it with the mystery of being, it +lay with closed eyes and folded hands beneath its drapings of white, upon +the heavy, furry buffalo robe, placed beneath the inanimate form by the +husband’s loving hands. + +Through all the years of John Ranger’s sturdy manhood, that self-denying +life had been his, devoted with all its tenderness to his interests and +those of the sweet pledges of their love, for whose sake he must now live +on, alone. + + * * * * * + +Months after, when the remnant of the Ranger family had reached the +land “where rolls the Oregon,” a letter came to the bereaved husband +and father, by way of the Isthmus of Panama, bringing tidings of the +dear great-grandmother’s transition; and John Ranger, still an agnostic, +awaiting the proofs of immortality that had never come to his physical +senses in such a manner as to be recognized, wandered out alone among the +whispering firs, and cried in bitterness of spirit: “Man giveth up the +ghost, and where is he?” + + * * * * * + +“I ought to have known better than to bring you out here to die in the +wilderness, Annie darling!” cried the grief-stricken husband, caressing +the attenuated fingers that lay stiff and cold upon the pulseless +breast. “You would never have undertaken the journey but to gratify me; +and the end is here! If you had positively refused to come, that might +have settled it. But I knew your wishes, and disregarded them; so all the +blame is mine. If I had always taken counsel of you, my better self, as +I ought to have done, I should not now have been left with our precious +little ones in these wild fastnesses, in danger of I know not what.” + +“Daddie!” cried an anxious voice, “may I come in?” + +He heard, but did not answer. Jean opened the door of the tent, and knelt +beside the still, white form of her mother. + +“Couldn’t you sleep, my daughter?” asked her father, reaching across the +shrouded figure of his dead and tenderly caressing her tear-wet face. + +“No, daddie; at least, not any more. I’ve had one short nap. When I woke +and heard you moaning, I thought maybe you’d be glad to have me come in. +I want to tell you my dream. May I, daddie dear, for mother’s sake?” + +“Yes, child.” + +“I dreamed that I was all alone in a great park. I have never seen +anything half so beautiful when awake, so I can’t tell you what it was +like. But there were flowers and trees and fountains, and birds of +paradise that sang heavenly songs. It seemed that I could understand the +language of every bird and butterfly and tree and flower. The birds did +not seem the least bit afraid of me; and the memory of their music is +sweet in my ears now. + +“I don’t know how I got across, but before I had time to think about it, +I found myself on the opposite side of a broad and shining river, as +clear as crystal and as blue as the sky. On the water, which I could see +through to a wonderful depth, were countless living things, reflecting +all the colors of the rainbow, and many more,—all swimming, as if +without effort, among the rarest foliage and flowers. Everything seemed +alive,—that is, sentient, if that’s the proper word,—and acted as if it +knew me, and was glad I had come. + +“The park I had first entered was even prettier at a distance than it +had been at closer range. The river-bank, which was covered with grass +that looked like pea-green velvet spangled with diamonds, was furnished +in spots with vine-embowered seats. To sit or step upon them did not +crush the vines; and I noticed that after they had yielded to pressure, +they would rebound at its removal, like a rubber ball,—only, unlike the +rubber, they seemed to have a consciousness all their own. The bending +green of the trees was like emeralds, and their leaves shone like satin. +The hearts of the flowers glowed like balls of living fire; and when I +plucked a spray, there was left no broken stem to show what I had done. I +was too happy to think, and I closed my eyes in absolute peace. + +“Suddenly a brilliant light permeated everything; the river looked like +melted silver, and the park glowed so brightly that I tried to shield my +eyes with my hand. But my hand was almost transparent, and I could see +everything as well when my eyes were closed as open. As I sat, quietly +inbreathing the wonderful beauty of it all, filled with a happiness that +I cannot express in words, there came to me, not audibly, but yet as if +spoken by somebody, the words of the last Sunday-school lesson I had +learned in the little log schoolhouse in the Illinois woods: ‘And there +shall be no night there!’ + +“‘Am I in heaven?’ I tried to ask aloud; but my words gave forth no +audible sound. And though I heard nothing in the way we hear sounds, a +reply reached my senses instantly. I heard it through and through me, +though not a word was spoken. Do you want to hear the rest of it, daddie +dear?” + +“Yes, child. Go on.” His eager gaze betrayed his soul-hunger. He buried +his face in his hands. “I am listening, Jean.” + +“Then I will go on. In a little while I found myself floating, but +I wasn’t the least bit afraid; I just trusted. Pretty soon I became +conscious that somebody was guiding me along. I did not stir; I hardly +breathed. I was too happy to move, lest I should break the spell and find +that I was only dreaming. + +“Suddenly I found myself seated in a wonderful chair. It was clear, +like crystal, but white, like ivory. It was beautifully carved, and +the figures seemed instinct with life. They yielded readily beneath +my weight,—though I was not conscious of any weight,—and they always +returned to their proper shape when relieved of pressure. The crystal +river rippled at my feet. The beautiful park spread everywhere. A bird of +paradise alighted on a bough over my head and shook its plumage in the +air, exhaling a perfume that was like that of the tuberose. + +“And now comes the part that you will most like to hear. As I sat, I +heard, or rather felt, a sound, as of a gentle wind. A white arm, thinly +covered with a filmy, lustrous lace, stole gently around my neck, and +mother glided down beside me into the chair. Her eyes were as blue as the +heavens and as bright as the morning star. + +“I wasn’t the least bit surprised or startled. I did not care to speak, +nor did I expect her to utter a word. I did not want the heavenly silence +broken. I pressed her hand, which was as soft as down, and pink and +white, like a sea-shell. She put her finger to her lips, as if in token +of silence. + +“Suddenly a light, different from any I had yet seen, surrounded us. We +looked upward, and a form like unto the Son of Man stood before us. He +was transparent, and as radiant as the sun. We lost ourselves in the +light of His presence, as the stars lose themselves in the light of the +sun. He did not speak an audible word; but as He outspread His hands +above our heads, I turned to gaze at mother, whose raiment was as sheer +as the finest gauze. It was all edged with luminous lace; and the sheen +on her hair was like spun gold, glistening in the sunshine.” + +“Didn’t she say anything, Jean?” + +This man, who had all his life refused to listen to any story which could +not be verified by physical law, had lost himself in the strange recital. +Jean looked as one transfigured. She resumed her story. + +“Mother said: ‘You must go back to your duties, Jean.’ Her arms were +about my neck, and her shining draperies floated around us like a mist +with the sun shining on it. ‘You have a long and weary road before you, +Jean,’ she said, speaking silently, but in words that could be felt. ‘The +experiences you will encounter will all be good for your development, +my dear,’ she added, still inaudibly. ‘The time will come when you +will realize, no matter what befalls you, that every lesson in life is +necessary for your development. You are in the arms of the Infinite One, +whose kingdom is within you, and who doeth all things well. Go back to +your dear father, Jean. Tell him I am not dead. Tell Mary, Marjorie, +Harry, and all the rest—’ Just then I felt a sudden sensation, as of +floating downward, toward the earth. + +“A cow lowed as I stirred myself in the wagon, and I remembered that you +had tied Flossie to a wheel to keep her from straying from camp. Bells +tinkled on the hillsides, the wind whistled in the trees, and I sat up, +wide awake. I heard you moaning, daddie, and my heart went out to you +with a longing that I cannot describe. I could not rest till I had told +you all. What do you suppose it means?” + +“I can only say, like one of old, ‘Such knowledge is too wonderful for +me; it is high, I cannot attain unto it.’ Leave me now, daughter. You are +weary and must sleep.” + + + + +XVII + +_FATHER AND DAUGHTER_ + + +Jean passed out silently into the night, and pausing a moment, looked up +to the silent stars, and whispered: “‘The heavens declare the glory of +God; and the firmament sheweth His handywork.’” + +How long she stood meditating she never realized. The tethered cow lowed +again,—a plaintive, beseeching wail, that seemed almost human. She was +mourning for her slain calf, poor thing,—a calf left by the roadside at +its birth. It had been mercifully killed by Captain Ranger’s order, that +it might escape the hardships of a sure but lingering death in following +its ill-fated mother. + +The cow’s udder was distended and feverish. Jean, as mindful of the +practical affairs of life as of its mysteries, knelt upon the ground, +and, with the skill of much practice in the art of milking, relieved the +poor bereft mother of her pain. + +“Poor Flossie!” she said, as the patient animal drew a sigh of relief. +“Poor Flossie! It seemed cruel to deprive you of your baby. And they did +it, too, before your very eyes! You must be thirsty, Flossie; you’re so +feverish,” she said, as she brought the grateful animal a pail of clear, +cold water. + +Jean crept shivering into bed between her sleeping sisters, where she +tried in vain to lie awake, to live over again the vivid experiences of +her dream. + +“Was it a dream?” she asked herself as she cuddled close among the +blankets. “Who knows what dreams are, anyhow? And is there anybody on the +earth who can understand, define, or fathom the mystery of sleep?” In a +few minutes she was fast asleep, and when she awoke it was morning. + +“There are, there must be, other senses finer and more acute than our +five physical ones,” she thought, as she crept from her bed, refreshed +and wide awake. + +The stars had paled, and the clear gray of the early dawn lit up the +crests of the abounding hills. + + * * * * * + +The simple preparations for the funeral rites were made in silence. Men +and women moved mechanically about the camp. The very cattle seemed to +understand. + +No casket was procurable, but every man in camp was ready to do all in +his power to supply the need. Junipers of goodly size abounded in the +neighboring woods. From two of these, felled for the purpose, thick +puncheons were hewn to form a crude but stanch enclosure for the good +woman’s final home. A grave was made, with hard labor, in the abounding +sandstone, and the women lined its vault and edges with flattened boughs +of evergreen, thus making an ideal resting-place for the still, white +form, as beautiful in death as it had been in youth. + +There was no prayer or sermon. The simple rites were about to close when +Mary whispered to her father: “I have heard mother say she wanted us +all to sing when they should be laying her away.” And the three eldest +daughters of the peaceful dead and the storm-rent living sang with +tremulous but not unmusical tones:— + + “Oh, heaven is nearer than mortals think, + When they look with trembling dread + At the misty future that stretches on + From the silent home of the dead. + + “’Tis no lone isle in a boundless main; + No brilliant but distant shore, + Where the loving ones who are called away + Must go to return no more. + + “No, heaven is near us; the mighty veil + Of mortality blinds the eye, + That we see not the glorious angel bands, + On the shores of eternity. + + “I know, when the silver cord is loosed, + When the veil is rent away, + Not long and dark shall the passage be + To the realms of endless day.” + +John Ranger looked upward with bared brow and streaming eyes, and in his +heart a flickering hope was born. + +The Reverend Thomas Rogers, with all his fervent eloquence and well +grounded belief in the very orthodox scheme of salvation which he had so +constantly preached, had never shaken his doubts as did the plaintive +promises of that simple, impressive hymn. + +His devoted wife, strong in her faith in the efficacy of prayer, had long +ceased to speak to him of her religious convictions, for which his ready +logic and quaint ridicule suggested no answer. At such times, consoling +herself with the command of her Master, she would enter into her closet, +shut the door, and pray for him and their children in secret, with never +a doubt that sometime, someway, her prayers would be answered openly. And +who shall say that her faith was not at last rewarded, in a way she least +expected, through that plaintive song, through which, being dead, she had +yet spoken? + +After the burial, the remainder of the day was spent in the silent +performance of the many accumulated duties of the camp. There was no time +for the luxury of grief. The women and girls washed, ironed, cooked, did +the dishes, mended wearing apparel, sewed up rents in wagon-covers and +tents, and gathered heaps of wild flowers, with which they adorned the +fresh mound of earth that none of them expected ever to see again. + + * * * * * + +The men were not idle. A broken ox-yoke needed mending. Wagon-tires were +reset. Such heavy articles as could be dispensed with were discarded. + +Jamie’s cradle, for which Mrs. Ranger had begged a place in their +effects, and her grandmother’s spinning-wheel, which she had stored in +one of the wagons, were among the articles ordered to be thrown away. + +“Your mother will not miss them now,” said Captain Ranger, huskily. + +“It is a shame to disregard our dear mother’s wishes, now that she cannot +speak for herself,” said Mary, in a whisper, aside to Jean. + +“I know it; and I’ve already made a bargain with Mrs. McAlpin to store +them in one of her wagons. Daddie will thank us for it sometime.” + +Sadly and silently the work went on; for the living had to be cared for, +and nothing more could be done for the dead. + +When evening came Jean sought her journal, climbed to the rim of the +little natural amphitheatre overlooking the sparkling spring of icy water +near her mother’s last resting-place, and read in the last space she had +left blank, in her father’s bold chirography, some lines of a poem which +he had quoted from memory:— + + “’Twas midnight, and he sat alone, + The husband of the dead. + That day the dark dust had been thrown + Above her buried head. + + “Her orphaned children round him slept, + But in their sleep would moan; + In bitterness of soul he wept. + He was alone—alone. + + “The world is full of life and light, + But, ah, no light for me! + My little world, once warm and bright, + Is cheerless as the sea. + + “Where is her sweet and kindly face? + Where is her cordial tone? + I gaze upon her resting-place + And feel that I’m alone. + + “The lovely wife, maternal care, + The self-denying zeal, + The smile of hope that chased despair, + And promised future weal; + + “The clean, bright hearth, nice table spread, + The charm o’er all things thrown, + The sweetness in whate’er she said,— + All gone! I am alone. + + “I slept last night, and then I dreamed; + Perchance her spirit woke; + A soft light o’er my pillow gleamed, + A voice in music spoke: + + “‘Forgot, forgiven, all neglect, + Thy love recalled, alone; + The babes I loved, O love, protect, + I still am all thine own.’” + +“Dear bereaved and sorrowing daddie!” sighed Jean, as she closed the +book. “I cannot write a word to-night. Sacred to him and his be the page +on which he has inscribed these echoes of his heart. But let nobody say, +after this, that daddie has no sentiment in his make-up. The trouble is +that he is too busy a man to give rein to his feelings, except under +extraordinary pressure. I wish he hadn’t tried to throw away those +heirlooms of mother’s, though. The oxen wouldn’t have felt the difference +in the load. It was an act that he’ll be ashamed of some day.” + +Weeks after, when the memory-hallowed relics came to light, Captain +Ranger bowed his head upon his hands and gave way to such a convulsion of +grief as had not shaken him, even at the time of her transition. Jean had +good cause to recall the stanzas he had inscribed to her mother’s memory +in her battered journal, as she said to herself: “I knew all the time +that daddie’s heart was right. It is only necessary to touch it in the +proper place to show that it is tender.” Once more she closed the book +without having written a word. + +But we must not anticipate. + +On the 22d of June another entry is recorded,—Jean’s last memorandum of +their journey in the Black Hills: “The prickly pears still give us much +annoyance. The roads are heavy with sand, and the rocks over which our +wagons must bump and bound are terribly rough and jagged. + +“Across the Platte, and away to the southward many miles, though they +seem much nearer, owing to the rarity of the air, are quaint and curious +formations in the rocky cliffs, worn by the winds of ages into rude +images of men and animals that stare at us with sunken eyes, their broken +noses, grinning skulls, and disfigured bodies reminding us of unhappy +phantoms risen from the under world. + +“Sometimes the semblance of a great mosque or cathedral rears its domes +and minarets in the clear blue of the heavens; and sometimes what seems +a great embattled fortification is seen rising with realistic majesty +from a vast sage plain that looks, with a little aid of the imagination, +like the dried-up bed of a big moat. Of course, ‘’tis distance lends +enchantment to the view,’ as no doubt the images we see so distinctly +would resolve themselves into shapeless masses if we could see them at +close range. + +“The grass we so much need for the stock has again disappeared, and +daddie says we shall return to-morrow to the main travelled road. Wild +flowers are blooming in profusion all around our camp, smiling at us as +if in mockery of the prevailing desolation. Wood is scarce again, and we +find few buffalo chips. + +“We seldom see any more deer or antelope, and the buffalo have all +escaped to the distant hills; that is, all but the hapless multitudes +that have been cruelly and needlessly slaughtered by the unthinking and +greedy hunters of the plains. + +“We passed half-a-dozen newly made graves again to-day, and it is evident +that we are getting back into the dreaded cholera belt. The day has been +extremely hot, but the evening is chilly and blustering. Daddie says the +most of the victims of the epidemic are women. I wonder if such sorrow as +ours pervades every family into whose ranks the Silent Messenger comes +unbidden and steals away its hope. + +“The Indians seem to have all been scared away by the cholera. What must +they think of us, who claim to be civilized and even enlightened, who +have come to bring them our religion, and with it starvation, pestilence, +and death? + +“Our world isn’t yet fit for the abode of anything but beasts of prey, +of which poorly civilized man is chief. No wonder the Indians fear and +hate us. We destroy their range, we scare away their game, we scatter +disease and death among them; and as rapidly as possible we seize and +possess their lands. ‘No quarter for man or beast’ should be written upon +our foreheads in letters of fire. But maybe we are merely fulfilling our +destiny. I cannot tell; it’s all a mystery.” She closed the book with a +sigh. + + + + +XVIII + +_THE LITTLE DOCTOR_ + + +After leaving the Black Hills and descending again into the valley of the +Platte, the Ranger company found travelling still more difficult than +before they had left the main travelled road. The cattle, from burning +their hoofs in the alkali pools, through which they were often compelled +to wade for hours at a stretch, became afflicted with a serious foot-ail. + +“A more dangerous epidemic than the cholera menaces us now,” said Mrs. +McAlpin, as she watched the poor brutes limping along the road, many of +them bellowing with pain and writhing under the cruel lashes of the +drivers’ whips, as they hobbled wearily on toward the setting sun. + +“Yes,” replied Captain Ranger, as he blanched with apprehension. “Our +very lives depend upon the cattle; we have no other means of getting out +of the wilderness. We must do something heroic to heal their feet, or +we’ll all be left to die together.” + +Scotty, whose serious accident had been overshadowed by the death and +burial of Mrs. Ranger, and who had grown weary of receiving only such +attention as could be bestowed upon an invalid not considered dangerously +afflicted, began to demand the careful nursing he at first pretended to +disdain. The jolting of the wagon, in which he still lay upon a sort +of swinging stretcher, though it alleviated the roughness of constant +rebounds from the rocky roads, aggravated the inflammation of his wound; +and the pain grew more intolerable as the bones began to knit. His +ravings of discontent were often hard for Mrs. Benson to endure. But she +adhered resolutely to her purpose as her daughter’s chaperon to prevent +too frequent visits between the twain, and often kept Mrs. McAlpin away +from his side for many hours together. + +“Scotty has managed somehow to disarrange his bandages, Little Doctor,” +said Captain Ranger; “and badly as our cattle need attention, you will be +obliged to look after his case this evening. I know how punctilious your +mother is over what she is pleased to call the proprieties, but you must +attend the fellow professionally, whether she consents or not. + +“I do not want any more disagreeable encounters with my mother, Captain.” + +“Damn it! I beg your pardon, ma’am! But I’m sure God swore in His wrath +under less provocation,—if there is any truth in Holy Writ. These are no +times for conventional hair-splittings. You are in duty bound to visit +Scotty as his physician. I will accompany you if it will help you out.” + +“I shall be glad indeed of your company, Captain. But women are not +supposed to be doctors. We’ve always been taught to look upon the +profession as one beyond our comprehension.” + +“And indeed it is beyond your comprehension. Men do not comprehend it any +more than you do. If they did, it would long ago have been developed into +a science, instead of what it is,—empiricism. I’m afraid I’ll swear again +if I hear any more nonsense about the things women are not supposed to +know because they are women.” + +“Are you ready to accompany me now, Captain?” + +“I’ll have to be. But our lunch is ready; and, by my beans and bacon, I +must have something to eat first! There! I didn’t mean to swear. It was a +sort of slip of the tongue.” + +“I am free to admit that it isn’t polite to swear, Captain. But you +didn’t take the name of God in vain; so you are forgiven. You will grant +that swearing, even by beans and bacon, is a bad habit, though. Don’t set +a bad example before the children, to say nothing of the rest of us,” she +added, laughing. + +They found the patient in a high fever. + +“It is his impatience that does it,” said Mrs. Benson. “He fumes like a +madman sometimes.” + +Mrs. McAlpin deftly unbound, dressed, and rebandaged the unfortunate limb. + +“We’re doing nicely,” she said, when her work was finished. “You mustn’t +fret yourself into a fever again. A sick man should be as serene as a May +morning.” + +“How in the name o’ Melchizedek and the Twelve Apostles is a man going +to keep cool when the thermometer is raging in the nineties, and one’s +self-elected nurse is scolding like a sitting hen? If she’d ride in +the other wagon and leave you to do the nursing, I’d stand a chance to +recover.” + +“Mamma is getting on famously,” laughed the Little Doctor. “You are so +amiable and sweet-tempered yourself that I can’t see why she doesn’t fall +down before your injured foot and worship you. I feel almost tempted to +try it myself. You don’t think she is enduring all this for fun, do you?” + +“I suppose I haven’t been acting the angel; but it was because I wanted +the society of my doctor.” + +“You allude to Mrs. McAlpin, of course,” said the Captain, smiling. + +“Who else in thunder should I mean? There is but one woman doctor in the +world, so far as I know. Didn’t she find me in that infernal hole, wedged +in it like a rat in a trap? And didn’t she patch my broken bones, like a +trained physician, when there wasn’t a man in a hundred miles that could +have done it?” + +“It is never wise to argue a point with a man in a fever, Mr. Burns. We +can talk it out later on. See! Mamma has brought soap, fresh water, and +towels. You couldn’t have a better nurse. You must let her bathe your +face and hands and head.” + +“Won’t you take her place, Daphne?” + +Captain Ranger and Mrs. Benson were not listening or looking just then; +and as for an instant their eyes met, the patient felt upon his fevered +forehead the fluttering touch of a soft, cool hand. + +“Delicious!” he whispered. “I shall get well now.” + +“Allow me,” said Mrs. Benson, elbowing her daughter aside; “I am head +nurse in this ward.” + +The patient groaned. + +“The Captain says you ought to have been a man, Daphne,” said Mrs. +Benson, as her daughter yielded her place. + +“If my father had lived to see this day, he would have rejoiced that I +didn’t allow my usefulness to run to waste because of my femininity. Of +that I am as certain as that my patient is better.” + +“You are a disobedient and ungrateful girl, Daphne.” + +“You are my mamma.” + +“I am not to blame for that, Daphne.” + +“Am _I_?” asked the daughter, seriously. “I don’t pretend to understand, +and so of course cannot explain the cause that leads to individual being, +mamma dear. I know, though, that I am; and if the time should ever come +that I can know why I am, I shall understand why I am a woman. I cannot +now see that anybody is to be blamed on account of the fact, or accident, +of sex.” + +“You are to blame for being a thankless child, Daphne.” + +“I am neither a child nor thankless, mamma dear. I simply desire to +be and act myself. You know I love and honor you; but I have learned, +by sad experience, that each human being exists primarily for himself +or herself; and not one of us can live for another. If I had been +taught this truth in my childhood, we might both have been spared much +suffering. But”—turning to her patient—“we have other duties. Your fever +has fallen several degrees in the past fifteen minutes. I must go. When +you want to rail at anybody just pitch into me and let mamma have a +rest. Jean will bring you some broth. I’ll send Mrs. O’Dowd to sit with +you sometimes, to give mamma a little liberty. You two have been forced +to keep each other’s company till you are both as cross as a pair of +imprisoned cats.” + +“I believe I’ve been pursuing the wrong policy,” said Mrs. Benson to the +Captain, as they walked together on the burning sand. “If Daphne had been +compelled to endure that patient’s petulance for more than a week, as I +have, she would have been as weary of the sight of him as I am.” + +“I am not so sure of that,” replied the Captain, “seeing they’re not +married yet. Two cats will agree together like two doves, as long as they +have their individual freedom; but if you tie ’em together, they’ll fight +like dogs and tigers.” + +“Poor little mamma! She’s all tired out, so she is!” exclaimed Mrs. +McAlpin, as she and her mother were walking out together after they +had stopped for the night. “You must change places to-morrow with Mrs. +O’Dowd. Then you can ride in Captain Ranger’s big family wagon with the +children and me, and get your much-needed rest.” + +“Do you mean to say that I shall ride in that widower’s wagon, Daphne, +and his wife only just buried? What would people say?” + +“Why should you think or care what anybody says, so long as you do your +duty, mamma? Captain Ranger is a gentleman. His heart is buried with his +wife. Don’t be a silly! Beg pardon, mamma. I didn’t mean to be slangy or +saucy. We’ve other troubles in store, and ought not to be quarrelling +between ourselves. Do you know that Donald McAlpin is following, or at +least shadowing, this train?” + +Mrs. Benson blanched. + +“Why do you think that, Daphne?” + +“I’ve seen him twice since we met that colony of freighters. If he +persists in his persecutions, I’ll kill him!” + +“Do not talk that way, child. People have been made innocent victims of +the scaffold for having made threats which they never meant to and never +did fulfil.” + +“I have nothing to say against him as a man. But before God he is not +my husband, no matter what the law may have decreed, and I am living a +lie when I permit the outrage. He would make you an agreeable husband, +because you love him. I’ve known this for many a day. If I were dead or +divorced, you could become his wife, and then you would both be happy. We +are all miserable as it is.” + +“But think of the looks of it, daughter! What would people say?” Her +eyes grew suddenly aglow with a newly awakened hope, in spite of her +demurrer, and her heart beat hard. + +“Do you intend to do what you know to be right in the sight of God? or +do you mean to remain a slave all the days of your life to the idle +words of men and women who care nothing for you, and to whom you owe no +allegiance? Man looks at the outward appearance, but God looks at the +heart. At least, I so read the Scripture, which you say is your rule of +faith and practice.” + +“But we owe allegiance to the English Church and to human law, my child.” + +“That is true; and I for one intend to obey the laws of man till they +are amended, although I was allowed no voice in their construction. But, +thanks to the progressive spirit of the age, we have divorce courts +established almost everywhere throughout the civilized world, so anybody +can obey the law and still ‘to his own self be true.’” + +“No divorce can be had in our church, Daphne, except for a nameless +crime.” + +“That ruling is a relic of barbarism. I will see that the way is opened +for both you and Donald to obey the law and be honest with yourselves +also.” + +“But how about Mr. Burns? Does your rule apply to him?” + +“We won’t discuss that matter, mamma. Mr. Burns fully understands that I +am not a free woman, and he has no right to discuss with me a question +that I am not at liberty to consider. Although I despise the law that +holds me in its thrall, I will obey it till it is annulled.” + +“You don’t know what you’re saying, child.” + +“Yes, I do, mamma. I have studied the law carefully. I shall obey it in +everything I undertake.” + +“Don’t you know that Rollin Burns is a pauper?” + +“That’s neither here nor there. The possible future relations between Mr. +Burns and myself are neither supposable nor discussable under present +conditions. What a glorious world we live in!” she exclaimed, clinging +to her mother’s arm and pulling her along. “How happy everybody might +become if everybody could afford to be honest!” + +“But public opinion is a moral safeguard, my child.” + +“It has wellnigh made a lunatic of me,” exclaimed the daughter, with a +sigh. “I should have been in an insane asylum if I had not grown strong +enough to defy the thing you call public opinion. Now please remember, +mamma, you may meet Donald McAlpin at any time. I have told you that +he was shadowing us. But you are not to recognize him so long as I am +his lawful wife, or it will be the worse for all of us. God knows, I am +anxious enough to set him free; and I’ll do it as soon as the law will +let me. ‘All things come to him who waits.’ Be hopeful, be trustful, be +patient, mamma dear; and be sure ‘your own will come to you.’” + +A solitary horseman galloped past them and halted at the camp. + +“It’s Donald!” cried Mrs. Benson, nervously clutching her daughter’s arm. +“Why can’t we speak to him, Daphne?” + +“Come this way.” + +Reluctantly Mrs. Benson followed. + +“Let’s sit behind these rocks,” said the daughter. “It is fortunate +that I gave Captain Ranger his latest name. He knows him only as Donald +McPherson.” + +They watched the two men parleying. Captain Ranger pointed toward the +distant hills with one hand, and with the other was gesticulating +vigorously. + +“Will you promise not to let him recognize you while we are on this +journey, mamma dear?” + +“It would be an easy promise to make, my child, if I could know when, +where, and under what circumstances we might meet again in the future.” + + + + +XIX + +_A BRIEF MESSAGE FOR MRS. BENSON_ + + +“We’ll not be able to advance another mile unless something can be done +to cure the cattle’s feet,” exclaimed the Captain the next morning, when +his teamsters came together for consultation. + +“I have been studying the case during the night,” said Mrs. McAlpin, +who was preparing breakfast. “It is cool and pleasant now, but it will +be terribly hot by nine o’clock. We must treat the sore feet of our +sufferers to a heroic cure, and get them out on the range, away from the +sand of the public road, before the sun gets over the hills. We can’t +drive a hoof over the road to-day.” + +“I’d like to know how in blazes we’re going to doctor the cattle’s feet +without medicine,” cried Hal. “We haven’t even enough o’ ‘Number Six’ on +hand to give my off-leader’s left foot a thorough treatment.” + +“I guess we have everything we need,” replied the Little Doctor. +“Bring me your fullest tar-bucket. There, that’s encouraging. Got any +turpentine, Captain? That’s good. Now bring me an iron pot, Susannah. +Here’s a good bed of glowing coals. There,” she cried, as she emptied the +liquid tar into the iron kettle. “Now let’s add the turpentine, and I’ll +heat the mixture as slowly as possible over these red-hot coals. It is +fortunate that the flames are dead, otherwise we might set our dish on +fire and spoil our broth. Have you any oakum?” + +“Not a bit. Who’d ’a’ thought we’d need oakum on a land-lubbers’ journey +like this?” said the Captain. + +The Little Doctor knitted her brows. “Have you some Manila rope and a big +pan?” she asked. + +“We have mother’s clothes-line, if that will do,” said Jean. + +“Yo’ uns not gwine to empty dat stuff in my dish-pan, honey?” exclaimed +Susannah, in indignant protest, as Mary was fetching the pan. + +Mrs. McAlpin laughed. + +The seething mixture was lifted dexterously from the coals in the nick +of time to prevent an accident by fire. It was then emptied into the +dish-pan and stirred to the consistency of blackstrap,—a commodity with +which the wayfarers were familiar,—and pieces of the tarred rope were +made ready for placing between the doctored hoofs. + +“We’ll try our Little Doctor’s remedy on Scotty’s off-leader first,” said +Hal. “If it should kill him, there will be only one dead, and he’s nearly +dead anyhow.” + +The poor beast bellowed pitifully as his hoof was plunged into the almost +scalding mixture; but like the lassoed victim of a branding iron, he +could not get away, and each hoof received its treatment in its turn. + +By the doctor’s order, a tent had been cut into convenient patches; and +the seared feet of the afflicted brute, after a liberal supply of the +flour of sulphur had been added to the tar and turpentine, were securely +wrapped with the pieces and bound with rope, to protect them from the +dust and gravel of the roads. + +By the time that each disabled animal had been subjected to this heroic +treatment, it was long past noon, and the Captain decided to turn the +teams back upon the range for the remainder of the day. + + * * * * * + +“May I take a ride on Sukie, daddie dear?” asked Jean. “I’ll find good +grass for her, and plenty of it.” + +“Yes, Jean. Take her to yonder ravine, where you see a clump of +cottonwoods. You’ll be pretty sure to find some tender grass at their +roots.” + +Jean leaped nimbly to the saddle and cantered leisurely away. + +Suddenly a bronzed and handsome horseman rode up beside her and lifted +his hat,—a large sombrero, surmounting a pair of square shoulders that +sported a gay serape. + +“Good-morning, little miss. Or would you call it afternoon? I had stopped +under the cottonwoods to graze my horse, and I couldn’t resist the +temptation to accost you. Going to California?” + +“No; to Oregon.” + +“A God-forsaken country that. Rains thirteen months in every year.” + +“Have you ever been there?” + +The stranger shook his head. “I’ve had rain enough in England to do me +for the rest of my life.” + +“A little of the Oregon rains we’ve read about would be a godsend if +we could have it now,” said Jean, mopping her perspiring face with the +curtain of her sunbonnet, and glancing ruefully at the brazen sky. + +“May I ride beside you for a little distance?” + +“If we keep in sight of the wagons, sir.” + +“You’re not afraid of me, I hope?” + +He was close beside her now, so close he could have grasped her +bridle-rein. + +“Afraid? Of course not. I am not afraid of any gentleman.” + +“Do you belong to yonder camp?” + +“Yes, sir.” + +“And there are two ladies travelling with you,—a widow and her daughter?” + +“There are a grass widow and a nigger, sir.” + +“Now see here, little one,” and his voice grew harsh and loud, “you’ve +been coached; that’s evident. Don’t be frightened. I don’t mean to harm +you. But I am no longer deceived. Will you do me a favor?” + +He was reading her face anxiously. + +“What can I do for you, sir?” + +“Will you carry a note for me to Mrs. Benson?” + +“I don’t know, sir. See! They’re bringing in the cattle. I must hurry +back to camp.” + +“Wait a little, miss. I must write a note.” + +“I haven’t promised to give it to anybody, sir.” + +“But you’ll do it,” he said, thrusting a few hastily written, unsealed +lines into her hand. “Give that to the young lady’s mother. I feel that +I can trust you. Here’s a dollar. You will not read the note, nor say a +word about it to any one?” + +“You can trust me, sir, but I do not want your dollar.” + +“Keep it, child.” + +He wheeled and was gone. She watched him disappear in a cloud of dust, +and hid the note away in the bosom of her dress. + +“He trusted me, and I won’t read it, though I’d be glad to know its +contents,” she whispered to herself. “Why does Fate make me the +depositary of other people’s affairs and then burden me with secrecy? I’m +only an ignorant girl; but I know enough about the secrets of more than +one of our fellow-travellers to explode bombs in several directions if +I’d tell!” + + * * * * * + +“I am overjoyed at the success of my first practice as a veterinary +doctor,” said Mrs. McAlpin the next day. + +“We’re all glad,” said the Captain. “Small use any man would have +for this world if it weren’t for the women to help him out under +difficulties.” + +“Poor Captain! How he misses his wife!” she thought, as she sought the +wagon where Scotty lay. + +“I’d get well a great deal faster if I had you for a nurse, Daphne,” he +said appealingly. + +“Nature is doing her best for you. She’s mending your bones thoroughly. +If we patched you up in too big a hurry, we’d soon be in trouble again.” + +“But I feel like a chained eagle, lying here.” + +“Captain Ranger is making you a pair of crutches, Mr. Burns. You’ll soon +be out again on your well foot, if you obey orders. Where’s mamma?” + +“In the shadow of the wagon, yonder.” + +Mrs. Benson was resting in the shade, indulging in a silent reverie. “Are +all the teachings of my life to be overthrown?” she said, as she thrust +a note into her pocket and buried her face in her hands. “Can it be true +that Daphne was right and I was wrong? What will people say? Daphne has +good principles, but she’s as unsentimental as a Mandan squaw. She has no +more romance in her make-up than black Susannah. Yet,” and a fluttering +hope welled up in her heart, “she’s a true and faithful daughter. I would +to Heaven that all the people in the world were as good.” + +She produced her treasured note again, and read it stealthily. + +“Yes, yes! it can be managed, and none of the curious will ever be the +wiser,” she said, after due reflection. “It is indeed fortunate that he’s +been compelled by the law of entail to take his mother’s name. Nobody +will know him in Oregon.” + +Mrs. McAlpin found Scotty at camping time with a voracious appetite and a +temper like a caged bear. + +“Where have you kept yourself through all this blistering afternoon?” he +asked, munching his food heartily. + +“I can’t stay with all my patients all the time, Mr. Burns, especially as +so many of them are quadrupeds, with the hoof-ail.” + +“I suppose, then, that I am to be classed as a biped, with the leg-ail.” + +“Exactly.” + +“Ouch! oh!” he exclaimed with a grimace, as the knitting bones gave a +sudden twinge, reminding him that they were awake and on duty. “These +infernal bandages are loose again, I hope.” + +“Your bandages are doing nicely, sir. The Captain will have your +crutches ready in a day or two. Then you can take some exercise.” + +“What have you done with those hideous black garments, Daphne?” + +“Do you like these gray ones better?” + +“Yes, I like the gray ones better.” + +“So does this abounding dust. My black clothes were getting rusty, so I +made a contribution of them to the water nymphs of the Platte.” + +“Why did you wear those weeds?” + +“They served my purpose, sir.” + +“You almost provoke me into profanity, Mrs. McAlpin; you are so +mysteriously non-committal.” + +“Glad to hear it. Men don’t feel like swearing when death is staring them +in the face.” + +“Your supper is getting cold, and Mrs. Benson says you must hurry up.” +The intruder, as usual, was Jean. + +“I will see you later, Mr. Burns,” said Mrs. McAlpin, and she ran away, +laughing. + +“You seem very happy this evening, mamma,” she said, as with cup and +plate in hand she seated herself on a wagon-tongue. + +Mrs. Benson blushed. “Why don’t you eat?” she asked, evading her +daughter’s question. + +“I hardly know. But I am out of sorts. Just think of men coming out on +a journey like this, with ailing wives and unborn children, with no +adequate preparation for their needs! I left one woman, less than two +hours ago, with newly born twins, and a yearling squalling like mad at +the foot of her bed. The mother was as docile as a kitten, and a hundred +times more helpless.” + +“Where was the father?” + +“Oh, he was shambling around, helpless and in the way. He was kindness +personified; but he was as useless as a monkey. When woman’s true history +shall have been written, her part in the upbuilding of this nation +will astound the world. I’ve seen heroines on this journey who far +outrank the Alexanders, Washingtons, and Napoleons of any of our school +histories. Yonder’s a herald coming to announce another case! Will you +accompany me, mamma? I can ask Captain Ranger to stay with Mr. Burns.” + +“Not to-night, Daphne. I am very tired. And you know I have no patience +with a woman doctor, anyway. Women were seen and not heard when I was a +girl.” + + + + +XX + +_THE TEAMSTERS DESERT_ + + +“You seem to be in trouble, my little man. What can I do to help you?” +asked the Little Doctor, as a shocky-headed, freckle-faced child, ragged, +barefoot, and dirty, paused in her presence, balancing himself first on +one foot and then on the other, and occasionally rubbing his eyes with a +grimy shirt-sleeve, open at the wrist and badly out at elbow. + +“I hearn tell that you was a doctor, mum. Can you come to see my mam? +She’s sick, awful.” + +The child led the way to a rickety wagon, which had halted at an +inconvenient distance from the creek, in the blazing sunshine, though a +friendly tree stood near that might have afforded a grateful shade for +an hour or more if the head of the family had thought to stop the wagon +in the right spot before unhitching his team. Three or four sallow, +barefoot, and ragged little children were playing in the sand. The scant +remains of a most uninviting repast littered the ground. A half-dozen +hungry dogs, tied to the wagon-wheels, out of reach of the poor remains +of food, whined piteously. + +A loose-jointed man shambled aimlessly about, wiping his tear-stained +face on the buttonless sleeve of a very dirty shirt. “She’s got the +cholera, an’ she’ll die, an’ thar’ll be nobody left to keer fur her young +uns!” he sobbed within hearing of the writhing patient. + +“When did this suffering begin?” asked the Little Doctor, trying hard not +to smile. + +“Nigh on to half a day ago, mum. I druv like hell to git to this ’ere +crick. I’d hearn of it afore I left the last camp.” + +“Have you a tent?” + +“Lawd, no! nor nothin’ else to speak of.” + +“But dogs and children!” the visitor thought, as she ruefully surveyed +the scene. + +“The steers have got the foot-rot. Kin you kore ’em?” + +“Yes, but we must first attend to the needs of your wife. Go to Captain +Ranger. Tell him I sent you. Tell him I must borrow one of his tents and +some physic and a bottle of ‘Number Six.’ Ask for Mrs. O’Dowd, and be +sure to say that Mrs. McAlpin wants her badly.” + +When Captain Ranger and his man Limpy appeared on the scene, bringing the +tent and medicines, water was already boiling in a black iron kettle, +the only cooking utensil in sight. The tent was soon pitched, and a bed +prepared for the sufferer, who was writhing in convulsions. + +“Any woman accustomed to the comforts of a well-ordered home would have +died,” said Mrs. McAlpin the next morning, after the crisis was past. +“But the average specimen of the poor white trash of the original slave +States has as many lives as a cat.” + +“I didn’t have no doctor,” said the patient, as soon as she was able to +be on her feet. “Thar was a woman yar, an’ she giv’ me some hot truck, +but I jist kored myself.” + +The woman was telling her story to a visitor, who had called, partly from +sympathy, but chiefly from curiosity; and Mrs. McAlpin, who was assisting +Captain Ranger to compound the mixture for the ailing feet of the +stranger’s cattle, overheard the shrill-voiced visitor add, “I never did +take no stock in them women doctors.” + +“I wanted water,” continued the patient, “an’ couldn’t git none; so I +waited till nobody was watchin’ and jist stole out o’ the tent in the +night an’ swallered all I could hol’ from a canteen; and I mended from +the word ‘go.’ The stuff was as warm as dish-water, but I wanted it so +bad I didn’t stop to taste it.” + +All day the convalescent wrestled with weakness; but as the afflicted +cattle could not go forward till the following morning, she moved +languidly about the camp and fed her family with beans and bacon, with +the never-failing accompaniment of black coffee, which Captain Ranger +declared was “strong enough to bear up an iron wedge.” + + * * * * * + +The scenery became more diversified as the travellers continued their +journey up the Platte. Gradually the heat became less suffocating. Desert +sands gave way to alluvial valleys, and the health of man and beast +improved. On the opposite, or south side of the river, the scenery was +strikingly unlike that of the plain through which the emigrant road ran, +winding its sinewy length in and out, over the vast, untilled fields that +lay asleep in the sunshine, awaiting the fructifying power of the autumn +rains, and the future labor of plough and seedsman. + +It was now the first of July. The heavy duties of the day were over, the +short summer evening had come, and Captain Ranger lay upon the grass, +playing with his own little ones, Susannah’s George Washington, and the +three babies of Sally O’Dowd. + +The evening breezes stirred his hair and beard and filed his lungs with +a sensation of vigor he had not enjoyed since bidding farewell to his +faithful wife. + +“The story goes that some prospectors have discovered gold in the +foot-hills across the big drink,” said Yank, approaching the Captain +with a sort of half-military salute. + +“What of it?” asked the Captain, as he shook himself loose from the +little group, and arose to his knees, a vague fear tugging at his heart. +“What does such a discovery mean to us?” + +“Nothing; only the most of us are going to throw up our job and go off +a-prospecting.” + +“What! and leave me alone in this wilderness, without teamsters, a +thousand miles from nowhere, with all these women and children on my +hands to starve to death or be captured by Indians?” + +“That’ll have to be your own lookout, I reckon. The gold fever’s as +sudden as the cholera, and takes you off without warning when you get it +bad.” + +“What’s the matter, daddie?” asked Jean. “Are you sick?” + +“I’m face to face with an awful difficulty, daughter. Our ox-drivers have +caught the gold fever. They are all going to leave us in this wilderness +but Scotty; and he’d go too, no doubt, if he weren’t crippled and +helpless.” + +“Don’t let the desertion of your teamsters worry you,” exclaimed Sally +O’Dowd. “I can drive one of the teams myself.” + +“What! You?” + +“Yes! Didn’t I tell you that you’d never be sorry if you’d let me travel +in your train to Oregon?” + +“We can all drive oxen,” cried his three daughters, in a breath. + +“But who will drive for Mrs. Benson and the Little Doctor? Their +teamsters have joined the stampede, and they can’t drive oxen.” + +“Just try us and see if we can’t,” laughed the Little Doctor. + +“But you have two teams, and your mother cannot drive one of them.” + +“I’ll make a trailer of one of the wagons, just as the freighters do in +the Assiniboin country.” + +“Does Mrs. Benson know about this?” + +“Yes; we’ve talked it all over. It’s a genuine case of ‘have to,’ +Captain.” + +“What will you do with Scotty?” + +“We’ve considered him! He’ll soon be on his feet again. Meanwhile, he’ll +have to stay on in his hammock.” + +“He’s not good for anything there nor anywhere else!” said the Captain, +testily. “He doesn’t know beans about driving oxen, and I doubt if he can +ever learn!” + +“He’s great on ‘intervention’ and ‘non-intervention,’ though,” laughed +Mrs. McAlpin. “He’s even greater on the Monroe Doctrine.” + +“Yes!” exclaimed Jean, “and you ought to hear him rave over the nation’s +allegiance to Mason and Dixon’s Line. It’s on the troubles over the +slavery question, which he says are looming all along the national +horizon, that he comes out strong.” + +“He’s taught me a lot about law and equity, courts and criminals, +constitutions and codes,” said Hal. + +“You make light of the peril of our situation because you do not +comprehend its gravity,” exclaimed Captain Ranger. “We need our +teamsters. Scotty is a capital theorist, but he’ll never set a river +afire.” + +“That’s a feat you’ve never accomplished yet, daddie,” laughed Jean. + +“I’ve come as near it as any living man; for I boiled the Illinois dry, +once!” replied the Captain, alluding to an experience of a former year of +drouth, when a steam sawmill he was operating on the river-bank had to be +closed down for a season for want of water. + +“Don’t worry, Captain,” cried Sally O’Dowd. “The women and children won’t +forsake you.” + +“Because they can’t,” was the curt response, and he walked away to be +alone. + + * * * * * + +The next morning, the teamsters, notwithstanding the strike, were +standing around the camp-fires, waiting for breakfast. Some of them +looked a little ashamed, some were a little concerned as to the fate of +the train, and two or three seemed to enjoy the Captain’s predicament. + +“Clear out, every last one of you!” he exclaimed, as they made a move for +the mess-boxes as soon as breakfast was ready. “The women folks are my +teamsters now, and they shall have the first seats at my table.” + +As the men turned away, crestfallen and hungry, their resolution to “get +rich quick” began to drop toward zero; but their leader and spokesman +hurried them away, explaining that they would find a trading-post and +plenty of “grub” across the river. + +Mrs. McAlpin paused to visit Scotty a moment at his hammock; and as Mrs. +Benson was busy with some duties at the fire, the couple were alone. + +“Why these groanings, Mr. Burns?” she asked, placing her cool hand upon +his corrugated forehead. + +“Because I’m a fool!” + +“Did anybody ever dispute it?” she asked with a silvery laugh. “There! +Not another word. You are my patient, remember. You mustn’t talk back.” + +“Your touch is the touch of an angel.” + +“Did you ever see an angel?” + +“I’m _vis-à-vis_ with one this holy minute. Ouch! Confound that pain!” + +“I thought you enjoyed my surgery. You said you did.” + +“I have just said I was a fool.” + +“Did I dispute it?” + +He laughed in spite of his pain. “Say, Little Doctor, are you never going +to let me talk it out?” + +“Talk what out?” + +“Our personal affairs.” + +“Not yet. You must be patient. I am not a free woman yet.” + +“But you’ll let me hope?” + +“I cannot say. I am determined to obey the letter of the law.” + +“I could leap for joy, Daphne!” + +“Better not try it; might injure your knitting-bones.” + +“Here,” said Mrs. Benson, who had been purposely busy at the fire, “is a +dish of savory stew. And here is some hardtack, soaked till it is light +and soft. It is hot and nicely buttered. The coffee is guiltless of +cream, but it is fresh and good.” + +“And black and aromatic and Frenchy,” exclaimed Scotty. “Mrs. McAlpin, +will you dine with me to-day?” + +“No, Mr. Burns; my meal awaits me at the fire.” + +“What sort of game is this?” he asked, as he ate with relish. + +“Captain Ranger called it a prairie bird.” + +“Birds in my country don’t wear hair, but feathers,” he said, holding to +the light the hind-quarter of a prairie dog, and pointing to bits of hair +afloat in the gravy. + +“Ask me no questions, for conscience’ sake,” cried Mrs. Benson, who was +laughing heartily. “It may be a prairie dog, or it may be a prairie +squirrel. But it is good for food, and much to be desired to make you +well and wise.” + +“It is all right,” laughed Mrs. McAlpin. “When Lewis and Clark were on +the Oregon trail, nearly fifty years ago, away yonder to the north of us, +they were glad to trade with the Indians for mangy dogs, sometimes, if +they got any food at all.” + + * * * * * + +When Scotty awoke the following morning, after a sleep that was as +refreshing as it seemed brief, the sun was creeping over the wide +expanse of the Platte, making it shine like a gigantic mirror. The women +and girls, who had been up for an hour, were bringing in the stock. +Susannah, who had been detailed to cook the breakfast and mind the +children, was baking flapjacks, and the aroma of coffee was in the air. + +“We can all eat at the first table now,” said Jean, as they knelt around +the mess-boxes. + +Before the repast was finished, they were surprised to see the men who +had left them for the gold mines reappear at camp, looking cheap and +ashamed. + +Sawed-off was the first to speak. “We talked it over with Brownson +and Jordan, and the four of us concluded that we couldn’t desert you, +Captain. So the rest of ’em joined in.” + +“I reckon you got hungry,” said the Captain, dryly. + +“No, Captain. It wasn’t hunger; it was conscience that sent us back.” + +“How much cash can you put up as collateral, if I conclude to trust you +again?” + +The crestfallen men were silent. + +“Seeing the risk is all mine, and all the provisions and other parts of +the entire outfit are mine, and you are foot-loose and can play quits at +any time, I guess we’d better not make any new deal. My gals and these +widders can help drive the teams.” + +The self-discharged teamsters withdrew beyond hearing of the camp, and +parleyed long and earnestly. + +“We’ve got to do something!” exclaimed Sawed-off. “Just watch them gals +handle them cattle! They’ve the true grit.” + +“Do you s’pose the Cap’n ’d take us back if we’d pungle say fifty dollars +apiece?” asked Limpy. + +“We can’t do better than make the offer,” said Yank. + +“This cash’ll come handy at the other end of the line,” said the Captain, +intrusting the gold to the care of his daughters and reinstating his men, +after a sharp exhortation to avoid repeating the offence. + + + + +XXI + +_AN UNEXPECTED ENCOUNTER_ + + +“Oh, this wonderful Western country!” wrote Jean in her diary, under date +of midnight, July 4. “After travelling so long on the banks of the Platte +that we had come to look upon it as a familiar friend, we left it to the +southward and turned our course up the valley of the Sweet Water, through +a succession of low, wooded hills. This little river, though not more +than a hundred feet wide, is quite deep, and runs like a mill-race. The +water is as clear as ether, and agreeably cold. + +“Nobody can conceive the vastness of this country, or imagine its future +possibilities, until he has crossed the great unsettled part of this +continent to the westward and seen it for himself. + +“Some days we move for many hours over great stretches of alluvial soil, +which only needs the impulse of cultivation to make it yield of the +fruits of the earth like magic. Again, we are in the midst of big fields +of crude saleratus, or salt, or sulphur. Now and then our cattle are +compelled to wade through an alkali swamp, suggesting more foot-ail; but +our Little Doctor says that danger is past for this year; she has not +stated why, and maybe she doesn’t know. + +“We encamped last night near Independence Rock,—a huge pile of gray +basalt, covering an area of perhaps ten acres, and looking to be about +three hundred feet high. Its sides are formed of great irregular +bowlders, worn smooth by the warring elements of ages. + +“July 5. Yesterday was Independence Day, and as we had camped near +Independence Rock, daddie laid over to celebrate. + +“About noon, Mary, Marjorie, and I concluded that we would climb the rock +to its summit, carrying with us the only star-spangled banner the train +could boast. But our scheme failed through the fickleness and fury of the +same elements that have been smoothing the surface of the rock during the +ages gone. + +“We had climbed over halfway to the top when a low, dense cloud, as +blue-black as a kettle of indigo dye, enveloped us. It came upon us so +suddenly that we hardly realized our danger till we were surrounded +by semi-darkness in the midst of a pelting hailstorm. We retreated so +blindly and hastily that it is a miracle we didn’t break our necks. + +“Thunder and lightning followed, or rather accompanied the hail, and +were succeeded by a deluge of rain. Sudden squalls of wind would fairly +lift us off our feet at times as we hurried downward, making the descent +doubly perilous. But the storm soon spent its fury, leaving the air as +clear and sweet as a chime of bells. + +“A roaring fire welcomed us at camp, by which we warmed our chilled +marrow-bones and dried our sodden toggery. + +“Daddie scolded; Mame charged our mishap all to me; Marj blamed both of +us, and excused herself. It is the way of the world, or of most people in +it, but it is sometimes very provoking. I hadn’t thought of attempting +the climb till the other girls proposed it; but I took the brunt of the +blame, and, as usual, got all the scolding. + +“The storm wouldn’t let us try to float the flag, but it got very wet, +and we had our labor for our pains. + +“Sally and Susannah prepared a Fourth of July banquet of antelope steaks, +to go with our regulation diet of beans and coffee. After dinner Mrs. +McAlpin sang ‘The Star-Spangled Banner,’ the rest of us joining in the +chorus. Susannah sang a lot of negro melodies, and George Washington +danced for us, his white teeth shining, and eyeballs gleaming. Hal read +the Declaration of Independence, and daddie ‘made the eagle scream.’ + +“He was in the midst of his oration, and I was wondering where all +the men of valor came from, seeing they had had no mothers to assist +in getting up this spread-eagle scheme we call a republic, when I was +compelled to leave the crowd and poise myself on a wet wagon-tongue +to write the thing up. Scotty, who is still on crutches, delivered an +oration on the side, of which I heard but little, owing to my banishment. + +“But I won’t always be so meek and silent on the Fourth of July. I’ll +write a Declaration of Independence for women some day. + +“Daddie burned some powder after dark, ‘to amuse the children,’ he said, +but I noticed that the men enjoyed the noise even more than the children +did. Poor Bobbie got some powder burns about the face, and Sadie and the +babies gave us a squalling chorus, prompted by fright, causing me to +wonder why men must always celebrate our patriotism with the emblems of +death and destruction.” + +On July 6 she wrote: “We have reached the edges of the Rocky Mountains +now; and as we climb slowly and almost imperceptibly toward their +summits, our road winds in and out along the meandering bases of a great +divide, down which many little streams of icy water dash with foam and +roar, forever in a hurry, always trying to go somewhere, and never +reaching any settled goal. + +“Now and then we get glimpses of distant summits, but we are reaching +them by an ascent so gradual that daddie says we shall not realize that +we have crossed the great divide till we see the water has changed its +course from east to west. + +“We passed a trading-post to-day, belonging to a company having its +headquarters at Salt Lake. The men in charge wore big sombreros, buckskin +trousers, and moccasins of buffalo hide. They all smoked incessantly +and affected the airs of the genus cowboy, or _vaquero_ of the plains, +of whom we often see specimens roving over hill and plain on horseback, +their shoulders covered with gayly colored serapes, flapping in the wind +like wings. + +“We pass daily from six to a dozen graves, but not so newly made as those +noticed heretofore; so we conclude the cholera is abating. + +“There, old Journal! I’ve done my level best to write you up to date. +But it’s like climbing these mountains,—uphill work, and dreadfully +monotonous!” + + * * * * * + +“Did you buy a fresh stock of provisions, Captain?” asked Sally O’Dowd, +as they were preparing to leave the trading-post which Jean had +mentioned, after he had held a long parley with a big, bronzed, and +heavily bearded mountaineer, who was strikingly handsome despite his +peculiar make-up. + +“Yes, Sally. I bought a couple o’ hundred pounds o’ flour, for which I +paid a twenty-dollar gold-piece.” + +“I was feeding the children, and didn’t get a chance to make my purchases +at the proper time. Won’t you hold the teams back a few minutes for me?” + +“Yes, but hurry up.” + +“Let me have a hundred pounds of flour, sir,” she said, approaching the +counter, behind which the trader stood, smoking a huge meerschaum. + +“Anything else?” + +“Yes; the balance of this twenty-dollar gold-piece in dried peaches, +please.” + +In filling her order, the trader raised the cloth partition of the tent +to reach his base of supplies, and in the middle of the tent Sally espied +an unkempt squaw and half-a-dozen dusky children. + +“I’ll be compelled to hurry,” she said, as he leisurely weighed her +fruit. “Captain Ranger is always demanding haste.” + +The trader started suddenly, his face blanching. + +“Where does your train hail from?” he asked. + +“From the middle West, sir. We are going from the West to the West.” +The trader balanced two sacks of Salt Lake flour on his shoulders, and +grasping the smaller package of peaches, strode out hurriedly toward the +wagon near which Captain Ranger was standing, impatient to be gone. + +“These purchases are for the lady, sir. Where will you have them dumped?” + +“Any place where there’s room, and don’t let any grass grow under your +feet!” + +“The lady tells me your name is Ranger, sir.” + +“Yes. What of it?” + +“Will you walk with me a little way ahead of the wagons? I have something +important to say to you alone.” + +“We are scarce of drivers,” replied the Captain, hesitating. “Two of my +men are out hunting.” + +“I can drive,” exclaimed Jean, reaching for the whip, which she handled +with the skill of a freighter, finishing her flourishes with a series of +snaps at the end of a deerskin cracker, like the explosion of a bunch of +fire-crackers. + +“If we’ll take this cut-off, we’ll come out a mile or more ahead of the +wagons,” said the trader. “Then we can rest by the roadside till they +catch up.” + +The Captain strode by his side in silence. + +“Don’t you know me, John?” asked the stranger, grasping him by the arm, +and speaking in a hoarse whisper. + +Captain Ranger eyed him earnestly, his cheeks paling. + +“Can it be possible that you are—Joe?” he asked, seizing his hand with a +vise-like grip. + +“I am indeed your brother Joe,—an outlaw, now and always.” + +“No, you are not an outlaw; the fellow over whom you got into that +trouble is alive and well. You’d have got out of that scrape all right if +you hadn’t jumped your bail and left all the rest of us in the lurch. Why +didn’t you stand your trial, like a man?” + +John Ranger’s feelings overcame him, and he sank upon the ground, filled +with old-time memories. He buried his face in his hands. Time and +distance faded away, and he saw, with eyes of memory, the gentle, fading +face of his toiling, uncomplaining wife, whose life had been for years a +sacrifice to penury through the debt entailed by this brother’s cowardice. + +“Do you mean to tell me that Elmer Edson is not dead?” + +The question called him back to present conditions with a sudden start. + +“Elmer Edson is not dead, but Annie Ranger is!” he said hoarsely. “We had +to leave her precious dust in the ground away back yonder in the Black +Hills. We started together on this terrible journey, hoping to escape the +consequences of that awful mortgage with which you left us in the lurch. +She had denied herself many comforts and all the luxuries of life for a +dozen years to feed the ever-eating cankerworm of interest. No, Joe, you +didn’t kill Edson; but through my efforts to help you out of a trouble in +which you should never have been entangled, you became accessory to the +lingering death of my wife.” + +“Don’t reproach me, John! I loved Annie like a sister. I did indeed. She +was a sister to me from the day she became your wife. You don’t or won’t +see how it grieves me to hear of her death.” + +“Why didn’t you write to us, like a man?” + +The brother had risen to his feet, and was pacing nervously to and fro, +whittling aimlessly on a bit of sagebrush. + +“I was afraid to write. There was a price upon my head, as you have no +need to be informed.” + +“Yes, Joe; and to pay the interest on that price was the bane of my +existence for a dozen years. But you can write now. Our dear mother—God +bless her!—would forget all the terrible past if she could hold you in +her arms once more. It is your duty to return at once, and settle, as +well as you can, for the trouble you have caused. You ought at least to +lift that accursed mortgage from the farm, and let Lije Robinson and +Sister Mary and our parents spend the remainder of their lives in peace. +You are a free man, and can go where you please.” + +“But I am not a free man, John. Even with that horrible load off my +shoulders, I still am bound, hand and foot.” + +“Are you married, Joe?” + +“Yes, John. You see, when a fellow is in hiding among the Indians, with a +price set upon his head, and is therefore afraid to go home, he’s nothing +but a fugitive from justice; he expects to spend his life there, and +never see the face of another white woman; and when there are scores of +pretty Indian girls in sight—” + +John Ranger jumped to his feet, his fists clinched and his eyes glaring. + +“You don’t mean to tell me that my brother is married to—to a—squaw?” + +There was ineffable scorn in his tone and manner. It was now Joe’s turn +to sink upon the ground and bury his face in his hands. When he again +looked at his brother, there was an expression of age and anguish upon +his face which had not been there before. + +“I am the husband of an Indian woman, and the father of seven half-breed +children,” he said with the air of a guilty man on trial for his life. +“But there are extenuating circumstances, John. My wife was no common +squaw. If you care for me at all, you will not apply that epithet to the +mother of my children. She was the daughter of a Mandan chief, who had +large dealings with the Hudson Bay Company, and who sent her to England +to be educated. You’d hardly think it to see her now, though; for the +Indian women fall back into aboriginal customs when they leave the haunts +of civilization to return to their people and take up life, especially as +mothers, among their own kind and kin. At least, that is what Wahnetta +did.” + +John Ranger groaned. “My God! has it come to this?” he cried, looking the +picture of despair. + +“If you had been in my place, you would have married her yourself, John. +Nobody has a right to judge another; for no one knows what he will do +till he is tried.” + +“Don’t you regret the marriage, Joe?” + +“It is too late for regrets. The deed is done, and I cannot get away from +my fate. Shall we part as friends and brothers? Or is there an impassable +gulf between us?” + +There was an unspoken appeal in his tone, far stronger than words, which +John Ranger remembered for many a day. But he refused his brother’s +proffered hand, and said hoarsely, as he sprang to his feet: “Don’t, at +your peril, let anybody know that you are my brother!” + +He wheeled upon his heel and was gone. + + + + +XXII + +_THE SQUAW MAN_ + + +Captain Ranger overtook his train at a late hour, still nursing his +towering wrath. His face was livid, and his breathing stertorous. +Snatching the ox-whip from the hands of Jean and frightening the +discouraged cattle into the semblance of an attempt at hurry by the cruel +vehemence with which he belabored their lash-beflecked hides, he urged +them forward, never once relaxing his attacks with the whip till he had +rushed them over the uneven road and rocks for six or seven miles. + +“Daddie is in a terrible tantrum over something very unusual,” said Jean. +“Do you know what is the matter?” she asked aside, addressing Sally +O’Dowd. + +“No, Jean; unless he had some hot words with that post-trader. I know +he thought ten dollars a hundred for flour was robbery. And think of a +dollar a pound for dried peaches!” + +“Daddie’s not idiot enough to work himself into a fever over a trifle +like that,” answered Jean. “But suppose he has been thrown into a passion +by anybody, the poor half-sick and half-famished oxen ought not to be +punished for it. He reminds me of an old Kentucky slave-owner who got +so mad because one of his sons failed to pass his first exams at West +Point that he went out, as soon as he heard about it, and cruelly whipped +a nigger.” And falling back to the family team, beside which Hal was +trudging, whip in hand, striving to keep the jaded cattle close behind +his father’s oxen, she dropped hastily on one knee on the wagon-tongue +and climbed nimbly to a seat. + +“That trader is still sitting by the roadside,” she cried to Sally, who +was trudging through the sand. “He’s digging the earth with a jack-knife +or dirk, or some other sharp implement, and seems quite as savage and out +of humor as daddie. Wonder what daddie said to him.” + +One by one the wagons passed the solitary trader, who had climbed to a +low ledge of rocks, where he sat as silent as the sun. His knife had +fallen to the ground and lay glittering at his feet. His broad sombrero +shaded his face. + +The sudden rebound from the great happiness that had been his when first +informed that he was not a murderer and an outlaw, to the abject position +of a spurned and degraded “squaw man” seemed more than he could bear. “I +am not a murderer, though, and that’s some comfort,” he moaned. “But +I am still a Pariah,—an outcast from my own people. What will my dear +mother think of me when John acquaints her with the facts? What will my +father say or do?” + +It is well that Mother Nature, in her wisdom and mercy, has provided a +limit to human suffering, else everybody in this world would at times +become insane. + +Cicadas gave forth their rasping notes in the dry grass, and a colony +of prairie dogs played hide-and-seek over the uneven streets above an +underground settlement hard by. A badger peeped cautiously from the mouth +of his sagebrush-guarded den, and a rattlesnake crawled unnoticed past +his feet. + +“I don’t blame John for being disappointed and angry,” he said aloud, +“but I am amazed at his lack of charity. If he could have seen and known +Wahnetta as I did, at the time of our marriage, he would have been +pleased with my choice. But it is too late now. Her girlish grace and +beauty are gone, and one could hardly distinguish her from any of the +other pappoose-burdened, camas-digging squaws that abound in spots in the +land of the Latter-Day Saints. I might send her back, with the children, +to the remnant of her tribe among the Bad Lands, but the act would be +infamous. No, Joseph Ranger; you must take your medicine.” + +He thought of his joyous exultation at the time he had won the +accomplished and graceful Indian princess, whom half-a-dozen +distinguished braves and as many handsome white traders had sought in +marriage; of her trusting preference for him; of their joyous honeymoon; +and of the herd of beautiful horses with which he had purchased her for +his chosen bride, thus making her a slave. He winced as he thought of the +legal status of his wife and children. + +He blushed with shame as he thought of her loyalty to him through all the +years of her transformation from a lithe and pretty maiden of sixteen, +whom every man admired, to the shapeless and slovenly specimen of her +people, of whom he was now ashamed. He thought bitterly yet lovingly of +the numerous children she had borne him uncomplainingly, while wandering +from place to place in quest of roots and berries to save them from +starvation in their early married years, when game would be scarce and +his fickle fortunes had vanished for months at a stretch. + +He remembered with what loving pride he had named his first two children +John and Annie, in honor of the brother and sister for whom his heart had +so often hungered. “And the end is this!” he cried, noting with a start +that the sun was down. “Why did I name them John and Annie? I might have +known better. I was a fool. And yet why should they be spurned on account +of their Indian blood? If, instead of marrying Wahnetta, I had refused to +make her my lawful wife, would my white relations have spurned me now?” + +His childhood days passed and repassed before his mental vision like a +panorama. + +His family had been proud of him. What sacrifices they had made to send +him to college, and with what base ingratitude he had repaid their +loyalty and love! He had worse than wasted his opportunities, he thought, +as he gazed abroad over the mighty landscape, bounded on the one hand by +the wide basin of the receded and still slowly receding waters of Great +Salt Lake, and on the other by the Rocky Mountains,—so near that they +obstructed his vision, though he well knew their extent and majesty. +“This won’t do!” cried the wretched man, as he started homeward, reeling +like a drunken man. + +“Papa!” cried a childish voice. “Do hurry home! We are so hungry! Where +have you been for so long?” + +“All right, Johnnie; I’m coming. Papa forgot.” + + * * * * * + +In a large military tent, or annex, at the rear end of the trader’s tent +sat Wahnetta, his wife. He shuddered at the thought. And yet why should +he? Was she not as good as he? Had all her years of faithful servitude +counted for nothing? + +A meal of boiled buffalo meat and vegetables, with bread, coffee, butter, +and eggs, was waiting on a table of rough boards resting on trestles, and +covered with an oilcloth that had once been white. + +In one corner, beside a big sheet-iron cook-stove, sat, or rather +crouched, the woman whom he had made his wife. She was not yet thirty +years of age, but all traces of her girlish youth and beauty of face +and figure were gone. Her dress, a cheap and garish print, was open at +the neck and arms, and hung in slovenly folds about her fat form and +moccasined feet. + +“Why in thunder don’t you keep yourself and the young ones clean and +dressed up?” asked her husband, as he dropped into his seat at table. +“You keep yourself like a Digger squaw!” + +“I should belie the customs of my people if I aped the airs of white +folks when I must live like an Indian, Joseph Addicks!” said the woman, +in well-modulated English, as she arose and approached the table, +coffee-pot in hand. + +“I loathe and abhor the very sight of you!” he exclaimed with a savage +glare. + +“You didn’t talk like that when I was young and pretty, Joseph! If you +had tried it once, you would not have had a chance to repeat it then. +Perhaps,” she added bitterly, a moment later, as she filled his plate, +“perhaps I could have retained my charms if you had taken me back to +London and kept me within the pale of civilization in which I was +educated. You said before you married me that you would take me back to +Canada, where you said your people lived, who would be glad to welcome +me. How well you have kept your promise let these surroundings answer. I +married you believing that your people would be my people, and your God +my God. And,” looking around her, “this is the result!” + +The sleeves of her gaudy dress were rolled back above the elbows, +exposing her fat yet muscular arms, not over-clean; and the dingy pipe +she had been smoking protruded from the open bosom of her gown. + +“Where have you been during all this busy afternoon, Joseph?” she asked, +still standing. + +“To hell!” + +“Your missionaries have taught me that people only go to hell from +choice, Joseph; that is, if there is any worse hell anywhere than we +are in all the time,—which I love the Great Spirit too well to believe. +It seems to me we are compelled to take the punishment we bring upon +ourselves here and now.” + +“You haven’t any right to think, you loathsome, disgusting—” + +“Stop, Joseph Addicks! This is, you say, a white man’s country now. Will +you prove it by behaving yourself like a gentleman? I didn’t live for +four years in a white man’s country for nothing.” + +He arose and left the table without a word. His wife had seen him in +moods like this before. + +“Come, John; come, Annie; take your seats at table. You must be half +famished.” + +Four or five smaller children as dusky as herself were playing on the +earthen floor; and, leaning helplessly against a pyramid of flour sacks, +lashed in Indian style to its birchen cradle, was a pappoose of three +months, defencelessly enduring an attack of mosquitoes on its face and +eyes. + +“My father was a fool for sending me to college,” thought Joseph Ranger, +who, like many others that go wrong, was ready to blame everything and +everybody except himself. “The university should have stopped that hazing +before it began, so I couldn’t have had that fracas.” + +“Why didn’t you eat your dinner, Joseph?” asked his wife, after she had +fed the children. + +“Because I hate this accursed life too heartily to have any appetite for +food.” + +“Haven’t I always urged you to go with us back to civilization, Joseph?” + +“With you for a wife? You don’t know what you are talking about.” + +Then—but it was not the first time since Wahnetta had become his property +by purchase—he fired himself up with the vile whiskey his company held +in stock, and, taking advantage of the English common law, at that time +an acknowledged authority in every State and Territory in the Union, +he provided himself with a stick, no thicker than his thumb, and beat +Wahnetta, his wife, long and brutally. + + * * * * * + +Captain Ranger had allowed his anger to cool before the sun went down. To +his credit be it spoken, he was very much ashamed of himself. “I was like +an enraged, unreasoning animal,” he exclaimed aloud. “I might at least +have repulsed Joe with kindness. I will write to my father and mother and +tell them that my brother who was lost is alive and is found. But I’ll +say nothing about the domestic side of his history. It would only grieve +them all, and they couldn’t help matters. It is none of my business, +anyhow.” + +But he could not sleep. The memory of his and Joseph’s boyhood days +reproached him, and he thought lovingly, in spite of himself, of the +younger brother of whom he had been so proud. Many incidents of their +childhood, long forgotten, passed before him with startling vividness. + +“Joe saved my life once,” he said, half audibly. “I would have been +drowned as sure as fate, when I broke through the ice that day, if he +hadn’t saved me at the risk of his own life. Dear boy! I’ll saddle Sukie +and go back to see him in the morning.” With this resolution settled in +his mind, he fell asleep; but his sleep was fitful. Sometimes the sad, +sweet face of his gentle Annie would bend over him, awakening him with a +start. A conviction settled more and more strongly upon his mind that he +had cruelly wronged his brother, and he would be allowed no rest till he +should atone. + +Once, long before morning, he saw himself face to face with a raging +buffalo bull. It was without eyes, and gazed at him through sightless +sockets, and shook its formidable head at him with as much certainty of +aim as though its thick and darkened skull were ablaze with light. The +beast held the only vantage-ground,—an open plain,—and at his back rose a +sheer and inaccessible mountain, up which there was no chance of escape. + + + + +XXIII + +_THE SQUAW ASSERTS HER RIGHTS_ + + +The morning found the post-trader with a raging headache. For several +minutes after awakening to consciousness he remained motionless, not +realizing time or place. + +“Oh, mother! my head, my head!” he exclaimed, as he locked his fingers +above his throbbing temples. Never before since his marriage had he +uttered a cry of pain without bringing Wahnetta to his side. Now no one +noticed his groaning. He raised himself upon his elbow and gazed through +the open door of his sleeping apartment upon the broad and dusty plain. +The sun was already an hour high. Numerous campers had struck their +tents, and the teams were moving toward the farther West. He turned +his gaze within the tent and regarded Wahnetta with a look and feeling +of disgust. She had prepared his breakfast while he slept, and had fed +their ravenous brood,—all save the baby in its Indian basket, which was +whining pitifully as it blinked its eyes in a helpless attempt to drive +away the flies. + +“Why don’t you keep your young one quiet?” roared her husband, savagely. + +“I’ve been doing the best I could,” said the woman, meekly. “I’ve gotten +all the children settled outside in the shade, studying their lessons, +except this poor little pappoose, and I’ll ’tend to his wants as soon as +I have disposed of the worst baby in the lot,—and that’s you.” + +“What in thunder has come over you, woman?” + +“Nothing.” + +“Have you had breakfast?” + +“Food would choke me, Joseph Addicks! See what you did last night!” She +threw back her heavy mass of torn and tangled hair, exposing an ugly +bruise on her temple. “If it were not for these children, I’d leave you +and strike out for myself. But as I cannot get away from them, I will +stay by them, as many a woman in all countries is obliged to do under +like circumstances till she either dies or can run away. But I tell you +right here and now that I will never take another blow from you or any +other man.” + +“I’d like to see you help yourself.” + +“I’ll help myself by laying you dead at my feet! No man who respects +himself will marry a woman not his equal, or if she is of an inferior +race. I didn’t know this when I was a foolish young girl, but I +understand it now. In marrying an Indian girl you did not elevate her one +atom, but you degraded us both. I now tell you to your teeth that I hate +you, and you can’t help it.” + +“I never would have married you if I had known that I was not an outlaw. +I thought myself a murderer till yesterday. I know better now. I am sorry +I beat you, though. I wouldn’t have done it if I hadn’t been in a drunken +frenzy. I’m in a better temper this morning; but oh, my head, my head!” + +“Let it ache! So does mine, but I can’t lie abed and groan. I am +compelled to look after the family’s needs, sick or well.” + +Then, womanlike, though the poor little pappoose fretted pitifully in +its Indian basket, his wife brought cold water and towels and bathed his +throbbing forehead. + +“I’m better now,” he said, as his temples cooled. “Will you forgive me +for beating you last night, Wahnetta?” + +She looked at him in astonishment. Never before, though he had often +bestowed indignities upon her that he would not have inflicted upon a +favorite dog or horse, had he addressed her thus, or shown any sign of +repentance. + +“If I had kept my promise, Wahnetta, as I should have done, I would +have taken you as a bride to London or Montreal and replaced you in the +world of civilization, in which you were educated by your fond, mistaken +father. But I couldn’t do it, because of my daily dread of the hangman’s +rope. I do not wonder that you despise me. I did not realize that I had +become that thing that every self-respecting man of the West abhors,—a +‘squaw-man’!” + +“Don’t you dare to say ‘squaw’ to me, Joseph Addicks! It is an epithet no +white man uses except in contempt. When we were married I was your equal +in education, your superior in personal appearance, and your match in +ambition. I now see that I was far ahead of you in moral character, for +I was never a fugitive from what the world calls justice. But why didn’t +you confide all this to me long ago?” + +He laughed derisively. “I knew the treacherous Indian nature too well, +woman; and I wouldn’t trust you now if it were in your power to betray +me; but there is nothing now to betray.” + +“And I am no longer afraid of you, Joseph Addicks.” + +“My name is not Addicks. My brother passed through here yesterday. His +name is John Ranger, and I am his long-lost brother, Joseph. He is taking +his family to the Territory of Oregon.” + +He arose finally and made a tolerable breakfast, she, for the first time +since their marriage, taking her seat at the table beside him as he ate. + +“If you’d keep yourself clean and tidy, like a self-respecting white +woman, you wouldn’t appear so—so Injuny, and I wouldn’t be so very much +ashamed of you. I’m sick to death of this bondage, Wahnetta. I, too, was +a young and unsophisticated fool when we were married. What will you +take to let me out of it honorably? I want to do everything I can to +atone; but something must be done. I will not longer endure this mode of +existence.” + +“I have an idea, Joseph. My inheritance from my father arrived several +days ago. I hadn’t thought of claiming it for myself, but I will now. +Give me a letter of credit for the whole of it, with an outfit for +travelling, and I will go, with the children, to a village on the +Willamette River called Portland, in the Territory of Oregon. You know +Dr. McLoughlin well, and so do I. There’s a convent in Portland, where I +can place the girls, and a brothers’ school near by for the boys. I’ll +get a boarding-place, not too far away, for myself and the little tots +that are too young to be in school. I will soon recruit if I can get a +chance to rest up and dress myself as the white women in my position do. +You won’t know me in three months after I have had a chance to live in +keeping with my station.” + +She paused, panting because of her own audacity. Never before had she +ventured to give utterance to so long a speech in his presence. He saw a +ray of hope and pursued it eagerly. + +“I have a good wagon, and a fine four-mule team that is idle,” he said +musingly. “I guess we can manage to make the change.” + +“What will you do, Joseph? Can you stay here when we are gone?” + +“I shouldn’t think you’d care to consider me after all that’s happened, +Wahnetta.” + +“You cannot give me back my heart, my husband. I can never be happy +without you. But, savagely as I spoke a while ago, my heart is full of +love for you, and the thought of leaving you alone in this God-forsaken +wilderness brings back all the tenderness of the past.” + +“I can take care of myself, I reckon.” + +“Of course; if I can take care of myself and seven children, you ought to +be able to get along alone, or hire somebody to help you,” she exclaimed, +straightening her shoulders, and revealing long-lost or hidden traces +of her girlhood’s beauty in the light of an awakening hope. “I know the +tendency of my race, or any other, to hark back to primitive conditions +under adverse circumstances. The time has now come when the children must +have the social and educational advantages of a higher civilization, or +they’ll be Indians to the end of the chapter. As you will not permit me +to take them to the East, I am glad that I can take them to the farthest +West.” + +“How soon can you be ready to start?” + +“To-morrow, or as soon as the team is ready. We’ll pose as Indians till +we get to Oregon. We can camp in the Portland woods till an outfit of +clothing can be prepared in which you wouldn’t be ashamed to see your +wife and children appear before kings.” + +The next morning early, while the Ranger team was yet in camp, and its +Captain was not yet awake, an Indian woman, with an unkempt swarm of +dusky children, passed him on their westward way, unrecognized. + + * * * * * + +“Daddie’s in a raging fever!” cried Jean, arousing the Little Doctor. + +“We’ll fetch him out all right,” said the doctor, as the frightened +children shivered around the fire in the crisp morning air, silent and +awe-stricken. “I saw an Indian ‘sweat-house’ near the river-bank after +we had encamped last night. We’ll fumigate it, and give your father +a thorough steaming, children. Don’t be frightened. He’s caught the +mountain fever. Luckily, I have on hand a lot of crude brimstone. I +gathered it near Hell Gate.” + +“But we mustn’t use the sweat-house without the consent of the Indians,” +said Scotty. “Yonder comes a lot of them on horseback now. I’ll see them +and make terms.” + +The terms having been arranged satisfactorily, the Little Doctor +proceeded to make preparations for the reception of her patient. + +When the inner surface of the dugout had reached a white heat, the fire +was permitted to die, and the place was cleansed of coals and ashes. +It was then tested by a thermometer; and when cooled to the proper +temperature, the Captain, now almost incoherent from fever, was wrapped +in blankets and placed, feet foremost, within its depths, where he lay +with his head enveloped with cold, wet towels, leaving only a small +aperture at the mouth of the “infernal pit,” as he called it, for air. +Thus situated, and perspiring at every pore, he fell asleep. + +A delicious, restful languor followed his awakening, and he was aroused, +against his protest, to be removed by willing attendants to a closed +tent, where he was packed in cold, wet sheets, and left to rest for +another hour or more. + +“His heart has good action, and he’ll come out all right; but we can’t +break camp to-day,” said the Little Doctor. + +By evening the Captain found his fever conquered. But he was not strong +enough to ride back to his brother’s trading-post for the amicable +interview he had planned; so, like most of our “ships that pass in +the night,” his opportunity was gone; and as time wore on, his good +resolutions vanished also. + +The long-drawn monotony of the journey caused the entries in her journal +to become exceedingly monotonous to Jean, who often neglected a duty she +would have highly prized had she been able to foresee the value of the +record she was making under constant protest. + +On the tenth of July she wrote as follows: “We are now in Utah Territory, +which is the first organized part of Uncle Sam’s dominions we have set +foot upon since leaving the Missouri River. Our hunters to-day killed +an antelope and a brace of ‘fool’ hens, or sage-chickens, which our +half-famished crowd cooked and ate with relish. + +“What a way we human animals have of preying upon the brute creation, as +we falsely name the mild-eyed entities which we must slay and eat that +we may live! I have no heart to write. I can only think of the beautiful +eyes of that antelope we have killed and eaten, and of the sage-hens +that were not enough afraid of a boot that Yank threw at them to get out +of his way. And we called them ‘fools’ because they trusted us, who, as +compared to them, are knaves.” + +After crossing the Rocky Mountains through a huge and devious gap[2] by +ascents and descents so gradual that nothing but the changing trend of +the water-currents marked the point or points of demarcation, the train +reached a height overlooking the valley of the Great Salt Lake,—the +“Promised Land” of the Latter-Day Saints, who even in that early day had +made it, in many spots, to blossom as the rose. + +The almost intolerable heat of midday was followed at night by cold and +marrow-piercing winds, making both day and night uncomfortable. + +“No wonder the immigrants are ill, Mr. Burns,” said Mrs. McAlpin, one +evening, when, as she could not politely avoid him, she sought to control +the conversation. “Nothing saves any of us but the snow-laden air from +these grand old mountains. I have stood on the Himalayas, where the +Mahatmas are said to hold sway, I have beheld the shimmering beauty of +Egyptian skies, I have floated among the silent wonders of the Dead Sea; +but the majestic beauty of these Rocky Mountains transcends them all.” + +“I’ve just left a family of Mormons, where there is a bishop ill with the +fever. The faithful were trying to cure him by the ridiculous custom of +laying on of hands,” said Burns, who had sought her company, hoping to +“talk it out.” + +“Not necessarily ridiculous,” answered the lady. “If a faithful Catholic +crowd can change a little vial of mummy-dry blood into liquid form in +answer to faith and prayer, why can’t an equally faithful Mormon crowd +heal the sick through the same power of concentration, which is only +another name for faith?” and the Little Doctor hurried away. + + + + +XXIV + +_A MORMON WOMAN_ + + +Newly created Mormon settlements came occasionally into view, the long, +low, ashy-white adobe houses of the Latter-Day Saints proclaiming, by the +front doors to be counted in their dwellings, the number of wives each +patriarch possessed. + +One cold, blustering evening a lone woman, middle-aged, swarthy, sinewy, +and tall, came into the camp afoot. A bundle of bedding strapped to her +back gave her an uncanny appearance as she shrank into the shadows. A +reticule of generous dimensions depended from her neck in front and +reached below her waist-line, containing her little stock of clothing and +provisions. + +“I am making my way to the Northern Oregon country,” she said, meaning +the great expanse of territory which at that time embraced the present +States of Oregon, Washington, and Idaho, with a large slice of the +present State of Montana included. “President Young saw I was going +crazy,” she added, throwing aside her reticence after being warmed and +fed. “I wasn’t the least mite dangerous to have around, as I wasn’t +violent; but I cried and took on so, after I had to give my husband away +in marriage to another woman, that I scared the hull church into a fear +that I’d upset polygamy. So President Young said I might have a permit to +leave the country.” + +“Do you mind telling us all about it?” asked Sally O’Dowd. + +“It can all be summed up in one word,—polygamy,” she exclaimed, glancing +furtively around. “Are there any Mormons about?” + +“No, madam,” said the Captain. “The boss of this combination is a pagan, +and he wouldn’t hurt a Christian. You have no cause to be afraid. But +you’d better not tell us any secrets. The proper way to keep a secret is +to keep it to one’s self, unless you want to keep it going.” + +“I am a Mormon, good and true,” she began again, rising to her feet +and spreading her thin hands to the blaze; “but when my husband went +into polygamy, which it was his Christian duty to do, according to the +Scripture (and I’m not blaming him), the Devil got the upper hand of me, +and I couldn’t stand it. You see, they made me go to the Endowment House +and give my own husband away in marriage to another woman; and that, too, +after we had stood together at the altar, in the little church in my +father’s parish, ever so long before, and swore before God and a score +of witnesses that we would forsake all others and keep ourselves only to +each other as long as we both should live. Polygamy may be all right for +people who haven’t made such vows; but I know it was not right for us. +What do you think, Mr. Captain?” + +“I think that women have had their hearts cultivated at the expense of +their heads quite long enough,” was his emphatic response. + +“I thought the Mormons didn’t compel any woman to give her husband away +in marriage against her will,” said Jean. + +The woman uttered a sharp, rasping, staccato laugh that betokened +incipient insanity. + +“There are other ways to kill a dog besides choking him to death on +butter!” she cried, throwing her arms wildly about, and casting grotesque +shadows upon those sitting behind her. “They told me that as a good +Mormon I was bound to obey the mandates of the Church; that my eternal +salvation, and my husband’s also, depended upon obedience. And they said +it so often, and prayed over me so long and hard, that at last I said +I’d do it. Then they held me to my promise. But my heart would beat, and +the world would move; so in spite of what I did in the Endowment House, +I would go about and tell my woes to everybody that would listen. And I +was getting to be a scandal in Zion, so that by-and-by, when a lot of +Gentiles got to making a fuss about it,—they made it hot for polygamy +through my story,—the elders took it up. But they couldn’t tie my tongue, +for the Devil had hold of it, and he just kept it wagging. The cases of +Abraham and Jacob and David didn’t fit my case at all, for they hadn’t +made any such vows.” + +The woman, as if suddenly recollecting herself, stopped speaking, and +glared at her awe-stricken listeners with an insane gleam in her fiery +eyes. + +“Oh, my head, my head!” she cried, clasping her hands tightly over her +temples. “The Devil has caught me again!” + +“You’d better not talk any more to-night,” said the Little Doctor, +soothingly. “And you cannot go on till morning. I’ll make a warm, snug +bed for you in one of the wagons. After you’ve had a sound sleep and a +good breakfast, you can go on your way refreshed.” + +“But I’ve got to talk it out. You’re like all the rest! You want me to be +quiet, when the rocks and stones would cry out against me if I did!” + +“You’ll take a drink of our ‘Number Six,’ won’t you?” asked the Little +Doctor. “Here it is. I’ve mixed and sweetened it for you.” + +She grasped the decoction and gulped it eagerly. + +“Thanks,” she said, returning the cup. “I must be going now. I’ve stayed +too long already. The Danites will be after me. Do you think any of them +are in hearing now? President Young put me under their surveillance +before they’d let me start. He put his hands on my head and blessed me, +too. Talk about your popes! Why, Brigham Young can discount a ten-acre +field full of Apostolic successors, and be the father of a whole regiment +of American progeny in the bargain. I know you think I’m crazy, but +there’s plenty of method in my madness. I’m not half as crazy as I act +and talk.” + +“Will the Danites protect you till you reach the end of your journey?” +asked Jean. “Are you sure?” + +“Not if they catch me among Gentiles. President Young took precautions +to prevent me from talking to outsiders, he thought. I mustn’t be seen +here. But I must tell you before I go that his blessing came direct from +God. It filled my very marrow-bones with light. It was like phosphorus in +the dark, or diamonds in the sunlight. I felt like a bird! No man can do +these things that President Young is doing unless God be with him.” + +“Do you believe that Brigham Young is really inspired of God?” asked +Mary, incredulously. + +“It is by their fruits that we know them, miss. Zion has been greatly +blessed under the ministrations and guidance of President Young.” + +“Then why do you wish to escape from his kingdom?” asked Marjorie. + +“Because I was not good enough to endure polygamy; I was too great a +sinner. I couldn’t obey the gospel and keep my senses.” + +“Did the thought never strike you that the fault might be in the gospel, +instead of your heart or head?” asked Hal. + +“The High and Holy One of Israel cannot err,” she replied, shaking her +head, and again waving her long arms to and fro in the smoky air. “There +are disbelievers in this camp, and I cannot tarry. May Heaven guide and +protect you all, and bring you into the holy faith of the Latter-Day +Saints! O blessed Lord, direct these souls into Thy kingdom before it is +everlastingly too late!” + +She waved her arms over their heads once more, and turning suddenly, +vanished like a deer into the darkness. + +“That poor misguided creature has the spirit of a martyr,” said Captain +Ranger, after a painful silence. + +“It is a good deal easier for some folks to preach than to practise,” +exclaimed Sally O’Dowd. + +“There are kernels of truth in all ’ologies,” said Scotty. + +“As a man thinketh, so is he,” exclaimed Mary. + +“She is striving to save her immortal soul. All religions have their +origin in human selfishness,” remarked the Captain, dryly. + +“Better say they originate in human needs,” replied Jean; “but +selfishness is universal, all the same.” + +“Yes. Selfishness is a necessary attribute of human existence,” said the +Little Doctor, punching the dying fire into a blaze. “Don’t you think so, +Mr. Burns?” + +“I quite agree with you, madam. Selfishness belongs to human environment, +and is as much a part of us as hunger, thirst, love, or ambition. Nothing +is made in vain.” + +“Not even sin?” asked Mary. + +“Not even sin!” echoed Jean. “This would have been a very useless world +if there had been no wrongs to set right in it, and no suffering to +relieve. Nobody could appreciate heat if it were not for cold, or light +if there were no darkness. Hunger compels us to search for food; thirst +seeks satisfaction in drink, and ambition in the search for personal +advancement. It often unconsciously assists the weak by its efforts, when +it intends to help nothing but the personal selfishness that inspires it. +Everything, both good and evil, is a part of the eternal programme.” + +“Where did you imbibe such ideas as you often express on this subject?” +asked her father, a great pride in her springing afresh in his heart. + +“From the stars, I guess, or from the angels. Or maybe they were born +within me. I never could reconcile myself to the generally accepted idea +of gratitude. To thank God for blessings we enjoy that are not accessible +to others, to me is nothing else but blasphemy.” + +“Then you cannot say with the poet,— + + “‘Some hae meat, and canna eat, + And some would eat that want it; + But we hae meat, and we can eat, + Sae let the Lord be thankit!’” + +said Mrs. Benson, who had been looking on in silence. + +“Indeed I can’t!” exclaimed Jean. “But we’ve all heard just such prayers +and praises through all our lives.” + +“Nobody in normal health has any right to be thankful for anything unless +he earns it,” said the Captain; “and then he has nobody to thank but +himself.” + +“He ought to be thankful for health, at least,” suggested Marjorie. + +“If you’d follow your logic to its natural sequence, Captain, my +occupation would be gone,” laughed the Little Doctor. “It is as unnatural +and unscientific to be sick as to be hungry; therefore there should be no +doctors.” + +“I can see no analogy between your conclusions and my observations,” said +the Captain. + +“I can,” cried Jean. + +“Every error under the sun is mixed with good, or it couldn’t exist at +all,” said Scotty. “But the truth remains that the Universe with all that +it contains exemplifies the Divine Idea. God IS. + + “‘All are but parts of one stupendous whole, + Whose _mother_ Nature is, and God the soul.’ + +“You see, I’ve altered the thought a little, Mrs. McAlpin; but I look +to the shade of Pope for pardon. If he were with us to-day, he would +doubtless accept my amendment. We can’t know much about the mystery we +call God. It makes little difference to the humanity of the various +nations of the earth, all of whom must worship the Divine Idea, whether +it be called Vishnu, Chrishna, Isis, Allah, Jehovah—” + +“These learned disquisitions over things unknown make me very weary,” +yawned Jean. + +“And border on blasphemy,” added Mary. + +“We had better go to bed,” exclaimed the Captain, rising. “These +questions have taken a wide range, and we’ve all followed that poor +Mormon devotee beyond her depth and our own.” + +“But such discussions relieve the monotony of travel and sometimes lead +to independent thought,” said Lengthy, who had sat squat upon his heels +and haunches, a silent listener. + +“God be with our Mormon sister,” said Scotty, rising and adjusting his +crutches. “Let us hope for her a safe journey to some friendly spot where +polygamy ceases from troubling, and the saints are at rest!” + +“That’s from the Bible,” cried Hal. + +“Nobody can conceive of a better method of expressing an idea than that +modelled after the language of the Bible,” was the ready retort. “If I +were as pronounced an agnostic as our Captain pretends to be, which I am +not, I’d read my Bible daily, if for no other reason than to improve +my vocabulary. Read it, Hal; study its precepts; imitate its language; +revere its antiquity; emulate the example of its good men; shun the sins +of its Davids and Solomons; fill your mind with the wisdom of its Isaiahs +and Deborahs; and, above all, obey its Ten Commandments and follow the +teachings of the Sermon on the Mount and the Golden Rule.” + +“I’ll see spooks to-night!” cried Jean. + + * * * * * + +As these chronicles will have no further dealings with the Mormon +refugee, it is well to add, in closing the incident, that twenty years +after the episode had passed and was almost forgotten, some of the +members of the long disbanded Ranger train, who were passing through +eastern Oregon, on their way to the mines of northern Idaho, found +her keeping a “Travellers’ Rest” in the bunchgrass country, where, as +cook, chambermaid, waiter, and general scullion, she was supporting her +repentant consort, who dutifully received the cash given by her guests in +exchange for such food for man and beast as her unique hostelry afforded. + + + + +XXV + +_JEAN LOSES HER WAY_ + + +A stanch but frail-looking ferry-boat waited to carry the Ranger train +across Green River. + +Jean, who, after her mother’s death, had developed a strong propensity +for daily hours of solitude, looked longingly at the desolate scenery +while her father’s train was awaiting its turn at the ferry, and, noting +the great table-rock that still overlooks the river, climbed unaided to +its top, where she became so deeply absorbed in contemplating the wild, +weird character of the scenery about her that she did not see that the +afternoon was waning, until the sun was down. + +“The Psalmist wondered at the mystery of the heavens, but I marvel at +the mysteries of earth,” she said. “Tell me, ye rugged rocks, and you, +ye waters of the desert, the secret of existence, if you can. Am I alone +with Thee, O God? Or are these rough-ribbed rocks, like me, instinct with +life?” + +“You’d better hurry, young lady, or you’ll miss the last trip of the +ferry-boat for the night,” cried a voice that seemed to come from beneath +her feet. Thoroughly frightened, she hastened to retrace her steps. How +she regained the river-bank she could never recollect; but when she stood +panting at the water’s edge, and beheld through the gloaming the last +of her father’s wagons ascending the opposite steep, it was past the +twilight hour, and one by one the stars came out amid the circling blue +of the bending sky. The roar of the waters was deafening. + +“Can I do anything for you, miss?” + +It was the same voice that had reached her from beneath the rock. She +looked up and beheld a tall, sunburned young man, bowing and lifting a +broad sombrero, who seemed as much embarrassed over the novel situation +as herself. + +“I am glad to see the face of a white man, sir. I was frightened half out +of my senses till I saw you.” + +“And are you not frightened now?” + +“Yes, a little bit. There are too many Indians stalking about to allow me +to feel exactly comfortable. But I shall rely upon you for protection, +sir.” + +“I suppose other trains will be along presently. They will encamp on this +side of the river for the night, so you will have company.” + +“We are away ahead of the other trains, sir. We took a cut-off in the +mountains.” + +“But you are afraid of the Indians?” + +“No, sir; not now, because—” She stopped as she looked into his kindly +face and caught the amused gleam of a pair of piercing eyes. + +“Because—why?” + +“Because you talk and act like a gentleman, sir. I am not afraid of a +gentleman.” She paused again, surprised at her own composure. Her eyes +fell, and a deep flush overspread her features, as the thought flashed +through her mind that she was utterly in the power of this stranger. + +“Can you ferry me across the river to-night, sir? My daddie will pay you +well for your trouble.” + +“I could not attempt it. We never risk running the ferry after sundown. +Guess we can make you comfortable on this side till morning.” + +“But there is no house where I can stop, and I haven’t any money. But +that’s nothing new for girls. They never have money.” + +“Oh, yes, they do, often. In the old country, where I came from, girls +often inherit money; and some of them own very large estates.” + +“But only by courtesy, sir.” + +He smiled at her frank simplicity. “You are sure of a safe night’s +lodging and a speedy return to the custody of the man you call daddie. +What ever possessed you to bestow upon him such a name?” + +“It was merely a notion, and is peculiar to myself in our family. But, +sir, what ever shall I do? Daddie will be frightened out of his wits; and +so will Mame and Marjorie and Hal!” and Jean began to weep convulsively. + +“There, there, don’t cry! There is nothing to be afraid of. I have a home +in the bank yonder. It isn’t a palace,—only a cave, or dugout, in the +side of the rock,—but it is clean and dry and warm. You’ll be as securely +protected there as in your father’s camp. I could do no better, under the +circumstances, for my mother or my Queen.” + +“Are you English, sir?” + +“I am proud to answer, Yes.” + +“You don’t look like the subject of a woman ruler.” + +“Why not?” + +“Because you seem like a sovereign in your own right.” + +“So I am, in America.” + +“I mean to be a sovereign American, myself, some day.” + +He laughed and shook his head. + +“I hope you are never going to become one of those discontented women +whom I’ve heard of in America, who are engaged in a perpetual quarrel +with their Creator because they were not born men.” + +“Have you seen such women in America, sir?” + +“No; but I have read some newspapers that made the charge.” + +“Do you believe everything that you read in the papers? Daddie don’t.” + +“I can’t say that I do.” + +“God understands what He is about when He creates a girl, sir; and God +didn’t create us to be the vassals of anybody. All we ask is a chance to +do our best in everything, ourselves being the judges as to what that +best shall be.” + +“How old are you?” + +“Almost sixteen.” + +“You act with the charm of a child, but you talk like a grown-up woman. +Are all the girls of your family equally clever?” + +“God never made two trees, or even two leaves of a tree, exactly alike. +You couldn’t expect two persons to be alike.” + +The stranger, conscious of a peculiar interest in this new and original +character, felt a tumultuous sensation in the region of his heart. + +“I am hungry, sir. But as I haven’t any money, I must ask you to trust me +till to-morrow.” + +He was leading her toward his dugout as they talked, or rather as he +listened. He had a school-day remembrance of a pair of brown eyes like +Jean’s. He had worshipped those eyes from a distance, for their possessor +was a nobleman’s daughter with whom he had never exchanged sentiments, +and she had never bestowed a thought upon him. And here was this artless, +untaught, but wonderfully intelligent maiden, in a travel-soiled blue +calico dress, and sunbonnet to match, who seemed to him possessed of +potentialities so far in advance of any promise ever given by the object +of his earlier dreams that he spurned the thought of comparing the two as +he dwelt upon her words. His heart continued its wild tattoo, and he felt +as if walking on air. + +“Here! This way, Siwash,” he called to his Indian servant, as he paused +in front of his lodgings and tendered her a seat outside. “As you see, I +have company. Get up the very best meal the place affords. This guest and +I are to dine together.” + +The Indian grunted assent; and the simple meal of pemmican, black coffee, +army biscuit, and baked beans fresh from the covering of hot ashes in +which they had been smothered till done to a turn, which formed the +ferryman’s usual bill of fare, was supplemented by a dessert of tea-cakes +and preserved ginger, the whole arranged on a small table covered with a +white oilcloth and furnished with tin dishes and steel cutlery. + +“I trust you will excuse the accompaniments of a higher civilization, +little miss. You will find the fare plain but palatable.” + +“It is fine,” cried Jean, as she ate with the zest that a life in the +open air alone can give. “Nobody need ask for better.” + +“Will you favor me with your past history?” asked her host, after the +repast was finished. + +“There isn’t much to tell, sir. My daddie got the farthest West fever +a good while ago; but he never sold out his farm and sawmill till last +March. Then he got ready, and we started across the continent. God +saw that the journey was too hard for my dear mother, so He took her +to heaven from the Black Hills. And now, sir, will you tell me about +yourself? Were you born in London?” + +“Why do you think I was born in London?” + +“Because you remind me of my great-grandmother. She was born in London. +We call her Grannie.” + +The Indian servant had heaped some fagots of sagewood upon the hearth, +filling the little room with a pungent and not unpleasant odor, and +diffusing a delightful warmth and glow through the air, to which the +light of a pair of candles gave an eerie charm. + +“To be plain with you, I grew weary of life at college, so I ran away and +went to sea. I was a headstrong boy, and gave my mother a whole lot of +trouble.” + +He ceased speaking and bowed his head upon his hands, his elbows upon +the table. Jean saw that his fingers were long and shapely, his head was +large and well-balanced, and his abundant hair was brown and bright and +slightly curled. + +“Were you never sorry, sir?” + +“Having put my hand to the plough, or rather helm, I couldn’t afford to +turn back—or at least I thought I couldn’t—till I had made my fortune.” + +“Did you make your fortune, sir?” + +“Not till—” He checked the word that was in his heart. “I first went to +Montreal, where I fell in with a company of Hudson Bay traders, with +whom I went to the Great Northern Lakes. I soon made, and lost, several +fortunes. I have always intended to return to my mother, but the years +have come and gone; and now, at the age of twenty-four, you find me, as +you see, with another fortune to make. But it seems an uphill struggle.” + +“Do you write regularly to your mother, sir?” + +“I am sorry to be compelled to answer no; but I promise you to do better +hereafter. And now, as the evening wanes, and I must leave you to the +privileges of my castle for the night, will you tell me your name?” + +“Certainly. It is Ranger,—Jean Robinson Ranger. And you are Mr.—?” + +“Ashleigh; Ashton Ashleigh, of Ashton Place, London, England.” + +“May I write to your mother from my Oregon home, when I get there, and +tell her all I know about you?” + +“Isn’t that an odd request, Miss Ranger?” + +Jean blushed to the tips of her ears. + +“Nobody ever called me Miss Ranger before,” she said, to hide her +confusion. “My sister Mary is the Miss Ranger of our family. Yes, I did +make an unusual request; but I thought of your mother pining for news of +her son, and fancied she might be glad to hear about him, even from a +stranger. But I see that it would hardly be proper for me to write; so +please do it yourself.” + +“Write to her by all means, Miss Ranger, as I assure you I surely will. +And now,” he added, rising, “I hear your Indian maid tapping outside, +and it is time to say good-night. I trust you will sleep well and have +pleasant dreams.” + +“Good-night, Mr. Ashleigh. I thank you ever so much for all your +kindness.” + + + + +XXVI + +_LE-LE, THE INDIAN GIRL_ + + +“Nika klosh cloochman!” clucked the Indian girl. + +Jean looked at her inquiringly. + +“Nika wake cumtux Siwah wa-wa?” asked the dusky maiden, offering her hand. + +“She says she is a good Indian girl, and asks if you understand her,” +said Siwash, who was leisurely putting the room to rights. “She’s my +little sister; heap good. Ugh! Nika speak jargon?” + +“No, Siwash.” + +But the maiden’s manner, though coy, was assuring, and Jean clasped her +hand eagerly. She was a graceful, nimble, and pretty creature; and Jean +thought with a sigh of regret of the ugly transformation awaiting her +under the cares and burdens of maturity and maternity, when, no longer +like “the wild gazelle, with its nimble feet,” she would resemble other +elderly Indian women. + +“What is your name, little girl?” she asked, as the maiden dropped +gracefully upon the hearth at her feet. + +“Nika wake cumtux Boston wa-wa.” + +“She says she doesn’t understand you,” grunted Siwash. + +“Ah-to-ke-nika a-it sewar.” + +“She says she has a good heart.” + +“Why doesn’t she speak her name?” + +The girl crouched low on the hearth and spread her shapely brown fingers +before the dying embers. + +“Nika Le-Le. Nika caid.” + +“She says her name is Le-Le, and she is a slave.” + +“Your sister? and a slave?” + +“I, too, was a slave,” said Siwash, “but I bought my freedom; and when +I get ten horses of my own, I will buy Le-Le’s. Could you help us? Your +father is good.” + +“A good heart isn’t always accompanied by a full purse,” thought Jean. + +“Who imagines that he has a property interest in your sister?” she asked +aloud. + +“Our chief, Tyee of the Nootkas. He captured both of us in a war with our +people, the Seattles, many, many moons ago.” + +“Ugh! Way-siyah! Whulge!” cried the girl, writhing like a captured eel. + +“Mac-kam-mah-shish, copa-nika?” + +“She asks if you cannot buy her.” + +“Nowitka! Mika! Closh potlatch hy-u chickamin?” + +“God knows I wish I could buy her,” said Jean. + +No painter could have done justice to the varying expressions that +alternately lighted and clouded the Madonna-like face of Le-Le, as she +strained every nerve to comprehend the conversation. And when at last +every vestige of her awakening hope had settled into a conviction of +failure, she buried her face in her hands, and, bending forward, shook +her black abundant hair over her face and body to the floor, and uttered +a piercing wail, making Jean’s blood curdle. + +“Le-Le’s cold!” cried the girl, crouching lower, till the embers singed +the ends of her straying locks. + +“Don’t cry, Le-Le dear. You have come to spend the night with me,” +exclaimed Jean, seizing her gently by the arm. + +“Nika wake cumtux,” cried the girl. + +“You have come to sleep,” pointing to the bed in the corner. + +“Nowitka! sleep! Nika cumtux.” + +“She understands,” said Jean, rising and turning to Siwash. “Good-night.” + +Jean was too full of contending emotions for sleep. She lingered long +upon the hearth. “I could stay here always,” she exclaimed in a low +voice, but loud enough to awaken the wary maiden from her slumbers on the +bed. But the mutual vocabulary of the twain did not admit of satisfactory +conversation, and the Indian girl sank back into unconsciousness. + +As she sat there thinking, a pair of kindly eyes seemed watching her +every movement with a tender devotion that made her heart beat wildly. “I +wish I’d never teased or laughed at Mame,” she sighed, as the Reverend +Thomas Rogers flitted past her inner vision. “What is Life but Love? And +who and what is Love but God? And what is God but the wonderful Mystery +that is both Life and Love?” + +Le-Le was away in dreamland, on the enchanted shores of Whulge,—the +Indian name for the magnificent body of water known to the civilized +world as Puget Sound. + +“This is holy ground,” cried Jean, so softly to herself that none but +Cupid heard. “These lowly walls will be a sacred memory to me through all +the rest of my life. But life will mean worse than nothing to me without +my one hero. Must I go away to-morrow? Oh, my God! can I ever live again, +away from this lodge in the wilderness? Guard and guide my love, O Spirit +of Life, and shield him with Thine everlasting arms!” + +Then, recollecting that she had not prayed, as usual, for the dear ones +in camp, she lovingly invoked divine protection for each and all, and was +soon in a sound, refreshing sleep. + + * * * * * + +“Yes, daddie dear, I’m safe and sound,” she cried, as she awoke to +consciousness, to find that the sun was shining and her father’s familiar +voice was calling her name in vigorous tones at the door. + +Jean hastily donned her clothing, which, simple as it was, excited the +envy of Le-Le. “Mika klosh, cultus potlatch?” she said inquiringly, as +she fondled a blue-and-white neck-ribbon, which was not over clean. + +“Cultus potlatch?” she asked again. + +Although Jean was not certain as to the maiden’s meaning, she gave her +the ribbon and tried to think her excusable. + +“Did you want it? Was that what you meant?” + +“Nowitka! Cultus potlatch! Hy-as klosh!” + +Jean tied the ribbon in a double bow-knot around the girl’s tawny +neck, and Le-Le, studying its effect in the little mirror on the wall, +exclaimed with a low chuckle, “Hi-yu klosh!” + + * * * * * + +“Oh, daddie darling,” exclaimed Jean, opening the door and springing to +his embrace, “did you think your historian was lost?” + +“Yes; or worse!” replied her father, his anger displacing anxiety as +soon as he saw that she was safe. “This isn’t the first time you’ve lost +yourself on this trip. If it happens again, I’ll—” + +“Don’t chide or punish the young lady, please!” interposed her obliging +host. “If you had seen how badly frightened and anxious she was last +night when she found herself left alone among strangers, you’d forgive +her without a word.” + +“That’s so, daddie,” sobbed Jean. + +“I surrendered my country-seat to her, and sent for this little Indian +maiden to keep her company.” + +There was a touch of humor in his tone, augmented by a kindly smile, +which sent the hot blood into the truant’s face and made her heart beat +hard. + +“Won’t you thank the gentleman, daddie? I might have been murdered but +for him.” + +“Of course I thank the gentleman; but that doesn’t lessen your offence. +You deserve a good thrashing!” + +“Which I’ll never get, daddie dear!” Then turning to her host, she added, +“Daddie never whips us, but he threatens us sometimes.” + +“I think I owe you a little explanation, Captain,” said the host. “I +might have risked taking your daughter across the river in a rowboat last +night if it had been safe to trust her on the other side after dark. +There are Indians camped along the way; and, though they are peaceful +enough when they are compelled to be, they are not trustworthy under all +circumstances. But my servant, Siwash, has breakfast ready and waiting. I +can’t allow you to go on till you have broken your fast.” + +The host conducted his guests into the dugout to a table loaded with +a bountiful supply of coffee, fish, venison, hot biscuit, beans, and +wapatoes,—the last two dishes being deftly exhumed from the depths of a +bed of ashes, where they had been cooked to perfection during the night. + +“Your servant is an artist in his business,” said the Captain, in praise +of the food. + +“Yes, Captain. I found him a slave, and, seeing he was superior to most +of his class, I purchased him for what you would consider a trifle. Then, +as time wore on, I encouraged him to buy his freedom from me. He is now +trying to purchase his sister; but he finds it slow work, as her value +increases as she gets older and better able to dig camas and tan buffalo +hides.” + +“It is awful to enslave the Indians!” cried Jean. “The Government ought +to stop it!” + +“Slavery among the Indians is no worse than among the negroes,” said her +host, with an admiring smile. + +“Women are not responsible for slavery, sir,” said Jean. + +“But women are very ardent defenders of slavery wherever it exists, my +daughter,” added her father, gravely. + +“That’s because they themselves are servants without wages, daddie. +Mother used to say that the worst slave-drivers she ever saw down South +were the overseers who were slaves themselves. Women are not angels, but +they are doing the best they can without political power.” + +“I don’t know but you are right, Miss Ranger. Women ought to have power. +My sovereign is a woman, and we have no slavery in England.” + +“Thank you for giving me the best of the argument, Mr. Ashleigh. But I +see that daddie is impatient, and we must be going.” + +“I hope you’ll pardon me for referring to a proposition you made last +evening, although you may have changed your mind, Miss Ranger. You +proposed writing to my mother. Will you do it?” + +“Ask daddie.” + +“I have no objection, of course,” said her father, “if it is understood +that I shall see the letters.” + +“Of course,” responded Jean. + +“May I have the pleasure of corresponding with your daughter, sir?” + +“Yes, if I can see the correspondence.” + +This was a greater concession than Jean had dared to hope for. + +“Thank you, Captain Ranger. I am sure my mother will be delighted with +the young lady’s letters. She has awakened my dormant sense of filial +duty and inspired me with a determination to return to it. I shall not +neglect my mother again.” + +“Come, Jean! It is high time we were off!” + +As her father spoke, the possible termination to this peculiar meeting +gave him a heartache. + +The last good-byes were spoken, and Captain Ranger heaved a sigh of +relief. “It will be out of sight, out of mind, with both of ’em in less +than a month!” he said, _sotto voce_. + + + + +XXVII + +_JEAN TRANSFORMED_ + + +“Where did you spend the night, Jean?” asked Mary. + +“In heaven,” answered Jean, her cheeks glowing. + +“Nonsense.” + +“I mean exactly what I say, Mame. I lodged with an Indian princess, and +ate my meals with a member of the British aristocracy. The princess +couldn’t speak English, but her brother acted as interpreter, so we got +on all right. She is a slave of an old chief of the Seattles. I wish I +had the money; I’d buy her, and send her back to her people.” + +“You might as well wish you owned the moon!” + +“I own the earth,—as much of it as I need. Everybody does.” + +“Then the most of us get cheated out of our patrimony,” laughed Sally +O’Dowd. + +“I wish you could all have had a chance to look in on me and my princess +last night; we were as snug as two bugs in a rug. The crickets sang on +the hearth, just as they used to do of nights in the old home. The wind +roared like a storm at sea, and the rush of the river was grand. I can +shut my eyes and live it all over again.” + +“You’ve gone stark mad!” laughed Hal. + +“As mad as a March hare,” said Sally O’Dowd. “I know the symptoms from +sad experience.” + +“You ought to be repenting in sackcloth and ashes. Why are you not +sorry?” asked Mary. + +“Because in losing myself I found my fate.” + +“Was it an Indian brave in a breech-cloth, with a bow and arrow, a +shirt-collar, and a pair of spurs?” asked Hal. + +The roar of laughter that greeted this query made Jean fairly frantic. +“You’re worse than a lot of savages yourselves,” she cried. “If I had my +way, I’d go back to that lodge in the wilderness and stay there!” + +Jean climbed into the wagon, buried her face in her hands, and abandoned +herself to a deep, absorbing reverie. “Oh, mother dear,” she said softly, +“if you could speak, you would sympathize with me, I am sure. If I only +had your love and sympathy, I wouldn’t care what anybody else might think +or say,—not even daddie. A new light and a new life have come into my +soul. Though a cruel fate may separate us through this life, we shall +always be one. But God made us for each other, and we shall surely meet +again.” + + * * * * * + +There was no longer any game to be had for the shooting; the little extra +food the company could purchase from the Indians, or from the few white +borderers at infrequent trading-posts, was held at almost prohibitive +prices. Dead cattle continued to abound at the roadside, filling the +air with an intolerable stench through every hour of the day and night. +No camping-spot could be found where the surroundings were not thus +polluted. Captain Ranger’s teams were giving out from sheer exhaustion, +induced by starvation rather than overwork, and two or more of his weaker +oxen were dying daily. + +“I’ll break the horrible monotony of this diary,” said Jean at last, “or +I’ll die trying.” And for many days her jottings were confined to minute, +and sometimes glowing, descriptions of snow-capped mountains, bald hills, +tree-studded lesser heights, and vast and desolate wastes of sand and +sage and rocks. Sterile valleys, verdant banks of little rivers, mighty +streams, and running brooks received attention, in their turn, from her +pen, the whole making a record surprisingly akin to the journals kept +by Lewis and Clark, and left on record half a century earlier, of the +existence of which she had no knowledge. There was one theme of which her +father enforced daily mention,—a regular account of the scarcity of grass +and game and wood and water. + +A murder by the roadside, and the consequent trial, conviction, and +execution of the murderer by a “provisional government” temporarily +organized for the purpose received a painstaking record, as did also a +difficulty with some thieving and beggarly Indians, whose hostility was +awakened by the rashness of one of a trio of bachelors, who were encamped +one night near the Ranger wagons. Captain Ranger made the Indians a +pacifying speech, but only by the aid of some trifling present among the +women of the tribe, and a gift of a pair of blankets to their chieftain, +was the impending danger averted. A double guard was placed outside that +night; and, for several nights following, a corral was made of the wagons +in the shape of a hollow square, into which the cattle were driven to +rest and sleep. + +The now famous Soda Springs, known to the commercial world as Idanha, +next caught the coloring of Jean’s pen. The different geysers rising +from the tops of the gutter-sided mounds of soda-stone were carefully +and graphically described. The crater of a long-extinct volcano received +special mention. The bad water of alkali-infected streams and swamps, +left by slowly evaporating pools and ponds, through which cattle and +wagons labored with the greatest difficulty; the dreary wastes of +sagebrush, sand, and rock, through which everybody who was able to walk +at all was compelled to trudge on foot; the devastations of prairie +fires; the endless wastes of stunted sage and greasewood; the struggling +aspens on the margins of tiny streams,—all met graphic and detailed +delineation, such as nobody can appreciate to the full who to-day +traverses these vast and wondrous wilds in a railway coach, or gazes upon +them from a Pullman car. + + * * * * * + +“Captain Ranger,” said Sally O’Dowd one evening, “do you notice that Jean +is growing strikingly beautiful?” + +They were halting for the night after a day’s hard drive; and the +jaded oxen, weak and sick from the combined effects of hard labor, +cruel whippings, and an insufficient supply of grass and water, were +necessarily the chief objects of his attention and solicitude. A broken +wagon-tongue added to his perplexities, as good timber for repairs +was not available; and the mileage of the day’s travel had been much +shortened by the necessity of stopping to mend the break, or, as the +Little Doctor not inaptly said, “to reduce the compound fracture of a +most important part of the wagon’s anatomy.” + +“All my girls are handsome,” said the Captain, as he tested the strength +of a splice on the broken tongue by jumping upon it with both feet. + +“But Jean has been transformed, Captain. The change has been growing +upon her daily since the date of that Green River episode. The child is +hopelessly infatuated with that young Englishman.” + +“Much good it’ll do her,” he exclaimed, mopping his brow with a soiled +bandanna. “It is painfully evident that three of my girls will soon be +women. If their mother were here, it wouldn’t be so hard to manage them. +No, Sally, I’ve noticed no particular change in Jean.” + +“Because you are too busy for observation, sir. She hasn’t been a +particle like herself of late.” + +The Captain hurried away to his work, muttering, “Nonsense!” + +Jean had seated herself on the most distant wagon-tongue, her battered, +ink-bespattered journal in her lap, her pen in one hand, her inkstand +in the other, her knitted brows and glowing face expressing deep +concentration of thought and feeling. + +Captain Ranger, having finished his work of repairs, dropped wearily upon +an axle-tree, and, for the first time in several days, prompted doubtless +by the words of Sally O’Dowd, took a long and searching look at Jean. + +“Yes, indeed; Sally is right,” he soliloquized. “Jean is developing a +wonderfully beautiful style of womanhood. What a pity it is that she +cannot have her mother at the very time when she needs her most!” + +Pangs of anxiety akin to jealousy shot through his heart as he studied +her features; her downcast eyes were hidden by the heavy lashes as she +bent over her work. “She doesn’t resemble her mother as Mary does, but +she must be the almost exact counterpart of what my mother was at her +age,” he mused, as he noted for the first time the ripening lips, the +rosy and yet transparent hue of her cheeks, and the sunny sheen of +her hair. He was surprised that he had not before observed the soft, +exquisite contour of her face and neck, the full rounded bust, and the +shapely development of her feet and hands. + +As he sat watching the lights and shadows of thought and feeling that +played upon her features, the remembrance of the girlhood of her mother, +whose arduous married years had all been spent in his service, arose +before him with startling power. “Dear, patient, tender, self-sacrificing +Annie!” he exclaimed, as he arose from his rocking seat and strode away +in the gloaming. “I never half appreciated your worth until I lost you +for ever!” + +“No, not for ever,” softly sung a still, small voice in the depths of his +inner consciousness. “Do not reproach yourself. All eternity is yet to +be.” + +Jean felt, rather than saw, the pressure of his eyes, and half divined +his thoughts. She felt the telltale blood as it rushed unbidden to her +cheeks, and was seized with a great longing to throw herself into his +arms and breathe out the full secret of her great awakening in his ears; +but something in his manner repelled her advances, and she withdrew more +than ever into herself. + +“O Love!” she cried in a tone so low and sweet that none but a messenger +from the Unseen might hear, “how ungovernable art thou, and how +incomprehensible! The worldly-wise may decry thee; the misanthropic may +deride thee; the vulgar may make of thy existence an unholy jest; the +selfish and ignorant may trample upon thee; human laws may crush thee; +but thou remainest still a thing of life, to fill thy votaries with a +holy joy and endow them with the very attributes of God. An imperishable +entity art thou, O Love! Thou art interblended with every fibre of my +being now, and I accept thee as a sweet fulfilment of my earthly destiny.” + +Of course Jean was young and fond and inexperienced and foolish; and +these chronicles would offer her rhapsodies as the utterances of no +worldly-wise oracle. But her thoughts were fresh and pure; and who shall +say they did not emanate from the very fountain of life itself, whose +presence she could sense but could not understand? + +She wandered off toward the rushing, maddening torrent of Snake River, +whose music had for her, in these moods of introspection, but one +interpretation. + +“Daddie may denounce, Hal and Mame may tease, and Marjorie,—yes, and all +the world deride me,” she said, as she sat upon a bowlder and abandoned +herself to reverie; “but henceforth there shall be nothing in this world +for me to cherish but Love and its handmaiden, Duty.” + +Snake River, full at this point of jutting rocky islands, through which +the foaming, roaring waters rushed like a thousand mill-races on parade, +dashed madly against its banks beneath her feet, and rushing on again, +roared and laughed and shrieked and sang. Lichens clung to the uplifted +rocks, which, hoary with age and massive in proportions, held vigil in +the midst of the eternal grandeur. Mountains clambered over mountains in +the dimly lighted distance, and reaching to the red horizon, overlooked +the Pacific seas. + +“The antelope and elk are gone,” she thought, “and we are lone watchers +amid the eternal vastness. But the sage-hen, the lizard, the owl, and the +jaybird linger; and yonder, among the everlasting rocks, are the homes of +the Indian, the rattlesnake, the badger, and the wolf.” + +Rustling footsteps startled her. “Why, it’s daddie!” she exclaimed, her +heart beating audibly. “I thought you were an Indian or a bear!” + +“You oughtn’t to go off alone, my daughter. There is some hidden danger +threatening us; I feel, but cannot divine it. Something is going wrong +somewhere or somehow. Let’s hurry back to camp.” + +“You’re the last person on earth I’d suspect of giving way to a morbid +fancy, daddie dear. You must be very tired.” + +“It isn’t that, my daughter. I am sad because you have allowed your heart +to stray, and I do need you so much—so much!” + +She answered not a word. + + + + +XXVIII + +_THE STAMPEDE_ + + +The next morning brought unexpected delays. The repairs about the camp +and wagons consumed more time than had been anticipated, and it was +ten o’clock before the cattle, which had been allowed to stray farther +from camp than usual, in search of the dried and scanty herbage that +alone staved off starvation, were driven into camp and hurried down to +the river-bank to drink. The swiftness, foam, and sudden chill of the +water, its depth and roaring, confused and frightened the half-sick and +half-starved animals; and one, a patriarchal bull, the master and leader +of the herd, who had often before made trouble, gave vent to a deep, +sonorous bellow like the roar of an ancient aurochs. Then, with nose in +air, he struck out across the stream, the herd following. A small, rocky +cape crept out into the water on the opposite bank, affording the only +visible landing-place; and up this the panic-stricken creatures scrambled +in a mad stampede, which the helpless occupants of the camp surveyed with +the calmness of despair. + +“I had no idea that the poor creatures had enough life left in them to +run a dozen rods on level ground,” said Captain Ranger, after a grim +silence. “Boys,” he added in a husky voice, as he swallowed a great lump +in his throat, “are any of you able to swim Snake River?” + +“I can do it,” answered John Brownson, an obliging young teamster, who +had joined the company early in the journey and had made himself useful +on many trying occasions. + +“And I too,” said John Jordan, another favorite of road and camp. The two +intrepid volunteers shook hands with their anxious Captain and plunged +boldly into the roaring, swirling, deafening torrent, through which +Jordan swam with ease, his head now bobbing out of sight and now rising +above the foaming current, to disappear again and again, till at last he +was seen to emerge from the water on the opposite steep and ascend the +almost sheer acclivity leading to the table-land above. It was a brave +and daring feat, but it proved fruitless. The poor, panic-stricken cattle +failed to recognize as a friend the stark white apparition, entirely +bereft of clothing. It was all in vain that he called the leader of the +herd by name; and when the frightened creature turned and charged him, +and there was no shelter but some patriarchal sagebrush trees, he took +refuge behind the biggest of them till the aurochs changed his mind and +turned to follow the stampeding herd. + +The panic continued. The stampede was irresistible. The cattle were +lost, and most of them were never heard of more, though it is said that +Flossie, the companion and patient of Jean during the hours of her vigil +on that never-to-be-forgotten night in the Black Hills,—Flossie, the +faithful, enduring, and kindly-eyed milch cow whose calf had been killed +on the road,—reappeared long afterwards in the sagebrush wilds of Baker +County, Oregon, with quite a following of her children, grandchildren, +and great-great-grandchildren, all but herself as wild as so many deer. +Flossie herself was recognized, they say, by the Ranger brand; and her +hide, with the letters J. R. still visible behind the shoulder-blade, is +to-day a valued relic of departed years in the mansion of a prominent +actor in the drama of that eventful summer. + +But what of Brownson? All day the hapless watchers of the camp had +strained their eyes and ears for sight or sound of him, in vain. + +“He must have been caught with cramps, or been dashed against the rocks +by the current, for I saw him drown,” said Jordan, at sundown, as he +rejoined the helpless watchers near the wagons. + +Meanwhile, the men and women of the camp had not been idle. The lightest +wagon-box the train afforded was selected and pressed into service for +a ferry-boat; and while the men made oars, rowlocks, and rudder as best +they could with the materials at hand, the women skilfully caulked the +seams of the wagon-bed with an improvised substitute for oakum, under +the supervision of the Little Doctor, making it tolerably water-tight. +The wagon-box was then replaced on wheels and hauled upstream about +half-a-dozen miles to a little valley where the river was wide, the banks +low, and the water comparatively shoal and calm. + +It was conjectured by Captain Ranger that the entire force of men in +the train might be able, by a concerted effort, to assist the watcher +on the upland in his brave attempt to arrest the stampede and secure +the cattle’s return. But their united efforts were unavailing; and long +before they returned, disheartened, apprehensive, and weary, the helpless +watchers at the camp saw the bruised body of Captain Ranger’s favorite +mare rolling, tumbling, bumping, and thumping through the roaring waters +and among the jagged rocks, near the very spot where Brownson had been +drowned. + +Noble, faithful, obedient Sukie! In her attempt to swim the river with +her devoted master, who was seated in the stern of the novel boat leading +her by the halter and encouraging her with kindly words, her strength +failed utterly; and when she turned upon her side and Captain Ranger let +go his hold upon the halter, she uttered a dying scream, rolled over, and +was gone. + +“If there isn’t any horse heaven, the creative Force has been derelict in +duty,” sadly exclaimed the master, as he watched the lifeless body of his +beloved and faithful servant floating down the stream. + +Through the silent watches of the awful night that followed, John Ranger +pondered, planned, and waited. + +His three daughters and three younger children, Sally O’Dowd and her +three babies, and Susannah and George Washington, all occupied the family +wagon, around which he stalked through the silent hours as one in a dream. + +“A formidable array of dependent ones,” he said to himself over and over +again. “And what is to become of my Annie’s darlings? Was it for this +that she started with me on this terrible journey?” + +There was no audible answer to his anxious queries save the roaring of +the river as it crashed its way between the rocks that formed its grim +and tortuous channel. + +Weary at last of walking, he crept into his tent beside Hal, who had +been dead to the world from the moment he touched his bed, so sweet is +the deep forgetfulness of childhood when “tired Nature’s sweet restorer, +balmy sleep,” is preparing it for the further endurance of an exacting +and ambitious life. But Captain Ranger could not sleep. He arose and +faced again the silent horrors of the situation. + +The stars twinkled overhead in their usual triumph over disturbing +forces; and, slowly fading into the coming twilight, rode the gibbous +moon. + +In his helplessness the lonely watcher lifted up his voice and prayed. + +“I’ve never felt much worry over original sin, O Lord!” he cried, +standing with hands uplifted in the chilly air, “but you know I’ve +generally been honest. I’ve tried hard to do my duty according to my +lights. I didn’t mean to bring my Annie and her babies out here in the +wilderness to die; but you understood the conditions, and because you +understood, you took my wife away. I rebelled at first, but you helped me +to bear it for her sake; and for this, for the first time, I thank you. +And now, if you have the love for her children for which she always gave +you credit, I am sure that you’ll guide me safely out of this present +trouble. And if you do, O Lord, I’ll serve you as long as I live in +whatever way you lead. Amen.” + +“I have been young, and now am old; yet have I not seen the righteous +forsaken, nor his seed begging bread!” + +“Who spoke to me?” he asked, aloud. “Where did that voice come from? I +could have sworn it was Annie! No; Annie is dead!” + +In a flurry of excitement he peered in all directions, listening eagerly. +But in his soul there slowly crept a quiet peace, and with it a sense +of security and elation which he could not comprehend; neither could he +doubt its reality. + +Before him passed, in mental review, the strenuous days of his boyhood, +awakening youth, and early manhood. The memory of his mother arose before +him, inexpressibly sweet and tender. He thought lovingly of his father, +strong in the religious faith of which he had often made a jest. His +gentle Annie seemed so near that he could almost reach her. But closer +to him than any other seemed the presence of his brother Joseph. What a +promising lad he was, and with what joy had the whole family striven to +bestow upon him the educational advantages to which none of the others +had dared to aspire! + +Then passed before him, like scenes in a panorama, the awful pecuniary +straits that followed, when the beloved brother fell under the ban of the +law. + +Then came in review his unexpected meeting with that brother in the +wilderness. “Forgive my pride, brutality, and selfishness, O Lord! and by +all that’s holy, I’ll make it right with Joe!” + +And who shall say that this unique appeal to the great Source of Life +was less acceptable to the Infinite than the studied petitions of gowned +prelates? whose often conflicting appeals to Jehovah, if answered +literally, would plunge the world into confusion and chaos under the +diverse demands of the children of men. + +His prayer ended, the chilled and worried wanderer returned to his bed +and readdressed himself to sleep, this time with such success that +when he awoke the sun was riding high in the heavens, and he heard the +familiar voice of a train-master, whom he had left in his rear by taking +the Green River cut-off, and who had now overtaken him. + +“Hello, Captain!” exclaimed the new arrival, striking the wall of the +sleeper’s tent with the butt of his heavy ox-whip. “What’s all this I’ve +been hearing? Didn’t you get back any of your stampeded cattle?” + +“Nary a hoof,” replied the Captain. “I tell you we’re in a mighty bad +fix, Harlan.” + +“How are you going to get out?” + +“Don’t know yet. It’s a ground-hog case, though, I’m bound to make it +somehow. Got any cattle to sell?” + +“Possibly. Might spare two yoke and an odd steer. Got any money?” + +“A few dollars. But I don’t want to get into Oregon dead broke. Can’t you +trust a fellow till we reach the settlements?” + +“I could if we weren’t running short o’ grub. This journey has cost like +the dickens from the start; and it won’t get any cheaper on the home +stretch. Every fellow you strike wants money. It wasn’t so in the States.” + +“We can swap accommodations if we like, Harlan. I have several bags of +jerked buffalo meat.” His voice faltered, as he remembered that this meat +had been prepared by the order of his vanished wife. “We laid in a lot of +flour and other stuff at our last Utah trading-post; so we’re not short.” + +An old-fashioned game of barter and dicker was soon concluded; and +Captain Ranger set his men to work, rearranging the wagons and making +ready to move on. + + + + +XXIX + +_IN THE LAND OF DROUTH_ + + +All the wagons except the “saloon,” or family vehicle, were ruthlessly +stripped of their various appurtenances; the running gear of those +that had seemed to stand the wear and travel with the least injury +were selected to hold the absolute necessaries of the remainder of the +journey. Many articles of utility were compelled to find a lodgment in +the family wagon, causing Sally O’Dowd to ruefully survey the limited +space for the little flock who were too young in years to walk regularly. + +“We’ll see what can be done,” said the Captain, thoughtfully. “I’ve +left the saloon wagon to the last, hoping somebody would come along who +could spare us a few more steers. We’ve thrown away everything we can do +without. But we’ll get the cattle.” + +“It’s lucky we’ve got the money the teamsters paid us to get back after +they deserted us,” said Jean. The Captain’s face brightened. + +“Why, surely!” he cried. “I had forgotten all about the financial end of +that incident. You have a business head on you, my girl!” + +“Here it is,” cried Marjorie. “It is in our great-grandmother’s silver +spectacle-case. Jean put it there.” + +“Sure enough,” said her father. “Your great-grandfather carried that +tarnished and battered spectacle-case all through the Revolutionary War. +It is indeed a lucky find.” + +In less than an hour another train of dilapidated wagons came along, +accompanied by half-a-dozen loose oxen and a discouraged cow. + +Then for the first time the faces of Mrs. Benson and Mrs. McAlpin +brightened. During all the hurry of the day they had wandered aimlessly +about, steadfastly refusing to accept any assistance until the Ranger +family should first be provided with oxen. + +“Now, as we can get cattle enough to move one of our wagons, it is our +time to make preparations for a start,” said the Little Doctor. + +“Did you think for a minute that you’d be abandoned to your fate?” asked +Captain Ranger. + +“We didn’t allow ourselves to think at all; we just waited and trusted.” + +In less than an hour what was left of the Ranger outfit was in motion. +And a sorry-looking outfit it was indeed. + +One of Mrs. McAlpin’s wagons was abandoned after she had discarded +everything of appreciable weight that could be spared. But there +are exceptions to every rule, and the Little Doctor, watching +her opportunity, managed with the aid of Scotty to stow away the +long-secreted spinning-wheel and baby’s cradle which had been Mrs. +Ranger’s property. + +“If we can complete our journey at all, we can carry these things,” the +Little Doctor said to Jean. “We are getting near the Columbia River, as +we can see by the topography of the country; and there’s a mission at +The Dalles, where we can get more help if we need it, I am sure. Mamma +and I will ride our horses as long as they are able to carry us. We have +provisions enough to feed our two teamsters and ourselves till we reach a +settlement.” + +One woman at a time was detailed to ride in the family wagon and take +care of the babies; all the rest walked, stopping to ride only when the +frequent streams that were too deep to wade were to be crossed; at which +times the wearied oxen were compelled to do the double duty of pulling +the loads and carrying the footsore pedestrians on their backs. + +The weather was now intensely hot during the long hours of sunshine. +The sandy wastes radiated the blistering heat under which the vast +sageplains lay staring at the unmerciful sun in apathetic stillness, +like a Lilliputian forest under a state of arrested development. But the +nights were chilly, and the storms of wind and dust that came up with the +going down of the sun were trying in the extreme. The men of the party no +longer had tents or wagon-covers for shelter, and were obliged to sleep +on the lee side of friendly rocks, beside which they awoke, sometimes, to +find themselves uncomfortably near a den of rattlesnakes or the decaying +carcass of an animal. + +At every spot where a little grass was found, the cattle were unhitched +from the wagons and turned out in pairs, under the yoke, to feed. +Every stray bit of wood, every discarded ox-yoke or ox-bow, and not +infrequently the entire woodworks of an abandoned wagon, were split into +firewood and carried along among the baggage for camping purposes. + +Unknown guides, in whom the prolonged hardships of the plains had not +destroyed the spirit of human kindness, left frequent notices on the +rocks by the wayside, giving valuable information in regard to springs +and streams, but for which there would have been terrible suffering at +times from thirst. + +The cattle were too weak and their loads too heavy to permit long hours +of travel, and their progress was necessarily slow. + +The beds of small streams had gradually dried under the fierce sunshine, +and it became necessary to keep as near as possible to the banks of +the Snake River, from which, however, the way often deviated for days +together because of intervening rocks, gulches, sand, and sheer bluffs. + +On the third day of August Jean made entry as follows:— + +“The fiery weather of the past fortnight has moderated somewhat; but +the roads are, as usual, rocky and dusty, with many stretches of sand, +through which the poor, weak cattle pull the wagons, which, though +lightened by the reduction of our loads, are far too heavy for their +strength, which decreases daily. + +“Our road, during the afternoon of to-day, lay close to the almost dry +bed of a rocky-bottomed creek, beside which we camped for the night, +without food for our stock, and almost without water. I wonder what the +poor creatures think of us for bringing them out here in the wilderness, +face to face with such a fate? + +“Some of our teamsters have been growing quarrelsome of late. Two men who +fell in with us shortly after our loss of cattle and have been following +us ever since and begging food, suddenly left the train yesterday; since +their departure some of our men are growing insubordinate. + +“Their grievance arises from the inability of the cattle to haul them +when not on duty as drivers, they assuming that they made no bargain +with daddie to do any extra walking. Our teamster Yank, the aristocratic +son of Virginia, who claims to be an F.F.V., climbed on a wagon-tongue +early in the day, and compelled the oxen to pull his weight through the +rocks and sand, the added strain upon their neck yokes making their lot +doubly hard. Daddie is holding a conference with the fellow now. He said +before we halted for the night that he hoped the dissatisfied ones would +leave of their own accord, as otherwise he expected trouble. He announced +to-night that there would be no more riding on wagon-tongues; and +although we await the result of the conference with some anxiety, daddie +says he isn’t worried, since the dissatisfied fellows must stay with the +train or starve. + +“August 4. We travelled seventeen miles to-day, having halted for two +hours to feast the cattle on a bed of dry bunchgrass, fortunately +discovered by Scotty in a ravine overlooked by trains ahead. It was a +great comfort to see the hungry animals fill themselves with the dry but +nutritious grass, and drink their fill from a trench made in the bed of +the dry creek. + +“Three miles’ further travel brought us to a bend in the creek, where we +succeeded in digging again for water. + +“August 5. We are in better spirits than at any time since our loss of +cattle. All traces of mutiny have disappeared, and even Yank trudges over +the road without protest. The animals, too, are stepping briskly. + +“We find nothing at all for the cattle to eat to-day. The road continues +rough and rocky, and abounds in chuck-holes which the narrow track +will not permit the wheels to avoid. The tires are all loose on the +wagon-wheels, and it seems a miracle that the wheels do not fall to +pieces. + +“After we halted for the night on the banks of the Snake River, once more +our men were compelled to drive the cattle down the stream for over a +mile to find an opening between the bluffs through which they could reach +water. And the men had to carry back a limited supply in their canteens +to relieve the distress at camp. We are in plain and provoking sight of +a foaming waterfall on the opposite bank, but as thoroughly out of reach +of it as if it were in the mountains of the moon. It bursts from a ledge +of rocks, and descends to the river with a roar that at this distance +is sweetly musical. Some day, in the years to come, some enterprising +individual will preëmpt that spring, and make a fortune by selling the +pure water to his less fortunate fellow-men. + +“August 6. At ten o’clock to-day we were refreshed by a welcome shower. + +“Oh, the blessed summer rain! How it cooled the parching air and arid +earth, and revived the drooping spirits of poor dear daddie, who is +growing hollow-eyed and thin, like the cattle! + +“We find no game, and nothing for the stock to eat but some willows.” + + * * * * * + +“Yonder,” said Captain Ranger, in an excited tone, “are the falls of +Salmon River. Make a note of them, Jean!” + +The dilapidated wagons were halted on a great plateau overlooking a rapid +river, spanned by a mighty ledge of rocks, over which a great torrent +of foamy-white water rolled and surged, glistening in the sunshine with +great schools of female salmon in quest of spawning-ground, followed by +the male contingent, fierce of aspect and in fighting mood, ready to +destroy one another or anything else that might impede their progress. + +Indians were camped in great numbers below the bluffs, the women drying +the fish for winter use, and the men bartering the produce of their +skill with lance and spear for such articles of food and apparel as the +depleted stores of the wanderers could spare. + +“August 7. We travelled eighteen miles to-day. At ten o’clock we found a +little plat of dry bunchgrass, and halted for an hour to allow the stock +to graze. It was well we did, for to-night we find no grass at all. The +river is over a mile from camp, and we are compelled to carry water all +that distance for domestic use. We don’t use very much.” + +For many miles the road continued through a rocky canyon, where the way +was so perilous that the locked wagon-wheels had to be held in place by +men on the upper side of the grade to prevent the wagons from tumbling +down the bluffs into the raging current far below. + +The entries in Jean’s journal were interrupted at this time by a serious +siege of toothache; and for this reason we find, under date of August +10 and 11, in Captain Ranger’s painstaking chirography, the following +entries:— + +“We travelled about eight miles and again came to Snake River. The +weather has been insufferably hot; and, as our weak and famished cattle +were unable to go on, we were compelled to halt and await the coming of a +breeze. + +“The general face of the country is barren in the extreme. No vegetation +is in sight except the ever abounding sagebrush. Gnarled, old, dwarfed, +and shaggy, this seemingly boundless waste of sage subsists without +apparent moisture; and for no conceivable purpose it lives on and on +forever, staring stolidly at the sun by day and keeping vigil with the +moon and stars by night.” + +On the 12th of August Jean made the following entry: “We reached the +banks of the river every few miles to-day, and camped near it at night. +We find here no grass, game, or fuel; but, thank God, there is plenty of +water. + +“After resting the cattle till sundown, daddie gave orders to yoke up and +move ahead to a plat of grass that he had heard of, about six miles to +the westward, and half a mile to the left of the main travelled road. We +were all packed, ready to start, when Shorty and Limpy came into camp, +bringing about half of the cattle, and reported all the others missing. +So we are compelled to await the morning with such forebodings as no pen +can portray; mine at least will not make the attempt. + +“August 13. The missing cattle were found and brought in at an early hour +this morning; and after a hurried breakfast we started for the promised +feeding-grounds, where we found good grass and water, but no fuel. We +halted for a couple of hours, and then came on seven miles farther, when +we once more reached Snake River. + +“The dust throughout the day has been almost unbearable. It is as fine as +the finest flour, and, being impregnated with alkali, is very irritating +to nostrils, throats, and lungs. + +“August 14. This has been the hardest day yet upon the cattle,—poor +starved and wretched creatures! And I might add, poor alkalied and +used-up people! + +“Not a person in our company is well. We are a fretful, impatient, and +anxious lot, and no wonder. And yet our journeyings even now have their +amusing side. Susannah sings like a nightingale, and ‘Geo’die Wah,’ as +her lisping coon calls himself, leads the chorus. Scotty quotes poetry +by the yard, and the Little Doctor seeks diversion in every incident. +Mrs. Benson continues amiable and obliging, showing a side to her nature +wholly unlike the waspish way she had when we first knew her. The men +often clear away the sagebrush from a level plat of ground after their +chores are finished for the night, and hold dancing carnivals among +themselves (daddie draws the line at dancing, so we don’t participate). +Sawed-off makes tolerable music on a fairly good violin. The humble +jotter of these chronicles finds her chief diversion in the fact that we +are every day drawing nearer to the Oregon City Post-office.” + + + + +XXX + +_BOBBIE GOES TO HIS MOTHER_ + + +Jean’s aching tooth suffered a relapse, and the suppuration that ensued +made her seriously ill. + +On the 14th of August her father again made an entry:— + +“Five of our escort have left us, taking with them a wagon-bed left by +the wayside by somebody whose cattle have died or strayed. They made a +clumsy boat of the square-bottomed thing; and with this frail craft, +which they successfully launched in the tortuous waters of the Snake, +they expect to find safe navigation to its confluence with the Columbia. +Although it was a relief to get rid of some of them, chiefly because +they thought they knew so much more about my business than I was able to +learn, I am apprehensive of results solely on their account. Snake River +doesn’t look to me like a safe stream to be trusted. But it was a relief +to see them go, because we are yet many hundreds of miles from our goal, +and our supplies of food and means of transportation are getting more +precarious daily. + +“August 15. Lost another ox by drowning. + +“August 16. Weather insufferably hot. Lost an ox to-day from eating a +poisonous herb. At this rate we shall soon be left with one wagon. The +cattle must hustle for food after every day’s pull, making it very hard +to keep life in their poor skeleton bodies.” + +On the evening of the 18th Jean resumed her writing, which ran in part as +follows:— + +“The long and dreary road is rough and hilly, and the yielding sand is +deep. We found to-day at noon a patch of dry grass, and stopped to graze +our famishing cattle. But we neglected, by some mischance, to fill our +water-casks in the morning, so we had a dry luncheon in the hot sand, +under the blistering sunshine. Our shoes have all given out from constant +walking, and we are reduced to moccasins, which we get by barter among +the Indian women. But the deerskin things afford us no protection from +the still abounding cacti, which seem to thrive best where there is the +least moisture. + +“We are encamped once more on the banks of the Snake. It was quite dark +when a halt was ordered. + +“August 19. Glory to God in the highest! We are once more within sight of +some trees that are not sagebrush. They are off to the westward, several +miles away, and their stately presence marks the course of a stream we +cannot see. + +“August 20. The stream proved to be the Owyhee,—a lukewarm, clear, and +rapid little river with a pebbly bottom. The air is so foul from the +stench of decaying cattle, the water of the little river is so warm, and +the heat so intolerable that sickness and death must soon ensue if the +conditions do not change. It is no wonder that we see many graves by the +roadside. Most of them are the last resting-places of mothers who have +mercifully fallen asleep and been buried, often with their babes in their +arms. + +“August 21. Old Fort Boisé lies opposite our camp, away beyond and +across Snake River, looming in the distance like a mediæval fortress +from the midst of a gray, dry moat. Our printed guide, a little pamphlet +written by General Palmer in the forties, tells us that this fort was +built by the Hudson Bay Company for shelter and storage, and as a means +of protection from the Indians, with whom the traders did a thriving +business when the century was young. It is now fallen into decay, and is +doubtless the abode of bats and birds and creeping things. + +“The men who left our company on the 16th inst., in a boat made of a +wagon-bed, rejoined us to-day, having had all the navigation on the Snake +they seemed to care for. They were a woe-begone and God-and-man-forsaken +set; and their chief fear was that they would not be permitted to come +into our train again on the old footing. Daddie—dear, big-hearted, +hospitable man—took them in, though they deserved a different fate; +but we think they’ll be content to let the best that can be had alone +hereafter. + +“August 23. After a long, hot, and arduous journey of over thirty miles, +and consuming two days of the most trying experience possible, we reached +Malheur River, another tributary of the Snake. But we failed to find +any food for the cattle, and were compelled to pull out again the next +morning before dawn, headed for what appeared to be a stream of water, as +we judged from a fringe of willows. But when we reached the bed of the +stream it was dry as a bone. We were compelled to stop, though, as it was +then high noon, and it was reported twelve miles to the next water. So +a part of our force was detailed to dig a well in the creek bottom for +water for domestic use, and the rest were sent back to the Malheur to +water the stock, as soon as they had eaten their fill of the dry grass, +which to us is more precious than gold, or anything else just now but +water. + +“On the 24th we left this camp and travelled down the dry bed of the +creek for several miles, through a valley that had evidently been missed +by the trains ahead, as the grass was fine and abundant. After leaving +this valley, we travelled over a blind trail through a hot, dusty ravine +till ten o’clock at night, when we reached some sulphur springs and +encamped, feeling cross, half sick, and disgusted with all the world. The +air is heavy with the fumes of sulphur, and Limpy says we are less than +half a mile from hell.” + +On the 25th of August Jean’s journal again gave evidence of Captain +Ranger’s chirography and style. His characteristic narrative follows: +“To-day we made eight miles, which brought us to a deep and rocky canyon +debouching into the Snake. This is to be our last encounter with this +tortuous, treacherous, and in every way terrible serpent, of whose +presence we long ago had much more than enough. + +“Three miles farther brought us to Burnt River,—a small, rapid, and +crooked stream, with a sandy delta at its disproportionately extended +mouth. Here the country changes its entire topography. The bold and +abrupt foot-hills are covered to their tops with an abundant coat of +seed-bearing bunchgrass; and numerous juniper-trees which somehow in +the long ago gained a footing among the sloping shale and sand, lend a +peculiar beauty to the scene.” + + * * * * * + +“Mr. Burns, I’m going to die before long.” + +These were the words of little Bobbie, the darling of the family and of +the entire company, and were spoken to Scotty on that memorable day in +the Black Hills when preparations were in progress for the burial of his +mother. + +The blow came suddenly. The child had been overjoyed at the prospect +of reaching the end of the journey at an early day. The sight of Burnt +River filled him with pleasing anticipations. He was never more playful, +quaint, and original than when his father stood him on his shoulder to +view the last they should see of the Snake River. + +“Where is it going now, papa?” he asked artlessly. “Is it always hungry? +Is that what makes it in such a hurry? What does it eat? And where does +it sleep o’ nights? It’s a sure enough snake, isn’t it?” + +At midnight, when the weary party were sound asleep, Mary, who was lying +near him, was wakened by an ominous cough, which rapidly developed into +an acute attack of croup. + + * * * * * + +“It was a stubborn case, and quite beyond my poor skill,” said the Little +Doctor, as they all stood weeping around the still and beautiful form of +the precious dead. + +“What do you imagine caused the child to predict his untimely taking off, +Mr. Burns?” asked Mrs. McAlpin, as they watched alone. + +“I suppose it was merely a child’s fancy,—a coincidence, probably.” + +“And I suppose it was a revelation. Many important lessons may be learned +from the artless utterances of a child.” + +For many weeks Mrs. McAlpin had studiously avoided conversation on any +subject with the one man on earth whom she believed to be her counterpart. + +“Wait till that human imperfection called the Law has made me legally +free,” was her invariable command whenever her suitor showed symptoms of +impatience. + +But to-night, as they knelt together in the presence of what the world +calls Death, he seized her hand, and it was not withdrawn. + +“Kneeling in this presence, may I have my answer, Daphne?” + +The dim light of a sputtering tallow candle shed a faint glow across the +white sheet under which the still form of Bobbie lay in dreamless sleep. + +She returned the pressure of his hand in silence. But when he would have +caught her in a close embrace, she gently withdrew and whispered: “We +will take our first kiss at the altar, darling.” + +“I am happy now, and I can wait. God bless you!” he whispered; and as +others were about entering the tent, he arose from his knees and went out +silently among the stars. + +The morning came at last. Amid the tearful silence of the company +the train moved on for a couple of miles and halted at the foot of a +mountain to consign the mortal remains of the little soul to their last +resting-place. High up on the mountain-side, on a natural terrace, the +grave was made under a spreading juniper-tree, in whose branches the wild +birds chant his requiem as the years roll on, and the eternal breezes +sing. + + * * * * * + +The next morning, August 29, found the face of Nature covered everywhere +with a thick coating of hoar-frost. Ice had formed during the night in +the water-pails, an eighth of an inch in thickness, and an inspiriting +sensation of chilliness filled the air. But as the sun rode high in the +brassy heavens, the day grew intensely hot. On and on and up and up the +ailing cattle labored; and on and on and up and up the dispirited company +toiled, footsore and weary, ragged and dirty. But hope was not dead; for +was not the goal of their ambition now almost in sight? + +The mountains of Powder River were next crossed, and the weary pilgrims +emerged upon an open plain over which the pygmy sagebrush of the desert +ran riot. Here a quarter of a century later an enterprising city +was destined to arise, in the midst of abounding mines and burdened +wheatfields, wherein the irrigated lands would drop fatness and the +stockman grow rich among the cattle of a thousand hills. + +“This valley,” wrote Jean, under date of September 1, “is beautiful +to look upon; but it is considered worthless, as it is too dry for +cultivation, and there is no way to rid the land of the ever-obtruding +sage. Daddie says it will never be made to sprout white beans.” + +The ranchers, stock-raisers, mine-owners, merchants, artisans, mechanics, +speculators, newspaper men, politicians, and successful schemers in every +walk of life can well afford to forgive Daniel Webster, John Ranger, +and every other false prophet who in his day harped on the same string, +in view of the continuous fields of wheat, oats, barley, rye, vetch, +hops, and fruits of all kinds peculiar to the temperate zone which this +wonderfully fertile valley now produces under the impulse of irrigation, +not to mention the mines of gold and silver, precious stones, and baser +metals with which the hills and mountains are fabulously rich. + +The descent of the Ranger company into the now famous Grande Ronde +valley was most perilous. It was made long after nightfall, through a +precipitous and rocky defile, where a slip of the wagon-wheel or the +misstep of an ox would have plunged the adventurous teams, wagons, men, +women, children, and all, over sheer bluffs. + +Camp was pitched in the edge of the beautiful valley, then a reservation +belonging to the Nez Percé Indians. Rye-grass was growing as high as the +top of the head of a man on horseback; and at one end of the valley, +where now is a famous resort for health and pleasure, a number of hot +springs were outlined by great columns of steam, which, rising beneath +the arid air, hung low over the foot-hills, and, hanging lower yet in the +vale below, spread itself like an enormous fleece over a lake of seething +water. + + + + +XXXI + +_THROUGH THE OREGON MOUNTAINS_ + + +After moving across the Grande Ronde valley through a veritable Eden +of untamed verdure, and crossing the Grande Ronde River by ford, our +travellers began the ascent of the Blue Mountains. + +The air was cool and delicious. The cattle, much refreshed by their +luscious feed in the bountiful and beautiful valley, moved more briskly +than had been their wont, and were soon in the midst of the grand old +forest trees, which, at that time untouched by the woodman’s ax, stood +in all their native grandeur upon the grass-grown slopes. In the midst +of one of these groves of stately whispering pines the company halted +for the night near a sparkling spring, with scenery all around them so +enchanting that Jean exclaimed in her journal, “Oh, this beautiful world! +how big it is compared to the pygmy mortals who roam over its surface; +and yet how little it is compared to the countless stars that gaze upon +us from above this ‘boundless contiguity of shade’!” + +For several days she had written little. Her thoughts wandered to the +Green River experience that had awakened within her being a new life, +from which, for her at least, there was to be no ending. She could not +write, so she strolled aimlessly away to a mossy rock in a starlit +ravine, at the foot of which a rivulet was singing. + +“Why can’t I see you, mother dear?” she asked. “And you, Bobbie, can’t +you say a word to your sister Jean?” + +For a long time she sat thus, lost in reverie, while the eternal silence +around her was broken only by the low cadence of the whispering pines. + +Suddenly there came into her inner consciousness a call, unspoken yet +heard, “Jean!” + +She closed her eyes and saw, as plainly as with physical vision, Ashton +Ashleigh’s border home; and he was gazing hard at Le-Le, who was kneeling +at his feet in beseeching attitude. + +“Jean!” + +Gradually, as the demon Doubt aroused her senses, a wild, unreasoning +jealousy crept into her heart. She turned her face to the eastward and +sent out to him an answering call, “Ashleigh!” + +She listened eagerly; but no response was felt or heard, and no mental +vision reappeared. With her heart like lead, she returned to the wagon +and crept into bed. + +When she awoke the sun was shining, and she could not recall the vision +that had distressed her. Had her soul visited the abode of her heart’s +idol? Who knows? and who can tell? + + * * * * * + +On and on the teams kept crawling, until on the 6th of September the +summit of the Blue Mountains was passed, and the wearied travellers gazed +for the first time upon the Cascade Mountains, lying to the westward in +the purple distance; and in their midst arose, supported by a continuous +chain of undulating, tree-crowned, lesser heights, the majestic +proportions of Mount Hood, the patriarch of the solitudes, his hoary head +uplifted in the shimmering air, and at his feet a drapery of mist. + +The Umatilla River left the gorges through which it had fought its +way, and glided peacefully through a sagebrush plain toward the great +Columbia. But no settlements were yet to be seen. No navigation had yet +been started on the broad bosom of the upper Columbia. The rock-ribbed +Dalles frowned far below in the misty distance; and no dream of a +fleet of palatial river craft, with portage railways around otherwise +impassable gorges, had yet taken practical shape. The Cascade locks had +not entered the liveliest imagination, and a transcontinental railroad +was considered an engineering impossibility, existing only in the mind of +an impractical theorist or incurable crank. + +A vast and practically level plain or upland lay between the Blue and the +Cascade mountains. The Whitman settlement had already made the existence +of the infant city of Walla Walla possible. Wallula and Umatilla were +not, and the site of Pendleton was an unbroken plain. + +But game was plenty and grass was good. Choke-cherries and salmon-berries +grew thickly among the deciduous groves that bordered the Umatilla River; +and but for the sad bereavements in the Ranger family, which time alone +could heal, the company would have been in exuberant spirits. + +At Willow Creek station, which is now a veritable oasis in the desert, +the party found a trading-post, where some fresh potatoes and onions made +a welcome change in the diet. + +On the 13th of September Jean wrote: “Old friends and relatives, tried +and true, have come to meet us from the Willamette valley, and their +unexpected coming fills us with gratitude unspeakable.” + +After stopping merely to exchange greetings and gather what meagre +tidings they could obtain from each end of the long and tedious road, the +jaded immigrants pushed onward through the heat and dust till nightfall, +when they came to a small stream, where they were compelled to halt for +the night on account of the water, though the grass was poor and the +cattle fared badly. + +The relief party reported the Willamette valley as the “Garden of Eden,” +and gave glowing accounts of the soil, climate, scenery, and plenty with +which the western part of the great Oregon country abounded. Even the +dumb animals seemed to understand and take courage; for they stepped more +briskly under the yoke and chewed the cud to a later hour than had been +their wont. + +Guided by the advice of the relief party, the train was again put in +motion at midnight. + +“It is fully twenty miles to the next camping-ground where there are wood +and water,” said a kindly recruit who had recently been over the road. It +was a forced march, but the animals were well repaid for making it, as +they found good water and a tolerable supply of grass. + +“September 16. We are encamped near the mouth of the Des Chutes River,” +wrote Jean. “It is a clear, swift, and considerable stream which empties +its waters into the Columbia. + +“I know to-night just how Balboa must have felt when he discovered the +Pacific Ocean. For have I not set eyes upon the lordly Columbia, the +mighty river of the West, which + + “‘Hears no sound save its own dashings’?” + +The Des Chutes was safely forded by the teams, under the direction of an +Indian guide, and the women and children were taken across it in a canoe. + +The wild and broken desolation of the plains now gave way to vast +alluvial uplands,—dry, owing to the season, but giving promise of great +prosperity for future husbandmen. Numerous gulches intersected the +otherwise unbroken level, upon which the teams would often come without +warning; therefore travel was difficult and progress slow. + +“If the season were not so far advanced, I’d like to stop over at The +Dalles and visit the mission,” said Captain Ranger; “but a storm is +threatening, and it will never do to risk such an experience in the +Cascade Mountains.” + +“Quite right you air!” exclaimed a mountaineer, who visited the train +avowedly in search of a wife. None of the women or girls saw fit to +accept the negotiations proposed; but his advice as to a coming storm was +good. The train, in seeking to slip through the mountains by the way of +Barlow’s Gap,—a road made passable for teams by the indefatigable labors +of an honored pioneer, whose name it perpetuates,—was halted just in time +to prevent a disastrous ending. + +Captain Ranger’s worn and famishing cattle were reinforced at Barlow’s +Gap by two yokes of fat oxen sent to the rescue by an immigrant of +1850,—a grand and enterprising preacher of the gospel, who, all unknown, +even to himself, was a striking example of a working parson, imbued with +the practical idea of what constitutes a “Church of the Big Licks.” +Not that he was pugnacious, but he was philanthropic and practical and +enterprising; and many are the beneficiaries of his industry and skill +who have long survived his ministry, and date their material progress in +Oregon, as well as their spiritual welfare, to this practical promoter of +an every-day religion. + +Provisions were by this time running short, and the necessity of +reaching the settlements was imperative; but there was no appeal from +the borderer’s experience, and the impatient wayfarers were compelled to +remain in camp for four consecutive days and nights, while the excited +heavens warred among the serrated steeps, as + + “From rock to rock leaped the live thunder.” + +The storm, which condensed its forces into a deluge of rain at both the +eastern and western bases of the Cascade Mountains, had raged as snow in +the forest-studded heights; and this, melting rapidly under the sunny +skies which succeeded the heavy precipitation, made Barlow’s Gap so +slippery that the teamsters had to exercise the utmost care in guiding +the oxen and to keep their own feet. + +Provisions ran lower every day, and finally gave out entirely; and one +jolly wayfarer, who had for many weeks professed to be enjoying the +prospect of a ten-days’ famine, grew so ravenous when compelled to face +the reality at the foot of Laurel Hill, that he begged piteously for some +coffee-grounds to ease the cravings of his stomach. + +The next morning the three girls crossed the raging torrent of the +glacial river Sandy by jumping from rock to rock over the roaring and +perilous current, and gathered a bountiful supply of salal-berries for +the children; but it was almost night before the half-starved men (who +would not eat the purple fruit) were met by a packer, who brought beef +and flour; and as soon as a fire could be kindled, a meal was made ready. + +On the 27th of September the company descended the last long and rocky +steep, and halted with a shout at the foot of the mountains on the famous +Foster Ranch, where fresh vegetables, milk, cream, and butter were +added to the beef and flour on which they had been glad to subsist when +necessary. + +On the thirtieth day of the month they reached Oregon City, and were +royally welcomed by Dr. John McLoughlin,—the renowned, revered, and +idolized hero of Old Oregon. + + + + +XXXII + +_LETTERS FROM HOME_ + + +Oregon City, in the autumn of 1852 and for more than a decade thereafter, +consisted chiefly of a single narrow street bordering the Willamette +River and lying under the sheer bluffs of lichen-clad basaltic rock +that overlook the Falls of the Willamette, valued at that time only +as a fishing site for the wily Indian and a strenuous leaping-place +for schools of salmon. But future enterprise was destined to utilize +the stupendous water-power for the convenience of man in the city of +Portland, a dozen miles below. In this one narrow street the Ranger +company halted to read letters from the States. These letters, many +of them now nearly six months old, brought to them the first tidings +from the old home. The latest was dated August 1, and was from +Grandfather Ranger, announcing the transition of “Grannie,” the beloved +great-grandmother, whose demise was described with much detail:— + +“She was in usual health up to the last day of her sojourn in the body,” +he wrote, “and retained her faculties to the last. She had walked to +Lijah’s and back during the day, with no companion but Rover, who deemed +her his especial charge from the time he took up his abode with us. But +she complained of being tired on her return, and ate less dinner than +usual. While your mother and I were sitting at the table, we heard a +peculiar gasp and gurgle from Grannie’s chair in the next room, and we +hastened to her side; but she never spoke again, except in whispered +messages of love to us all. + +“We laid her precious remains in the family lot, in the dear, peaceful, +leafy burying-ground of Glen Eden, and returned to our lonely home, +and put away her empty chair. On the last morning of her earth-life, +as she sat at breakfast with us, she said, ‘I saw Joseph in my dreams +last night. I heard him speak as plainly as if he had been in this room. +He had a troubled look, but he said: “Tell mother I have written.”’ We +thought little of it at the time; but to-day we had a letter from him, +saying he is alive and well. He spoke of having seen you, John, but he +said you had quarrelled with him, or rather at him, and had left him in a +fit of anger. He did not say why you had quarrelled. But, oh, John, how +could you do it? We know he must have given you cause, but you should, +for our sakes, have risen above it. My old heart is heavy with sorrow. +And your dear, patient mother, who has prayed so long and earnestly for +this meeting between you two,—to think when her prayer is answered at +last that you would add to it such a sting! No matter which one of you is +the more to blame, you, my son, as the elder brother, should be the first +to make concessions. I know your gentle Annie joins me in this appeal. +She seems strangely near me as I write; and I can almost hear her say: +‘To err is human; to forgive divine.’ Give her and all the children our +messages of love and sympathy.” + +The strong man wept convulsively. No tidings of his wife’s transition had +yet been despatched to the folks at home; nor could letters reach them +now for a month to come. There was no overland mail, and all “through” +letters sought transit _via_ Panama. + +A long postscript was added, over which father and children shed tears in +unison. It said: “The dog, Rover, returned at nightfall on the memorable +day of your departure, weary, wet, and bedraggled. He would take no +notice of me, your mother, or Grannie, although we all tried to pet and +console him. But he went straight to your deserted doorstep, where he lay +for a long time moaning like a man in pain. Grannie regularly carried him +food, but he refused to eat for many days, and his wailing and howling +could be heard at all hours of the night. But finally your mother won +him over, and he now makes his home with us, and seems quite happy and +contented. We all thought he would want to leave us and go back to the +old house when Lijah took possession of it, but he didn’t. He just clung +all the closer to us old folks in the cottage; and it would have done +your soul good to see the faithful watch he kept over dear old Grannie +to the last day of her life. He was conspicuous among the chief mourners +at the burial, and lingered alone beside the grave long after we all had +returned to our homes.” + +Jean, recalling her father’s words on that far-away ferry-boat, where +she had last seen the faithful animal watching and wailing from the +river-bank, said, as she looked up from reading her own letters: “Daddie, +don’t you think now that a dog has a soul?” And her father answered +huskily: “I don’t see why he hasn’t as good a right to a soul as I have.” + +“Here, Mame,” said Jean, “is a letter from Cousin Annie Robinson. Listen. +She says: ‘Please break it gently to Cousin Mame that her _beau ideal_ of +a man, the Reverend Thomas Rogers, took to himself a wife before she had +been gone a week. And who should it have been but that detestable Agnes +Winter, who used to say such spiteful things about Mame? She won’t be as +happy after a while as she is now, but she’ll know a whole lot more. Who +could have believed that so saintly a sinner as the Reverend Thomas would +prove so fickle? I hope Mame will see him with our eyes after this. He +isn’t worthy of her passing thought.’” + +Mary, whose dreams for long and weary months had been of a package of +letters from the preacher that never came at all, faced suddenly the +first great crisis in her life; and stilling, with a strong effort of the +will, the tumultuous beatings of her heart, she walked rapidly on, ahead +of the teams, from starting-time until nightfall, fighting her first +great battle with herself alone, and gaining the mastery at last without +human aid or sympathy. + +The immigrants, having concluded their purchases, toiled up the narrow +grade to the table-land above the bluffs, and pursued their way through +the stately evergreen forests and level plains of the Willamette valley +to the homes of relatives, who awaited their coming with joy that was +changed to mourning when they learned for the first time of the death of +Mrs. Ranger. + +After a few days of much-needed rest among the hospitable pioneers who +had preceded them by two years and were now installed on a beautiful and +valuable donation claim, the immigrant party decided to remain in each +other’s vicinity, and removed for the purpose to a beautiful vista of +vacant land under the friendly shadow of the Cascade Mountains, with a +westward outlook across the Willamette valley to the Coast Range, which +alone intervened to shut from sight the surging billows of the Pacific +Ocean. + +It was here that the genius and education of Scotty, who will hereafter +be designated by his lawful name, proved of inestimable value. Supplied +only with a rope and a carpenter’s square, he led a private surveying +party through the woods and prairies, locating their claims with such +accuracy that the government survey, which was made years after, fully +approved his work. + +“You may not be a success at driving oxen or taking care of steers at +night,” said Captain Ranger, “but you are an artist with a rope and a +square.” + +“Didn’t I tell you he’d be worth his weight in gold when he reached +a place where he could have a chance to use his brains?” asked Mrs. +McAlpin, who took as kindly and intelligently to her surroundings as if +to the manner born. + +“Women have a way of divination that I won’t attempt to analyze,” was the +laughing reply. + +The donation claim of each settler, the acreage of which had by this time +been cut into halves by Act of Congress, was still of ample proportions, +being a mile long and half a mile wide, and was so surveyed as to allow +four families or claimants to settle on extreme corners of their land at +points where four corners met. + +“This will enable each claimant to build a cabin on his own claim, so he +can reside upon and cultivate his own land, as required by the law, and +at the same time have neighbors within call in case of accident or other +need,” said Mr. Burns. + +“What a grand and glorious prospect!” exclaimed Captain Ranger, standing +on an eminence where his new house was to go up, and gazing abroad over +the wide expanse of the Willamette valley, in which the winding river +was gleaming through the openings in the forest; “but I can sense one +drawback to your scheme, Mr. Burns.” + +“What is it?” + +“Some of us will be getting married before long and doubling our +opportunity for holding government lands; and as each must reside upon +and cultivate his claim and his wife’s, it will make it a little awkward, +won’t it?” + +“Not if the contracting parties exercise a little ordinary business +ability and discretion, sir. They have but to locate their claims with a +view to matrimony and settle their own bargains to suit themselves.” + +But the Captain, who had dealt with the domestic infelicities of his +neighbors too often to look upon all such bargains as imbued with +old-time stability, had his doubts. + +“If an engaged couple should tire of their bargain, and their change of +sentiment should fail to fit the agreement,—what then?” + +“It would be a blessing for them to discover their mistake in time to +forestall the divorce court,” was the ready reply. + +“Mr. Burns is right,” said Mrs. McAlpin. “Two-thirds of the unhappy +marriages we hear about are the result of haste and lack of +understanding. A couple will marry, and when it is too late to recede +from the bargain they want to break it. I don’t mind telling you, Captain +Ranger, that Mr. Burns and I expect to marry each other some day, and our +claims were chosen accordingly; but we’ll wait until the law frees me +from a bargain which I repudiated in spirit before it was consummated. +And we’ll not marry then if we conclude we are making a mistake.” + +“I am glad to hear you make so open and frank a statement in the presence +of so competent a witness,” exclaimed Mrs. Benson, who still carried an +important note in her pocket, frayed and travel-soiled, but none the less +precious from being scarcely legible. + +“I think it is a shame to make a commercial bargain of a matrimonial +agreement,” exclaimed Mary Ranger. + +“And so do I!” echoed Jean. + +Nevertheless, when the boundaries of the several donation claims were +established, and the different allotments were assigned to the proper +claimants, it was noticed that, in addition to the Captain’s own quota of +virgin acres, an extra claim was reserved adjacent to that of each of his +daughters, Mary and Jean, and one next to that of Sally O’Dowd. + + * * * * * + +“Equality before the law is a fundamental idea in the government of the +United States of America,” the Captain explained at the Land Office; “and +I am glad to see it practically applied to the property rights of the +pioneer women of Oregon. It is a good beginning, and none can see the +end.” + +“Sally O’Dowd isn’t a free woman, and she can’t get married, thank +goodness!” cried Jean, as she and her sisters talked the matter over +together between themselves alone. + +“That’s so,” echoed Mary. “Sally has a husband living, and so there is no +danger of our losing father.” + +“Let’s not be too certain,” cried Jean. “If you’d kept your eyes open for +the last month, as I have, you wouldn’t be surprised at anything. Sally’s +case was up on appeal when she left the States, but it has doubtless gone +by default. She has the custody of her children, and that was all she +asked of Sam O’Dowd.” + +“Then Sally is a free woman,” said Marjorie. + +“No woman is free when she is married,” retorted Jean. “The laws of men +do not recognize the individuality of a married woman. I, for instance, +am Jean Ranger to-day, but if I should marry to-morrow, I’d be—” + +“Nothing but a nonentity named Mrs. Ashton Ashleigh,” interrupted Mary. +“Women delight in surrendering their names in marriage to the man they +love.” + +“You’re right,” cried Jean, her eyes blazing. “I’d surrender to-morrow if +Ashton would come to claim his own. But it would be a partnership, and +not a one-sided agreement.” + +“That’s what every woman thinks when she puts her neck in the noose,” +laughed Marjorie; “but when the man comes along who is able to capture +her heart, she is ready to make the venture.” + +“That’s because the fundamental principle of matrimony is correct,” +retorted Jean. + +“Dat’s so, honey,” said Susannah. “Women is jist like pigs. When one +of ’em burns his nose in a trough o’ hot mash, dey’ll all hurry to +’vestigate an’ git de same sperience.” + +“Of course you’ll get some land,” said Jean. + +“I’ve done axed de Cap’n ’bout it, an’ he’s looked up de law. He says I +can’t take up no lan’ ’cos I’m nothin’ but a niggah. De laws o’ Oregon +are ag’in it; so are de laws o’ de gen’ral gov’ment. A free country’s a +great blessin’ to women an’ niggahs! It’s a great blessin’ to be bawn in +a free country; ain’t it, Geo’die Wah?” + +The coon, who had grown and flourished under his six months’ regimen of +flapjacks and bacon, shook his bright brown curls and grinned, displaying +an even set of polished ivories. + +“I couldn’t git married if I wanted to,” added the negress, “’cos the law +is sot ag’in mixed matches; but da’hs no law nowhar ag’in coons”; and she +ended hers harangue with a characteristic “Yah! yah! yah!” + +“Then, if you can’t marry, you can always work for wages, Susannah; +and you’ll be better off than Mrs. McAlpin,”—she was coming to join +the group,—“who is going to be married soon, if I can read the stars +correctly,” laughed Marjorie. + +“No, Marjorie; I cannot even talk of marriage with the man whom God +created for me, and me only. I am not even a grass widow. I cannot +legally file upon a claim because I am the victim of a marriage I cannot +honor. And the law cannot set me free because the party of the second +part objects.” + +“What’s that you were saying to the Ranger girls, Daphne?” asked Mrs. +Benson, who had been engaged in assisting Captain Ranger and Mr. Burns to +plan the two sets of log houses that were to be erected a mile apart, and +to be so arranged as to form separate abodes for four families. + +“Nothing, mamma, only I was bewailing my fate.” + +“Come with me, Daphne; I have something to show you,” said Mrs. Benson, +in a low tone. + +“Listen to this letter,” said the mother, as soon as they were seated +among the trees. “The time has come for you to know its contents:— + + “MY DEAR MRS. BENSON,—You have been a brave, devoted mother to + an unhappily environed daughter. I have long known that you + and I were made for each other. We became mismatched through + adherence to false customs. Daphne does not love me, and has + never willingly accepted our union, as you have painful reason + to know. You love me! Pardon this abrupt announcement. You have + never told me so, but I have known the truth for years. To have + this opportunity to tell you that I reciprocate, is at present + my only joy. + + “I will meet you in the wilds of Oregon. Daphne’s latest + erratic movements to escape me have all along been known. To + follow you I became a wanderer in these Western wilds. I will + take measures to set your beautiful daughter free. A couple + whom God hath _not_ joined together it is man’s duty to put + asunder. Keep your own counsel till such time as you are strong + enough to take your life and destiny into your own hands, and + declare yourself accountable primarily to yourself and God for + your own actions. + + “I will be in Portland, Oregon, by November first. We shall + surely meet again. + + “Faithfully, through time and for eternity, your devoted but + never yet accredited counterpart, + + “DONALD MCPHERSON.” + +The daughter clasped her mother’s hand and fervently exclaimed, “Thank +God!” + +Mrs. Benson wept. + +“It will never do for you and me to meet again after this revelation,” +said the daughter, after a long silence. “I will take up my permanent +abode in this new country, and you can rejoin Donald in New York or +Philadelphia, _via_ the city of Panama. But you must go to Portland now. +We will not set idle tongues to wagging here. It is fortunate indeed that +Donald took his mother’s name as a part of his last inheritance.” + + + + +XXXIII + +_LOVE FINDS A WAY_ + + +“You needn’t select any lands for me, Captain,” said Mrs. Benson. “I +have decided to go to Portland to-morrow with the team that’s going down +for supplies. I shall not return. But my daughter will remain and take a +claim. She has decided to turn rancher, but I do not like the life.” + +“Isn’t this a rather sudden change in your programme, Mrs. Benson?” + +“Not at all. I didn’t intend to remain when I came here. I wouldn’t have +come any farther than Oregon City, but I wanted to get a view of the +future home of Daphne; and now, as she has chosen for herself and has +a fair prospect of happiness ahead, I am ready to look out for myself. +I shall stop awhile in Portland, and be ready to take the next steamer +for San Francisco. I will go to New York by way of the Isthmus, and will +spend the evening of my days in Paris or London.” + +“I’m sure I wish you well, Mrs. Benson.” + +“Thank you, Captain. My heart is too full for words! I know you will +always be a friend to my dear daughter.” + +“You surely do not mean to go where you can never see your daughter +again!” + +“Yes, Captain. Do you recall that tall and bronzed and handsome man of +whom you bought the buffalo robe you gave to your wife a short time +before her death?” + +“You mean Donald McPherson?” + +“Yes, sir. The fates have settled it. He is to be my husband, and Daphne +and I must part.” + +“You have my best wishes for success and happiness,” said the Captain, +earnestly, as he offered his hand. + +“There is some peculiar mystery about all this!” he exclaimed to himself +the next day, as Mrs. Benson climbed into the wagon and started off to +meet her fate. “But it’s the way of women. They are as fickle as the +wind.” He thought bitterly of his own budding and now blighted hopes. + +“Don’t grieve for her, Daphne,” said Mr. Burns, in a husky voice, as the +wagon disappeared. “She was kind to me when I was crippled and cross, +and I shall never forget her watchfulness and care for me under the most +trying conditions. She is your mother, too, and that of itself is enough +to inspire my everlasting gratitude. I have no respect for the man who +fails to appreciate the woman to whom he is indebted for his wife.” + +“It is well for the three of us that we have learned our lesson, Rollin. +We are all young yet, and all eternity is before us.” + +“Yes, Daphne! Eternity is both before and behind us. We are henceforth to +be all in all to each other, as I believe we have been in the past, my +darling.” + +“No, Mr. Burns, do not ‘darling’ me yet. We must await the tardy action +of that human imperfection called the law before I can honorably become +your ‘darling.’” + +Nevertheless, being human, she feigned not to notice the prolonged +pressure of his hand at parting, nor did she refrain from answering his +eager and tender gaze with a look that quickened every pulse and sent a +thrill of gladness to his heart. + + * * * * * + +At the primitive hotel in the primitive little city of Portland, Mrs. +Benson met an Indian woman, the mother of many children, who was +introduced to her as Mrs. Addicks. The woman was richly and stylishly +gowned and seemed much at home among the guests. Her mien and carriage +were queenly, as she moved about the little parlor, exchanging a word +here and there among the loiterers, with whom she seemed a general +favorite. + +“Haven’t I met you somewhere before?” asked Mrs. Benson, with whom, in +truth, she had exchanged greetings on the plains under circumstances +quite different from the present, as one, at least, had cause to remember. + +“I do not recall a former meeting, madam. But you might have met me on +the plains. I was on my way to Portland when you saw me, if you saw me +at all. A frontier trading-post is no proper place to bring up a lot of +Indian half-breeds. I came here to educate my children.” + +“Then your husband is a white man?” + +“Yes.” + +“I beg your pardon, but you do not speak and act like the other Indians I +have met.” + +“I am a chieftain’s daughter, and I was educated in London. You spoke of +travelling in the Ranger train. Mr. Ranger is my husband’s brother.” + +“Does Captain Ranger know of this?” + +“I neither know nor care! One thing is certain. I shall do my best to +train and educate my children in such a way that he will be proud some +day to own them as relatives. I have the girls in school at the Academy +of the Sacred Heart. The boys are at the Brothers’ School.” + +“Do you know Dr. McLoughlin?” + +“Yes, and my husband knows him well. I saw him as the children and I +passed through Oregon City. He was very kind, and bade me be of good +cheer. He has an Indian wife himself, as you know. But he did not ask me +in to see her, so we did not meet.” + + * * * * * + +As Donald McPherson had not yet arrived in Portland, Mrs. Benson had +ample leisure for letter-writing. + +“My dear Daphne,” she wrote, “a letter from Mr. McPherson awaited me, +as I expected. He had sent it forward by a courier from the plains, in +care of one of Dr. McLoughlin’s agents. I need not repeat its contents. +Suffice it to say, that I am serene and calm. God has been very merciful +to us all. Within the letter was a letter of credit, upon which I am now +able to draw ample funds. I will place on deposit, subject to your order, +all the money you will need. Do not hesitate to accept it. It is mine, +to do with as I choose; and this is my choice of methods to expend the +portion I have assigned to you. + +“I have decided not to meet him till after you are a free woman, Daphne. +I know you and Donald will guard our secret carefully; but I have doubts +about Jean Ranger. She brought me that unsealed note, and, as you know, +she is such a precocious little witch she might have read it before +giving it into my possession. Could you, in some way, get at the truth of +this without letting her see just what you are after?” + +To which Mrs. McAlpin replied: “I will not do Jean the injustice to +imagine for a moment that she would read a private note that was +intrusted to her care and honor. Tell Donald that I will honor him as my +step-father, but I will never see his face again. He was very patient +with me during all the trying years when the Juggernaut of public +opinion, combined with the inquisition of the law, kept us in bondage; +and I thank him for his patience with all my heart. I am as painfully +aware of the unconventionality of our proceedings as yourself, dear +mamma, but as what the public doesn’t know doesn’t disturb that composite +being in the least, we’ll keep our own counsel and be happy. + +“My donation claim lies parallel to Sally O’Dowd’s. Captain Ranger’s +claim adjoins hers on the south,—a plan that implies foreknowledge, if +not foreordination. + +“Mr. Burns and Albert Evans, our faithful teamster, have selected their +land adjacent to mine. Evans has chosen a double allotment, having in +prospect a wife who is a mere child, belonging to a neighbor about three +miles away. I am disgusted with the venality of the transaction, which +the child’s father regards with satisfaction, and the mother with tears.” + +A few days later, Mrs. Benson wrote to Captain Ranger, as follows:— + +“I have met here an interesting and highly educated Indian woman, who +says she is the wife of the post-trader you met in Utah. She says that +trader is your brother Joseph, whom for many years you mourned as dead. +She is here to educate her boys at the Brothers’ School, and her girls at +the Academy of the Sacred Heart. + +“When we saw her on the plains, she looked nothing but an ordinary +squaw. Now she and the children are well and fashionably dressed, and +as presentable in every way as any family in this primitive hostelry; +and that is saying a good deal, for there are ladies here of high rank +and breeding from the Eastern cities, and also from over the seas. Mrs. +Ranger (she still answers to the name of Addicks) was educated in London, +she says, where, as the daughter of an Indian chieftain of the land of +the Dakotas, she was admitted into the most aristocratic circles. After +completing her education she returned to her native haunts and met your +brother, who made her his wife. She seems to have plenty of money; her +children are bright and intelligent,—the girls especially so, they being, +she says, more like their father than the boys; and for this, as you +know, there is a physiological reason.” + +“I’ll see that woman the very first time I go to Portland,” said the +Captain, aloud, as he folded the letter deliberately. + +“What woman?” asked Sally O’Dowd. + +“Nobody in particular,” he answered, thrusting the letter hurriedly into +his pocket, and looking confused and foolish as he returned to his work. + +The labor of felling, hewing, hauling, and finally raising into houses +the timbers for the big log buildings which were to afford homes for the +half-dozen or more families who had, by common consent, adopted a sort of +corporate method for residing upon and cultivating their claims, told +heavily upon the men, who, already depleted in strength by much hardship, +were poorly equipped for their tasks. But there was no shirking of duties +nor complaint over backaches, and the borderers’ homes arose like magic. + +“How do you like the appearance of the new buildings?” asked Captain +Ranger, addressing Sally O’Dowd. + +“Why should you ask me?” was the curt response. + +Surprised at her reply but disposed to be communicative, he added: “If +all goes well, I’ll have a sawmill up yonder in the timber by this time +next year.” + +“That’s none of my business,” she retorted testily. + +He looked at her for a moment in blank astonishment. “Why isn’t it your +business?” he asked, at length. “Haven’t we agreed to first get you free +from a bad bargain, and after that take up our line of march together? +And won’t your belongings then be mine, and mine yours?” + +“What about that other woman you are going to Portland to see? Do you +take me for an idiot, Squire?” + +He looked her in the face for an instant, nonplussed. Then as the reason +for her change of manner dawned upon him, he threw back his head and +laughed heartily. + +“So that’s what the matter with us, is it?” he exclaimed, approaching her +with a proffered caress. “We’ve been a trifle jealous, haven’t we?” + +“Behave yourself, sir!” elbowing him away. “Go to Portland and see that +other woman. No doubt a party by the name of Benson is expecting you.” + +He guffawed again, making her angrier still. + +“Come, Sally; let’s have no more nonsense,” he said, after his laughter +had ceased, motioning her to a seat beside him on the doorway. + +She stood irresolute. + +“Very well, if you prefer to do so, you can sit a-standing, like the +Dutchman’s hen. I’ve been keeping a letter that’s been burning my pocket +for three days waiting for an opportunity to show it to you, Mrs. +O’Dowd; but you’ve been so shy I couldn’t touch you with a forty-foot +pole.” + +“What do you suppose I care for your letters from that other woman?” +she asked, dropping into the space in the doorway, all eagerness and +attention, in spite of her disclaimer. + +“Read it yourself, Sally. It is from my brother-in-law, Lije Robinson.” + +“The latest sensation is the suicide of Sam O’Dowd,” the letter went on +to say, after the usual preliminaries of the border scribe. + +“No!” cried the widow, now such _de facto_, rising to her feet and +turning deathly pale. “Sam wouldn’t commit suicide. He’d be afraid to +meet his Maker.” + +“But he did it, Sally. Read on.” + +“He left a confession, saying it was remorse that drove him to it, +and extolling his wife as a model woman, whom he had wronged beyond +reparation in every way imaginable. + +“His mother is wellnigh crazy. The home the two of them had wrested from +his wife and her mother, in which the old woman had allotted to spend her +days, goes back to Sally now, as, by his confession, his mother has no +right to it.” + +“Poor Sam!” cried the widow, dropping again into the proffered space in +the doorway. “He had his faults, but he wasn’t all bad. This letter and +his confession prove it. I shall try hard to think that he atoned for his +greatest crime by his voluntary death. But I’d be sorry myself to meet +the reception that he’ll get in heaven!” + +“Why, Sally? What do you mean?” + +“Nothing. Let the dead past bury its dead.” + +Captain Ranger, who, in first proposing matrimony, had stated earnestly +that his heart was still with Annie, gazed tenderly at the weeping woman, +who arose and stood before him in a mute yet beseeching attitude, while +a warm love for her sprang spontaneously within him. + +“Come, Sally dear,” he pleaded; “sit down by me again, and let us talk it +out.” + +She obeyed mechanically, her frame convulsed with weeping. + +“I can never talk again about a platonic union,” he said feelingly. “I +know that Annie would sanction our marriage now if she could speak to us; +and I believe with all my heart that she knows of our proposed relations, +and that she will, under the peculiar circumstances, also approve.” + +Ah, John Ranger! Materialist as you used always to proclaim yourself, you +cannot, in the deepest recesses of your soul, rebel against the faith +that is “the evidence of things not seen.” What have you done with your +agnosticism? + +“Captain,” said Sally, in a subdued tone, “I have seen the day when +I would have followed Sam O’Dowd to the ends of the earth if he had +commanded. I could and would have lived on the acorns of the forest +rather than have failed to be his wife. Do not ask me to love you now. I +cannot be your wife.” + +“Are we not engaged?” he asked, astonished. + +“Yes; conditionally. But I cannot think about it now. If I can ever bring +myself to think it right for me to be your wife, I will not hesitate to +tell you so. But not now, Captain; not now.” + +She arose abruptly, and was gone. + + + + +XXXIV + +_HAPPY JACK INTRODUCES HIMSELF_ + + +“Here,” said Jean, the next morning, approaching her father, who was hard +at work by sunrise, “are the letters I promised to write to Mr. Ashleigh +and his mother. You stipulated that you should see them, as you will +remember.” + +His head and heart were aching. “I don’t care a rap for your nonsense,” +he exclaimed. “Nothing’ll ever come of it. The fellow has never written +to you.” + +“That’s so!” thought Jean, strolling off aimlessly into the woods. +“Daddie gave him our address as Oregon City. Oh, my God! can it be +possible that my other self has been married (or the same as married) to +Le-Le, the Indian slave?” + +Giant trees rose often to the height of three hundred feet,—one hundred +and fifty feet from the ground without a limb,—and so straight that no +hand-made colonnade could equal them for grace and symmetry. As Jean +stood under these stately monarchs of the soil and listened to the soft +sighing of the wind among their evergreen leaves, she heard the roar of +rushing water. She clambered through a labyrinth of deciduous undergrowth +till she came to a horseshoe bend at the head of a gulch, over which the +water foamed and tumbled till lost from sight amid the tangled ferns and +foliage. + +“Halloa!” cried a voice from an unseen source. + +She looked in the direction whence the call seemed to proceed, and +beheld, standing on the opposite bluff, a typical young backwoodsman, +tall and shapely. + +She returned the salutation by waving her sunbonnet, which she had been +swinging aimlessly by its strings, exposing her face and head to the +caress of the balm-laden air. + +A minute later, and the stranger was by her side. She noticed that he +carried in a careless way a long, old-fashioned rifle; that a pipe was in +his mouth, and a pistol of the “pepper-box” variety protruded from the +leg of his boot. + +“Are you the Ranger gal what got left at Green River?” + +She turned ghastly pale at mention of the locality where her thoughts +were centred, but made no audible reply. + +“My name is Henry Jackman,—better known as Happy Jack,” he said, as he +dropped the butt-end of his rifle to the ground with a thud, and stood +waiting for her to speak. + +“I’ve heard of you before,” said Jean; “you are the man who’s been +talking sawmill to my daddie.” + +“That’s what!” + +“Then we may as well become acquainted. I am Jean Ranger, and I have an +older sister Mary and a younger one named Marjorie, besides my brother +Hal and two little sisters.” + +“I seed yer dad yisti’dy an’ we talked things over. Thar’s a fine +prospec’ hyer fur a sawmill.” + +“So I perceive.” + +“Yer dad an’ me’s goin’ to go snucks.” + +“I do not understand.” + +“I mean pardners. He’s got the sabé an’ I’ve got the rocks, so we can +make a go of it. The kentry’s settlin’ up powerful fast, an’ thar’ll be +lots o’ demand for lumber for bridges an’ barns an’ houses an’ fencin’ +an’ sich.” + +“I see. We had a lot of spavined, wind-broken old horses for our sawmill +power in the States, sir.” + +“Thar’s a water-power yander that beats hosses all to thunder, miss.” + +“So I see, sir.” + +“Thar’s millions o’ feet o’ logs in sight; an’ out yander in the +mountains is a place to build a flume, so we kin raf’ the logs down to a +lake that I found up thar in the woods. We’ll have a town here some day +an’ make things hum.” + +“Have you often met my daddie?” asked Jean. + +“I’m lookin’ fur him now, every minute. We’re goin’ to survey some +timber-land fur the mill-hands, farther up the crick. The curse o’ this +kentry is bachelders. Ah! here’s the Cap’n now. It’s lucky you’ve brought +along so many weemen folks, ole man; we’ll all be needin’ wives.” + +This concluding remark brought the hot blood of indignation to the +cheeks of Jean as she turned to meet her father, who was carrying an ax +and a gun, followed by Mr. Burns, equipped with a clothes-line and a +carpenter’s square. + +“What in thunder are you doing out here, Jean?” asked her father, taking +no notice of the stranger’s remark. “Don’t you know that the woods are +full of wild beasts?” + +“I’ve seen nothing wilder than your prospective ‘pardner,’” she answered +aside. “He seems harmless; but he’s an ignoramus and a boor.” + +“Very well, Jean. But ruin home now, and help the women folks. They have +a whole lot o’ work on hand, getting settled, and you do like to shirk.” + +“Thar’ll be lots more of it for ’em to do afore this timber is all sawed +up,” added the prospective “pardner.” “It takes a mountain o’ grub to +keep a lot o’ loggers in workin’ order. I’m mighty glad, Cap’n, that +you’ve got a lot a weemin folks; we’ll need ’em in our business.” + +“Yes,” retorted Jean. “They’re as handy to have in the house as a coffin +with the proper combination of letters on the plate!” + +Mr. Burns laughed; but Mr. Jackman dropped his lower jaw and looked the +picture of an exaggerated interrogation point. “What’s the gal drivin’ +at?” he asked under his breath; and her father said gravely, “Stop +talking nonsense, Jean.” + +It was mutually agreed upon that a logging-camp should be started at +once, and the ground prepared during the coming rainy season for the +foundation and erection of a combined sawmill, planer, and shingle-mill, +and that Captain Ranger should return, as early as practicable, to the +States, _via_ the Isthmus, to purchase the necessary machinery, which +could not at that time be procured on the Pacific Coast. + + * * * * * + +Soon thereafter Captain Ranger went to Portland to purchase the necessary +supplies for the winter’s use. Arriving there, he repaired, in his best +Sunday suit, to the primitive hotel, and inquired for Mrs. Addicks. + +The lady appeared, after long waiting, fastidiously gowned and so +thoroughly at ease that all his thought of the superior quality of the +white man’s blood departed as he saw her, and he stood in her presence in +embarrassed silence. + +“Won’t you be seated, Mr.—” + +“Ranger,” he said, fumbling his hat awkwardly and shambling into the +proffered chair. + +“To what am I indebted for this visit, Mr. Ranger?” + +“You will please excuse me, ma’am,” he said, crossing his legs clumsily, +“but I have come to see you on a little business that concerns us both. +Your husband is my brother.” + +“Then, sir, you can tell me something about his family. Do his parents +yet live?” + +“They were alive and well at last accounts; but it takes two months or +more for a letter to go and come. Our grandmother died recently.” + +“The dear old lady he calls ‘Grannie’?” + +“Yes.” + +“My husband will be grieved to hear of this. I must write to him at +once. Can you give me any particulars concerning her last days? Did she +remember Joseph?” + +“She had a dream of him, and said his mother would live to see him again.” + +“I used to wonder why my husband was so reticent about his family +affairs. I supposed when we were married that he would take me back to +live among his people. But he steadfastly refused to do it, and would not +even let me know their post-office address. But I know all about it now. +He left home under a cloud.” + +“But it was not nearly so bad as he thought. I set his mind at rest on +that score when we had that last interview. The poor fellow was in daily +dread of discovery and pursuit for more than a dozen years.” + +The woman arose and paced the floor in silence, the coppery hue of her +complexion enriched by the blood that rushed to her face. She paused +and stood before him, her hands folded over the back of a chair, as she +waited for him to speak again. + +“I did your husband a grievous wrong when I saw him at the post, madam. I +must confess that I had no idea that the Indian woman he told me that he +had married was—” + +She waved her hand in protest. “There, there, Mr. John; no flattery, if +you please. If you had seen me as I was that day, you would have felt +justified in spurning your brother’s wife. It was not my fault, though, +that he kept me like a common squaw. Your conduct is fully forgiven, +since it resulted in an open declaration of independence on my part. + +“There were a dozen young chieftains and half as many white men who +aspired to my hand and heart in my girlhood; but Joseph was a king among +them all. But we had not been married a month before I found that I +was doomed to the same treatment, as his wife, that other Indian wives +endure. So I lost heart, and accepted the situation as stolidly as my +father would have done if he had been doomed to perpetual slavery.” + +“Did Joseph always treat you badly after your marriage?” + +The woman shrugged her shoulders. + +“Hard times came to our tribe. The Hudson Bay Company’s business +languished. We had a succession of bitter cold winters, with dry, hot +summers following. The different tribes became involved in war. Then +famine came, and pestilence. We will draw a veil over what followed, Mr. +John. Joseph will never beat his wife again; I have sworn it! + +“The fluctuations of fortune brought us at last to the Utah trading-post, +where you saw Joseph. We were prosperous then, and might have lived like +white folks; but he seemed to prefer to keep me situated like an ordinary +squaw, so I gave him all he bargained for. But, ugh! I did detest the +life. Finally my father died and left me an ample inheritance, which is +mine absolutely. I will educate my children and take them to London, +where there is no prejudice against my people such as abounds in this +‘land of the free and home of the brave’!” + +“Do you think Joseph is able to repay a part of the money we lost on his +account?” + +“My husband will waste more money in a single night sometimes, at the +gambling-table, than he will expend on his family in a year. I think he +is quite able to pay his debts.” + +“How would you like to visit our people back in the old home?” + +“When our children reach the age of six or seven years, they begin to +outgrow the Indian style and complexion,” she said; “but I’ll not take +them among my husband’s people while they look like little pappooses.” + +“Why not take them out to my donation claim? My family will be glad to +welcome you.” + +“Couldn’t I take my nurse along?” + +“If you did, some fool would coax her to marry him, so he and she could +hold a double quota of land. Better leave her here with your little ones, +or set her to washing dishes.” + +“In either case our landlord would marry her himself, I fear. But I’ll +risk it.” + +The older girls were out of school for a walk, in the company of their +brother John and a black-robed Sister, and thus were permitted at this +juncture to enter their mother’s presence for an introduction to their +uncle. + +“John and Annie are Rangers, as you see, sir. My husband is very proud of +them.” + +“And well he might be,” thought the Captain, as he scanned them +critically. + + * * * * * + +The sun was sinking behind the Coast Range the next evening, throwing the +picturesque valley of the Willamette into deep shadows, and lighting up +the tops of the Cascade heights with tinges of rose and gold and purple, +when a carriage and pair were seen ascending the narrow grade leading +to the great log house occupied temporarily by all the families of the +Ranger colony. The unexpected arrival of the Captain created a sensation, +which was not at all abated when he vaulted to the ground, followed, +before he could turn to assist her, by a large, well-formed, and +faultlessly attired Indian woman, with a sheen of gold in her raven-hued +hair. + +“Mrs. O’Dowd,” said the Captain, offering his hand, “allow me to +introduce Mrs. Ranger Number Two,—my brother Joseph’s wife.” + + + + +XXXV + +_ASHLEIGH MAKES NEW PLANS_ + + +When Henry Jackman saw the wife of Joseph Ranger, whom he had known +at the trading-post in Utah as Mr. Addicks, and understood the full +significance of her arrival as a welcome visitor and relative of the +Ranger family, he shrugged his shoulders and walked away, exclaiming: +“I’m dummed!” + +“No wonder Uncle Joe was captured by that fine creature,” said Jean to +herself. “She must have been as handsome in her girlhood as Le-Le.” And +for the first time in her life she fainted away. + +When she awoke to consciousness, which was not till the next morning, +she was on the big white bed in the spare chamber, whither she had been +carried by loving friends and treated through all the watches of the +night by the Little Doctor with the untiring faithfulness of a devoted +friend. + +“Take that Indian away! I cannot bear the sight of her,” cried Jean, as +her copper-colored aunt approached her, proffering kindly offices. + +“She must be humored in her whims till she has had time to recover, +Mrs. Ranger,” said Mrs. McAlpin, aside. “There’s a love story and a +disappointment behind all this. Her antipathy is not against you, but +another Indian princess whom she thinks she has cause to remember.” + +“I didn’t come here to make wounds, but to heal them,” faltered Mrs. +Ranger, as, with an indistinct conception of the trouble, she left the +room, followed by Sally O’Dowd. + +“I want you to know that you have healed my wounds,” said Sally. “I was +miserably and unreasonably jealous of—I didn’t know of whom—for a whole +week before you came to us. I shall never be such a simpleton again.” + +“My wise brother says you and he have concluded to marry each other, Mrs. +O’Dowd.” + +“We were engaged for a short time, but when I overheard him talking to +himself about going to Portland ‘to see a woman,’ and he wouldn’t take me +into his confidence about her, I got angry and jealous, and treated him +shabbily.” + +They found the Captain, of whom they went in quest, in his favorite seat +on the front doorstep. + +“I don’t see why you and Joseph cannot go together to visit your parents +this winter,” said Mrs. Ranger, coming at once to the point. “Your +partner can have ample time while you are away to get the foundations +ready for the mill and other buildings. I will write to Joseph this very +night and urge it if you say so.” + +The Captain looked inquiringly at Mrs. O’Dowd. + +“I quite agree with your brother’s wife,” she said, extending her hand. +“I was an idiot to act toward you as I did.” + +“With your permission, I will write at once to Joseph, explaining +everything and urging him to come to the ranch at once. The courier goes +out to-night, so there is no time to lose.” + +“Yes,” said Sally, whose eyes were blazing with a new joy, “it is just as +Wahnetta says. You can be spared better this winter than later. Will you +go if Joseph consents to accompany you?” + +“And leave you behind?” + +“It would be very humiliating to your family and embarrassing to both of +us for me to return as your wife to the old home of your Annie, John.” + +“But you’ll marry me before I start?” + +“No, John,” she said, the tears welling to her eyes; “we owe to your +Annie’s people a tender regard for their feelings. If we were to be +married before you visit them, they could never be reconciled to me.” + +“I must consult my partner,” said the Captain. “He may not want me to +leave at this time. The fellow is terribly unreasonable at times.” + +“Is that ‘fellow,’ as you call him, your master?” asked Mary, who was +passing, on her way to the milk-house. “He’s been hanging around the +house ever since sun-up, waiting for a chance to see Jean. He’s depending +on the three of us to keep the boarding-house, and he wants to marry +Jean, to stop her wages.” + +“Excuse me, ladies; I must see my partner at once,” said the Captain, as +he hurried away. + +It required much persuasive argument to secure the consent of Happy Jack +to Mrs. Joseph’s proposition; but he yielded at length, as men are wont +to do when women to whom they are not married combine to carry a point. + +The outgoing courier was to leave Oregon City at sunset, and it was +necessary to write many letters for the overland mail, destined for Salt +Lake and the few intervening points along the route. + +Among the missives was one from Jean to Ashton Ashleigh, containing only +a few sentences:— + +“I have loved you more than life, but I have awaited tidings from you +till hope is dead. I wrote a letter for your mother, but it was not sent +to her because I had not heard from you. You will understand. I am deeply +wounded, but I shall not die. I shall do my duty and be honest with +myself, no matter what others may do or be. + +“A man who styles himself Happy Jack has come among us, who wants to +make me his wife. He is forming a partnership with daddie in the sawmill +business; and he insinuates that you have married Le-Le. Does this +explain your silence?” + + * * * * * + +A fortnight passed, and Ashton Ashleigh read this letter by the +flickering light of a smoking kerosene lamp. Siwash lay on a buffalo robe +in a corner, reading; and near him sat Le-Le, making a cunningly wrought +moccasin. + +The wind outside was rising. The ice-laden chains and pulleys of the +idle ferry-boat resounded to its attack like a thousand-stringed Æolian +harp. Suddenly, under a louder and more furious blast than any that had +preceded it, the ice-incrusted cables snapped asunder, and the frozen +boat crashed through the ice blockade, her timbers breaking as if made of +withes. + +Ashleigh opened the door and peered out into the moonlight. White clouds +rolled over and over one another, and the stark white landscape seemed +alive with flurrying snow. + +“Good-bye, Green River Ferry,” he said. “This is a fitting finale to my +cherished hopes. Oh, Jean! my bonnie Jean! To think that the end should +be like this!” + + * * * * * + +“The ferry-boat is gone, Le-Le,” he said the next morning. “Your ransom +price has been paid, and you are, as you know, a slave no longer. I am +going away. Take good care of Le-Le, Siwash, my boy; and take good care +of yourself also.” + +The girl’s English vocabulary was too meagre to admit of much +expostulation in speech, but her wailing was blood-curdling as she knelt +at his feet, alternately embracing his knees and tearing her hair. + +“I have made a terrible mistake, poor girl,” he cried, tearing himself +away, “but I meant only to be kind. It was my dream to set you free and +take you with me to—to—her. But now I see that it will be impossible!” + +Le-Le, still wailing, prepared his breakfast. Siwash brought his mules to +the door, in stolid obedience to orders, his face as expressionless as +flint. + +“The white man’s heart is hard, like the hoof of the buffalo,” he said +to Le-Le in her native tongue. “You mistook his kindness for love. But +never mind. You’ll get over it.” + + * * * * * + +Two days of steady travel through the solitudes brought Ashleigh to the +lodgings of the post-trader, Joseph Ranger, alias Addicks. + +“Your wife,” John had written to his brother, “has come to visit us at +the Ranch of the Whispering Firs, as my girls have named our donation +claims, to hold which we have pooled our issues, and have filed upon them +as individuals. My family are charmed with her. Do join us here at once. +Take a donation claim near to one or more of ours. Forget bygones. And, +best of all, go with me this winter, by the Isthmus route, to the dear +old home. Do say yes, Joe, and we may all be happy yet.” + +“Halloa!” cried Ashleigh, as he alighted at the post. + +“Well,” cried Joseph Ranger, as he opened his canvas door; “it’s +Ashleigh. Come right in! You’re the very man I wanted to see.” + +A savory odor of hot biscuits and frying ham greeted the nostrils of the +benumbed and hungry wayfarer. + +“This supper smells good, Mr. Addicks.” + +“Mr. Addicks no more, if you please, Mr. Ashleigh. My name is +Ranger,—Joseph Ranger. I have found myself, and I shall be known by my +real name hereafter. But help yourself to pot-luck. And please excuse me. +I have just begun to read a letter from the coast. The courier hasn’t +been gone five minutes.” + +After Ashleigh had finished his meal his host thrust the letter in his +face and said, “What do you think of that?” + +“What do you propose to do?” asked Ashleigh, after carefully considering +the missive. + +“Why, go to Oregon, of course. What else could a fellow do? But I don’t +know what in the dickens to do with my stuff.” + +“You can leave me in charge, if you like. You can invoice at your lowest +selling-price, and I’ll make what profit I can on the venture and close +it out in the spring; that is, if you do not care to return next year.” + +“The good Lord has taken pity on me at last,” cried the delighted host. +“My luck has begun to turn.” + + + + +XXXVI + +_HAPPY JACK IS SURPRISED_ + + +“You don’t seem to like the idea of my going to the States this winter, +after all,” said Captain Ranger to his partner, who had been for several +days exhibiting a degree of ill temper not assuring to a man of peaceful +inclinations. + +“Not by a darn sight. Business is business. Them weemen folks o’ yourn is +as independent as so many hogs on ice. They are goin’ back on me about +the cookin’ for the men. But say! I won’t object to your goin’ no more, +if you’ll make Jean marry me afore you start. I could manage her all +right if she was my wife; an’ then I could set the pace for the rest of +’em.” + +The Captain paused a moment, in doubt whether to give the fellow the toe +of his boot or wipe the ground with his whole body. “My daughters are +to be their own choosers,” he said. “I have already engaged a crew of +loggers to work while I am absent. If the winter is open, we can have +everything shipshape by the time the machinery arrives.” + +“Stay, daddie,” cried Jean, who, with Mary, had come up unobserved by +their father. She was ghastly pale and strangely tremulous. “Mame and I +have something important to say to you both before you part.” + +“What is it, gals? Don’t hesitate to speak right out.” + +“We—that is, Jean and I and Sally O’Dowd—have been talking things over; +and we have concluded that we had better settle our side of this business +proposition before matters go any further,” said Mary, speaking with +unusual decision. “As you, father, have arranged to have a partner, and +as—to use his own words—‘business is business,’ I want to say that I will +be your cook at the partnership mess-house, but only at a reasonable +salary. If you had no partner, the work would be all in the family, and +we could settle its dividend among ourselves.” + +“I have engaged a dozen pupils and will open a little school in a few +days,” interrupted Jean, who had not heard the partner’s proposition in +regard to herself, and therefore spoke without embarrassment. “But I +shall have plenty of time to keep the books of the concern after school +hours, and I will see that everything is done on business principles.” + +“The deuce you will!” thought the partner. Then aloud: “I was intendin’ +to keep the books myself.” + +“Are you a practical book-keeper?” asked Jean. + +“No; that is, not edzactly. But I kin keep most any set o’ transactions +in my head. I never in my born days hearn tell of any woman or gal that +could keep books. An’ I never knowed any woman to git a salary.” + +“That was because you never knew the Ranger family,” laughed Marjorie. + +“It is arranged that Hal is to have employment in the mill at a salary,” +said Mary, “and he is very proud of the opportunity. We girls are all as +willing to work as he is. But we do not believe at all in the custom of +servitude without salary, to which all married women, and most of the +single ones, are subject.” + +“Is that the way you look at it, Miss Jean?” asked her would-be suitor. + +“Daddie has always taught us that the highest type of humanity is built +on the self-dependence of the individual. Haven’t you, daddie?” + +“My daughters are right, Mr. Jackman. I have trained them to the idea +of self-government. I am glad indeed to see them taking hold of these +principles firmly.” + +The partner turned away crestfallen. When he was fairly out of hearing, +he took off his hat and exclaimed: “I’ll be gol darned! What is the +weemin comin’ to?” + + * * * * * + +“I have engaged Susannah to live at my house,” said the Little Doctor, +addressing the Captain as he sauntered toward a spreading fir near the +front doorsteps, where the family were holding a consultation with Mrs. +Joseph Ranger prior to her departure. + +“Then who will assist Mrs. O’Dowd while I am away?” asked the Captain. +“She’ll surely need both company and assistance at the Ranch of the +Whispering Firs as badly as you will need it at the Four Corners.” + +“Don’t worry about me, Captain,” said Sally. “I can manage the whole +place without the help of anybody.” + +“Thank you, Mrs. O’Dowd. You are a thoroughly unselfish woman.” + +“Pardon me, daddie,” said Jean, as soon as she could address him +privately. “You make a great mistake if you imagine Sally O’Dowd isn’t as +selfish as the rest of us. The Little Doctor was quite taken aback by a +remark to the contrary that you made a while ago.” + +“I’m sure I meant no offence, Jean. But I confess that I am disappointed +in both the Little Doctor and Susannah. They ought not to leave me in an +extremity like the present when I have been so kind to them.” + +“Everything we attempt is actuated by selfishness, daddie.” + +“I can’t agree with you, Jean.” + +“Oh, yes, you can! You took the Little Doctor under your wing away back +in the States, because you could only hope by that means to get some help +that you needed out o’ Scotty. You smuggled Dugs out o’ Missouri because +it pleased you to please your wife. I am going to teach a little school +from a purely selfish motive.” + +“Was it selfishness that prompted you to fall in love with your +unfaithful Green River hero, Jean?” + +She turned deathly pale. “Yes, daddie dear. I thought I was going to +be happy; and that was selfishness, of course. But I’m getting my +punishment.” + +“If selfishness is a natural attribute of humanity, we ought not to decry +it, but should seek to control and guide it, Jean.” + +“That is right, daddie. We have a right to life, liberty, and the pursuit +of happiness. But we also need toughening. I am getting my share of +toughening.” + +“Do you object to my marrying Sally O’Dowd?” + +“That is your affair, daddie; but there is no accounting for tastes.” + +“Do you think your angel-mother would approve the step, my child?” + +“Ah!” cried Jean, her face brightening, “there is one love that never +dies,—the love of a mother for her child. It is the same sort of +unselfish love that prompted the Son of Man to lay down His life for +the redemption of the race; it is the same love that prompted my mother +to risk and lose her life in the wilderness. You will please yourself +by marrying Sally O’Dowd. We children will pay her allegiance as our +father’s wife, chiefly because we know on which side our bread is +buttered. But we will not call her mother; nor do we believe you would +ask it.” + +“I couldn’t think of taking the step, my child, unless I thought your +mother would approve it, if she could know. But I am very sure she +doesn’t know.” + +“You do not want to believe she knows, daddie. It is always easier to +believe or disbelieve anything when the wish is father to the thought.” + +“Well, Jean, it will not do to be loitering here. Yonder come the logging +crew. There’ll be a lot of hungry men to feed. Some of them are educated +men, quite equal in intelligence and culture to Mr. Burns. Don’t go to +losing your heart.” + +“Don’t speak of hearts to me, daddie dear; mine is dead and buried. But +you have no idea how cruelly it was wrung.” + +“There, there, daughter, don’t worry! There are as good fish in the sea +as any that have ever been caught.” + + * * * * * + +There was no time for loitering. There was an extra lodge to be built +in the wilderness for the crew of loggers, and a long dining-shed to be +added; the rails had to be made and fences built; the ground had to be +cleared and broken for the spring’s planting; and much rude furniture +for the homes had yet to be manufactured. The building of a skid road +was another pressing need; and, taken all together, the Captain did not +wonder that his partner should take his departure seriously. + +That the partner was not lacking in executive ability was evident. + +“I tell you, gals, that partner of mine is a corker for business,” said +the Captain. + +“He may be, daddie,” said Jean, “but that is all he’s good for. If +there’s a chance to murder the Queen’s English, he’ll do it. He afflicts +me with nausea whenever he speaks.” + +“But if you had a man like him for a husband, you would never lack means +for the indulgence of the selfish philanthropies you and I have been +talking about. You know you promised your grandfather that you would +assist him as soon as you could earn some money.” + +“That’s so, daddie; but I must earn it honestly. And I’d be getting it +through the worst kind of fraudulent practice if I married Happy Jack. +Besides, he will be too stingy for anything after he’s married.” + +“Don’t be too hard on him, Jean. He’s got good credentials.” + +“And so had Sam O’Dowd. No, daddie, I won’t have any money unless I +can get it honestly. As soon as I can earn some cash by teaching, I’ll +send it to the dear old grandfolks. They capped the climax of their +selfishness in jeopardizing the property and happiness of all concerned +to gratify their selfish pride in Uncle Joe.” + +“Your theories and practices don’t tally, Jean,” laughed her father as he +turned, and, with a tender good-bye aside for Sally O’Dowd and an open +and hearty adieu to the children, he seated himself in the buggy beside +his sister-in-law and drove rapidly away. + +“I wonder how many years must elapse before the roads to Portland are as +snugly finished and kept in as good repair as they are to-day from one +suburb of London town to another?” asked Mrs. Joseph, merely to break an +embarrassing silence. + +“In another fifty years the people’ll be awake to the need, mebbe. It +takes a hundred years to make a new country habitable.” + +“My people always want their hunting-grounds to remain wild,” said Mrs. +Joseph. “I used to like the most primitive modes of life in my childhood; +but I learned a better way in London.” + +“Did you learn to like the Indian life again, Wahnetta?” + +“Never, sir. But I stooped to conquer, and I have succeeded. But I never +could have done the best that was in me, for myself and Joseph, to say +nothing of the children, if my father hadn’t made me, instead of my +husband, his legatee. It takes money to do things.” + + + + +XXXVII + +_NEWS FOR JEAN_ + + +The second meeting between the Ranger brothers was much more embarrassing +than cordial. Each at sight of the other recalled their last encounter. +They shook hands hesitatingly, and after an awkward pause sat down +together on the front porch of the primitive hotel. + +Joseph, who had been awaiting the arrival of his wife and the Captain for +a couple of days, was displeased because his Wahnetta had not been within +call from the moment of his advent, as long habit had led him to expect. +That she met him now with the air of a friend and an equal, and after a +pleasant greeting on her part discreetly left the brothers to themselves +while she went in quest of her babies, was a display of good breeding +and motherly solicitude which Joseph Ranger would have commended in any +woman not his wife. But his will had so long been her only law that her +greeting, in connection with his embarrassment at meeting his brother, +put him in a very unamiable frame of mind. + +“I concluded that you had gone back on your agreement, John,” he growled, +after a painful silence. + +“Oh, did you? Since when have you made a new record for punctuality, Joe?” + +“Since the arrival of the last courier at the trading-post, who brought +me your letter.” + +“What did you think of my proposition?” + +“I accepted it at once, or I would not have been here. Who is Wahnetta +going out driving with, I wonder?” + +“I called the cab for a drive with the children a little before you came, +sir,” said the nurse. + +“Oh!” + +“You ought to be very proud of your wife, Joe.” + +“I am beginning to be. Yet you never can tell what the Indian nature will +attempt. She seems to be all right when she lives with white people, but +she’d lapse at once into barbarism again if she got a chance. They all do +it. It is in the blood.” + +“She doesn’t seems to want that sort of a chance, Joe.” + +“An Indian is like a wild coyote, John.” + +“But you have caught a tame one, Joe. She is above the average, even +of white women. Give her the chance she craves. Stand by her like a +gentleman. She is as thoroughly civilized as any of us.” + +“Did you see her at the trading-post last summer?” + +“No; but why do you ask?” + +“Because you would have beheld her in her native element. You may +capture and tame a coyote, but when you turn him loose among his natural +environments, you can’t distinguish him in a short time from the wildest +wolf of the pack.” + +“That being the case, there is strong need for keeping your wife in her +adopted home, among your own people.” + +John was thawing toward his brother at a rapid rate; and Joseph, the +erring but encouraged and repenting brother, felt a pang of remorse as +he arose to welcome his wife and children upon their return from their +drive, resolving in his heart that he would never again allow himself to +regret the vows he had taken upon himself in his early manhood. + +The paper was awaiting the Captain at his table the next morning, with +the announcement that the sailing of the ocean steamer was to be delayed +for a couple of days on account of an accident to her propeller. + +“Then we’ll have time for a spin out to the Ranch of the Whispering Firs, +eh, Joe?” he asked, as his brother, accompanied by Wahnetta, who was +resplendent in a crimson cashmere robe, over which her black mantilla +was carelessly thrown, took his seat at his elbow at breakfast. + +“I thought I’d like to take a spin through this embryo city,” was the +quiet response. + +“But I want you to see the lay of the land. I’m hoping to make you a +partner in the ranch and sawmill business. You won’t want to buy a pig in +a poke.” + +A visit to Joseph’s sons and daughters at school was first in order. Then +a carriage was called, and the entire party was conducted around and over +stumps, logs, and devious primitive roadways to the heights. + +“Why anybody wants to go to the Old World for scenery, when he can enjoy +such a prospect as this right at his very door, is one of the mysteries +of modern existence,” said Wahnetta. “Away to the north by east of us, +in the home of my people, there is a land so different from this that it +might be a part of another planet, yet it is passing beautiful. Directly +to the north is the traditional Whulge, or Puget Sound, where the enemies +of my people live, who, like my own, are dying out. This mighty land is a +giant baby; wait half a century, and she will be a full-grown giantess.” + +It was three o’clock when they returned to the hotel, but a fresh team +from the one livery stable the metropolis of Oregon Territory was able to +boast was placed at the disposal of the brothers, who spanned a distance +of thirty miles in three hours. A light rain had fallen in the early +morning, and the face of Nature was as pure as ether. Resplendent green +abounded in the valley, lighted here and there by gleams of the gliding +Willamette, on whose silvery current little white steamers were seen at +intervals, flitting to and fro like swans. In many spots in the valley, +and everywhere on the mountain-sides, stood rows on rows of forest firs, +and beyond these, coming frequently into view as the road wound in and +out among the trees, arose the snow-crowned monarch of the Cascades, +majestic Mount Hood, whose slowly dying glaciers discharged their silt +into the milk-white waters of the Sandy. + +“What do you think of it all?” asked the elder brother, after a long +silence, in which each had been feasting his eyes upon the beauty of the +scene and filling his lungs with the exhilarating air. + +“I’m thinking of the glories that await the later comers into this +beautiful land, after the pioneers have worn their bodies out in their +struggles with the native wilderness. I’ve been shutting my eyes and +seeing coal mines, iron mines, gold mines, oil mines, silver mines, +farms, fisheries, mills, factories, orchards, gardens, everything! I’ve +lived in Utah and witnessed the marvels of irrigation there; but God does +the irrigating in this country, and He does it well.” + +“Did you see the fishes that swarmed in the Sandy, Joe?” + +“Yes; and I’ve seen salmon and sturgeon struggling up the Columbia, so +thick in the current that they looked like Illinois saw-logs. I think I +know how Moses felt when he had + + “‘Climbed to Pisgah’s top, + And viewed the landscape o’er.’” + +“Wait till we reach the Ranch of the Whispering Firs. Then you will see +something worthy of all your rhapsodies. There!” cried the Captain, as +they sighted the broad and slightly sloping plateau on which his new log +house was built. + +In front of it stood a towering fir-tree, like an ever-vigilant sentinel; +and behind it rose gigantic colonnades of evergreen forests. Foaming +waters surged and leaped through a ragged gulch; and tangled thickets of +hazel, alder, dogwood, and elder crowded the luxurious growth of ferns +that struggled for the mastery. “There!” he repeated, “what do you think +now?” + +“That I’d like to transport the entire family of Rangers, root and +branch, to the Ranch of the Whispering Firs. Suppose we take your old +sawmill off Lije’s hands and remove the whole thing to Oregon, John? It +would be a good way to relieve him of his elephant.” + +“The machinery is old and old-fashioned, Joe. We’d better buy everything +new, and the best of its kind.” + +“I was merely thinking of relieving Lije; that’s all.” + +As they made the last turn leading to the house, they were accosted +impatiently by the Captain’s junior partner. + +“At this rate, you won’t git started to the States afore Christmas, +Cap’n.” + +“This is my brother Joseph, Mr. Jackman. And this, Joseph, is my partner, +Mr. Jackman.” + +The two men glared at each other for a moment in silence. Jackman was the +first to speak,— + +“Well, I’m dummed!” + +“How came you to be known as Jackman? You posed as Hankins in Utah.” + +“An’ you was Joe Addicks, pard. Better not tell tales out o’ school. +That’s a game two can play at.” + +“There are no tales to tell on my part. I am masquerading no more. Can +you say as much?” + +“I’m just a-beginnin’, as it were.” + +“How in the name of Fate did you come across that chap, John?” asked +Joseph, as they alighted from the buggy. + +“He has taken a donation claim on the mountain-side which includes the +water-power for our mill site. At least, he says it does. Burns and I +haven’t had time to survey it yet.” + +“Better go slow with that fellow, John.” + +“What do you know about him, Joe?” + +“Nothing; only he’s been a noted crook and jail-breaker.” + +“Jean is to be our book-keeper. She’s been disappointed over that Green +River affair. Do you know what became of Ashleigh?” + +“I left him at my station in charge of my business. He’s as honest as the +day. But, by the way, why didn’t Jean answer the letter he sent out in +care of your Happy Jack?” + +“She received no letter. But what about Le-Le? Did he marry her?” + +“Did Ashleigh marry Le-Le? What a question! Who said he did?” + +“Jackman.” + +“Jean must know of all this. Will you break it to her, Joe?” + + * * * * * + +Night had come; and the autumn rains were gently enwrapping the Ranch of +the Whispering Firs in a sheet of mist when Joseph Ranger sought Jean in +her little schoolroom for a private conversation. + +The flickering light of a single kerosene lamp emitted a characteristic +odor. A rough table supported the lamp; and on a three-legged stool sat +the schoolma’am, trying to bring order out of the chaos of a score or +more of papers left by the children. + +“Ah!” she said, arising. “Come in, Uncle Joe. You won’t find our crude +beginnings very inviting, but we mustn’t despise the day of small things.” + +“You’re making a good beginning, Jean. But I have not come to talk about +your school. I have brought you some tidings from Mr. Ashleigh.” + +Jean turned pale and would have fallen if her uncle had not caught her in +his arms. + +“Here is a note which he gave me just as I was leaving for the West.” + +Jean retained her composure by a supreme effort of the will. + +“You were my dream,” the letter began; “I trusted and loved you as I can +never trust and love another. And the end is to be your marriage with +a fellow you call Happy Jack! Oh, Jean, my bonnie Jean! Why have you +been so fickle and so rash? I sent you a letter and a ring. It was my +great-great-grandmother’s ring, and a hereditary talisman. The messenger +was one Harry Hankins, a borderer and scout, who was going to Oregon +City. No, Jean; I did not marry Le-Le, but I did secure her ransom, and +I should before now have been on my way to you, but was awaiting your +letter. Good-bye, and may God guard and keep you! Think of me as your +heartbroken friend and lover.” + +“I never received one single word from him,” said Jean; “and I never saw +or heard of Harry Hankins.” + +“Oh, yes, you did, Jean. He is none other than your father’s partner.” + +“How can I reach Mr. Ashleigh with a letter? It must be sent at once.” + +“That will be impossible, Jean; there will be no courier going out for a +month yet. But we will take a letter to Portland, and leave it in care of +Wahnetta. She will see that it is forwarded at the first opportunity.” + + * * * * * + +Busily the work went forward. But Happy Jack was nowhere to be seen, and +the brothers were compelled to take their departure without making the +business settlement with him which they so much desired. + +“Never mind! We’ll freeze him out, or scare him out, if he shows up +here again,” said the Captain, as he and his brother turned their faces +Portland-ward. + + + + +XXXVIII + +_THE BROTHERS JOURNEY HOMEWARD TOGETHER_ + + +The steamer in which the Ranger brothers embarked for San Francisco was +an ancient and somewhat decrepit tub, as much unlike the floating palaces +that plough the Pacific Ocean to-day as the long railway trains with +their Pullman coaches, cushioned seats, and electric bells are unlike +the prairie schooners which belabored oxen hauled across deserts and +mountains when the oldest pioneer of to-day was young, and Captain Ranger +was in his prime. + +“We’re at the jumping-off place,” said the elder brother, when the +vessel stopped at Astoria. “There will never be a chance for the restive +American citizen to get any farther west than the eastern edge of the +Pacific Ocean. And yet who knows?” he added, after a pause. “Burns has +a theory in which, after all, there may be some logic. He says that the +entire planet will some day be under the management of an affiliated +government formed by a few great powers, who will organize an alliance to +control, and maybe protect, the weaker nationalities from one another. +Jean is enthusiastic over the theme.” + +“You seem to set great store by Jean.” + +“Oh, I don’t know. She’s about raking up a new engagement with that Green +River chap. If she does, she’ll marry soon, and get immersed in the cares +of a family, like all the rest of the girls. If so, she’ll never amount +to much.” + +“No great general can do as much for the world, no matter how many +nations he conquers, as the mother who rears a family of noble men +and women, John. I would rather be in some mothers’ shoes than in the +President’s.” + +“And so would I. But it is hard, when a man has raised a daughter of +great mental promise, to see her talents buried under the selfish +domination of some prig of a husband who has all the power though he +hasn’t half her sense.” + + * * * * * + +“Wait long enough,” said John, as they passed Tillamook Head and pursued +their undulating way southward; “wait long enough, and the genius of +American liberty and enterprise will settle yonder shores with a million +or more inhabitants. Railroads by the dozen will cross the continent in +time, sending out lateral branches in all directions, till the whole +country is gridironed with paths for the iron horse.” + +“But the mountains are in the way, John.” + +“They will be tunnelled or looped, Joe. New feats of engineering are +being developed constantly; and I should not be surprised to hear of the +discovery of some new force, or rather of the discovery of the utility +of some always existing force, which will revolutionize transportation +on the land and the sea. There are islands to the west of us, lots of +them. And who knows but they will become a part of the possessions of the +United States before the close of the century? I’d like to have Burns and +Jean and the Little Doctor here to help me talk it out.” + +“I can’t let my mind get away from me, as you do,” laughed Joseph, and +they changed the subject. + + * * * * * + +Days passed, and the timber lines of southern Oregon and northern +California gave way to the extensive treeless regions that border the +central and southern edges of the Golden State. Immense stretches of +barren, sandy wastes rose high in the arid heavens, revealing a region +of desolation that seemed good for nothing but range for savage beasts +and poisonous serpents. + +“It is now my turn to prophesy and philosophize,” said Joseph. “My +experience and observation in Utah, where irrigation has relieved the +barren soil of its drouth, has taught me that irrigation will develop +the latent power of the desert to sustain and perpetuate the race long +after the Mississippi basin has ceased to respond to the demands of the +husbandman and the vernal lands of the Willamette valley are worn out.” + +“But the Willamette valley and the entire northwest coast will always +beat the world with the fruits and cereals that thrive in the temperate +zone.” + +“‘Always’ is a good while, John. It is a pity that we can’t live always.” + +“Jean declares that we do.” + +“How came she to know so much?” + +“I cannot tell; but she has evolved a theory from her studies and +conclusions that seems plausible. At any rate, we cannot disprove it; and +as it comforts her and hurts nobody, I am glad she can enjoy it. But the +gong has sounded for dinner, and I am as hungry as a bear.” + + * * * * * + +“It is a glorious thing to be alive,” exclaimed the Captain, when they +spied the lights of the Farallones to the leeward, while on their left +rose Mare Island; and they knew that they were nearing the Golden Gate. +Four days of happy, languorous idleness on a glassy sea had been theirs +to enjoy. But each decided that he had had enough of leisure, and was +glad when Telegraph Hill, the towering head of the city of San Francisco, +was seen among its myriads of sand-dunes and rioting patches of native +weeds. + +“It is indeed a glorious thing to be alive!” said Joseph, as they were +being jostled in the streets of the city, where a babel of tongues kept +up a continuous clatter, as bewildering as it was unintelligible. + +The hotel in which the brothers found lodgings was a little superior +to the Portland hostelry, being larger; but the food was far from +satisfactory, and they found the sand-fleas and Benicia Bay mosquitoes +more voracious than welcome. The sights of the truly cosmopolitan +city were new and alluring; and once, but for the intervention of the +police, the verdant pair would have been fleeced by a smooth-tongued +swindler. They were directed by a big policeman to an immense hardware +establishment, where they found a complete up-to-date outfit for their +plant. They then continued their journey toward the Isthmus with a +feeling of anticipation to which their frequent conversations concerning +the legendary lore of the peculiar country for which they were bound +possessed a fascinating interest. + +“I have read of a lost continent, which is said to have existed in +a prehistoric age,” said the younger brother. “The Indians of the +Mandan district have many legends in regard to it. They say the Great +Spirit submerged the dry land in a fit of anger, thus separating the +so-called Old World from the so-called New, and driving the remnant of +the surviving inhabitants to the north as far as the Great Lakes, where +they speedily relapsed into the barbarism that ensues from isolation, +hardships, and necessity, until at last they perished from the face of +the earth.” + +“But what of the origin of the Indian race?” asked John. + +“Their legends tell us that their ancestors came originally from Russia, +by the way of Behring Strait, which in winter was closed by ice; that at +one time the ice gorges were suddenly broken up by a tremendous gale and +were never closed again. There were natives of the great Northland who +were caught on the south side of the gorge, and, being unable to return, +remained in what is now Alaska, whence they migrated, multiplied, and +spread till they covered what is now the United States of America.” + +“When we return to Oregon, you must not fail to start Burns on some of +these legends, Joe. The Widow McAlpin, whom he means to marry as soon as +she will consent, is as deeply interested in the origin of the Indians as +he is.” + +“But if we knew all about the immediate origin of the Indians, that +wouldn’t settle the question, John. Where did the Russians get their +start; and how did every island of the great oceans become inhabited?” + +“You are carrying me away beyond my depth, Joe. Burns has a theory that +different races of people are indigenous to all countries. He calls the +story of Adam and Eve a myth, or a sort of cabalistic tale. That reminds +me that Jean once completely nonplussed the Reverend Thomas Rogers by +asking who were the daughters of men whom the sons of God took as wives. +‘And where,’ she asked, ‘did Cain get his wife?’” + +“These speculations, which are by no means new, are as fruitless as they +are perplexing, John. We know no more about them than these donkeys do +that are floundering, with us on their backs, across this God-forsaken +Isthmus. Will there ever be a canal cut across it, I wonder?” + +“Guess we’d better talk about spring. That is something we can +understand.” + +“No, John. We can no more clearly comprehend the springtime, with its +many wondrous revelations, than we can comprehend anything else that is +unknowable. We know that sunshine, air, and moisture are necessary for +the sustenance of organic life; but we don’t know what life itself is. It +is as invisible to us, in all its wonderful activities, as God himself. +No; we know no more about the life that animates spring than we know +about the Atlantans. But we do know that travel is a great eye-opener; +and by showing us how little we know, or can learn, it helps to take away +much of our overweening self-conceit.” + +There being no delay at Acapulco, and but little at New Orleans, our +voyagers were soon aboard one of the palatial steamers that ploughed the +waters of the Mississippi in the days when steamboating on the river was +in the height of its glory. Floating palaces, with hearts of fire and +arteries of steam, were equipped in the most sumptuous style. The cuisine +of their tables was never excelled in any land. Trained servants were on +duty at every hand in all departments, and such river races as the pen of +Mark Twain has made immortal infused an alluring element of danger into +the daily life of the adventurous traveller. + +St. Louis was passed, and Cairo; and the voyage up the Illinois to Peoria +was speedily consummated. + +The brothers struck out afoot for the old home, which they came into +sight of at sundown. A light snow covered the ground, and a bitter wind +was blowing hard. + + * * * * * + +“Down, Rover, down! Don’t you know your master?” exclaimed the returned +wanderer, as the great mastiff sprang at him with a low, savage growl, +which changed at once to vehement proclamations of welcome as the +faithful creature recognized his friend. + +“Bless the dog! But be quiet! We want to surprise the old folks.” + +In the cosey sitting-room of the little cottage sat a prematurely aged +woman, plying her needle and softly crooning a plaintive lullaby. A +couple of tallow candles burned dimly on a little table, and a much-worn +work-basket sat at her left. In the opposite corner an old man sat, his +head bowed, as if sleeping. An open Bible had fallen from his hand. + +“There’s but one pair of stockings to mend to-night,” sighed the woman, +as she folded her finished work, her thoughts reverting to scenes long +vanished. + +The white-bearded man aroused himself at her words and spoke. + +“John is forty-three to-night,” he said huskily, his finger pointing to +the family record. + +“God be with him till we meet again!” was the sighing response as the +mother struggled to thread her needle by the flickering light. + +“Mary is a year younger than John; and Joseph came to us two years +later than Mary,” said the patriarch, his finger still pointing to the +cherished page. + +“Oh, father!” cried the wife, “do you think I shall ever hold my Joseph +in my arms again?” + +“God knows best,” was the sad reply. + +A cat purred contentedly at the woman’s feet, and crickets sang upon the +hearth. Outside, the wind sighed dolefully. + +“Wonder what’s the matter with Rover?” said the old man, rising to his +feet, after repeated efforts, and hobbling toward the door. “He’s acting +strangely to-night.” + +“Don’t open the door, father,” pleaded the wife. “The whole country is +infested with tramps and robbers. We’d better be cautious. I’m sure I saw +faces at the window a while ago.” + +“Rover knows what he’s about, wife. He never speaks like that to an +enemy. I will open the door.” + +It seemed to the men outside that the door was long in opening. “My +fingers are all thumbs!” they heard the old man exclaim, after a +fruitless effort to withdraw the bolt. + +“Good-evening!” exclaimed Joseph, in a husky voice. “We are a pair of +belated travellers, and seek a night’s lodging. Can we be accommodated?” + +“We’re not used to keeping travellers,” said the patriarch, “but it is +late, and another storm is brewing. Come right in. Wife can fix you a +shake-down somewhere, I reckon; and we always have a bite on hand to eat.” + +“We have two sons of our own out in the world somewhere, father,” said +the wife. “I will trust the Lord to do by them as we will do by these +strangers.” + +John Ranger threw back his heavy coat and hat and stood before the pair +erect and motionless. + +“Mother!” he exclaimed, after a moment’s waiting, as he caught her in his +arms, “don’t you know your boy?” + +“Why, bless my soul, it’s our John,—my firstborn baby boy!” faltered the +mother, as she resigned herself to his realistic “bear hug.” “I thought +you was in Oregon.” + +“So I was a few weeks ago; but I am here now! How are you, mother dear? +And you, father? I am so glad to see you again! How goes the world with +both of you?” + +“All right, son, considering. That is, it’s all right now you are here. +We can bear poverty and hardship now. Eh, wife?” + +“Yes, father. If the Lord sees fit to afflict us, we can now bear it +without complaining. Blessed be His holy name! But how did it happen, +John dear? I was thinking about you to-night as being far away on this, +your forty-third birthday.” + +“We do things in a hurry on the Pacific coast, mother mine. This is an +unexpected visit. But you are neglecting somebody.” + +“That is so,” exclaimed the old man. “What might your name be, stranger?” + +The tall man in the shadow took a faltering step forward and removed his +hat. + +“Don’t you know me, father?” + +“Good God! Can it be possible that this is Joseph?” + +“Don’t let him deceive us, John!” pleaded the mother. “I couldn’t live +and bear it!” + +“Yes, mother dear, it is indeed your Joseph,—your long-lost son,” cried +the prodigal. “Don’t you recognize me now?” + +John, who had released his mother, stood by in silence; while Joseph, +secure in his welcome, gathered his mother in his arms and exclaimed, +“It is now my turn to give you a bear hug. Take this, and this!” and he +clasped her with half-savage tenderness again and again. + +“Yes, mother!” cried the father, who, overcome by his emotions, dropped +feebly into his chair. Then, controlling his feelings by a strong effort +of the will, he added with a laugh, “Hadn’t we better kill the prodigal, +seeing the calf has come home?” + +At a late hour a frugal meal was spread, to which the weary home-comers +did enforced justice, the mother on one side of the table weeping and +laughing by turns, and the father on the other side endeavoring with +indifferent success to be dignified and calm. + +The brothers eyed each other askance as the supper proceeded, especially +noticing the absence of the many little luxuries for which the Ranger +tables had formerly been noted throughout the township. + +“Father and I don’t have much appetite, so we don’t lay in many extras +nowadays,” said the mother. + +“We’ve been having a hard time of it since you left us, John,” broke in +the father. “The fellow that bought the sawmill didn’t understand the +business, and he soon swamped it. So Lije had to take it off his hands, +and it left us mighty hard up. Lije has a big family, and the gals want +clothes and schoolin’, and Mary is poorly and needs medicines; so mother +and I do without lots of things we need. It was lucky for all hands, +though, that Annie sent back that deed to the Robinson old folks. They’re +independent now, in a small way. They have their own garden and cow and +fruit and poultry, and they made enough off of their truck-patch last +summer to pay their taxes and buy groceries. They don’t need many new +clothes. They have bought a sleigh and a horse, so they can go to meetin’ +Sundays; and next summer, Daddie Robinson says, he’ll be able to buy a +buggy.” + +“I meant to let you have that little place, father,” said John, trying in +vain to eat his food. “But Annie claimed it as her own; and Mary and Jean +insisted that she had a right to deed it to her own parents. If you had +such a little home now, could you be contented?” + +“Oh, John,” cried his mother, “if we only had a place as good! I never +covet what is my neighbor’s, but I do want to be independent.” + +“Can’t you pack your little effects and go with us to Oregon?” asked +Joseph, a great lump rising in his throat. + +The old man looked anxiously at his wife. The wife looked inquiringly at +her husband. + +“It will be just as father says,” said the wife, submissively. + +“An old man is like an old tree,” began the father, bowing his head upon +the table. “You can transplant a man or a tree, but you can’t make ’em +take root to do much good in new soil after they get old. With the young +it’s different. It’s out o’ sight, out o’ mind, with them. They can take +root anywhere if the conditions are favorable and they want to change.” + +“That’s right, father,” echoed the wife. “We’re too old to make a new +start in a new country. Besides, the expense of transplanting us to so +great a distance would go a long way toward taking care of us nearer +home. I’d like it mighty well if we could live near all our children +in our old days; but if it is better for them,—and I reckon it is,—the +sacrifices we must make to bear the separation mustn’t count. We ought to +be used to privation and poverty by this time.” + +“We have all heard of the Irishman’s way of feeding, or not feeding, his +horse!” exclaimed Joseph. “The plan seemed successful for a few days, +but just when the animal was supposed to be used to the treatment, the +ungrateful creature died.” + +“I could keep the wolf from the door a few years longer if it wasn’t for +my rheumatism,” said the father. “The after-clap of old hardships gets +the better of me now and then. I’m only able, much of the time, to potter +round the place and help your mother at odd jobs. I reckon she would miss +me if I should be called away, however.” + +“God grant that we may be called away together when we are wanted in +the land o’ the leal,” said the good wife, fervently; and her husband +responded with a hearty “Amen.” + +“You are not to be allowed to worry any more!” exclaimed Joseph, rising +to his feet and straightening himself to his full height. “I am not rich, +but I am amply able to place you above want; and, so help me God, I’ll +do it. I’ve been the stray sheep. I’ve wandered far from the fold, and +I’ve been a long time coming to my senses. But I have put the past behind +me, and, come what will, my dear father and mother shall be provided for +during the remainder of their lives.” + +“But you have a family, my son. Don’t make any promises that will +interfere with your obligations to your wife and children.” + +“I have some gold mines in Utah, mother dear, and an interest in several +trading-posts on the frontier. I will never neglect you again.” + +“Jean went away under a promise to assist us as soon as she could earn +some money of her own,” said the father; “but we can look for no help +from that quarter for some time to come. It isn’t right to expect it of +her, either. Oh, boys, if you could only know how it has stung us to be +treated as mendicants, after we have worn ourselves out in the service of +our children, you would appreciate our joy over this cheering news!” + +“Who is treating you as mendicants, mother, I should like to know?” +exclaimed the elder son. “Didn’t I leave you provided for when I started +for Oregon?” + +“You did your best to make provision for our needs, my son. We are +blaming nobody. Don’t allow yourself to feel unhappy. We are not +complaining of anything but Fate.” + +“But you ought to blame me,” cried Joseph. “It was I who brought all +these calamities upon my nearest and dearest. But God knows I do repent +in sackcloth and ashes.” + +“Oh, father, we can never be unhappy now! Our boy that was lost is found. +He that we mourned as dead is with us, alive and well. There is no +blood-guiltiness upon his head, and no shadow of murder or hatred in his +heart. The Lord be praised for all His tender mercies to the children of +men!” + +“Yes, yes, the Lord be praised!” echoed the father, fervently. “Surely, +after all the blessings that have been showered upon us this night, we +can take all the balance on trust.” + +“We have the promise, father: ‘Trust in the Lord and do good, and verily +thou shalt be fed.’” + + * * * * * + +“I’d give the world, if I had it, for the simple, child-like faith of our +father and mother,” said John, as soon as the brothers were alone. + +“And I’d give the world, if I had it, for a chance to live my life over, +that I might have an opportunity to atone for the suffering I have caused +you all.” + +“Dear Joe, you have suffered too.” + +He turned his face to the wall and relapsed into silence. And as he +secretly invoked the presence of his beloved dead, he saw himself in an +emigrant’s camp far away in the Black Hills. Again the tethered Flossie +lowed plaintively at the wagon-wheel, bemoaning the death of her calf; +again the still, white-robed form of his Annie appeared before his mental +vision. And the sorrowing husband fell asleep. + + + + +XXXIX + +_THE OLD HOMESTEAD_ + + +The gray dawn of a bleak December morning found the Ranger brothers +alternately stamping the snow from their feet on the front veranda of +the old homestead, and listening for the first sounds of awakening +within. The same denuded locust-boughs swept the lattice as of yore; and +it seemed but yesterday to John Ranger as he recalled the time he had +caught his gentle Annie in his arms on that momentous and well-remembered +evening, and made the startling announcement, “It’s all settled, mother. +Brother Lije has bought the farm, and we’ll be off in less than a month +for Oregon.” + +He turned to his brother, whose face was like marble as he stood in the +shadow of the wall, as silent as the Sphinx. + +“Who in thunder is coming here to rout a fellow out o’ bed at this time +of a Sunday morning?” growled Lije Robinson, as he opened the door an +inch or so and peeped out into the biting air. + +“It is I and another,” cried John Ranger, pushing the door wide open. For +a moment the brothers-in-law faced each other in silence. One was dumb +with many conflicting emotions, the other with simple wonder. + +“Your conscience must have troubled you,” said Lije, after an awkward +pause, “or you wouldn’t have come back. But come in! I’ll start up the +fire. Who’s this?” looking hard at Joseph, whose bronzed and bearded face +was more than half concealed by the upturned collar of his fur-lined +overcoat. + +“Don’t you know him, Lije?” + +“Naw, nor I don’t want to.” + +Meanwhile Mrs. Robinson had emerged from her room after a hurried toilet. + +“Sister Mollie!” + +“Brother John!” + +For half a minute not another word was spoken. + +“I never expected to set eyes on you again,” cried the sister at last, +as, half crying and half laughing, she held him at arm’s length for a +better view. “It seemed as if you had left the world when you went to +Oregon; and now you are back again,—the same old John.” + +“This is an age of progress, Mollie. The planet doesn’t seem so very big, +if you know how to get around it.” + +“Will you introduce the stranger, John?” asked his sister, in a welcoming +tone. + +“I’ve been waiting to see if he would be recognized. There is another +surprise in store for you, Mollie. Did you ever see this man before?” + +“Can it be possible,” she asked, her face deathly pale, “that this is my +brother Joseph?” + +“Yes, Mollie,” he cried, as he caught her in his arms, “I’m your +long-lost brother.” + +“Then I hope you’ve come prepared to pay your honest debts,” growled the +brother-in-law. “I’ve wrestled with that old mortgage till I’m demnition +tired!” + +“I hope you’ll permit me to atone as best I can, Lije. That’s what I’m +here for.” + +“Don’t be too hard on him, Lije!” pleaded the sister, as she helped the +prodigal to remove his overcoat. “You’re all right now, brother, aren’t +you?” + +“I will be as soon as I have settled some old scores with your bear of a +husband.” + +“Don’t mind Lije!” said his sister, aside. “His losses and obligations +have made him discouraged and cross. It wasn’t natural that he should +endure our hardships resignedly, as we did. Blood is thicker than water, +you know. Oh, Joseph, if I only could buy for our parents a nice little +farm, such as Annie deeded to her father and mother! There’s a ten-acre +farm adjoining theirs; I cannot sleep for thinking about it. But my +whole lifework has been devoted to Lije, and must count for nothing, so +far as father and mother are concerned. Father gave me a cow and calf +for a wedding present, as you will remember. They would have made me +comfortable long ago if I could have kept them and one-half of their +increase as mine.” + +“Yes, Mollie; and I acted the brute beast over that gift. I was a +bumptious boy then; and I encouraged Lije in the idea that he mustn’t +allow his wife to own property. I waxed eloquent, as I thought, over +coverture, and such other archaic injustice as merges the existence of a +wife into that of her husband. Men are more appreciative of women on the +Pacific coast than they are here; but there are laws and usages out there +yet that call loudly for a change, the Lord knows.” + +“I am not complaining of Lije, Joe. He has never offered me any bodily +injury in his life, and I’ve learned not to mind the explosions from his +mouth. I have everything I need for my own simple wants; but, no matter +how hard I struggle, I can never help my parents to a penny unless I +steal it”; and she laid her head on her brother’s shoulder and sobbed +aloud. + +“What’s the matter now?” growled her husband. “Can’t you stop your +bawling when you have company?” + +“Breakfast is ready,” said Annie Robinson, a tall and handsome girl, who +had been busy in the lean-to kitchen. + +“Annie, this is Uncle Joseph,” said her mother, smiling through her tears. + +“I don’t want to see him,” retorted the girl, rudely, turning to Uncle +John with extended hands and a smile of welcome, and saying in a +half-whisper, “What did you bring him here for?” + +“The hair of the dog is good for the bite sometimes, my girl. Your Uncle +Joseph is all right. He’ll atone for everything if we’ll give him half a +chance.” + +“You owe Joseph an apology for your rudeness, Annie; I am surprised at +you!” said her mother. Then, turning to Joseph: “Don’t mind Annie. She +is unhappy and cross because she could not go to boarding-school this +winter.” + +“If I didn’t deserve what I’m getting I wouldn’t stand it, sister; but +I’ve come to atone, and I must take my punishment.” + +The room was severely cold, and the hot breakfast filled the air with a +vapor that obscured the window-panes. The lighted candles, in their tall +receivers, reflected translucent halos, and lit the lithe figure of Annie +Robinson, who flitted silently between the table and the great black +stove, serving the food, and looking like a weird, uncanny shade. + +“The way of the transgressor is hard,” thought Joseph. “We must be ready +to take the back track to-morrow, John,” he said, rising from his chair, +and leaving his food almost untasted. “Whatever business you and Lije may +have between you must be agreed upon to-day. Where can I hire a horse and +sleigh?” + +“I’ve a cutter in the barn,” said Lije, beginning to relax a little as +his breakfast stirred his heart and warmed his spirits. “You’ll find +half-a-dozen old sawmill horses in the big shed back of the barn. They’re +spavined and ringboned, and one of ’em is knock-kneed; but you can take +your pick of the lot.” + +“Won’t you let me go along, Joe?” asked his brother, as they left the +house together. “Where are you going, anyhow?” + +“Of course you can go along if you are not needed here. I am going to +see about buying that ten-acre tract that Mollie told me about. If it +is suitable for the needs of our parents, I will see them installed in +a home of their own before another week passes. Why, John, I’d rather +murder our dear old father and mother in cold blood than leave them under +the heel of that parsimonious—” + +“Don’t be too hard on Lije, Joe. He’s had a whole lot to contend with +since the sawmill, the debts, and other double loads have been left on +his hands.” + +“And no wonder,” was the significant rejoinder. “He deserves his fate.” + +The sun arose in splendor, warming the air, and making the drive of +three or four miles keenly invigorating and enjoyable. They found the +little farm they had come to inspect in fair condition, though in need of +some modern improvements, of which the brothers took note. The land had +originally belonged to the senior Ranger, who had secured a title to the +half-section of which it was a part, directly from the government. + +“If father had been content with smaller land holdings, it might have +been better for him and all the rest of us,” said John. + +“There is danger that we may make the same mistake in Oregon,” replied +Joseph. + +“What a wealthy man father might have been, though, if he had held on to +all the land he acquired in this country in an early day!” added John. + +“But he’d be a happier man to-day on this ten-acre plat, with prosperous +small farmers all around him and all the improvements and conveniences +on the plat that it can be made to carry, than he would be with a whole +township on his shoulders under the burdens of taxation and a careless +tenantry.” + +“I don’t know but you are right,” echoed John; “it isn’t what we own, or +imagine that we own, in this world, but what we can utilize, that makes +up our real possessions. Oregon will surely suffer, in years to come, as +a result of the present system of land-grabbing. Most of the unhappiness +of the farmers’ wives results from isolation, which small farms would +remedy. This little home is a perfect gem. Mother will be delighted.” + +“And the Robinson old folks will have congenial neighbors. I can shut my +eyes and see father now, hobbling about the place with his cane, pulling +a weed here and a flower there, tending the horse and cow and garden, +planting his onions and potatoes in the dark of the moon, as of old, and +his cabbage and peas and beans when it is full.” + +“And think how mother will enjoy her poultry and posies! But we must do +something to relieve Lije of his burden of debt, or he’ll drive Mollie to +suicide.” + +“I feel under no obligation to Lije, God knows! But for Mollie’s sake, +I’ll see about helping him out.” + +“Do you still intend to leave for the coast to-morrow?” + +“No,” said Joseph. “I spoke hastily. This is Sunday. We can’t complete +our business to-day. I will see the agent and settle about this little +farm in the morning. After we get the old folks comfortable it will be +time to consider Lije. He must wait.” + +“I’ve been thinking all day,” said John, as they were journeying +homeward, “that the entire running machinery of the home should be +intrusted to women, who are the real home-makers. My Annie planned for +the support of her parents, and made them modestly independent by a +stroke of her pen. But she could not have done it if I had continued +obstinate about signing the deed; and I am very much afraid I could not +have been prevailed upon to do it if it hadn’t been for the persistence +of Jean. She gave me no peace till the conveyance was made. If women +possessed law-making power, these matters would in time be adjusted, and +both men and women would be the gainers in the long run. But both men +and women are as short-sighted as they are selfish. Solomon was right +when he said: ‘There is that scattereth, and yet increaseth; and there +is that withholdeth more than is meet, but it tendeth to poverty.’ It +is noticeable that men of the frontier are more inclined to be just with +their co-workers, the mothers, than the men of the older States.” + +“It’s all settled, mother,” exclaimed Joseph, as he alighted at the +cottage doorstep and threw the reins to John; “I’ve been to see that +little farm adjoining Pap Robinson’s, and I’ve made terms. The little +place is yours from now on, and I will not leave you till you are settled +in it.” + +“Your father will be so happy, son! He started to meeting a little while +ago. I stayed at home to have a nice, warm supper ready. It isn’t many +more meals I’ll get a chance to cook for my boys.” + +“You did your share in that line long ago, mother dear.” + +In the family reunion in the little cottage home that night there were no +intruders. John, Mary, and Joseph held sweet communion with their parents +alone. + +“Our Father in Heaven,” prayed the old man, before retiring, “we thank +Thee for all Thy tender mercies to us-ward. We realize Thy hand in our +chastening; and we behold Thy love in our sorrows, since, but for them, +we could not appreciate our joys. We thank Thee for John, for Mary, for +Joseph, and for this night’s reunion. We also thank Thee for our absent +dear ones, and for those whose bodies are under the snow, whose spirits +are with Thee. + +“Animate us all with the Christ spirit, O God; and grant that in Thine +own good time we all may meet again.” + +And the brothers echoed aloud the good father’s “Amen.” + + + + +XL + +_THE UNEXPECTED HAPPENS_ + + +A year has passed, and the autumn of 1853 has arrived. It has been a +most strenuous twelve months on the Ranch of the Whispering Firs. Rapid +changes, unlooked-for vicissitudes, improvements upon the virgin soil, +annoying delays, and happy reunions have made the seasons fly. + +The house was now surrounded by a cultivated field, through the centre +of which a broad, tree-lined avenue wound upward from the grade below. +The cattle whose labor had saved the lives of the immigrants the previous +year were now sleek and fat. + +Behind the dwelling rose the foot-hills of the Cascade Mountains, their +sides and summits clothed with the majestic forest of pointed firs from +which the ranch had derived its name. Still higher up, and yet up, above +the serrated steeps, loomed hoary old Mount Hood, spreading his snowy +robes over the misty lesser heights, the top of his white turban hidden +among the clouds, his flowing beard resting upon the pointed crests of +the most distant trees. + +The music of machinery filled the air. The sawmill was at its best, +running day and night to supply the ever-increasing demand for lumber. +The original plant had already been greatly increased. + +“It is a glorious thing to be alive!” said Jean, pausing in the perusal +of a letter. “The air is as balmy as springtime. What a blessed change it +will be for Ashton, who has seen nothing but sagebrush, bald mountains, +jack-rabbits, sage-hens, Indians, immigrants, and cacti the summer long! +Oh, my darling, it is a whole year since our first meeting! + +“My last day in the schoolroom is over. I have enjoyed my work. Many of +the little tots are better for the training I have given them. But best +of all is the improvement the experience has brought to me. Every good +deed reacts upon the doer. Ashton will hardly realize the progress I have +made in education, physical appearance, and culture during the vanished +year”; and she smiled approvingly at her reflection in the little mirror. +“And to think that to-morrow is our wedding-day!” She resumed the reading +of her cherished missive. + +“It will interest you to know that the fellow Hankins, whose villany came +so near to wrecking our happiness, my beloved, has been sent to the Pen. +at Salt Lake for forgery. What a splendid man he might have been if he +had improved his opportunities! He still has a penitentiary term to serve +in New York, which, added to his twenty years in Utah, will take him into +the sere and yellow leaf.” + +“And I’d have allowed myself to marry that fellow, I fear, if you had +proved false to me, my Ashton,” exclaimed Jean, as she turned from her +musings to survey her _trousseau_, upon which she and Mary had spent much +time and skill. + +“Are you at leisure, sister?” asked Mary. + +“Of course I am always at leisure to see you, Mary. But what is the +matter? You are as red as a rose and bright as a diamond!” and she +fondled the sparkling gem upon her own finger lovingly. + +“Something sweet and momentous has happened, my dear. Wish me joy! Mr. +Buckingham and I are to make the fourth couple to join the matrimonial +combination at the fateful hour to-morrow.” + +“Isn’t this rather sudden, Mame? Won’t you be leaving Marjorie in +the lurch at the cook-house? And, above all, what will you do for a +_trousseau_?” + +“No, dear, this change is not sudden. As you know, we have been +engaged for over six months. But my _fiancé_, being under orders +from the government, has not been certain of a permanency before. We +will take Marjorie with us to Washington, and keep her in school. And +now as to _trousseau_. My white dimity dress is fresh and new, and so +is Marjorie’s. When we get to Washington, where Mr. Buckingham must +spend the winter under orders from the Land Department, he says we can +patronize the _modiste_ to our heart’s content. It was a fortunate +day for me when my husband that is to be was sent out to Oregon to +investigate alleged land frauds; and more fortunate still that he +discovered that fellow Hankins.” + +“I wish we’d known this a week ago, Mame. You might have had an +ivory-white, all-wool delaine, with lace and satin trimmings, just like +mine.” + +“My little sister, notwithstanding her reputation for strong-mindedness, +is a charming bit of femininity, after all,” laughed Mary, as she hurried +away. + + * * * * * + +The near approach of a creaking wagon caused the sisters to approach the +window. + +“As I live!” cried Jean, “it’s the Reverend Thomas Rogers coming up the +grade. And that is his little doll-faced wife. Wonder where they came +from, and what in creation they’re coming here for.” + +“You must go out to meet them, Jean,” said Mary. “I never want to see +them again; but we mustn’t be remiss in hospitality.” + +“He looks as if the world had gone hard with him, poor fellow,” laughed +Jean. “Don’t you wish you had to pull in double harness with the like of +him for the rest of your life?” + +“I would never have fancied him in the first place if I had had any +sense,” said Mary. “Wonder who paid their bills,” she cried with a +hysterical little laugh, as she watched the preacher’s wife while she +alighted over the wagon-wheel without any attention or assistance. + +“Yonder goes Mrs. O’Dowd to the rescue. Do you know, Mame, I think it is +a wise step for daddie to hitch up with Sally O’Dowd? He might go farther +and fare a whole lot worse.” + +Although the greeting the Rogers family received from the Ranger +household was not exactly in keeping with the open-hearted hospitality +of the border, it seemed to satisfy the preacher, who made himself as +agreeable as possible. + +“I went, Squire, to see your parents and Mrs. Ranger’s a few days before +I left the States,” said the preacher. “The dear old people were well +and prosperous and contented. They have imbibed a new theory about time +and distance. They talk learnedly about vibrations, a fourth dimension +in space, and other such nonsense; and they declare that there can be no +real separation of souls that are in perfect accord with one another. +Their new belief is making them as happy as birds. I would have no +objection to such speculations if they didn’t tend to undermine the +gospel. All such theories detract from the faith of our fathers.” + +“Not necessarily,” said Jean. “I think that we ought always to accept +truth for authority; but you want everybody to accept authority for +truth.” + +“I see it is the same little ‘doubting Thomas’ we used to have in the +Pleasant Prairie schoolhouse,” said the minister. + +“There is a whole lot of common-sense in Jean’s religion,” cried Hal; “I +mean to accept her manufacture of the article as straight goods, full +measure and a yard wide.” + +“These discussions are not profitable,” said Captain Ranger, dryly. + +“Your father and mother are certainly very happy in their theories; I +can say that much for them,” said Mrs. Rogers, who, from her nook in +the corner, had seldom ventured a word. “Their cottage was as neat as +a new pin. It was the springtime, and climbing roses were clambering +over the little porch. The old people seemed to lack for nothing but the +companionship of their children.” And the little woman, amazed at her own +loquacity, shrank back abashed. + +“God has been very kind and gracious to both of the good old couples,” +said the preacher, in a sonorous voice. + +“Some people have an unlimited supply of gall,” said Hal, aside to Mary, +alluding to the preacher and his wife. + +“I don’t see but they are all right,” was the smiling reply of the +rosy-cheeked maiden. “They have placed me under everlasting obligations, +I do assure you.” She arose to greet a handsome visitor, whom she proudly +introduced to them as “my affianced husband.” + +The preacher’s joy was unbounded when Captain Ranger invited him to +perform a quadruple marriage ceremony on the morrow,—an incident he +hailed as an augury of the further social and financial assistance of +which he felt so much in need that he began at once to solicit aid for +the erection of a church and parsonage. + +“For heaven’s sake, don’t begin to bother us about this innovation for +a week or two!” exclaimed the Captain. “I’ll see that you are fed and +housed for the present. As Jean will be leaving us, we shall need a +school-teacher. My wife will not want an outsider to use our house for +the school; so we must make a schoolhouse and meeting-house combined, and +let it suffice for the present.” + +The morning brought a scene of hurry, bustle, and happiness. Long +tables were spread upon the lawn, under the wide-spread branches of the +luxuriant fir-tree the woodman had spared when the land was cleared. +Flowers and ferns from the wildwood added glow and fragrance to the +loaded tables. Mary and Jean, rosy with expectation, flitted everywhere. + +“Did you ever in all your born days see such a wonderful man as my +daddie?” asked Jean, addressing Sally O’Dowd; and the happy woman +answered, “I never did.” + +Mr. and Mrs. Joseph Ranger, the latter resplendent in a satin gown of +latest fashion, were conspicuous assistants; and their children, all of +whom were gotten up for the occasion by their happy mother regardless of +expense, were the observed of all observers. These children, added to the +younger members of Captain Ranger’s brood, the three children of Mrs. +O’Dowd, and Susannah’s “coon,” made a formidable array of young Americans. + +At the appointed hour, Mrs. McAlpin, who had arrived early on horseback +to assist in the preparations, was joined by Mr. Burns, who brought to +her a sealed package, long overdue, concerning which they kept their +own counsel. But in anticipation of its arrival, they had allowed a +“personal” to appear in the local paper in due season, as follows: “Mrs. +Adele Benson, the handsome widow who spent a few days in this city after +crossing the plains last year, and whose widowed daughter, Mrs. Daphne +McAlpin, is soon to be the bride of our distinguished fellow-citizen, +Mr. Rollin Burns, recently astonished her friends in Oregon with the +announcement of her marriage in London to the Right Honorable Donald +McPherson, only son and heir of Lady Mary McPherson, whose extensive +estates are the pride and envy of High-Head on the Thames.” + + * * * * * + +The appointed hour had come, and the four brides expectant were beaming +and beautiful in their simple and becoming array. Mr. Burns and Mr. +Buckingham awaited the signal to descend with their brides. But where was +Ashton Ashleigh? + +Ten, fifteen, twenty minutes passed, and he did not come. The dinner was +spoiling, and Susannah was furious. + +“I allus ’lowed dah’d nothin’ come o’ dat co’tship!” she said to Hal. + +“Go ahead and get the ceremonies over,” said Jean. “Don’t allow this +interruption to mar the enjoyment of anybody.” + +And while her father was leading Mrs. O’Dowd to the marriage altar, +with Mr. Burns and Mrs. McAlpin following, and Mary and her chosen +one bringing up the rear, she sank, white-faced and benumbed upon her +bed, and gave no sign of life except in the nervous fluttering of her +half-closed eyelids. + +For a long time she lay thus, mercifully bereft of the power to suffer. +“There is some unavoidable reason for this delay,” she said over and over +to herself. “I’ll understand it all in time.” + +The afternoon waned, and darkness fell upon the Ranch of the Whispering +Firs. + +“Jean!” + +“Is that you, daddie dear?” + +“Yes, darling.” + +“What do you think has delayed Ashton?” + +“Try to forget him, Jean. His failure to be on hand at his own marriage +ought to prove to you that he is faithless. You will live to thank God +that the knowledge of Ashton’s faithlessness did not come upon you after +marriage.” + +“Ashton is not faithless!” she cried, springing to her feet. Then she +fell quivering to the floor. + +“Run, quick, Hal! Saddle a horse and go for the Little Doctor,” cried +Mary. + + * * * * * + +A heavy mist that had rolled up from the ocean in the afternoon had +settled now into a steady downpour. There was no moon, and the dense +darkness of the forest through which Hal’s road lay was as black as +Erebus. “Jean loves you, Sukie,” he would say, patting the mare on the +shoulder. “We must get the Little Doctor at all hazards”; and the mare, +as if sensing the importance of her mission, would leap forward with a +sympathetic whinny. + +The door was opened by Mr. Burns, revealing a scene of domestic comfort. + +A little table, covered with a snowy cloth and spread with light +refreshments, stood before a blazing fire; and at its head sat Mrs. +Burns, daintily attired in a light blue wrapper of exquisite workmanship. + +“Why, Harry Ranger!” she exclaimed, as the lad stood inside the door, +shaking his dripping garments. “I hope Jean isn’t worse? I left her calm +and seemingly out of danger.” + +“She’s fallen in a fit! I’ve come for the Doctor!” + +The wind had lulled a little as the little party hurried down the muddy +highway toward the Ranch of the Whispering Firs. The Little Doctor, +nattily arrayed in a rain suit, hood and all, sat her horse securely +and plunged headlong through the darkness, while Hal rode by her side, +followed at a distance by her husband, who bumped up and down in +Scotch-English fashion on a heavy trotter, reminding himself of John +Gilpin, as his hat blew off and his stirrup slipped from his foot. + +“I’ve heard rumors of the ‘coming woman’ many a time,” he thought, +bracing himself by clinging to the horn of his Spanish saddle. “But +the deuce take me if I like the article in practice, though I’ve long +advocated her cause in theory.” + +He said as much in an injured tone to his wife, as they alighted at the +Ranger home, and received for answer, “We must always consider what is +the greatest good for the greatest number, dear. Won’t we be well repaid +for this night’s adventure if Jean is saved?” + +The Little Doctor found her patient in a rigid, trance-like state, her +eyelids fluttering and her breathing stertorous. + +“The heart’s action is fairly good,” she said, after a careful +examination. “The most we can do is to keep her quiet. I will administer +an opiate, and I think nature will do the rest. Meanwhile, somebody must +go after that recalcitrant bridegroom. She would soon recover her tone if +she could lose faith in him altogether. It is suspense that kills.” + +“Brother Joseph started across the Cascade Mountains after him early in +the afternoon,” the Captain explained. “He declared that nothing but foul +play or some unavoidable accident could have detained so ardent a suitor.” + +At the hour of midnight, when the Ranch of the Whispering Firs was +wrapped in silence, Jean awoke, dismissed Susannah, and rose from her bed. + +“O my God,” she cried inwardly, “if it be possible, let this cup pass +from both of us! I know, O Spirit of Good, that my own has not, of his +own accord, deserted his counterpart, his other self. Give me strength +equal to my day! Let me not fail him now, when I know he needs me most. + +“I must have been in your presence, Ashton, while my body was asleep,” +she said half audibly. “For, in spite of my seeming duty to be miserable, +I cannot be unhappy or hopeless. I seem to have been on a journey; but my +recollection of it is indistinct and disjointed.” + +She went to the window and looked out into the night. The clouds had +rolled away, the wind had ceased, and the silent stars were looking down. + + + + +XLI + +“_IN PRISON AND YE VISITED ME_” + + +Joseph Ranger left the scene of the triple wedding early in the afternoon +in quest of the missing bridegroom, and was overtaken by the storm before +riding a dozen miles. But the hospitable welcome of the pioneers awaited +him at Foster’s; and a substantial breakfast was ready for him before the +dawn. The sun was barely up before he left the valley and entered the +mountain pass. His faithful horse, who seemed to understand that he was +bound on no ordinary errand, carefully chose his steps among the rocks +and gullies, and bore him onward with gratifying speed. + +Night overtook him long before he had descended the last of the rugged +steeps that crossed his path after passing the summit of the range. + +Bands of elk and antelope crossed his track at intervals; and at night, +when he stopped to camp under a great pine-tree, when his fire was built, +and his faithful horse and himself had feasted together upon the bag of +roasted wheat he had brought along for sustenance, a band of deer, kindly +eyed, graceful, and not afraid, came near him, attracted by the blaze and +smoke, and circled around his bed at a respectful distance long after he +had retired among his blankets upon a couch of evergreen boughs. + +“That’s right! Come close, my beauties!” he exclaimed, as a doe and her +daughter came close enough to breathe in his face. “I wouldn’t shoot one +of you for the world. Your confidence is not misplaced.” But when he put +out his hand to fondle them, they bounded away as light as birds, only to +approach again and paw the blankets with their nimble hoofs, and awaken +him from his coveted sleep. Finally, to frighten them away, he fired +his revolver into the air, and the entire herd scampered away into the +darkness. + +“The gun is the wild animal’s master,” he said as he fell asleep, to be +awakened again by the neighing of his tethered horse. + +The fire of pitch-pine was still burning, and a pair of eyes glowed near +his face like coals. + +“This is no deer,” he thought, as he very cautiously clasped his +“pepper-box” repeater. + +A heavy paw was placed upon his breast, and the hot breath of a bear +came close enough to nauseate him. There was no time to lose. As a +mountaineer, he knew the nature of his foe too well to await the +inevitable embrace of Bruin. Little by little he moved his repeater, and, +when the weight of the animal was wellnigh crushing him, he sent a bullet +through his eye. But the danger was by no means past, as the beast, +though wounded unto death, was yet alive, and furious with rage and pain. + +Just how he extricated himself from the peril of that eventful encounter, +Joseph Ranger never knew, but he lived to narrate the adventure to +children and grandchildren, and preserved to his dying day that +long-outdated “pepper-box” revolver with which his great-grandchildren +now delight to fire a volley in his honor on Washington’s Birthday and +the Fourth of July. + +Once safely through the Cascade Mountains, Joseph found little to impede +his progress. Some friendly Indians were encountered at the base of the +Blue Mountains, who gave him a hearty meal of bear-meat and wapatoes, and +supplied his weary horse with hay and oats. + +“Mika closh cumtux Wahnetta. Heap good Injun squaw! Ugh! Wake Mika +potlatch chickimin! Hy-as closh muck-a-muck! Heap good. Cultus potlatch!” +was the way in which his Indian host expressed his hospitality and +refused compensation. And Joseph Ranger, acquainted with the jargon of +many native tribes, further ingratiated himself in the Indian’s favor by +presenting his squaw with a few gaudy trinkets such as an experienced +borderer always carries when crossing an Indian country. + +On and on he hurried toward the valley of Great Salt Lake, impelled by an +irresistible impulse he could not have explained to any one. The weather +was in his favor in crossing the Blue Mountains, though the air was cold, +and the wind sometimes blew furiously. Water was low in all the smaller +streams, and the beds of many of them were dry. Ice formed at night in +swampy places and thawed by day, making travelling slippery and tedious; +but on and on he hurried, knowing time was precious and yet not clearly +understanding why. + +At the Ogden Gateway he gained some information that doubled his +impatience and quickened his speed. A man was being held on a charge of +murder at Salt Lake City who he instinctively felt was Ashleigh. His +informant, a Spanish half-breed, did not know his name, but he said an +Indian girl was the victim, and her name was Le-Le. + +On and on he journeyed, till he reached the verge of the little border +city of Salt Lake. The Mormon Temple was not yet built, but a tabernacle +had already arisen as its herald; and the Bee Hive House and Lion House +were filled with wives and children of the prophet, who regularly toiled +and spun. Joseph hastened to the adobe jail, where, after a brief delay, +which seemed to him like an age, he was conducted to a dingy little cell, +reserved for criminals of the lowest type. + +A tall man, unshaven and in his shirt-sleeves, was pacing back and forth +in his narrow quarters like a caged animal. He paused as the bolt flew +back; and, as the light fell upon the face of his astonished visitor, he +exclaimed, “Good God! Joseph Addicks! Can this be you?” + +“I am Joseph Ranger, my boy! And I have come here all the way from the +farthest West. But sit down here on the edge of your bed, and tell me all +about it.” + +“You remember the Indian maiden, Le-Le, whom I purchased and ransomed?” + +“Yes.” + +“And you recall the fact that I left her with her brother, Siwash, at my +Green River cave at the time I came to you?” + +“I remember that you said so.” + +“Can you recall the date of my visit to you at the trading-post?” + +“No; but there must be memoranda somewhere that will settle that. Why?” + +“Because nothing will save me, Joseph, from the hangman’s rope unless I +can prove an alibi. I forwarded a letter to you at Oregon City—or tried +to—after this mishap befell me; but a courier can be bribed sometimes, +you know, and Henry Hankins, who failed to capture my bride, is bent upon +revenge. His incarceration doesn’t keep him out of reach of pals. But how +is my bonnie Jean?” + +“I left home too hurriedly to get much information. But her father said +she was strangely calm, and full of faith in you.” + +“Then my darling is not ill?” + +“I certainly did not leave her well, Ashleigh, but she is in good hands. +Do you know the particulars of Le-Le’s death?” + +“I only know that her body was found in an eddy in Green River about a +fortnight after I last saw her. Just as I was on the eve of starting +to Oregon to claim my bride, I was arrested, charged with murder, and +brought to this villanous den.” + +“Be of good cheer, Ashleigh; I will find Siwash. Say nothing to any one. +The darkest hour of the night is just before the morning. Good-bye, and +may God bless you!” + + + + +XLII + +_TOO BUSY TO BE MISERABLE_ + + +Jean met her father and his wife at the breakfast-table with a welcoming +smile, though her head ached, and on her countenance there was a deathly +pallor. + +“The last night’s storm played havoc with the cherished plans of Mr. and +Mrs. Burns,” said Mary’s husband, adroitly turning the conversation into +a diverting channel. “They were intending to spend their honeymoon with +their camping outfit in the open air among the spicy odors of the October +woods.” + +“They are old enough, and ought to be wise enough, by this time, to spend +their honeymoon at home. No bridegroom ever dreamed of taking his bride +away from home during the honeymoon in my younger days; that is, nobody +did with whom my lot was cast,” said Captain Ranger, beaming tenderly +upon his wife, who, being a sensible woman, was not displeased to note +the far-away look in his eyes which betrayed his straying thoughts. + +“You needn’t make any plans for a new teacher, for the present at least, +daddie,” said Jean; “I shall resume my duties in the schoolroom next +week. Will you post the required notices for me at the Four Corners, and +at the sawmill, sometime during the day?” + +“I wouldn’t be in a hurry about teaching, daughter. Your Uncle Joseph has +gone by private pony express in quest—” + +He paused, uncertain as to the propriety of speaking the name that was +uppermost in all their thoughts. + +“I know it, daddie. I knew all that was going on when I lay yesterday in +what seemed to you as a stupor. I can’t explain it, but I seemed to have +a double, or second, self that told me everything. Ashton is in trouble, +but he is not in bodily danger, and he will not die. I do not understand +it clearly, for I saw conditions only as through a glass, darkly. I would +have remained in that state of seeming torpor for a whole month if it +had been possible, for my mind and body were in different places. But in +spite of myself I am again in a normal condition.” + +“I shall be able to devote two weeks’ work to the erection of that +combined schoolhouse and meeting-house,” said Mary’s husband. “Can’t you +wait, sister, to begin your school till then?” + +“No, Mr. Buckingham. You are very kind, and I thank you from the bottom +of my heart, but I cannot wait. There will be time enough for you to take +the reins when I am gone, Mr. Rogers.” + +During the remainder of the week she performed prodigies of labor, but +the work lagged at the mess-house. The new cook was not a success, and +there was much dissatisfaction among the workingmen. But the Chinaman +learned his lessons rapidly under the guidance of the Ranger sisters, and +was soon able to load the long tables with plain but savory food. + +The storm left the face of Nature fresh and green and joyous, and Mr. +Burns and the Little Doctor repaired to the woods and foot-hills for +their honeymoon, after all. + +Jean’s complexion grew more delicately beautiful, her form more and more +symmetrical, and her eyes sparkled like stars. But her girlish exuberance +of spirit was gone, and in its place had come a womanly dignity, +commanding, gracious, and sweet. The departure of Mary and her husband, +with Marjorie, added heavily to Jean’s duties as superintendent of the +Sunday-school. But her spirit craved work; so she opened a singing-school +and a metrical geography class. + +“Still no tidings!” she cried to herself, after an unusually strenuous +day. “But I will not despair, and I will do my duty though the heavens +fall. The whole of this month’s salary goes to Grandpa and Grandma +Ranger. And for this opportunity to show my appreciation of their lives +of self-denial in the service of others, I devoutly thank God.” + +A shadow darkened the door of the deserted schoolroom. + +“Who is it? And what is wanted?” asked Jean, with a start. + +“It is I,—the Reverend Thomas Rogers,” said a voice, as, stepping out of +the shadow, the preacher met her face to face. + +“I have just completed my day’s work, and was about to shut up shop,” she +said, moving toward the door. + +“Very well. I will walk homeward with you, if I may.” + +“No, you won’t!” piped a tremulous, complaining voice; and Mrs. Rogers +stepped between them and the doorsill. + +“I came to see Miss Jean about a change in the management of the +Sunday-school,” said the preacher, meekly. + +“And I’ve come to remind you that you must chop some stove-wood and milk +the cow.” + +The voice was not tremulous now, but commanding. “I’ll teach you to +be running after the schoolma’am at unseemly hours!” she said with a +vehemence that startled Jean, who had thought her the personification of +submission and humility. “And I’ll teach you to be courting my husband, +Miss Jean!” + +“You can divest yourself of all anxiety on that score, Mrs. Rogers. I +never saw the time when I would have dreamed of ‘courting’ the Reverend +Thomas Rogers, even before he was married; and I wouldn’t ‘court’ any +woman’s husband.” + +“To be explicit,” said the preacher, in a submissive tone, “I think it is +high time for the pastor of this church to manage his Sunday-school. Miss +Jean’s methods are not strictly orthodox. I didn’t mean to speak of this +to her in the presence of any third person, but since you have come upon +the scene, Mrs. Rogers, we may as well settle it here and now.” + +“What’s the trouble?” asked Jean, laughing irreverently. + +“The hymns she teaches the children are not solemn enough. They are all +about happy days and care-free birds and joyous children, whose chief +duty lies in obeying their parents and loving one another. I’ve looked +on during the proceedings, carefully and anxiously, for four consecutive +Sundays now, and I haven’t heard one word about eternal punishment, nor +has she exhorted anybody to flee from the wrath to come!” + +“Aren’t you ashamed of your fit of jealousy in the light of this +revelation, Mrs. Rogers?” asked Jean, laughing aloud. + +“I know he was once in love with your sister Mary!” was the evasive but +crestfallen reply. + +“Well, Mr. Rogers,” said Jean, closing and locking the door, “we may as +well be ending this interview. I founded the Sunday-school, and I will +not abdicate till I get ready to leave the country. I never could be made +to believe by your preaching or teaching that God wasn’t as good as my +daddie, or even yourself. I am teaching the children to love and serve +a beneficent God, and to love their neighbors as themselves. If that is +heresy, make the most of it. Good-night! And, Mrs. Rogers, the next time +you feel the unseemly pangs of jealousy, don’t make a fool of yourself +before folks.” + + + + +XLIII + +_JEAN IS HAPPY—AND ANOTHER PERSON_ + + +December, gloomiest month in the year, had settled over the Ranch of the +Whispering Firs. The steady mist of the rainy season was at its best, +or worst, according to the point of view, mental and physical, of its +beholder. The mighty colonnades of trees, that reared their pointed +crests in the mist-enwrapped heavens, were busily engaged, at the foot of +the Cascade Mountains, in storing away the moisture of the skies among +the countless layers of vegetable mould and moss from which to draw their +supplies for the next summer’s drouth. + +The sawmill, planing-mill, and shingle-loom were running day and night. +The skid roads, upon which the leviathans of the forest were dragged +to their final doom, were sodden, slippery, and already badly worn. +Relays of oxen tugged at the creaking chains and complaining logs. The +mill-pond, a lake upon the mountain-side, very much enlarged by a dam, +lay half asleep under a soft coating of ice; and higher up, at the snow +line, lay the ice-clad creek that fed it, sheathed in a coat of mail +which held in check the waters that were destined, when a thaw should +come, to overflow their banks and send a flood into the valley below. + + * * * * * + +“Are you an angel from heaven, or are you Ashton Ashleigh?” cried +Jean, as a tall man entered at the open door and stood before her with +outstretched arms. The color faded from her cheeks, and her heart gave a +violent thump and then stood still. + +“Nothing angelic about me or near me this holy minute, unless it is Jean, +my bonnie Jean!” exclaimed the intruder, as he clasped her tenderly in +his arms. Jean was speechless for the moment with surprise and joy. + +“Why don’t you ask for an explanation, little one?” he asked after an +interval. “An explanation is due you, God knows!” + +“I knew you would come,” she whispered timidly. “You have been forcibly +detained, Ashton. Nothing else would, or could, have kept you away from +your own.” + +“Yes, darling; it was all the evil-doing of that man Hankins, to whom I +intrusted my letter and my ring. Come in, Uncle Joseph. Tell the whole +cruel story.” + +“He was on his way to his wedding when he was arrested and thrown into +prison!” exclaimed the uncle. + +“You remember the slave girl Le-Le, my bonnie Jean? I was falsely accused +of being her murderer; and they would surely have convicted me of the +crime if your uncle had not appeared upon the scene, and after much delay +and difficulty proved an alibi. Do you wonder that my hair has turned +white?” + +“Why, so it has, Ashton! I had not noticed it before; the light is dim. +But you are all right. Your hair is beautiful. I like it best as it is.” + +“I had a deuce of a time proving that alibi!” interrupted the uncle. “Our +only witness was Siwash, who had left the scene of the tragedy and was +nowhere to be found, though I sent scouts out for him in every direction. +He had no idea that he was wanted, when he finally appeared upon the +scene, but he came just in the nick of time. + +“‘I saw my sister make the fatal leap into Green River,’” he deposed in +excellent English. ‘She had been very despondent after Mr. Ashleigh left +us, and I was often afraid she would take her life. But as the weeks +passed, she apparently grew more reconciled; and I had ceased to worry +about her, when one day, after getting my luncheon, she refused to wait +upon the table, and left our cave in a manner that excited my alarm. +So I followed her. I saw the fatal leap. She plunged into the rushing +water through a hole in the ice, under which her body was imprisoned +till last summer, when it was found three miles from the fatal scene. I +never dreamed of anybody being accused of killing her,—least of all Mr. +Ashleigh, our benefactor and friend.’ + +“‘Do the citizens of the village near the scene of the tragedy know of +the suicide?’ asked the Court. + +“‘They do, your Honor, a dozen of them!’ said the boy. + +“No argument was offered on either side. Hankins was sent back to the +penitentiary. Ashton was allowed to go forth a free man; and here, after +a hard journey, are both of us to tell the tale!” + + * * * * * + +Sunday morning at the Ranch of the Whispering Firs. The skies, which +have been humid and lowering for many days, are once more on their good +behavior. The clouds have rolled away to the Northland, and the air and +sunshine are as balmy as in springtime. + +Once more there is a gathering,—this time at the combined schoolhouse +and meeting-house; and Jean Ranger, handsomely attired in a well-made +travelling suit of gray, with hat to match,—the handiwork of her +stepmother and the Little Doctor,—is superintending for the last time +(at least the last till after her return from abroad) her beloved +Sunday-school. The tidings of the bridegroom’s arrival had spread from +house to house, and everybody within a radius of a dozen miles had +appeared upon the scene. The children of the district had decorated the +room profusely with wild flowers, ferns, and evergreens. + +Jean, in surrendering her school to the pastor, made a felicitous speech, +exhorting her pupils to continue in the ways of well-doing. Then, bidding +them a loving and hopeful good-bye, she formally resigned her post, and +the Reverend Thomas Rogers assumed control. + +At a given signal from Captain Ranger, a tall and handsome young +Englishman, whose youthful face contrasted strangely with his snowy hair, +stepped proudly down the aisle, where he was joined by his radiant bride, +leaning on the arm of her father; and the preacher pronounced the words +that legalized a union made in heaven. The tears that rose unbidden to +the eyes of bronzed and bearded men and toilworn, plainly attired women +were tears of joy and peace, good-will and gladness. + +A bountiful basket-dinner, contributed, as by a common impulse, from +the home of almost every family in the district, was served within the +building. + +“We leave to-morrow, by steamer from Portland, going by way of San +Francisco, Acapulco, and the Isthmus, up the Atlantic coast to New York,” +said the happy bridegroom, in his post-prandial speech, “whence we shall +sail for Liverpool. I shall take my wife to London to visit my mother. +Then, on our return to Oregon (for we will make this neighborhood of the +Ranch of the Whispering Firs our permanent home), we shall stop over at +Washington to see her sisters,—Mrs. Buckingham and Marjorie; and after +that we can visit the home of her childhood.” + +“But I prefer going first to the home of my grandparents, dearest,” said +the bride. “We can get there easily by the way of the Gulf of Mexico and +the Mississippi River and the Illinois, if we’ll be on hand before the +rivers are frozen over. We can then go on to Washington, and to England +afterwards. Don’t you think this will be the more economical, convenient, +and reasonable plan?” + +“As this journey is to be in your honor, it shall be as you say, my +bonnie Jean.” + +The bride blushed and beamed bewitchingly, while the crowd laughed and +applauded, and her husband bowed and smiled in approval. + +All eyes then turned upon the father, who took the happy and exultant +bridegroom by the hand and said in a voice tremulous with emotion: +“Ashton Ashleigh, my son through marriage, you have taken to yourself the +priceless jewel that I once fondly thought was mine! Value not lightly +the radiant gem of womanhood you guard!” Then to the bride he said, +embracing her tenderly, while the eyes of the multitude filled afresh +with tears: “Beloved daughter of thy sainted mother, go thy way with the +husband of thy choice. But do not forget to hold thyself always as his +equal before God and man. Then shalt thou be his best counsellor, his +real helpmate, and his wisest friend.” To both he added, as he folded +their clasped hands between his own broad palms: “Keep step together, my +children; and, whether your way shall lead you up the mountain-sides of +difficulty, or through the quagmires of sorrow, or into the glad valleys +of happiness and peace, always march side by side, in time and tune +to the eternal harmonies of religion, liberty, equality, justice, and +progression.” + +And here, patient reader, with Life before them, and Love leading the +way, these chronicles shall bid adieu to the happy pair while they take +temporary leave of the remnant of the Ranger household and the Ranch of +the Whispering Firs. + + THE END + + + + +FOOTNOTES + + +[1] The writer has not been able to trace the date or origin of these +stanzas. She learned them in her childhood of a Scotchwoman who recited +them on a winter evening in her chimney corner, and who has long been +dead. She herself has often recited the whole ballad at weddings within +the past fifty years. + +[2] Since called the Ogden Gateway. + + + + +BOOKS RELATING TO THE NORTHWEST + + + THE JOURNALS OF LEWIS AND CLARK + GASS’S JOURNAL OF THE LEWIS AND CLARK EXPEDITION + THE CONQUEST + THE BRIDGE OF THE GODS + McLOUGHLIN AND OLD OREGON + LETTERS FROM AN OREGON RANCH + FROM THE WEST TO THE WEST + A SHORT HISTORY OF OREGON + + (OVER) + +These books are for sale by all booksellers, or will be sent by the +publishers on receipt of price. An extra for postage will be made on +“net” books. + +A. C. McCLURG & CO., PUBLISHERS, CHICAGO + + +The Conquest + +By EVA EMERY DYE. Being the True Story of Lewis and Clark. Third Edition, +with frontispiece in full color by Charlotte Weber. 12mo, gilt top, 504 +pages. $1.50. + +No book published in recent years has more of tremendous import between +its covers, and certainly no recent novel has in it more of the elements +of a permanent success. A historical romance which tells with accuracy +and inspiring style of the bravery of the pioneers in winning the western +continent, should have a lasting place in the esteem of every American. + +“No one who wishes to know the true story of the conquest of the greater +part of this great nation can afford to pass by this book.”—_Cleveland +Leader._ + +“A vivid picture of the Indian wars preceding the Louisiana purchase, of +the expedition of Lewis and Clark, and of events following the occupation +of Oregon.”—_The Congregationalist._ + +“It may not be the great American novel we have been waiting for so long, +but it certainly looks as though it would be very near it.”—_Rochester +Times._ + +“The characters that are assembled in ‘The Conquest’ belong to the +history of the United States, their story is a national epic.”—_Detroit +Free Press._ + + +McLoughlin and Old Oregon + +By EVA EMERY DYE. A Chronicle. Fifth Edition. 12mo, 381 pages. $1.50. + +This is a most graphic and interesting chronicle of the movement which +added to the United States that vast territory, previously a British +possession, of which Oregon formed a part, and how Dr. John McLoughlin, +then chief factor of the Hudson’s Bay Company for the Northwest, by his +fatherly interest in the settlers, displeased the Hudson’s Bay Company +and aided in bringing this about. The author has gathered her facts at +first hand, and as a result the work is vivid and picturesque and reads +like a romance. + +“A spirited narrative of what life in the wilderness meant in the early +days, a record of heroism, self-sacrifice, and dogged persistence; a +graphic page of the story of the American pioneer.”—_New York Mail._ + + +The Bridge of the Gods + +By F. H. BALCH. A Romance of Indian Oregon. New (seventh) Edition, +enlarged size. With eight full-page illustrations by Laurens Maynard +Dixon. Cloth, 12mo, 280 pages, gilt top. $1.50. Paper edition, without +illustrations. 50 cents. + +Encouraged by the steady demand for this powerful story, since its +publication twelve years ago, the publishers felt justified in issuing +this attractive illustrated edition. The book has fairly earned its +lasting popularity, not only by the intense interest of the story, but +by its faithful delineation of Indian character. From the legends of the +Columbia River and the mystical “bridge of the gods,” the author has +derived a truthful and realistic picture of the powerful tribes that +inhabited the Oregon country two centuries ago. + +The _Syracuse Herald_ calls the author of “The Bridge of the Gods” “the +best writer of Indian romance since the days of Fenimore Cooper.” + + +A Short History of Oregon + +By SIDONA V. JOHNSON. With seventeen illustrations from photographs, and +a map of the Lewis and Clark route. 16mo, 320 pages, indexed. $1.00 _net_. + +FROM HENRY E. DOSCH, _Director of Exhibits at Lewis and Clark Exposition +at Portland_. + +“Every home in Oregon might well welcome this condensed, readable +‘History of Oregon,’ and, most important of all, the school children of +the State are entitled to an opportunity to study it, to the end that the +history of the State and the great and memorable achievement of Lewis +and Clark may be intelligently understood and appreciated by every man, +woman, and child in Oregon before the opening of the Lewis and Clark +Centennial Exposition.” + + +Letters from an Oregon Ranch + +By “KATHARINE.” With twelve full-page illustrations from photographs. +Square 8vo. $1.25 _net_. + +The hours of delight, as well as those of trial, which fall to the lot +of “Katharine,” in creating a home out of the raw materials of nature, +are chronicled with naïve humor, and in a vein of hearty optimism which +will make a universal appeal. This year the eyes of the entire country +are on Oregon, and it is expected that a book of this kind, giving such +an illuminating idea of the country, will be of great interest. The +photographs which illustrate the volume are of remarkable beauty. + + +From the West to the West + +Across the Plains to Oregon + +By ABIGAIL SCOTT DUNIWAY. With frontispiece in color. 12mo. $1.50. + +A chronicle and remarkable picture of a group of pioneers in their +journeyings across the plains and their subsequent settling in Oregon. +The characters are of the distinctive class of Western emigrant of fifty +years ago, resourceful, independent, and progressive, and in their +conversation and experiences give a vivid account of a phase of American +social life that has passed, as well as foreshadowing the active and +productive period that was to follow. Though a faithful account of an +actual journey, the book is in the form of fiction, and brings the course +of several romances to a successful end. + + +The Journals of Captains Lewis and Clark, 1804-5-6 (McClurg Library +Reprints of Americana) + +Reprinted from the Edition of 1814. With an Introduction by JAMES K. +HOSMER, LL.D., an analytical Index, and photogravure portraits and maps. +In two volumes, boxed, 1,083 pages, gilt top. $5.00 _net_. Large-paper +edition, on Brown’s hand-made paper, illustrations on Japan vellum, +limited to 150 copies, boxed. $18.00 _net_. + +“The republication of the complete narrative is both timely and +invaluable.... Dr. Hosmer is well known as an authority on Western +history; hence to see his name on the title-page is to know that the work +has been well done.”—_Portland Oregonian._ + +“The celebrated story of the expedition of Lewis and Clark has now been +put in an easily accessible form.”—_N. Y. Times Saturday Review._ + +“Of the several new editions of this valuable narrative, this is by far +the best and most complete.”—_Minneapolis Journal._ + +“We have nothing but praise for this clear and handsome reprint.”—_The +Nation._ + + +Gass’s Journal of the Lewis and Clark Expedition (McClurg Library +Reprints of Americana) + +Reprinted from the Edition of 1811. With an Introduction by DR. JAMES K. +HOSMER, an analytical Index, facsimiles of the original illustrations, +and a rare portrait of Patrick Gass. In one square octavo volume, boxed, +350 pages, gilt top. $3.50 _net_. Large-paper edition, on Brown’s +hand-made paper, illustrations on Japan paper, limited to 75 copies, +boxed. $9.00 _net_. + +The appearance of this volume in the period of Lewis and Clark +celebrations is especially pertinent, as no practical library edition has +been available of the “Journal of Patrick Gass.” His narrative was for +seven years the only source from which any authentic knowledge of the +great enterprise could be obtained. When at last the work based on the +diaries of the Captains was given to the world, the earlier book, so far +from being set aside, was found to be most important as confirming and +supplementing what had been set down by the leaders, and, in fact, has +not ceased to be held in high estimation up to the present moment. + +“Several picturesque details Dr. Hosmer mentions (in the ‘Introduction’) +which had eluded the argus eyes of Coues through a lifetime of waiting +and watching. Whatever he learns he sets forth with a vivacity which +keeps our attention expectant and appetite growing by what it feeds +on.”—_New York Evening Post._ + +“It restores Gass’s Journal to a common use. The portrait of Gass, which +serves as a frontispiece, is a distinct addition.”—_American Historical +Review._ + +“No edition of Lewis and Clark is complete unless accompanied by the +Journal of Patrick Gass. The work has been well edited, and the mechanics +are of a superior character.”—_Baltimore Sun._ + + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 75131 *** diff --git a/75131-h/75131-h.htm b/75131-h/75131-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..2501968 --- /dev/null +++ b/75131-h/75131-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,14488 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html> +<html lang="en"> +<head> + <meta charset="UTF-8"> + <title> + From the West to the West | Project Gutenberg + </title> + <link rel="icon" href="images/cover.jpg" type="image/x-cover"> + <style> + +a { + text-decoration: none; +} + +body { + margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; +} + +h1,h2 { + text-align: center; + clear: both; +} + +h2.nobreak { + page-break-before: avoid; +} + +h3 { + clear: both; + margin-bottom: 0; +} + +hr.chap { + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + clear: both; + width: 65%; + margin-left: 17.5%; + margin-right: 17.5%; +} + +img.w100 { + width: 100%; +} + +div.chapter { + page-break-before: always; +} + +p { + margin-top: 0.5em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: 0.5em; + text-indent: 1em; +} + +table { + margin: 1em auto 1em auto; + max-width: 40em; + border-collapse: collapse; +} + +td { + padding-left: 2.25em; + padding-right: 0.25em; + vertical-align: top; + text-indent: -2em; +} + +.tdr { + text-align: right; +} + +.tdpg { + vertical-align: bottom; + text-align: right; +} + +.adbox { + border-top: double black; + border-bottom: double black; + margin: auto; + max-width: 30em; +} + +.adbox ul { + list-style-type: none; + text-align: center; + margin: auto auto 1em auto; + padding: 0; +} + +.adbox li { + margin-top: .5em; +} + +.ads .author { + text-indent: 0; + margin-left: 1em; + font-size: 110%; +} + +.ads .reviews { + font-size: 90%; +} + +.caption p { + text-align: center; + margin-bottom: 1em; + font-size: 90%; + text-indent: 0em; +} + +.center { + text-align: center; + text-indent: 0em; +} + +.dedication { + text-align: center; + text-indent: 0em; + line-height: 1.8em; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; +} + +.figcenter { + margin: auto; + text-align: center; +} + +.footnotes { + margin-top: 1em; + border: dashed 1px; +} + +.footnote { + margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + font-size: 0.9em; +} + +.footnote .label { + position: absolute; + right: 84%; + text-align: right; +} + +.fnanchor { + vertical-align: super; + font-size: .8em; + text-decoration: none; +} + +.hanging { + padding-left: 2em; + text-indent: -2em; +} + +.larger { + font-size: 150%; +} + +.letter { + margin: 1.5em 10%; +} + +.noindent { + text-indent: 0em; +} + +.pagenum { + position: absolute; + right: 4%; + font-size: smaller; + text-align: right; + font-style: normal; +} + +.poetry-container { + text-align: center; +} + +.poetry { + display: inline-block; + text-align: left; +} + +.poetry .stanza { + margin: 1em 0em 1em 0em; +} + +.poetry .verse { + padding-left: 3em; +} + +.poetry .indent0 { + text-indent: -3em; +} + +.poetry .indent2 { + text-indent: -2em; +} + +.right { + text-align: right; +} + +.smaller { + font-size: 80%; +} + +.smcap { + font-variant: small-caps; + font-style: normal; +} + +.allsmcap { + font-variant: small-caps; + font-style: normal; + text-transform: lowercase; +} + +.tb { + margin-top: 2em; +} + +.titlepage { + text-align: center; + margin-top: 3em; + text-indent: 0em; +} + +.x-ebookmaker img { + max-width: 100%; + width: auto; + height: auto; +} + +.x-ebookmaker .poetry { + display: block; + margin-left: 1.5em; +} + +.x-ebookmaker .letter { + margin: 1.5em 5%; +} + +/* Illustration classes */ +.illowp45 {width: 45%;} +.x-ebookmaker .illowp45 {width: 100%;} +.illowp75 {width: 75%;} +.x-ebookmaker .illowp75 {width: 100%;} + + </style> + </head> +<body> +<div style='text-align:center'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 75131 ***</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_i"></a>[i]</span></p> + +<h1>FROM THE WEST TO THE WEST</h1> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_ii"></a>[ii]</span></p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_iii"></a>[iii]</span></p> + +<figure class="figcenter illowp45" id="frontispiece" style="max-width: 26.5625em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/frontispiece.jpg" alt=""> + <figcaption class="caption"><p><i>Jean beheld a tall, sunburned +young man.</i>—<a href="#Page_185"><i>Page 185</i></a></p></figcaption> +</figure> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_iv"></a>[iv]</span></p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_v"></a>[v]</span></p> + +<p class="titlepage larger">FROM THE WEST<br> +TO THE WEST</p> + +<p class="center">Across the Plains to<br> +Oregon</p> + +<p class="titlepage"><span class="smaller">BY</span><br> +ABIGAIL SCOTT DUNIWAY</p> + +<p class="titlepage smaller">With Frontispiece in Color</p> + +<figure class="figcenter titlepage illowp75" id="mcclurg" style="max-width: 9.375em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/mcclurg.jpg" alt=""> +</figure> + +<p class="titlepage"><span class="smaller">CHICAGO</span><br> +A. C. McCLURG & CO.<br> +<span class="smaller">1905</span></p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_vi"></a>[vi]</span></p> + +<p class="titlepage smaller"><span class="smcap">Copyright<br> +A. C. McClurg & Co.</span><br> +1905</p> + +<p class="center smaller">Published April 7, 1905</p> + +<p class="titlepage smaller">THE UNIVERSITY PRESS, CAMBRIDGE, U. S. A.</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_vii"></a>[vii]</span></p> + +<p class="dedication"><span class="smcap smaller">To</span><br> +THE HISTORICAL SOCIETY OF OREGON<br> +<span class="allsmcap">AND HER RISEN AND REMAINING PIONEERS</span><br> +<span class="smcap">I affectionately Dedicate</span><br> +<span class="smcap">This Book</span><br> +<br> +ABIGAIL SCOTT DUNIWAY</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_viii"></a>[viii]</span></p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_ix"></a>[ix]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="PREFACE">PREFACE</h2> + +</div> + +<p>Not from any desire for augmented fame, or for +further notoriety than has long been mine (at +least within the chosen bailiwick of my farthest +and best beloved West), have I consented to indite these +pages.</p> + +<p>The events of pioneer life, which form the groundwork +of this story, are woven into a composite whole by +memory and imagination. But they are not personal, +nor do they present the reader, except in a fragmentary +and romantic sense, with the actual, individual lives of +borderers I have known. The story, nevertheless, is true +to life and border history; and, no matter what may be +the fate of the book, the facts it delineates will never die.</p> + +<p>Fifty years ago, as an illiterate, inexperienced settler, +a busy, overworked child-mother and housewife, an impulse +to write was born within me, inherited from my +Scottish ancestry, which no lack of education or opportunity +could allay. So I wrote a little book which I called +“Captain Gray’s Company, or Crossing the Plains and +Living in Oregon.”</p> + +<p>Measured by time and distance as now computed, that +was ages ago. The iron horse and the telegraph had not +crossed the Mississippi; the telephone and the electric +light were not; and there were no cables under the sea.</p> + +<p>Life’s twilight’s shadows are around me now. The good +husband who shaped my destiny in childhood has passed +to the skies; my beloved, beautiful, and only daughter +has also risen; my faithful sons have founded homes and<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_x"></a>[x]</span> +families of their own. Sitting alone in my deserted but +not lonely home, I have yielded to a demand that for several +years has been reaching me by person, post, and +telephone, requesting the republication of my first little +story, which passed rapidly through two editions, and for +forty years has been out of print. In its stead I have +written this historical novel.</p> + +<p>Among the relics of the border times that abound in +the rooms of the Oregon Historical Society may be seen +an immigrant wagon, a battered ox-yoke, a clumsy, home-made +hand-loom, an old-fashioned spinning-wheel, and a +rusty Dutch oven. Such articles are valuable as relics, but +they would not sell in paying quantities in this utilitarian +age if duplicated and placed upon the market. Just so +with “Captain Gray’s Company.” It accomplished its +mission in its day and way. By its aid its struggling author +stumbled forward to higher aims. Let it rest, and let +the world go marching on.</p> + +<p class="right">A. S. D.</p> + +<p class="hanging"><span class="smcap">Portland, Oregon</span>,<br> +January 15, 1905.</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_xi"></a>[xi]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CONTENTS">CONTENTS</h2> + +</div> + +<table> + <tr> + <td class="tdr"></td> + <td></td> + <td class="tdpg"><span class="smcap">Page</span></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr">I.</td> + <td><span class="smcap">A Removal is Planned</span></td> + <td class="tdpg"><a href="#I">15</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr">II.</td> + <td><span class="smcap">Early Life in the Middle West</span></td> + <td class="tdpg"><a href="#II">22</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr">III.</td> + <td><span class="smcap">Marrying and Giving in Marriage</span></td> + <td class="tdpg"><a href="#III">28</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr">IV.</td> + <td><span class="smcap">Old Blood and New</span></td> + <td class="tdpg"><a href="#IV">35</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr">V.</td> + <td><span class="smcap">Sally O’Dowd</span></td> + <td class="tdpg"><a href="#V">43</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr">VI.</td> + <td><span class="smcap">The Beginning of a Journey</span></td> + <td class="tdpg"><a href="#VI">50</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr">VII.</td> + <td><span class="smcap">Scotty’s First Romance</span></td> + <td class="tdpg"><a href="#VII">55</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr">VIII.</td> + <td><span class="smcap">A Border Incident</span></td> + <td class="tdpg"><a href="#VIII">62</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr">IX.</td> + <td><span class="smcap">The Captain defends the Law</span></td> + <td class="tdpg"><a href="#IX">68</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr">X.</td> + <td><span class="smcap">The Captain makes a Distinction</span></td> + <td class="tdpg"><a href="#X">76</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr">XI.</td> + <td><span class="smcap">Mrs. McAlpin seeks Advice</span></td> + <td class="tdpg"><a href="#XI">84</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr">XII.</td> + <td><span class="smcap">Jean becomes a Witness</span></td> + <td class="tdpg"><a href="#XII">92</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr">XIII.</td> + <td><span class="smcap">An Approaching Storm</span></td> + <td class="tdpg"><a href="#XIII">99</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr">XIV.</td> + <td><span class="smcap">A Camp in Consternation</span></td> + <td class="tdpg"><a href="#XIV">106</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr">XV.</td> + <td><span class="smcap">Cholera Rages</span></td> + <td class="tdpg"><a href="#XV">113</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr">XVI.</td> + <td><span class="smcap">Jean’s Visit beyond the Veil</span></td> + <td class="tdpg"><a href="#XVI">121</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr">XVII.</td> + <td><span class="smcap">Father and Daughter</span></td> + <td class="tdpg"><a href="#XVII">128</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr">XVIII.</td> + <td><span class="smcap">The Little Doctor</span></td> + <td class="tdpg"><a href="#XVIII">134</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr">XIX.</td> + <td><span class="smcap">A Brief Message for Mrs. Benson</span></td> + <td class="tdpg"><a href="#XIX">142</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr">XX.</td> + <td><span class="smcap">The Teamsters Desert</span></td> + <td class="tdpg"><a href="#XX">148</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr">XXI.</td> + <td><span class="smcap">An Unexpected Encounter</span></td> + <td class="tdpg"><a href="#XXI">156</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr">XXII.</td> + <td><span class="smcap">The Squaw Man</span></td> + <td class="tdpg"><a href="#XXII">163</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr">XXIII.</td> + <td><span class="smcap">The Squaw asserts her Rights</span></td> + <td class="tdpg"><a href="#XXIII">170</a><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_xii"></a>[xii]</span></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr">XXIV.</td> + <td><span class="smcap">A Mormon Woman</span></td> + <td class="tdpg"><a href="#XXIV">177</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr">XXV.</td> + <td><span class="smcap">Jean loses her Way</span></td> + <td class="tdpg"><a href="#XXV">184</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr">XXVI.</td> + <td><span class="smcap">Le-Le, the Indian Girl</span></td> + <td class="tdpg"><a href="#XXVI">191</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr">XXVII.</td> + <td><span class="smcap">Jean transformed</span></td> + <td class="tdpg"><a href="#XXVII">197</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr">XXVIII.</td> + <td><span class="smcap">The Stampede</span></td> + <td class="tdpg"><a href="#XXVIII">203</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr">XXIX.</td> + <td><span class="smcap">In the Land of Drouth</span></td> + <td class="tdpg"><a href="#XXIX">209</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr">XXX.</td> + <td><span class="smcap">Bobbie goes to his Mother</span></td> + <td class="tdpg"><a href="#XXX">217</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr">XXXI.</td> + <td><span class="smcap">Through the Oregon Mountains</span></td> + <td class="tdpg"><a href="#XXXI">223</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr">XXXII.</td> + <td><span class="smcap">Letters from Home</span></td> + <td class="tdpg"><a href="#XXXII">229</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr">XXXIII.</td> + <td><span class="smcap">Love finds a Way</span></td> + <td class="tdpg"><a href="#XXXIII">238</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr">XXXIV.</td> + <td><span class="smcap">Happy Jack introduces Himself</span></td> + <td class="tdpg"><a href="#XXXIV">246</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr">XXXV.</td> + <td><span class="smcap">Ashleigh makes New Plans</span></td> + <td class="tdpg"><a href="#XXXV">253</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr">XXXVI.</td> + <td><span class="smcap">Happy Jack is Surprised</span></td> + <td class="tdpg"><a href="#XXXVI">258</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr">XXXVII.</td> + <td><span class="smcap">News for Jean</span></td> + <td class="tdpg"><a href="#XXXVII">264</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr">XXXVIII.</td> + <td><span class="smcap">The Brothers journey Homeward Together</span></td> + <td class="tdpg"><a href="#XXXVIII">271</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr">XXXIX.</td> + <td><span class="smcap">The Old Homestead</span></td> + <td class="tdpg"><a href="#XXXIX">283</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr">XL.</td> + <td><span class="smcap">The Unexpected Happens</span></td> + <td class="tdpg"><a href="#XL">290</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr">XLI.</td> + <td><span class="smcap">“In Prison and Ye Visited Me”</span></td> + <td class="tdpg"><a href="#XLI">299</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr">XLII.</td> + <td><span class="smcap">Too Busy to be Miserable</span></td> + <td class="tdpg"><a href="#XLII">303</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr">XLIII.</td> + <td><span class="smcap">Jean is Happy—and Another Person</span></td> + <td class="tdpg"><a href="#XLIII">307</a></td> + </tr> +</table> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_xiii"></a>[xiii]</span></p> + +<h1>FROM THE<br> +WEST TO THE WEST</h1> + +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_xiv"></a>[xiv]</span></p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_15"></a>[15]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="I">I<br> +<span class="smaller"><i>A REMOVAL IS PLANNED</i></span></h2> + +</div> + +<p>On the front veranda of a rectangular farmhouse, +somewhat pretentious for its time and place, stood +a woman in expectant attitude. The bleak wind +of a spent March day played rudely with the straying +ends of her bright, abundant red-brown hair, which she +brushed frequently from her careworn face as she peered +through the thickening shadows of approaching night. +The ice-laden branches of a leafless locust swept the +latticed corner behind which she had retreated for +protection from the wind. A great white-and-yellow +watch-dog crouched expectantly at her feet, whining +and wagging his tail.</p> + +<p>Indoors, the big living-room echoed with the laughter +and prattle of many voices. At one end of a long table, +littered with books and slates and dimly lighted by flickering +tallow dips, sat the older children of the household, +busy with their lessons for the morrow’s recitations. A +big fire of maple logs roared on the hearth in harmony +with the roaring of the wind outside.</p> + +<p>“Yes, Rover, he’s coming,” exclaimed the watcher on +the veranda, as the dog sprang to his feet with a noisy +proclamation of welcome.</p> + +<p>A shaggy-bearded horseman, muffled to the ears in a +tawny fur coat, tossed his bridle to a stable-boy and, +rushing up the icy steps, caught the gentle woman in his<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_16"></a>[16]</span> +arms. “It’s all settled, mother. I’ve made terms with +Lije. He’s to take my farm and pay me as he can. +I’ve made a liberal discount for the keep of the old folks; +and we’ll sell off the stock, the farming implements, the +household stuff, and the sawmill, and be off in less than +a month for the Territory of Oregon.”</p> + +<p>Mrs. Ranger shrank and shivered. “Oregon is a long +way off, John,” she said, nestling closer to his side and +half suppressing a sob. “There’s the danger and the +hardships of the journey to be considered, you know.”</p> + +<p>“I will always protect you and the children under all +circumstances, Annie. Can’t you trust me?”</p> + +<p>“Haven’t I always trusted you, John? But—”</p> + +<p>“What is it, Annie? Don’t be afraid to speak your +mind.”</p> + +<p>“I was thinking, dear,—you know we’ve always +lived on the frontier, and civilization is just now beginning +to catch up with us,—mightn’t it be better for +us to stay here and enjoy it? Illinois is still a new +country, you know. We’ve never had any advantages +to speak of, and none of the children, nor I, have ever +seen a railroad.”</p> + +<p>“Don’t be foolish, Annie! We’ll take civilization +with us wherever we go, railroads or no railroads.”</p> + +<p>“But we’ll be compelled to leave our parents behind, +John. They’re old and infirm now, and we’ll be going +so far away that we’ll never see them again. At least, +I sha’n’t.”</p> + +<p>The husband cleared his throat, but did not reply. +The wife continued her protest.</p> + +<p>“Just think of the sorrow we’ll bring upon ’em in +their closing days, dear! Then there’s that awful journey +for us and the children through more than two thousand +miles of unsettled country, among wild beasts and +wilder Indians. Hadn’t we better let well-enough alone, +and remain where we are comfortable?”</p> + +<p>“A six months’ journey across the untracked continent,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_17"></a>[17]</span> +with ox teams and dead-ax wagons, won’t be a summer +picnic; I’ll admit that. But the experience will come +only one day at a time, and we can stand it. It will be +like a whipping,—it will feel good when it is over and +quits hurting.”</p> + +<p>“You are well and strong, John, but you know I have +never been like myself since that awful time when your +brother Joe got into that trouble. It was at the time of +Harry’s birth, you know. You didn’t mean to neglect +me, dear, but you had to do it.”</p> + +<p>“There, there, little wife!” placing his hand over her +mouth. “Let the dead past bury its dead. Never mention +Joe to me again. And never fear for a minute that +you and the children won’t be taken care of.”</p> + +<p>“I beg your pardon, John!” and the wife shrank back +against the lattice and shivered. The protruding thorn +of a naked locust bough scratched her cheek, and the red +blood trickled down.</p> + +<p>“I need your encouragement, in this time of all times, +Annie. You mustn’t fail me now,” he said, speaking in +an injured tone.</p> + +<p>“Have I ever failed you yet, my husband?”</p> + +<p>“I can’t say that you have, Annie. But you worry too +much; you bore a fellow so. Just brace up; don’t anticipate +trouble. It’ll come soon enough without your +meeting it halfway. You ought to consider the welfare +of the children.”</p> + +<p>“Have I ever lived for myself, John?”</p> + +<p>“No, no; but you fret too much. I suppose it’s a +woman’s way, though, and I must stand it. There’s the +chance of a lifetime before us, Annie.” He added after +a pause, “The Oregon Donation Land Law that was +passed by Congress nearly two years ago won’t be a law +always. United States Senators in the farthest East are +already urging its repeal. We’ve barely time, even by +going now, to get in on the ground-floor. Then we’ll +get, in our own right, to have and to hold, in fee simple,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_18"></a>[18]</span> +as the lawyers say, a big square mile of the finest land +that ever rolled out o’ doors.”</p> + +<p>“Will there be no mortgage to eat us up with interest, +and no malaria to shake us to pieces, John? And will +you keep the woodpile away from the front gate, and +make an out-of-the-way lane for the cows, so they won’t +come home at night through the front avenue?”</p> + +<p>“There’ll be no mortgage and no malaria. One-half +of the claim will belong to you absolutely; and you can +order the improvements to suit yourself. Only think of +it! A square mile o’ land is six hundred and forty acres, +and six hundred and forty acres is a whole square mile! +We wouldn’t be dealing justly by our children if we let +the opportunity slip. We’ll get plenty o’ land to make a +good-sized farm for every child on the plantation, and it +won’t cost us a red cent to have and to hold it!”</p> + +<p>“That was the plan our parents had in view when they +came here from Kentucky, John. They wanted land for +their children, you know. They wanted us all to settle +close around ’em, and be the stay and comfort of their +old age.” And Mrs. Ranger laughed hysterically.</p> + +<p>“You shiver, Annie. You oughtn’t to be out in this +bleak March wind. Let’s go inside.”</p> + +<p>“I’m not minding the wind, dear. I was thinking of +the way people’s plans so often miscarry. Children do +their own thinking and planning nowadays, as they always +did, regardless of what their parents wish. Look at us! +We’re planning to leave your parents and mine, for good +and all, after they’ve worn themselves out in our service; +and we needn’t expect different treatment from our children +when we get old and decrepit.”</p> + +<p>“But I’ve already arranged for our parents’ keep with +Lije and Mary,” said the husband, petulantly. “Didn’t +I tell you so?”</p> + +<p>“But suppose Lije fails in business; or suppose he +gets the far Western fever too; or suppose he tires of +his bargain and quits?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_19"></a>[19]</span></p> + +<p>A black cloud scudded away before the wind, uncovering +the face of the moon. The silver light burst suddenly +upon the pair.</p> + +<p>“What’s the matter, Annie?” cried the husband, in +alarm. “Are you sick?” Her upturned face was like +ashes.</p> + +<p>“No; it’s nothing. I was only thinking.”</p> + +<p>They entered the house together, their brains busy with +unuttered thoughts. The baby of less than a year extended +her chubby hands to her father, and the older +babies clamored for recognition in roistering glee.</p> + +<p>“Take my coat and hat, Hal; and get my slippers, +somebody. Don’t all jump at once! Gals, put down your +books, and go to the kitchen and help your mother. Don’t +sit around like so many cash boarders! You oughtn’t to +let your mother do a stroke of work at anything.”</p> + +<p>“You couldn’t help it unless you caged her, or bound +her hand and foot,” answered Jean, who strongly resembled +her father in disposition, voice, and speech. But +the command was obeyed; and the pale-faced mother, +escorted from the kitchen amid much laughter by Mary, +Marjorie, and Jean, was soon seated before the roaring +fire beside her husband, enjoying with him the frolics of +the babies, and banishing for the nonce the subject which +had so engrossed their thoughts outside. The delayed +meal was soon steaming on the long table in the low, +lean-to kitchen, and was despatched with avidity by the +healthy and ravenous brood which constituted the good +old-fashioned household of John Ranger and Annie +Robinson, his wife.</p> + +<p>“Children,” said Mrs. Ranger, as an interval of silence +gave her a chance to be heard, “did you know your +father had sold the farm?”</p> + +<p>A thunderbolt from a clear sky would hardly have +created greater astonishment. True, John Ranger had +been talking “new country” ever since the older children +could remember anything; the theme was an old story,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_20"></a>[20]</span> +invoking no comment. But now there was an ominous +pause, followed with exclamations of mingled dissent +and approval, to which the parents gave unrestricted +liberty.</p> + +<p>“I’m not going a single step; so there!” exclaimed +Mary, a gentle girl of seventeen, who did not look her +years, but who had a reason of her own for this unexpected +avowal.</p> + +<p>“My decision will depend on where we’re going,” +cried Jean.</p> + +<p>“Maybe your mother and I can be consulted,—just a +little bit,” said the father, laughing.</p> + +<p>“We’re going to Oregon; that’s what,” exclaimed +Harry, who was as impulsive as he was noisy.</p> + +<p>“How did you come to know so much?” asked Marjorie, +the youngest of John Ranger’s “Three Graces,” +as he was wont to style his trio of eldest daughters, who +had persisted in coming into his household—much to his +discomfort—before the advent of Harry, the fourth in +his catalogue of seven, of whom only two were boys.</p> + +<p>“I get my learning by studying o’ nights!” answered +Hal, in playful allusion to his success as a sound sleeper, +especially during study hours.</p> + +<p>“Of course you don’t want to emigrate, Miss Mame,” +cried Jean, “but you can’t help yourself, unless you run +away and get married; and then you’ll have to help +everybody else through the rest of your life and take +what’s left for yourself,-if there’s anything left to +take! At least, that is mother’s and Aunt Mary’s lot.”</p> + +<p>“Jean speaks from the depths of long experience,” +laughed Mary, blushing to the roots of her hair.</p> + +<p>“I’m sick to death of this cold kitchen,” cried Jean, +snapping her tea-towel in the frosty air of the unplastered +lean-to. “Hurrah for Oregon! Hurrah for a warmer +climate, and a snug cabin home among the evergreen +trees!”</p> + +<p>“Good for Jean!” exclaimed her father. “The<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_21"></a>[21]</span> +weather’ll be so mild in Oregon we shall not need a +tight kitchen.”</p> + +<p>“Is Oregon a tight house?” asked three-year-old +Bobbie, whose brief life had many a time been clouded +by the complaints of his mother and sisters,—complaints +such as are often heard to this day from women in the +country homes of the frontier and middle West, where +more than one-half of their waking hours are spent in the +unfinished and uncomfortable kitchens peculiar to the +slave era, in which—as almost any makeshift was considered +“good enough for niggers”—the unfinished +kitchen came to stay.</p> + +<p>The vigorous barking of Rover announced the approach +of visitors; and the circle around the fireside was +enlarged, amid the clatter of moving chairs and tables, +to make room for Elijah Robinson and his wife,—the +former a brother of Annie Ranger, and the latter a sister +of John. The meeting between the sisters-in-law was +expectant, anxious, and embarrassing.</p> + +<p>“How did you like the news?” asked Mrs. Robinson, +after an awkward silence.</p> + +<p>“How did you like it?” was the evasive reply, as the +twain withdrew to a distant corner, where they could +exchange confidences undisturbed.</p> + +<p>“I haven’t had time to think it over yet,” said Mrs. +Ranger. “My greatest trouble is about leaving our parents. +It seems as if I could not bear to break the news +to them.”</p> + +<p>“Don’t worry, Annie; they know already. When +Lije told his mother that John was going to Oregon, +she fainted dead away. When she revived and sat up, +she wanted to come right over to see you, in spite of the +storm.”</p> + +<p>“Just listen! How the wind does roar!”</p> + +<p>“I don’t see how your mother can live without you, +Annie. I tried very hard to persuade Lije to refuse to +buy John’s farm; but he would have his way, as he<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_22"></a>[22]</span> +always does. Of course, we’ll do all we can for the old +folks, but Lije is heavily in debt again, with the ever-recurring +interest staring us all in the face. John will +want his money, with interest,—they all do,—and we +know how rapidly it accumulates, from our own dearly +bought experience, the result of poor Joe’s troubles!”</p> + +<p>“I hope my dear father and mother won’t live very +long,” sighed Mrs. Ranger. “If John would only let +me make them a deed to my little ten-acre farm! But I +can’t get him to talk about it.”</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="II">II<br> +<span class="smaller"><i>EARLY LIFE IN THE MIDDLE WEST</i></span></h2> + +</div> + +<p>The surroundings of the budding daughters of +the Ranger and Robinson families had thus far +been limited, outside of their respective homes, +to attendance at the district school on winter week-days +when weather permitted, and on Sundays at the primitive +church services held by itinerant clergymen in the same +rude edifice.</p> + +<p>Oh, that never-to-be-forgotten schoolhouse of the borderland +and the olden time! Modelled everywhere after +the same one-roomed, quadrangular pattern,—and often +the only seat of learning yet to be seen in school districts +of the far frontier,—the building in which the children +of these chronicles received the rudimentary education +which led to the future weal of most of them was built of +logs unhewn, and roofed with “shakes” unshaven. One +rough horizontal log was omitted from the western +wall when the structure was raised by the men of the +district, who purposely left the space for the admission +of a long line of little window-panes above the rows of +desks. A huge open fireplace occupied the whole northern<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_23"></a>[23]</span> +end of the room; rude benches rocked on the uneven +puncheon floor and creaked as the students turned upon +them to face the long desks beneath the little window-panes, +or to confront the centre of the room. The children’s +feet generally swung to and fro in a sort of +rhythmic consonance with the audible whispers in which +they studied their lessons,—when not holding sly conversation, +amid much suppressed giggling, with their +neighbors at elbow, if the teacher’s back was turned.</p> + +<p>The busy agricultural seasons of springtime and summer, +and often extending far into the autumn, prevented +the regular attendance at school of the older children +of the district, who were usually employed early and +late, indoors and out, with the ever-exacting labors of +the farm.</p> + +<p>Up to the time of the departure of the Ranger family +for the Pacific coast and for a brief time thereafter, the +most of the summer and all of the winter clothing worn +in the country districts of the middle West was the +product of the individual housewife’s skill in the use of +the spinning-wheel, dye-kettle, and clumsy, home-made +hand-loom.</p> + +<p>But, few and far between as were the schoolhouses and +schooldays of the border times, of which the present-day +grandparent loves to boast, there was a rigorous course +of primitive study then in vogue which justifies their +boasting. Oh, that old-fashioned pedagogue! What +resident of the border can fail to remember—if his early +lot was cast anywhere west of the Alleghanies, at any time +antedating the era of railroads—the austere piety and +stately dignity of that mighty master of the rod and the +rule, who never by any chance forgot to use the rod, lest +by so doing he should spoil the child!</p> + +<p>The terror of those days lingers now only as an amusing +memory. The pain of which the rod and the rule +were the instruments has long since lost its sting; but +the sound morals inculcated by the teacher (whose<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_24"></a>[24]</span> +example never strayed from his precept) have proved the +ballast needed to hold a level head on many a pair of +shoulders otherwise prone to push their way into forbidden +places.</p> + +<p>And the old-fashioned singing-school! How tenderly +the memory of the time-dulled ear recalls the doubtful harmony +of many youthful voices, as they ran the gamut in +a jangling merry-go-round! Did any other musical entertainment +ever equal it? Then, when the exercises were +over, and the stars hung high and glittering above the +frosty branches of the naked treetops, and the crisp white +snow crunched musically beneath the feet of fancy-smitten +swains, hurrying homeward with ruddy-visaged sweethearts +on their pulsing arms, did any other joy ever equal +the stolen kisses of the youthful lovers at the parting +doorstep,—the one to return to the parental home with +an exultant throbbing at his heart, and the other to creep +noiselessly to her cold, dark bedroom to blush unseen +over her first little secret from her mother.</p> + +<p>And there is yet another memory.</p> + +<p>Can anybody who has enjoyed it ever forget the school +of metrical geography which sometimes alternated, on +winter evenings, with the singing-school? What could +have been more enchanting, or more instructive withal, +than those exercises wherein the States and their capitals +were chanted over and over to a sort of rhymeless +rhythm, so often repeated that to this day the old-time +student finds it only necessary to mention the name of any +State then in the Union to call to mind the name of its capital. +After the States and their capitals, the boundaries +came next in order, chanted in the same rhythmic way, +until the youngest pupil had conquered all the names by +sound, and localities on the map by sight, of all the continents, +islands, capes, promontories, peninsulas, mountains, +kingdoms, republics, oceans, seas, rivers, lakes, harbors, +and cities then known upon the planet.</p> + +<p>In its season, beginning with the New Year, came the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_25"></a>[25]</span> +regular religious revival. No chronicles like these would +be complete without its mention, since no rural life on the +border exists without it. Much to the regret of doting +parents who failed to get all their dear ones “saved”—especially +the boys—before the sap began to run in the +sugar maples, the revival season was sometimes cut short +by the advent of an early spring. The meetings were +then brought to a halt, notwithstanding the fervent +prayers of the righteous, who in vain besought the Lord +of the harvest to delay the necessary seed-time, so that +the work of saving souls might not be interrupted by +the sports and labors of the sugar camp, which called +young people together for collecting fagots, rolling logs, +and gathering and boiling down the sap.</p> + +<p>Many were the matches made at these rural gatherings, +as the lads and lasses sat together on frosty nights and +replenished the open fires under the silent stars.</p> + +<p>To depict one revival season is to give a general outline +of all. The itinerant preacher was generally a young +man and a bachelor. In his annual returns to the scenes +of his emotional endeavors to save the unconverted, he +would find that many had backslidden; and the first week +was usually spent in getting those who had not “held out +faithful” up to the mourners’ bench for re-conversion.</p> + +<p>Agnostics, of whom John Ranger was an example, +were many, who took a humorous or good-naturedly +critical view of the situation. But the preacher’s efforts +to arouse the emotional nature, especially of the women, +began to bear fruit generally after the first week’s praying, +singing, and exhorting; and the excitement, once +begun, went on without interruption as long as temporal +affairs permitted. The rankest infidel in the district kept +open house, in his turn, for the preacher and exhorter; +and once, when the schoolhouse was partly destroyed by +fire, John Ranger permitted the meetings to be held in +his house till the damage was repaired by the tax-payers +of the district.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_26"></a>[26]</span></p> + +<p>The kindly preacher who most frequently visited the +Ranger district as a revivalist would not knowingly have +given needless pain to a fly. But, when wrought up to +great tension by religious frenzy, he seemed to find delight +in holding the frightened penitent spellbound, while he +led him to the very brink of perdition, where he would +hang him suspended, mentally, as by a hair, over a liquid +lake of fire and brimstone, with the blue blazes shooting, +like tongues of forked lightning, beneath his writhing +body; while overhead, looking on, sat his Heavenly +Father, as a benignant and affectionate Deity, pictured +to the speaker’s imagination, nevertheless, as waiting +with scythe in hand to snip that hair.</p> + +<p>“I can’t see a bit of logic in any of it!” exclaimed Jean +Ranger, as she and Mary, accompanied by Hal, were +returning home one night from such a meeting.</p> + +<p>“God’s ways are not our ways,” sighed Mary, as she +tripped over the frozen path under the denuded maple-trees, +where night owls hooted and wild turkeys slept.</p> + +<p>Harry laughed immoderately. “Jean, you’re right,” +he exclaimed. “I’m going to get religion myself some +day before I die, but I’ve got first to find a Heavenly +Father who’s better’n I am. There’s no preacher on +top o’ dirt can make me believe that the great Author of +all Creation deserves the awful character they’re giving +Him at the schoolhouse!”</p> + +<p>“Don’t blaspheme, Hal. It’s wicked!” said Mary.</p> + +<p>“I’m not blaspheming; I’m defending God!” retorted +Hal.</p> + +<p>“You used to be a sensible girl, Mame,” said Jean; +“and you could then see the ridiculous side of all this +excitement just as Hal and I now see it. But you’re in +love with the preacher now, and that has turned your +head.”</p> + +<p>Jean was cold and sleepy and cross; but she did not +mean to be unkind, and on reflection added, “Forgive +me, sister dear. I was only in fun. I have no right to<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_27"></a>[27]</span> +meddle with your love affairs or your religious feelings, +and neither has Hal. S’pose we talk about maple sugar.”</p> + +<p>Mary did not reply, but her thoughts went toward +heaven in silent, self-satisfying prayer.</p> + +<p>The Reverend Thomas Rogers—so he must be designated +in these pages, because he yet lives—was the +avowed suitor for the hand and heart of Mary Ranger; +and the winsome girl, with whose prematurely aroused +affections her parents had no patience,—and with reason, +for she was but a child,—was the envy of all the older +girls of the district, any one of whom, while censuring +her for her folly in encouraging the poverty-stricken +preacher’s suit, would gladly have found like favor in his +eyes, if the opportunity had been given her.</p> + +<p>But while romantic maidens were going into rhapsodies +over their hero, and many of the dowager mothers +echoed their sentiments, most of the unmarried men of +the district remained aloof from his persuasions and +unmoved by his fiery eloquence. But they took him out +“sniping” one off-night in true schoolboy fashion; and +while Mary Ranger dreamed of him in the seclusion of +her snug chamber, the poor fellow stood half frozen at +the end of a gulch, holding a bag to catch the snipes that +never came.</p> + +<p>“If I were not too poor in worldly goods to pay my +way in your father’s train, I’d go to Oregon,” he said, +a few nights after the “sniping” episode, as he walked +homeward with Mary after coaxing Jean and Hal to keep +the little episode a secret from their parents,—a promise +they made after due hesitation, but with much sly chuckling, +as they munched the red-and-white-striped sugar +sticks with which they had been bribed.</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_28"></a>[28]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="III">III<br> +<span class="smaller"><i>MARRYING AND GIVING IN MARRIAGE</i></span></h2> + +</div> + +<p>The destinies of the Ranger and Robinson families +had been linked together by the double ties +of affinity and consanguinity in the first third of +the nineteenth century. Their broad and fertile lands, +to which they held the original title-deeds direct from the +government, bore the signature and seal of Andrew Jackson, +seventh President of the United States; and their +children and children’s children, though scattered now in +the farthest West, from Alaska and the Hawaiian Islands +to the Philippine Archipelago, treasure to this day among +their most valued heirlooms the historic parchments. For +these were signed by Old Hickory when the original +West was bounded on its outermost verge by the Mississippi +and Missouri rivers, and when the new West, though +discovered in the infancy of the century by Lewis and +Clark (aided by Sacajawea, their one woman ally and +pathfinder), was to the average American citizen an +unknown country, quite as obscure to his understanding as +was the Dark Continent of Africa in the days antedating +Sir Samuel Baker, Oom Paul, and Cecil Rhodes.</p> + +<p>The elder Rangers, who claimed Knickerbocker blood, +and the Robinsons, who boasted of Scotch ancestry, +though living in adjoining counties in Kentucky in their +earlier years, had never met until, as if by accident,—if +accident it might be called through which there seems +to have been an original, interwoven design,—the fates +of the two families became interlinked through their +settlement upon adjoining lands, situated some fifty miles +south of old Fort Dearborn, in the days when Chicago +was a mosquito-beleaguered swamp, and Portland, Oregon, +an unbroken forest of pointed firs.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_29"></a>[29]</span></p> + +<p>There was a double wedding on the memorable day +when John Ranger, Junior, and pretty Annie Robinson, +the belle of Pleasant Prairie, linked their destinies together +in marriage; and when, without previous notice +to the assembled multitude or any other parties but their +parents, the preacher, and the necessary legal authorities, +Elijah Robinson and Mary Ranger took their allotted +places beside their brother and sister, as candidates for +matrimony, the festivities were doubled in interest and +rejoicing.</p> + +<p>“It seems but yesterday since our bonnie bairns were +babes in arms,” said the elder Mrs. Robinson, as she +advanced with Mrs. Ranger <i>mère</i> to give a tearful +greeting to each newly wedded pair. And there was +scarcely a dry eye in the assembled multitude when the +mother’s voice arose in a shrill treble as she sang, in the +ears of the startled listeners, from an old Scottish ballad +the words,—</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">“An’ I can scarce believe it true,</div> + <div class="verse indent2">So late thy life began,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">The playful bairn I fondled then</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Stands by me now, a man!”</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<p>Her voice, which at first was as clear as the tones of +a silver bell, quavered at the close of the first stanza and +then ceased altogether. But by this time old Mrs. Ranger +had caught the spirit of the ballad, and though her voice +was husky, she cleared her throat and added, in a low +contralto, the impressive lines, paraphrased somewhat to +suit the occasion,—</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">“Oh, fondly cherish her, dearie;</div> + <div class="verse indent2">She is sae young and fair!</div> + <div class="verse indent0">She hasna known a single cloud,</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Nor felt a single care.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And if a cauld world’s storms should come,</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Thy way to overcast,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Oh, ever stan’—thou art a man—</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Between her an’ the blast!”</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_30"></a>[30]</span></p> +<p>At the close of this stanza, Mrs. Ranger’s voice broke +also; and the good circuit rider, parson of many a scattered +flock, who had pronounced the double ceremony, +caught the tune and, in a mellow barytone that rose upon +the air like an inspired benediction, added most impressively +another stanza:</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">“An’ may the God who reigns above</div> + <div class="verse indent2">An’ sees ye a’ the while,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Look down upon your plighted troth</div> + <div class="verse indent2">An’ bless ye wi’ His smile.”<a id="FNanchor_1" href="#Footnote_1" class="fnanchor">[1]</a></div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<p>“It’s high time there was a little change o’ sentiment +in all this!” cried a bachelor uncle, whose eyes were suspiciously +red notwithstanding his affected gayety. “I +move that we march in a solid phalanx on the victuals!”</p> + +<p>The primitive cabin homes of the borderers of no Western +settlement were large enough to hold the crowds that +were invariably bidden to a neighborhood merrymaking. +The ceremonies of this occasion, including a most sumptuous +feast, were held on the sloping green beneath an +overtopping elm, which, rising high above its fellows, +made a noted landmark for a circumference of many +miles.</p> + +<p>People who live apart from markets, in fertile regions +where the very forests drop richness, subsist literally on +the fat of the land. Having no sale for their surplus +products, they feast upon them in the most prodigal way. +Although through gormandizing they beget malaria, not +to say dyspepsia and rheumatic ails, they boast of “living +well”; and the sympathy they bestow upon the city denizen +who in his wanderings sometimes feasts at their +hospitable boards, and praises without stint their prodigal +display of viands, is often more sincere than wise.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_31"></a>[31]</span></p> + +<p>The lands of the early settlers, with whom these +chronicles have to deal, had been surrounded, as soon as +possible after occupancy, with substantial rail fences, laid +in zigzag fashion along dividing lines, marking the boundaries +between neighbors who lived at peace with each +other and with all the world. These fences, built to a +sufficient height to discourage all attempts at trespass by +man or beast, were securely staked at the corners, and +weighted with heavy top rails, or “riders,” so stanchly +placed that many miles of such enclosures remain to this +day, long surviving the brawny hands that felled the trees +and split the rails. In their mute eloquence they reveal +the lasting qualities of the hardwood timber that abounded +in the many and beautiful groves which flourished in the +prairie States in the early part of the nineteenth century, +when Indiana, Illinois, and Missouri comprised all that +was generally known as the West.</p> + +<p>Much of the primitive glory of these diversified landscapes +departed long ago with the trees. The “Hook-and-Eye +Dutch,” as the thrifty followers of ancient Ohm +are called by their American neighbors (with whom they +do not assimilate), are rapidly replacing the old-time +maple and black walnut fences with the modern barbed-wire +horror; they are selling off the historical rails, +stakes and riders and all, to the equally thrifty and not +a whit more sentimental timber-dealers of Chicago, Milwaukee, +and Grand Rapids, to be manufactured into high-grade +lumber, which is destined to find lodgment as costly +furniture in the palatial homes, gilded churches, great +club-houses, and mammoth modern hostelries that abound +on the shores of Lake Michigan, Massachusetts Bay, +Manhattan Island, and Long Island Sound. But no vandalism +yet invented by man can wholly despoil the rolling +lands of the middle West of their beauty, nor rob Mother +Nature of her power to rehabilitate them with the living +green of cultivated loveliness.</p> + +<p>Original settlers of the border-lands had little time and<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_32"></a>[32]</span> +less opportunity for the observation of the beautiful in +art or nature. Their lives were spent in toil, which +blunted many of the finer sensibilities of a more leisurely +existence. The hardy huntsman who spent his only hours +of relaxation in chasing the wild game, and the weary +mother who scarcely ever left her wheel or loom and +shuttle by the light of day, except to bake her brain before +a great open fire while preparing food, or to nurse +to sleep the future lawmakers of a coming world-round +republic, were alike too busy to ponder deeply the far-reaching +possibilities of the lives they led.</p> + +<p>Such men of renown as Lincoln, Douglas, Baker, +Grant, Logan, and Oglesby were evolved from environments +similar to these, as were also the numerous adventurous +borderers not known to fame (many of whom are +yet living) who crossed the continent with ox teams, +and whose patient and enduring wives nursed the future +statesmen of a coming West in fear and trembling, as +they protected their camps from the depredations of the +wily Indian or the frenzy of the desert’s storms.</p> + +<p>Rail-making in the middle West was long a diversion +and an art. The destruction of the hardwood timber, +which if spared till to-day would be almost priceless, +could not have been prevented, even if this commercial +fact had been foreseen. The urgent need of fuel, shelter, +bridges, public buildings, and fences allowed no consideration +for future values to intervene and save the +trees.</p> + +<p>In times of a temporary lull in a season’s activities, +when, for a wonder, there were days together that the +stroke of the woodman’s ax was not heard and the music +of the cross-cut saw had ceased, the settler would take +advantage of the interim to draw a bead with unerring +aim upon the eye of a squirrel in a treetop, or bring +down a wild turkey from its covert in the lower branches; +or, if favored by a fall of virgin snow, it would be his +delight to track the wild deer, and drag it home as a<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_33"></a>[33]</span> +trophy of his marksmanship,—an earnest of the feast in +which all his neighbors were invited to partake.</p> + +<p>Then, too, there were the merrymakings of the border. +What modern banquet can equal the festive board at +which a genial hostess, in a homespun cotton or linsey-woolsey +gown, presided over her own stuffed turkey, +huge corn-pone, and wild paw-paw preserves? What +array of glittering china, gleaming cut-glass, or burnished +silver, can give the jaded appetite of the <i>blasé</i> +reveller of to-day the enjoyment of a home-set table, +laden with the best and sweetest “salt-rising” bread +spread thick with golden butter, fresh from the old-fashioned +churn? The freshest of meats and fish regularly +graced the well-laden board, in localities where the +modern <i>chef</i> was unknown, where ice-cream was unheard +of, and terrapin sauce and lobster salad found no place. +House-raisings, log-rollings, barn-raisings, quilting bees, +weddings, christenings, and even funerals, were times of +feasting, though these last were divested of the gayety, +but not of the gossip, that at other times abounded; and +the sympathetic aid of an entire neighborhood was always +voluntarily extended to any house of mourning. There +were few if any wage-earners, the accommodating method +of exchanging work among neighbors being generally in +vogue.</p> + +<p>Such, in brief, were the daily customs of the early +settlers of the middle West, whose children wandered +still farther westward in the forties and fifties, carrying +with them the habits in which they had been reared to +the distant Territory afterwards known as the “Whole +of Oregon,” which originally comprised the great Northwest +Territory, where now flourish massive blocks of +mighty States.</p> + +<p class="tb">Prior to the time of the departure of the subjects of +these chronicles for the goal of John Ranger’s ambition, +but one unusual occurrence had marred the lives and<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_34"></a>[34]</span> +prosperity of the rising generation of Rangers and +Robinsons. To the progenitors of the two families the +mutations of time had brought problems serious and +difficult, not the least of which was the infirmity of advancing +years. This they had made doubly annoying +through having assigned to their children, when they +themselves needed it most, everything of value which +they had struggled to accumulate during their years of +vigorous effort to raise and educate their families.</p> + +<p>In the two households under review, all dependent +upon the energies and bounty of the second generation +of Rangers and Robinsons, there were besides the great-grandmother +(a universal favorite) two sexagenarian +bachelor uncles and two elderly spinsters, the latter remote +cousins of uncertain age, uncertain health, and still +more uncertain temper, who had long outlived their +usefulness, after having missed, in their young and vigorous +years, the duties and responsibilities that accompany +the founding of families and homes of their own. It +was little wonder that drones like these were out of place +in the overcrowded households of their more provident +kinspeople, to whom the modern “Home of the Friendless” +was unknown. What plan to pursue in making +necessary provision for these outside incumbents, even +John Ranger, the optimistic leader of the related hosts, +could not conjecture.</p> + +<p>“We’ve fixed it,—Mame and I,” said Jean, one evening, +after an anxious discussion of the question had been +carried on with some warmth between the two family +heads, in which no conclusion had been reached except a +flat refusal on the part of Elijah Robinson to quadruple +the quota of dependants in his own household.</p> + +<p>“And how have you fixed it?” asked her father, who +often called Jean his “Heart’s Delight.”</p> + +<p>“Our bachelor uncles and cousins are just rusting +out with irresponsibility!” she cried with characteristic +Ranger vehemence. “They ought to have a home of<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_35"></a>[35]</span> +their own and be compelled to take care of it. There’s +that house and garden where you board and lodge the +mill-hands. Why not give ’em that and let ’em keep +boarders? The boarders, the four acres of ground, and +the cow and garden ought to keep them in modest comfort. +This would make them free and independent, as +everybody ought to be.”</p> + +<p>“But the boarding-house belongs with the farm. I’ve +sold it to your uncle.”</p> + +<p>“Then let Uncle Lije lease or sell it to them, share +and share alike.”</p> + +<p>“What is it worth?” asked Mary.</p> + +<p>“Only about three hundred dollars, the way property +sells now,” said her uncle.</p> + +<p>“Then let ’em pay you rent. The place ought to support +them and pay interest and taxes.”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” cried Mary; “the old bachelor contingent, that +worry you all so much because you keep ’em dependent +on your bounty, can take care of themselves for twenty +years to come, if you’ll only let ’em.”</p> + +<p>“The proposition is worth considering, certainly,” said +their father, smiling admiringly upon his daughters.</p> + +<p>“And we’ll consider it, too,” said the uncle. “That +much is settled.”</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="IV">IV<br> +<span class="smaller"><i>OLD BLOOD AND NEW</i></span></h2> + +</div> + +<p>“I can’t see why old folks like us will persist in +living after we’ve outgrown our usefulness,” exclaimed +Grandfather Ranger, one sloppy March +evening, as he entered the little kitchen and placed a pail +of foaming milk upon the clean white table. The severely +cold weather had given way to a springtime thaw; but a +wet snow had begun falling at sundown, and a soft,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_36"></a>[36]</span> +muddy liquid made dirty pools wherever his feet pressed +the polished floor.</p> + +<p>“You’re right, father; we’ve lived long enough,” +sighed the feeble mother of many children, following her +husband’s footprints with mop and broom.</p> + +<p>“If you and John think you’ve lived long enough, +what do you think of me?” cried the great-grandmother, +who had passed her fourscore years and ten, but who +still amply supported herself (if only she and the rest of +the family had thought so) as she sat from early morning +till late at night in her corner, knitting, always +knitting.</p> + +<p>“Never mind, grannie,” said her son, swallowing a +lump that rose unbidden in his throat. “You’ve as +good a right to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness +as any fellow that ever put his name to a Declaration of +Independence! There’ll be room for you in the cosiest +corner of this little house as long as there’s a corner for +anybody. Don’t worry.”</p> + +<p>“But this state of things isn’t just or fair!” exclaimed +the wife, folding her last bit of mending and +dropping back into her chair. “It seems to me that +we, as parents, deserve a better fate in our old days than +any set of bachelor hangers-on on earth, who’ve never +had anybody but themselves to provide for. If Joseph +would only come back, or the good Lord would let us +know his fate, I could endure the rest.”</p> + +<p>“There, there, mother! Not another word. Haven’t +I forbidden the mention of his name?”</p> + +<p>“But he was our darling, father. I can’t dismiss him +from my thoughts as you say you can.”</p> + +<p>“We must keep the grandchildren in ignorance of his +existence, wife. It’s bad enough in all conscience for +the stain of his misguided life to rest on older heads. +We must forget our unfortunate son.”</p> + +<p>“I can never forget my bonnie boy,—not even to +obey you, father!”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_37"></a>[37]</span></p> + +<p>The back door, which had been unintentionally left ajar, +flew open, and Jean, who had for the first time in her +life heard a word of complaint from her grandparents, +or a word from them concerning her mysterious Uncle +Joe, burst suddenly into the room and knelt at the feet +of her grandmother, her whole frame convulsed with +sobs.</p> + +<p>“Forgive us, darlings, do!” she cried as soon as she +could control her voice to speak. “You’ve borne so +much sorrow, and we never knew it! We never meant +to be thoughtless or unkind, but I see now how ungrateful +we have been. We must have hurt your feelings +often.”</p> + +<p>“Don’t cry, Jean,” and the thin hand of the grandmother +stroked the girl’s bright hair. “We don’t often +repine at our lot. I am sorry you overheard a word.”</p> + +<p>“But I am not sorry a single bit, grandma. We children +have been thoughtless and impudent. I can see it +all now. We didn’t ever mean to complain, though, +about you, or grandpa, or you either, grannie dear. We +only meant to draw the line at bachelor great-uncles and +meddlesome second and third cousins, who ought to have +provided themselves in their youth with homes of their +own, as our parents did.”</p> + +<p>“Do you think they can help themselves hereafter, +Jean?”</p> + +<p>“Why, of course! The feeling of self-dependence +will make ’em young and strong again,—though they +don’t deserve good treatment, for they ought to have +had homes and families of their own in their youth, as +you did.”</p> + +<p>“It’s too late to lodge a complaint of that kind against +them now, Jean,” said the grandmother, with a smile.</p> + +<p>“Did you overhear all we were talking about?” asked +the grandfather, his head bowed upon his cane.</p> + +<p>“I am afraid I did, grandpa. I was cleaning the +slush from my shoes, and I couldn’t help overhearing,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_38"></a>[38]</span> +though I hate eavesdroppers, on general principles. They +never hear any good of themselves. But, say, grandpa, +what about our Uncle Joe, whom I heard you denounce +so bitterly? You haven’t said <i>I</i> mustn’t speak his name, +you know.”</p> + +<p>“Don’t talk about him, child, to us or anybody else. +He’s an outlaw. Dismiss him from your thoughts, just +as I have.”</p> + +<p>“Your uncle may not be living now, Jean; if he is +alive, I hope he’ll find a better friend than his father,” +exclaimed the great-grandmother, speaking in a tone of +reproach that surprised none more than herself.</p> + +<p>“Tell me all about it, grand-daddie darling! Do! I +know there’s a sad secret somewhere in the family. +Something unusual must have happened a long time ago +to bring us all under the ban of poverty. I have heard +hints of it now and then all my life; and now I must +hear the whole story. The schoolmaster will tell me if +you don’t.”</p> + +<p>“No, no, Jean,” exclaimed her grandfather, anxiously. +“Don’t speak of family affairs outside. It is never +seemly.”</p> + +<p>“Neither is it seemly or just to keep members of the +family in ignorance of family affairs when all the rest of +the neighborhood knows all about ’em! We ought to +know all, grandma darling. The reason children are so +often unreasonable is that they don’t understand.”</p> + +<p>“‘I have been young and now am old, yet have I +not seen the righteous forsaken nor his seed begging +bread,’” said the grandfather, his head still bowed low +upon his staff and his white locks falling over his stooping +shoulders. “Let us not repine, mother.”</p> + +<p>“I am not repining, father, but I do feel so—so disappointed +with the outcome of all our hard struggles that +I can’t always be cheerful.”</p> + +<p>“We’d just begun to get our heads above water when +it happened, Jean,” said the old man. “We’d been<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_39"></a>[39]</span> +making a new farm. You see, we’d manumitted our +slaves before we left Kaintuck, and we had to begin with +our bare hands in this new country and work our way +from the ground up. We’d only got a part o’ the children +raised when the older ones began to get it in their +heads to get married. But our second son took to book-learning, +and we sent him off to Tennessee to finish his +schooling. That cost a pile o’ money. Then we had to +set out the married ones. We’d got things going in +tol’ble shape and was beginning to get on our feet again, +when Joseph—”</p> + +<p>“Do stop, husband. Don’t tell any more; please +don’t,” cried the grandmother, nervously stroking the +bright young head that nestled in her lap. “I cannot +bear to hear it, though I thought I could.”</p> + +<p>“Let him go on, grandmother dear! I don’t want to +be driven to the schoolmaster for the information that +I am bound to get someway. When I have grandchildren +of my own, I’ll tell ’em everything they ought +to know about the family, and then they won’t be teased +by the school-children, as we are.”</p> + +<p>“We had to mortgage the farm,” continued the grandfather; +“and then there came a financial panic. The +wild-cat banks of the country all went to pieces, and the +bottom kind o’ fell out o’ things.”</p> + +<p>“But why did you borrow money, grandpa? Why +was it necessary to mortgage the farms?”</p> + +<p>“We did it because we had to stand by Joe in his +trouble.”</p> + +<p>“What did you hear at school, darling?” asked the +grandmother.</p> + +<p>“Oh, nothing much. But one day Jim Danover got +mad at me because I went head in the class; and he said +I needn’t be puttin’ on airs, for everybody knew that my +uncle had been hung.”</p> + +<p>“Good Lord! has it come to that?” cried the great-grandmother, +dropping her knitting to the floor and<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_40"></a>[40]</span> +clasping her withered hands over her knees. “I’ve always +told you that you’d better tell the older children +about it yourself, John.”</p> + +<p>“No, Jean; your uncle wasn’t hung,” said the old +man; “but he got into trouble, and we all believe he is +dead. He was the pride and joy of us all. He was so +promising that we gave him all the education that ought +to have been distributed evenly through the family.”</p> + +<p>“But John and Mollie took a notion to get married +young, and you know that ended their chances,” interposed +the mother.</p> + +<p>“Your uncle’s trouble would never have come upon +him and us if he had stayed out o’ that college,” exclaimed +the great-grandmother, who did not approve of +the course the family had taken with Joseph at the beginning +of his college days.</p> + +<p>“That’s true, grannie,” replied the father; “but he +ought to have kept out o’ the scrape, college or no +college.”</p> + +<p>“Do go on,” cried Jean.</p> + +<p>“Your Uncle Joe got mixed up in a hazing frolic, +or something o’ that sort,” resumed the grandfather. +“One or two of the students got hurt, one of ’em +so bad that he died,—or it was given out that he +died,—and the blame fell on Joe. He declared he +wasn’t guilty, but the college authorities had to fix the +blame somewhere, though the case was uncertain. They +never proved that the boy was dead, but we raised the +money and bailed Joe out o’ jail. When the story was +started that the fellow had died, Joe skipped his bail +and left us all in a hole. That was what made and has +kept us poor.”</p> + +<p>“Did you never hear of the other man, grandpa?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, yes; he turned up, but too late to do Joe or +the rest of us any good.”</p> + +<p>“Poor dear Uncle Joe!”</p> + +<p>“You’d better say poor dear all the rest of us,” cried<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_41"></a>[41]</span> +the great-grandmother, who had staked and lost her little +all in the great calamity.</p> + +<p>“But Uncle Joe was sinned against, grannie dear. +How he must have suffered!”</p> + +<p>“Them that’s sinned against are often greater sufferers +than them that sins,” was the sad reply.</p> + +<p>“When the bail was jumped, the hard times set in +with all of us,” resumed the grandfather. “The banks, +as I was saying, went broke, the interest on the mortgages +piled up, and the notes fell due. The crops got +the rust and the weevil, and everything else went wrong. +You see, Jean, when a man starts down hill, everybody +tries to give him a kick. The long and the short of it +is that mother, here, and grannie and I have been the +same as paupers for more than a dozen years.”</p> + +<p>“I must be going, though you must first tell me how +you two and dear old grannie are going to live when we +are away in Oregon. Your way seems very uncertain,” +said Jean.</p> + +<p>“Your father has made some kind of a bargain for our +support with your Uncle Lije. But he’s sort o’ visionary, +and he never has much luck. If he loses the property, +we can go to the poorhouse.”</p> + +<p>“Are you to be allowed no stated sum to live on? +Will you have no means of your own to gratify your +individual wishes or tastes?”</p> + +<p>“No, child; not a picayune.”</p> + +<p>“What’s a picayune?”</p> + +<p>“A six-and-a-quarter-cent piece.”</p> + +<p>“I’m just as wise as I was before.”</p> + +<p>“They’re wellnigh out o’ circulation nowadays, though +I used to come across ’em frequently when I was sheriff,” +said the old man.</p> + +<p>Jean covered her face with her hands and burst into +tears.</p> + +<p>“Don’t worry about us, dearie,” said the old man. +“There is One above us who heareth even the young<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_42"></a>[42]</span> +ravens when they cry. There is not a sparrow that +falleth to the ground without His knowledge. Your +Uncle Lije will move into the old homestead when you +are all gone. Your father built this cottage for us when +he assumed the mortgage, as you know. We won’t be +entirely alone, but we’ll miss you all; and we’ll try +to remember that we are of more value than many +sparrows.”</p> + +<p>“I’ve heard such talk as that all my life, grandpa. +But I can’t help thinking that it would have been better +to keep the ravens from having anything to cry about in +the first place, and to save the sparrows from falling.”</p> + +<p>“If none o’ God’s creatures ever had any hard experiences, +they’d never know enough to enjoy their blessings, +Jean. A child has to stumble and hurt itself many times +before it learns to walk steady. We’ve all got to be +purified and saved, as by fire, before we are fit to stand +in the presence of the awful God.”</p> + +<p>“The God I love and worship isn’t an awful God,” +cried Jean. “I couldn’t love Him if He were awful. +My earthly daddie whipped me once. No doubt I deserved +the punishment, but I couldn’t love him for a +whole month afterwards. And I’d have hated him for +the rest of my life if I hadn’t deserved the whipping.”</p> + +<p>“Didn’t it do you any good?”</p> + +<p>Jean confronted her grandfather, her eyes flashing. +“No, sir!” she cried. “I ought not to have been +whipped, and I wasn’t a bit repentant after the punishment. +I was sorry beforehand, though, and said so.”</p> + +<p>“What was your offence, Jean?”</p> + +<p>“I dropped a pan full of dishes and broke more than +half o’ the lot. They fell to the floor with a crash, and +scared me half to death.”</p> + +<p>“Didn’t the whipping make you more careful afterwards?”.</p> + +<p>“Not at all; it only made me mad and afraid and +nervous, so I broke more dishes. But the next time it<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_43"></a>[43]</span> +happened, I hid the broken pieces in the ash hopper, and +when they were found, I saved myself a whipping by +telling my first lie.”</p> + +<p>“The Lord chasteneth whom He loveth, my child.”</p> + +<p>“I once saw a mill-hand strike his wife,” retorted +Jean, “and he said, as she rubbed her bruises, ‘I love +you, Mollie. Take another kick!’ But I must go now. +Be of good cheer. And remember, when I get to Oregon +and get to making money, you shall have every cent that +I can spare.”</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="V">V<br> +<span class="smaller"><i>SALLY O’DOWD</i></span></h2> + +</div> + +<p>Great excitement prevailed in the rural neighborhood +when it became generally known that +John Ranger, Junior, had sold the farm and was +preparing to dispose of his sawmill and all his personal +belongings, with the intention of departing to the new +and far-away West in an ox-wagon train with his family,—an +undertaking that seemed to his friends as foolhardy +as would have been an attempt to reach the North Pole +with his wife and children in a balloon.</p> + +<p>Of more than ordinary ability, enterprise, and daring, +John Ranger had long been a man of note in his bailiwick. +Twice he had represented his county in the State +Legislative Assembly; but when the Old Line Whigs +of his district offered to nominate him for Congress,—“No, +gentlemen!” he exclaimed. “I started out early +in life to assist my good wife in rearing and educating +a big family of young Americans. I frankly admit +that we’ve got a bigger job on hand than either of +us imagined it would be when we made the bargain; +but that doesn’t lessen our mutual responsibility. There +is always a regiment, more or less, of unencumbered men<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_44"></a>[44]</span> +in waiting in every locality, ready and willing to wear +the toga of office; so, with thanks for the proffered +honor, I must beg to be excused.”</p> + +<p>But there was one office, that of justice of the peace, +which he never refused, and to which he had been so +often re-elected that the appellation of “Squire” had +grown to belong to him as a matter of course. One +room of the great barnlike farmhouse had long been +set apart as his office; and many were the litigants +who remained after office hours to be entertained at +his hospitable board.</p> + +<p>“It’s a lot of trouble, having so much extra company +on account of your office being in the house,” his wife +said at times; “but it’s better than having you away +two-thirds of your time down town, so it is all right.”</p> + +<p>“There’s a woman going round the corner to the +office,” exclaimed Mary, one evening, just as her father +had settled himself before the fire to enjoy a frolic with +the little ones.</p> + +<p>“It’s that grass widow, Sally O’Dowd,” said Mrs. +Ranger.</p> + +<p>“She’s booked for a solid hour,” snapped Marjorie, +“and we’ll have to delay supper till nine o’clock.”</p> + +<p>The Squire had barely time to reach his office by an +inner passage and seat himself before the fire, when +Mrs. O’Dowd—an oversized, plainly dressed, intelligent-looking +woman, who was remarkably handsome, +notwithstanding the expression of pain upon her face—entered +the office and stood silent before the open +fire.</p> + +<p>“Well,” exclaimed the Squire, impatiently, motioning +her to a chair, “what can I do for you now?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, Squire!” she cried, ignoring the proffered chair +and dropping on her knees at his feet, her wealth of +rippling hair falling about her face and over her shapely +shoulders like a deluge of gold, “I want you to take me +with you to Oregon.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_45"></a>[45]</span></p> + +<p>“What! And leave your children to the care of +others? I didn’t think that of you, Mrs. O’Dowd.”</p> + +<p>“But what else can I do? You know the court has +assigned the custody of all three of my babies to Sam.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, Sally; but you can see them once in a while +if you stay here.”</p> + +<p>“The court gave them to Samuel and his mother +absolutely, you know.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, yes, child; and while in one way it is hard, +if you look at it in a practical light, you will see +that it was best for the children. You couldn’t keep +them with you and go out as hired help in anybody’s +kitchen; and you have no other means of support any +more.”</p> + +<p>“If I stay here, I cannot have even the poor privilege +of caring for them, except when they’re sick. I must +get entirely away from their vicinity, or lose my senses +altogether.”</p> + +<p>“I thought that was what was the matter when you +married the fellow, Sally. You certainly had lost your +senses then.”</p> + +<p>“But love is blind, Squire—till it gets its eyes open; +and then it is generally too late to see to any advantage. +Little did my dear father think, when he made a will +leaving his homestead, his bank account, and all his +belongings to me, that he was reducing my dear mother +and me to beggary.”</p> + +<p>“But that wouldn’t have happened if you hadn’t married +that worthless fellow, Sally.”</p> + +<p>“But the <i>if</i> exists, Squire. I married the fellow. It +was an awful blunder,—I’ll admit that. But it wasn’t +a crime. It should have been no reason for robbing me. +And yet this marriage was made the legal pretext for +permitting the robbery. Oh, I was so glad when my dear +mother died! I couldn’t have shed a tear at her grave +if I’d been hung for my seeming heartlessness. Poor +mother! I was made an unwilling party to a robbery<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_46"></a>[46]</span> +that beggared her and myself. Then, when I could no +longer endure the presence of the robber and his accomplice, +and live, I was doubly, yes, trebly robbed, by being +deprived of my children.”</p> + +<p>The Squire cleared his throat and spoke huskily.</p> + +<p>“That will was a sad mistake of your father’s, Sally. +He should have left his property to your mother. It +was wrong to put her means of livelihood in jeopardy +by leaving all to you. He ought to have known you’d +marry, and that the property would accrue to your husband.”</p> + +<p>“But mother insisted that all should be left to me. +She even waived her right of dower, in my interest—as +she thought.”</p> + +<p>“Well, Sally, you can’t say that I didn’t warn you.”</p> + +<p>The woman laughed hysterically. “Much good that +warning can do me now!” she cried, rising to her feet +and unconsciously assuming a dramatic pose. “We +hadn’t been married a week when he ordered my mother +out of my house. And then he installed his own mother +in my home, and expected me to be silent. Oh, I am so +glad my dear mother is dead! I would rejoice if my +poor, defrauded children were all dead also.”</p> + +<p>The Squire cleared his throat again and leaned forward +on his hands. “The law recognizes the husband +and wife as one, and the husband as that one, Mrs. +O’Dowd.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, yes, I know that, to my bitter sorrow,” she said +with a meaning smile, her white teeth shining through +her parted lips and her eyes flashing. The woman sank +upon the hearth, looking strangely white and calm.</p> + +<p>John Ranger sighed helplessly. “I worked the underground +railroad last night for all it was worth, in +the interest of some runaway niggers,” he said under his +breath; then audibly, “The laws of the land must be +obeyed, my child.”</p> + +<p>“The law is a fiend,” cried Jean, who had entered the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_47"></a>[47]</span> +room unobserved and had stood listening in the shadow +of the chimney jamb. “I’ll never rest till this awful one-sided +power is broken. You know yourself that it’s a +monster, daddie. I know you know it, or you’d never +help a run—”</p> + +<p>He put his finger on his lips, and the girl changed the +subject. The underground railroad was a forbidden topic +in the Ranger household.</p> + +<p>“Because Sally Danover knew no better than to become +the wife of an unworthy man,—who knew what he was +about, though she didn’t,—the law declares that all the +benefits resulting from the fraudulent transaction must +accrue to the villain in the case, and all the penalties +must be borne by his victim. What would you do to +such a fellow, daddie, if I should marry him?”</p> + +<p>John Ranger did not answer, but gazed steadily into +the fire, his brow contracted and his thoughts gloomy.</p> + +<p>“Sally, cheer up!” cried Jean, shaking the woman by +the shoulder. “Daddie’s a whole lot better man than he +thinks he is. I’ve seen him tested. You’re as good as +a nigger, if you <i>are</i> white, and he’ll help you.”</p> + +<p>“You don’t know what you’re talking about, my +daughter. It’s a crime to break the law, and crime must +be followed by fitting punishment.”</p> + +<p>“If you get caught, you get punished,” cried Jean, +laughing in her father’s face. “To break such a law +would be an act of heroism for which I should be glad +to be arrested and sent to jail! It would be an act +of heroism beside which the defence of the Stars and +Stripes would be cowardice!” she cried in a transport +of fury.</p> + +<p>“Come, Jean,” said her father, rising, “we must go +to supper. Won’t you join us, Mrs. O’Dowd?”</p> + +<p>“Food would choke me,” said the visitor, bowing herself +out.</p> + +<p>“Hang the luck!” said the Squire, as the door slammed +behind her.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_48"></a>[48]</span></p> + +<p>“What are you going to do to help the poor woman, +John?” asked Mrs. Ranger, as the family sat at the belated +meal.</p> + +<p>“Ask Jean.”</p> + +<p>“What do you know about the case, daughter?”</p> + +<p>“She thinks she knows a lot,” interrupted her father. +“She’d ’a’ made a plaguy good lawyer if she’d only +been born a boy.”</p> + +<p>“Who knew best what I ought to be,—you or God?” +asked Jean, her eyes glowing like stars.</p> + +<p>“I give it up,” replied her father, smiling.</p> + +<p>“I was reading to-day,” said Mrs. Ranger, “of a man +down East who lured his runaway wife back home by +stealing the babies and then warning everybody through +the papers, and by posters, not to trust or harbor her, +under penalty of the law. The woman held out quite a +spell, but cold and hunger got the better of her at last; +and when the stolen children fell sick, she went back to +her lawful protector and stayed till she died, as meek as +any lamb.”</p> + +<p>“Sally Danover won’t go back to Sam O’Dowd; +she’ll die first,” cried Mary; “and I glory in her grit.”</p> + +<p>“You haven’t answered my question, John,” said Mrs. +Ranger. “What do you propose to do with Sally +O’Dowd?”</p> + +<p>“I s’pose I’ll have to take her to Oregon and let +her take a new start. She says she must get away from +here, or go insane.”</p> + +<p>“I’d go crazy if I had to leave my children, John.”</p> + +<p>“You can boast, Annie; you can afford to. But if +you were in Sally’s shoes, you’d sing a different song.”</p> + +<p>Mrs. Ranger shrugged her shoulders.</p> + +<p>“I can’t see why women with good husbands and +happy homes are so ready to censure less fortunate +women for breaking bonds that are unbearable,” said her +husband. “Women are women’s worst enemies.”</p> + +<p>“Sam O’Dowd’s no woman,” exclaimed Jean.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_49"></a>[49]</span> +“There’s not a woman on top o’ dirt that’d treat any +man as he’s treated Sally.”</p> + +<p>“I guess it’s about an even stand-off,” rejoined her +mother.</p> + +<p>“No,” cried Jean. “The conditions are not equal. +No woman has the power to turn her husband out of +doors. Even if it is her own house, he is its lawful +master. Women don’t stand any show at all compared +with men.”</p> + +<p>“Jean is going to-morrow to see Sam O’Dowd’s +mother. She can make matters smooth for Sally if anybody +can,” said the Squire.</p> + +<p class="tb">“The sale of our effects is only two weeks off, John,” +said his wife, when they were alone. “I want to reserve +a few things that are sacred. There’s Baby Jamie’s +cradle, that you made from the hollow section of that +old gum-tree that stood in the back pasture. Do you +remember how nicely I lined it with the back breadths +of my wedding dress?”</p> + +<p>“Could I forget it, Annie?”</p> + +<p>“Then there’s my mother’s little old spinning-wheel. +It was my grandmother’s and great-grandmother’s. May +I keep it for Mary?”</p> + +<p>“It won’t pay to haul such things over the plains, +Annie. Better let your mother keep ’em here till there’s +a transcontinental railroad.”</p> + +<p>“But that won’t come in my time, John.”</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_50"></a>[50]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="VI">VI<br> +<span class="smaller"><i>THE BEGINNING OF A JOURNEY</i></span></h2> + +</div> + +<p>The sale of Squire Ranger’s effects proceeded +without unnecessary delay. The sawmill, the +first portable structure of its kind ever seen west +of the Wabash River, was eagerly purchased on credit +by a waiting customer, and work at the mill went on +without interruption. What a primitive affair it was! +And how like a pygmy it seems as the resident on the +North Pacific’s border recalls its littleness, and contrasts +it with the mammoth mills of Oregon, the lower Columbia, +and Puget Sound, which grasp in their giant arms +the dead leviathans of the primeval forest, and set their +teeth to work tearing to pieces the patient upbuilding +of the ages gone!</p> + +<p>The motive power of John Ranger’s sawmill consisted +of about a dozen superannuated horses, some spavined, +some ringboned, some wind-broken, all more or less disabled +in some way; these were regularly harnessed, each +in his turn, to a set of horizontal radiating shafts attached +to a rotating centre, above which, on a little platform, +stood the driver, with a whip.</p> + +<p>“I know it’s wicked to kill the trees and cut them up +into boards; it’s just as wicked as it is to kill pigs and +cattle,” was Mary Ranger’s comment when she first beheld +the frantic work of the raging saw, which, screaming +like a demon, ate its way through hearts of oak and +hickory, or tore the slabs from the sides of the black-walnut +and sugar-maple patriarchs with ever unsated +ferocity.</p> + +<p>But this sawmill had long been a boon to the entire +country, as was evidenced by the multiplication, since +its advent, of framed houses, barns, bridges, schoolhouses,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_51"></a>[51]</span> +and churches, which suddenly sprang into vogue, +not to mention the many miles of planked highways that +rushed into fashion before the railroad era in the days +when “good roads conventions” were unheard of.</p> + +<p>Children born and reared in cities—subject, if of +the tenant class, to frequent changes of habitation, or, if +their homes are permanent, to frequent intervals of travel—can +have little idea of the love which children of the +country cherish for the farms and homes to which they +are born, and in which their brief lives are spent. The +very soil on which they have trodden is dear to them, +and seems instinct with sentience. They make a boon +companion of everything with which they come in contact, +whether pertaining to the earth, the water, or the air. +Their little gardens are familiar friends; the flowers of +the wildwood are loving entities; the brook that sings in +summer through the tangled grass and sleeps in winter +under a bed of ice is always a communing spirit. The +sighing winds chant rhythmic lullabies in the treetops, +and the language of every insect, bird, and beast has, +to them, a distinctive meaning. The blue heavens are +their delight, and the passing clouds their friends. The +sun, the moon, and the stars hold converse with them, +and the changing seasons bring to them, each in its turn, +peculiar joy.</p> + +<p>But, dearly as they loved the old home and its surroundings, +the Ranger children, who had never crossed +the boundary of township number twelve, range three +west, in which they were born, looked forward eagerly +to the forthcoming journey. Once only had Mrs. Ranger +ventured beyond the township limits since leaving the +Kentucky home of her childhood; and that was many +years before, when she went with her husband to the +county seat to attach her mark to the fateful mortgage, +upon which the accruing interest seemed always to be +maturing at the time when she or the children were the +most in need of books or shoes or clothing.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_52"></a>[52]</span></p> + +<p>“I wasn’t allowed to learn to write in my childhood,” +she falteringly explained to the notary, when, +after affixing her mark, she watched him as he attached +his seal to the document which was to be as +a millstone about her neck forever after. “My father +always thought that education was bad for girls,” she +added. “He said if they knew how to write they’d +be forging their husbands’ names and getting their +money out of the bank. And he said, too, that if girls +learned to write, they’d be sending love letters to the +boys.”</p> + +<p>“It’s never too late to learn,” was the notary’s reply. +“If I were you, I would learn to write when the children +learn. You can do it if you try.”</p> + +<p>“I’d be glad to, if I could find the time; but it’s hard +to learn anything for one’s own especial benefit with a +baby always in one’s arms. When the children get big +enough to learn to write, I’ll try, though.”</p> + +<p>And she did; with such success that she never after +signed her name with a cross.</p> + +<p class="tb">“I’m glad we’ve got that mortgage off our hands at +last, Annie,” said her husband as they counted up the +somewhat disappointing returns after the sale of their +personal effects was over.</p> + +<p>“But you’re not morally free from it, John, or even +legally so. If the purchaser should fail, the load would +then revert to Lije, you know. Say, John, can’t I deed +my little ten-acre farm to my father and mother? It +never cost you anything. I took care of old man Eustis +for six long years; and you know he gave the little farm +to me as pay for my services, absolutely.”</p> + +<p>“Haven’t I paid its taxes all along, Annie?”</p> + +<p>“And have I earned nothing all this time, my husband?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, yes, you’ve earned a living; and you’ve got +it as you went along, haven’t you?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_53"></a>[53]</span></p> + +<p>Mrs. Ranger made no reply, but being silenced was +not being convinced.</p> + +<p>“Be patient,” said Jean, aside. “I’ll manage it.”</p> + +<p class="tb">Several pairs of great brown-eyed oxen, with which +the children had become familiar in their days of logging +about the sawmill, were easily trained for the long journey; +but others, untamed and terrified, as if pre-sensing +the trials awaiting them through untracked deserts, submitted +to the yoke only under the cruelest compulsion. +New wagons, stanchly built and covered with white canvas +hoods, stretched tightly over hickory bows, were ranged +on the lawn, under the naked, creaking branches of the big +elm-tree. Provisions, resembling in quantity the supplies +for a small army, were carted to the front veranda, awaiting +shipment down the Illinois and Mississippi rivers +to St. Louis, to be reshipped up the Missouri to the final +point of loading into wagons for crossing the Great +American Desert, as the Great Plains were then known.</p> + +<p>Visitors, including friends and relatives from far and +near, came to the dismantled house in great relays, and +the business of Squire Ranger’s office as justice of the +peace increased a dozen fold. All this commotion involved +increasing labor for Mrs. Ranger, who faded visibly +as she silently counted the intervening days before +the hour of final separation from her sorrowing parents. +If the Squire suffered at the thought of parting with +anybody, he made no sign except to complain of a “pesky +cold” that made his eyes water, which he attributed to +the “beastly climate.”</p> + +<p>“The spirit of adventure that inspires my husband to +emigrate does not permit him to foresee danger,” was +Mrs. Ranger’s ever-ready reply to the numerous prophets +of evil who came to condole, but got only their labor for +their pains. “I will not try to interfere with his plans. +I started out as a bride to walk the road of life beside +him, and I mean to do as I agreed.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_54"></a>[54]</span></p> + +<p>But the good wife grew thinner and whiter as the days +sped on; and when at last the wagons were all ranged +in line, with every yoke of oxen in place; when the last +farewell had been spoken; when the last audible prayer +had ascended heavenward, and the command to move +on had been given,—she sank on her feather bed in the +great family wagon and closed her eyes with a feeling of +thankfulness akin to that of the sufferer from a fatal +malady who realizes that his last hour has come.</p> + +<p>“‘He giveth His beloved sleep,’” said Mary, softly, +as she covered her mother with a heavy shawl.</p> + +<p class="tb">It was now the first of April, a fitful, gray, and misty +day. A soft breeze was stirring from the south, and +straggling rays of sunlight struggled through occasional +rifts in the straying clouds. The spring thaw had at last +set in. The sticky soil adhered to the feet of man and +beast, and clung in heavy masses to the wheels of wagons.</p> + +<p>The dog, Rover, who had always willingly remained +at home on watch during the family’s absence at church +or elsewhere, had hidden himself at starting-time; but +he was found waiting in the road when the party was +several miles out on the way, and, when discovered, approached +his master with drooping tail and piteous whine.</p> + +<p>There were tears in the eyes of the strong man, of +which he was not ashamed, as he dismounted from the +back of Sukie, his favorite mare, and, stooping, patted +the dog affectionately on the head.</p> + +<p>“They didn’t fool ’oo, did ’ey, Rovie?” said Bobbie, +as he hugged the dog, unmindful of his muddy coat.</p> + +<p>“Come to me, Rover,” exclaimed Mrs. Ranger, who +had been refreshed by her nap. The dog obeyed, and, +wet and dirty as he was, attempted to hide himself among +the baggage. But his hopes were blasted by a peremptory +command from his master: “Go back home and +stay with grandfather!” The poor brute jumped, whining, +to the ground and affected to obey; but he reappeared<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_55"></a>[55]</span> +a dozen miles farther on, at the Illinois River’s +edge; and when the ferry-boat, which he was forbidden +to enter, was out of reach of either command or missile, +he sat on his haunches on the river-bank and howled +dismally.</p> + +<p>“Don’t you think a dog has a soul, daddie?” asked +Jean, through her tears.</p> + +<p>“How should I know, daughter?” was the husky response. +“I’m not yet certain that a man has a soul.”</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="VII">VII<br> +<span class="smaller"><i>SCOTTY’S FIRST ROMANCE</i></span></h2> + +</div> + +<p>The home that was to be the abode of the +Ranger family during the journey was an over-jutting +wagon-box,—Harry called it a “hurricane +deck,”—made to fit over the running gear of a +substantial wagon, in which a dozen or more persons +might be stowed away at night in crosswise fashion. It +was named “the saloon” by the teamsters, in jocose +recognition of its owner’s well-known teetotal habits, and +was assigned to the women and children as their especial +domicile.</p> + +<p>“It will be your duty to keep a daily record of our +journey, Jean.”</p> + +<p>This was the first official order issued by Captain +Ranger after he had been formally elected as commander +of the expedition, and was given under the thickly falling +snow, amid the bustle and confusion of making the +first camp.</p> + +<p>“What sort of a record?”</p> + +<p>“A daily write-up of current events. Here is a brand-new +blank-book I have bought for the purpose. And +here’s a portable inkstand, with some lead pencils, a<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_56"></a>[56]</span> +pocket knife, and a box of pens. I’ve selected you as +scribe because you won the prize in that competitive +contest over the doings of Bismarck.”</p> + +<p>“But that was a different proposition, daddie.”</p> + +<p>“It’s all in the same line, Jean. You have a record +to preserve now. You must keep your credit good. +Look to your laurels, and don’t forget!”</p> + +<p>And Jean, partly from innate ambition, but chiefly +because she was under orders from which she knew there +could be no appeal, kept, through all the tedious journey, +a diary, from which the chronicler of these pages proposes +to cull such fragments as may fit into the narrative, +without strict regard to chronology, though with +due regard to facts.</p> + +<p class="tb">“We made camp last night in the discomfort of a +driving snowstorm,” wrote the scribe under date of +April 2. “But in spite of our sorrow over our departure +from home and loved ones, the most of us were jolly, +and we made the best we could of the situation. To-night, +after a day’s disagreeable wheeling through mud +that freezes at night and thaws by day, making travel +nasty, sticky, and tedious, we stopped for camp near an +isolated farmhouse, where the goodwife is disheartened +and sick, and the children are ragged, dirty, and +frightened.</p> + +<p>“The storm has abated, and the sky is clear. Our +teamsters are kneeling on the ground around our mess-boxes, +which are used for tables at mealtime, and stored +in the ends of the wagons when we are moving ahead.”</p> + +<p>“There, I can’t think of another word to write.” She +closed the book with a bang.</p> + +<p>For many minutes after gathering around the tables, +all were too busy with the supper to make any attempt at +conversation.</p> + +<p>Beans and bacon, coffee and crackers, and great heaps +of stewed fruits, were reinforced by mountains of steaming<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_57"></a>[57]</span> +flapjacks, which Mary and Marjorie took turns at +baking, their eyes watery from the smoke of the open +fire, and their cheeks reddened by the wind.</p> + +<p>“Wonder what’s become o’ Scotty,” said Captain +Ranger, as he knelt in the absent teamster’s place at +table and helped himself bountifully.</p> + +<p>“He filled our water-buckets and was off like a shot,” +said Hal. “He ought to show up at mealtime. Ah, +there he comes.”</p> + +<p>“Where’ve you been, Scotty?” asked the Captain. +“Here’s plenty of room. Kneel, and give an account of +yourself.”</p> + +<p>“So you’re in love, eh, Scotty? and with that pretty +widow in the next camp?”</p> + +<p>The questioner was a tall, lanky teamster, answering +to the appellation of Shorty.</p> + +<p>“Never in love before,” said Scotty, as he swallowed +his coffee with a gulp.</p> + +<p>An uproarious laugh ran around the table.</p> + +<p>“Her hair is like the flower o’ Scotia’s broom in +springtime, and the sheen o’ her eyes is like Loch +Achray!” exclaimed Scotty, as he passed his plate for +a fresh relay of flapjacks.</p> + +<p>“A love affair doesn’t spoil his appetite,” laughed +Marjorie.</p> + +<p>“I want you all to understand that no falling in love’ll +be allowed on this journey,” said the Captain, dryly. +“There’ll be time enough for that kind o’ nonsense after +you get to Oregon and get settled.”</p> + +<p>“Love, like death, has all seasons for its own, sir,” +retorted Scotty, with a deferential bow.</p> + +<p>“Women and war don’t go together,” replied his employer. +“And you’ll find this journey is a good deal +like war before you’re done with it.”</p> + +<p>“Everything is fair in both love and war, sir.”</p> + +<p>“Excuse me,” said a woman in black, with a low, +mellow voice and blond complexion, who might have<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_58"></a>[58]</span> +heard herself discussed if she had listened. The clatter +around the table stopped instantly.</p> + +<p>“We’re in a quandary, mamma and I,” she said, +blushing. “Our matches are damp and won’t burn. I +thought perhaps—”</p> + +<p>A half-dozen men were on their feet in an instant, +and half-a-dozen hands went suddenly into half-a-dozen +pockets, while half-a-dozen blocks of matches were forthcoming +in less than half a minute.</p> + +<p>“Here are more than I need, gentlemen, and I thank +you ever so much,” she said, taking the offer from +Scotty; and, with a bow and a smile to all, she was +gone.</p> + +<p>“The red of her lips is like rubies, the white of her +teeth is like pearls, and her voice is a symphony,” said +Scotty, looking after her as she ran.</p> + +<p>“Scotty’s attack is as sudden as it is serious,” laughed +Lengthy, a short, stocky teamster, whose nickname was +a ludicrous misfit.</p> + +<p>“What freak o’ fate do you s’pose it was that brought +that beauty out here on a journey like this?” asked +Yank, a Southern-born teamster, whose accepted nickname +was another palpable misnomer, and who dropped +his <i>r</i>’s, like a negro preacher.</p> + +<p>“I know!” cried Bobbie, his fingers dripping with +molasses. “She came to meet Scotty.”</p> + +<p>The laugh that followed disconcerted the child, who +ran, abashed, to his mother in the family wagon.</p> + +<p>“I thought,” exclaimed Sambo,—a gaunt Vermonter, +who dropped his <i>g</i>’s as frequently as Yank dropped his +<i>r</i>’s,—“I thought there’d be several ladies comin’ along, +to keep us company.”</p> + +<p>“Can you tell us why Mrs. O’Dowd didn’t join us?” +asked Yank, turning deferentially to the Captain. “I +thought we were to have the pleasure of one woman’s +company,—I mean in addition to the ladies present, of +course.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_59"></a>[59]</span></p> + +<p>Jean exchanged furtive glances with her father, who +averted his face, and said: “That’s a conundrum, Yank. +Ask me something easy.”</p> + +<p class="tb">The next noticeable entry in Jean’s diary was made on +the fifth of April, and was as follows:—</p> + +<p>“The snow this morning is four inches deep. We +camped last night in the mud and slush, in a narrow lane, +after a hard day’s wheeling through the miry roads. +Mother, dear woman, is weary and weak, but daddie got +her a warm room in the farmhouse near us, where we +children are allowed to go sometimes to thaw our +marrow-bones by a pleasant fire.</p> + +<p>“April 6. Cloudy to-day, with a threat of rain. But +mother urges a forward movement, so Mary and Marjorie +are packing the mess-boxes, and daddie says I must +write up this horrid diary. There is nothing to write +about. The country through which we are struggling is +swampy, monotonous, muddy, and level. Cheap, rickety +farmhouses are seen at intervals; the bridges are gone +from most of the swollen streams; our way goes through +narrow, muddy lanes, with crooked, tumble-down fences; +and we see, every now and then, a discouraged-looking +woman and a lot of half-clad children peeping through +open doors, from the midst of a crowd of half-starved +dogs. Daddie says these frontier people (and dogs) are +the forerunners of all civilization; but I think they’re +the embodiment of desolation and discouragement.</p> + +<p>“April 7. The ague has broken out among our teamsters. +We stopped to-night at a farmhouse, where suspicious +women treated us like so many thieves. The +whole family were barefoot, and lacked everything but +numbers. Mother says that starvation has aroused their +cupidity, and we mustn’t mind their suspicious airs. +They had no feed for sale for the stock, and no supplies +to sell for our table; but there were plenty of guns and +dogs,—the latter a thieving lot,—from which we shall<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_60"></a>[60]</span> +be glad to escape when we again see morning. Weather +and roads no better.</p> + +<p>“April 8. Mother quite ill again; but the skies are +clear, and she insists on moving forward.</p> + +<p>“April 11. No food for man or beast to be had for +love or money. We must move onward, sick or well.</p> + +<p>“April 12. A better-settled region. The scenery is +often fine. Pussy-willows peep at us from marshy edges, +and birds are singing in the budding treetops. Sick folks +no better. Bought a liberal supply of corn for the stock, +and a lot of butter, eggs, and chickens for the rest of us, +so we have a feast in prospect. Camped on the edge of +a pretty little village, on a nice green grass-plat. Daddie +took us girls to a prayer-meeting. The good people eyed +us askance. Evidently they thought us freaks. Certainly +our slat sunbonnets and soiled linsey-woolsey dresses were +not reassuring.”</p> + +<p class="tb">The next day, at nightfall, the party reached Quincy, +on the Mississippi, and camped on a flat bit of upland +outside of the city’s limits, where many other wayfarers, +like themselves, had halted and encamped.</p> + +<p>“Did you notice Scotty?” asked Marjorie, approaching +Jean, who sat on a wagon-tongue, trying to think of +something out of the ordinary to jot in her journal.</p> + +<p>“What’s he up to now?”</p> + +<p>“He’s been preening his feathers like a turkey-gobbler +for the last half-hour. Guess our pretty widow and her +aristocratic mamma have caught up with our train. Just +watch him! See how the ex-scientist, ex-statesman, ex-orator, +and now ex-almost-anything is making a fool of +himself!”</p> + +<p>“All people, of both sexes, get a spell of the simples, +sooner or later,” laughed Jean. “Daddie says that when +the system is in the right condition to catch it, one gets +it bad.”</p> + +<p>“Guess I’ll ride out and look over the town a little,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_61"></a>[61]</span> +Annie,” said the Captain to his wife after the family had +retired for the night. “I want to look out a little for +our Scotty. He seems to need a guardian.”</p> + +<p>Scotty, though a characteristic specimen of the educated +Scotchman, was a loyal adherent of the institutions +of his adopted country. He had been a member of the +constitutional conventions of two border States, and was +known as a writer and orator of no mean ability. But, +like many another brilliant man, he had passed his fortieth +year without acquiring a home, a family, or a competence. +He was well versed in the “Rise and Fall of +Republics,” and had travelled much in foreign lands,—themes +of which he never tired. But he could never +reduce ox-driving to a science.</p> + +<p>Captain Ranger rode to the top of the bluffs, where he +leisurely contemplated the scene. Lights reflected from +town and river danced and gleamed, but barely made the +darkness visible in the muddy streets. Church bells rang, +steamers whistled, and longshoremen tugged at heavy +loads. Powerful horses propelled great, clumsy freight-wagons +through the unpaved streets. Foot passengers +picked their way through slop and mud.</p> + +<p>“Railroads will come here some day,” said the Captain +to himself. “They will compete with the river +traffic and cripple it. Other towns, like Chicago, will +divert the trade, and there is no telling what the end +will be. What a busy, bustling world it is, anyhow!”</p> + +<p>“Halloa, Captain!”</p> + +<p>“Well, I’m blanked if it isn’t Scotty!”</p> + +<p>“I’ve been to call upon the widows we met in the +beginning of our journey, sir, and I’ve been thinking it +would be a handsome thing for you to do if you’d take +them into our company, Captain Ranger.”</p> + +<p>“We’ll see about it, Scotty; but I’m afraid you won’t +earn your salt if I let them join us. I s’pose I’ll have to +risk it, though.”</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_62"></a>[62]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="VIII">VIII<br> +<span class="smaller"><i>A BORDER INCIDENT</i></span></h2> + +</div> + +<p>The public roads or thoroughfares through which +the party floundered when crossing the sparsely +settled counties of western Illinois, which had +noticeably improved during the day or two of travel +from the East toward Quincy, grew almost impassable +on the Missouri side of the Mississippi River. Heavy +freight-wagons, each bearing an immense load of merchandise, +chiefly hides and furs from the Northwest Territory, +had stirred the mud in the narrow lane to a +seemingly inexhaustible depth; and the long spell of +freezing by night, followed daily by the inevitable thaw, +caused the many unbridged streams to overflow their +banks and inundate the wide wastes of bottom land +through which the ox teams were compelled to wander +blindly, in continual danger of disaster. But the most +disagreeable experiences resulted from the frequent snow-storms, +which generally occurred at camping-time, accompanied +by chilling winds and intermittent falls of +rain or sleet, covering the earth with a glare of ice.</p> + +<p>“When I get to heaven, I mean to ask Saint Peter to +assign all cooks to high seats,” said Jean one evening, +as, balancing a tray laden with tin cups and saucers, she +paused above the heads of the men kneeling at the mess-boxes, +and in apparent innocence upset a steaming cup +upon the head of Yank.</p> + +<p>“No harm done, I assure you, Miss Rangeah. Don’t +mention it!” he said, affecting not to feel the burn at the +back of his neck, whereat Jean grew repentant.</p> + +<p>“Do you s’pose Saint Peter will pay any heed to the +request of a slip of a girl like you?” asked Hal.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_63"></a>[63]</span></p> + +<p>“I’ll not be a slip of a girl when I go through the gates +o’ heaven, but a mature matron, famous and honored.”</p> + +<p class="tb">“We are in a slave State now,” wrote Jean, under +date of April 16; “and from my limited experience I +am forced to conclude that slavery is more deteriorating +in its effects upon the white people we meet than it is +upon the blacks. The primitive cultivating of the soil +we saw in central Illinois, where the white men do their +own farming, was bad enough, God knows; but the +shiftless, aimless, happy-go-lucky work of the Missouri +‘niggers,’ as they style themselves, is even worse. The +white men we see at times are idle, pompous, and lazy. +The white women are idle and apathetic; and the children +are aimless and discouraged. Daddie says slavery +is wrong, and no contingency can make it right; but I +notice that he doesn’t propose any remedy.”</p> + +<p class="tb">Prairie schooners were not known as “ships of the +desert” then, for Joaquin Miller had not yet sought or +acquired fame; and no Huntington or Holladay had +made a transcontinental railway track, or tunnelled the +sierras of the mighty West to open the way for the iron +horse. Even the overland stage was an improvement as +yet unknown; for Holladay had not yet established his +relay stations, or sent his intrepid drivers out among the +savages as heralds of approaching civilization.</p> + +<p>“Daddy says humanity’s a hog,” was the leader in +Jean’s next entry in her diary. “The weather continued +so bad, mother was so wan and weak, and the stock were +so nearly starved, that he decided to stop over for a day +or two near a farmhouse and barnyard, where there +seemed a chance to purchase food for man and beast. +But we were glad to move on after a rather brief experience. +The farmer doubled the price of his hay and grain +every morning after ‘worship,’ reminding those of us +who could not choose but hear his daily dole of advice<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_64"></a>[64]</span> +to God, of Grandpa Ranger’s story of a planter and merchant +he knew in his youth, of whom it was said that he +would call his slaves to their devotions in the morning +with a preamble like this: ‘Have you wet the leather? +Have you sanded the sugar? Have you put meal in the +pepper and chicory in the coffee? Have you watered +the whiskey? Then come in to prayers!’”</p> + +<p>The necessities of these farmers were born of isolation; +and the opportunities for barter and dicker with passing +emigrants stirred the acquisitive spirit within them into +vigorous action. The prices of their hitherto unsalable +commodities went up to unheard-of figures, increasing in +geometrical progression. But Captain Ranger, having +created a market in the remote country places in Illinois +for supplies of coffee, tea, calico, and unbleached cotton +cloth, had prepared himself at Quincy with such commodities, +and was able to adjust his trade somewhat to +the law of supply and demand.</p> + +<p class="tb">Oh, those teamsters of the plains! No jollier crowd +of brave, enduring, accommodating men ever cracked +cruel whips over the backs of long-enduring oxen, or +plodded more patiently than they beside the slowly moving +wagons, as, wading often over shoe-tops through +the muck and mire of the Missouri roads of early springtime, +they jollied one another and cracked their whips +and sang. Each misfit nickname was accepted as a joke, +and none of the men inquired as to the origin of his +peculiar cognomen. But Hal, being more inquisitive +than they, asked troublesome questions of his sisters, +who were in the secret.</p> + +<p>“Better tell him, girls,” said their mother. “He’ll be +in honor bound to keep the secret then. Won’t you, +dear?”</p> + +<p>“Jean did it,” said Marjorie.</p> + +<p>“Then suppose you confess,” said Hal.</p> + +<p>“It was this way,” she explained after a pause of<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_65"></a>[65]</span> +mock seriousness. “The first night we were in camp, +after we had washed the dishes, it occurred to me to +write each teamster’s name and paste it to the bottom of +his plate. I didn’t know the real name of one of ’em +from Adam’s, so I wrote them down as Scotty, Limpy, +Yank, Shorty, Sawed-off, and so on. We didn’t intend +to perpetrate a misfit, but a joke, and we struck both. +Scotty got the correct title, though it merely happened +so. But you just watch ’em! Limpy’s as straight as +an Indian; Sawed-off stands six feet two in his socks; +Lengthy is no taller when he stands up than when he +lies down; Yank is a characteristic slave-owner; and +Sambo is an ingrained abolitionist!”</p> + +<p>“We couldn’t have made such a lot o’ misfits if we +had tried a week,” said Mary. “But the men all think +Hal did it; so the suspicion doesn’t fall on us; and +you get the credit for being somewhat of a wag, Mr. +Hal.”</p> + +<p>“It’s nothing new for men or boys to take the credit +for what their sisters do,” said Jean, as Hal strode away, +satisfied that in protecting his sisters from a piece of +folly, by accepting it as his own, he was acting the part +of a man. “Adam set the example; and where would +Herschel have been if he hadn’t had a sister?”</p> + +<p>“Adam might have been in a box if he couldn’t have +had Eve,” laughed Marjorie; “for there would then have +been nobody to raise Cain.”</p> + +<p>“Or the Ranger family,” added Jean.</p> + +<p class="tb">Several days of tedious, laborious travel brought the +wanderers into an open, sparsely timbered, almost unsettled +part of the State of Missouri. The snow and +sleet gave way to brighter skies, the roads and sloughs +were drying up, and the higher grounds were gradually +arraying themselves in robes of green and gold.</p> + +<p>“Here is vacant land, and lots of it,” said Mary, as +she viewed the virgin prospect of a mighty settlement in<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_66"></a>[66]</span> +undisguised admiration. “This is a beautiful world!” +and she sighed deeply, her face toward the rising sun.</p> + +<p>“Don’t look backward,” cried Jean. “Remember +Lot’s wife.”</p> + +<p>“There’s no use in trying to look backward,” urged +Hal. “Dad will never halt till he lands us on the western +shore of the continent, on the eastern hem of the Pacific +Ocean. He says this country’s too old for him. The +wild turkeys are all killed off, or scared out o’ sight; the +deer and elk are gone for good; and the country’s played +out.”</p> + +<p>“Wait a few years, and there’ll be railroads gridironing +this whole great valley of the Mississippi,” said Jean. +“There’ll be towns and cities springing up in a hundred +places. Farms and orchards and handsome country +homes will cover these rolling prairies. The native +groves will be more than quadrupled by cultivation, and +schoolhouses and churches will spring into existence +everywhere.”</p> + +<p>“I wish you’d talk like this to your father! Won’t +you, Jean?” asked Mrs. Ranger.</p> + +<p>“You couldn’t hire him to live in a slave State!” +cried Jean.</p> + +<p>“The Reverend Thomas Rogers might manage to get +this far on the way toward the setting sun without much +money,” smiled Mrs. Ranger, meaningly. “The children +favor our stopping here, on Missouri soil,” she added, as +her husband joined the group. “Don’t you think the +idea a good one, John?”</p> + +<p>“What! And let the word go back among our people +at home that we’d flunked? No! I’d die first, and +then I wouldn’t do it,” exclaimed her husband, petulantly.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Ranger burst into tears.</p> + +<p>“There, there, Annie! Don’t worry. But don’t ask +me to settle, with my children, in a slave State. Father +left Kentucky when I was a boy to get away from slavery +and its inevitable accompaniment of poor white trash.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_67"></a>[67]</span> +There is an irrepressible conflict between freedom and +every form of involuntary servitude that exists under the +sun. This nigger business will lead to a bloody war long +before Uncle Sam is done with it, and I doubt if even +war will settle it.”</p> + +<p>“But Oregon may come into the Union as a slave +State, John. You know that the extension of slavery is +the chief theme that is agitating Congress now.”</p> + +<p>“I’ll have a chance to fight the curse in Oregon, +Annie. But it is a settled condition here. I’ll fight it +to the bitter end, if I get a chance!” He strode away +to look after the cattle and men.</p> + +<p>“Dear, patient mother!” cried Jean, stroking her +mother’s cheek tenderly. “Your head is as clear as a +bell. But there’s a whole lot o’ common-sense in what +daddie says, too. We’ll soon have settled weather; then +you won’t mind travelling. We all think you’ll be well +and strong as soon as we get settled in Oregon.”</p> + +<p>“Maybe so, if I could only live to get there,” faltered +the feeble woman. “But—”</p> + +<p>“But what, mother?”</p> + +<p>“Nothing. I was only thinking.”</p> + +<p>Jean’s heart sank. “You must get to bed, mother +dear,” she said lovingly.</p> + +<p>The Ranger children, tired out with the fatigue and +excitement of the day, were soon locked in the deep sleep +of healthy youth and vigor. Not so Mrs. Ranger. The +regular breathing of her sleeping loved ones soothed her +nerves, but she seemed preternaturally awake.</p> + +<p>A gentle breeze stirred the white wagon-hood overhead. +Sukie, who was tethered near, neighed gently as Mrs. +Ranger spoke her name, and came closer to be stroked.</p> + +<p>“Is de Cap’n heah?” asked a dusky figure with a child +on its hip, as it edged its way between the mare and the +wagon-wheel.</p> + +<p>“He’s out with the cattle at present. Is there anything +I can do for you?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_68"></a>[68]</span></p> + +<p>“Hide me, quick! De houn’s is aftah me, honey. +I’ve jes’ waded de crick, and dey’ve lost de trail. +Quick, missus; an’ I’ll sarve ye forever!”</p> + +<p>The low baying of the bloodhounds proclaimed that +they were again on the trail.</p> + +<p>“Climb in here! Be quick!” exclaimed Mrs. Ranger, +making room for the quaking fugitive. “I’ve never +tried to sleep with a nigger and her baby, but I can stand +it if I have to,” she said to herself, as the refugee took +the place assigned to her.</p> + +<p class="tb">“What in thunder are you up to now?” asked her +husband when he looked in upon his wife and children +in the morning and discovered the dusky intruder.</p> + +<p>“Trying to help you to circumvent the institution you +are so ready to fight, which, as you say, is wrong, and +no contingency can make right,” replied his wife, her +cheeks and eyes aglow with mingled satisfaction and +excitement.</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="IX">IX<br> +<span class="smaller"><i>THE CAPTAIN DEFENDS THE LAW</i></span></h2> + +</div> + +<p>“Don’t you know it’s against the laws of your +country to harbor a runaway nigger?” asked +the Captain, in genuine alarm. “We’ll never +get off o’ Missouri soil in this world if we’re caught +hiding this wench and her pickaninny among our traps. +She’s got to get away from here in a hurry.”</p> + +<p>“So far as the laws go, I don’t care a rap, John. I, +nor no other woman, ever took a hand in making any of +’em. And as for Missouri soil, it’s good enough for +anybody. I’m quite enamored of it; and I feel perfectly +willing to stay here as long as I live.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_69"></a>[69]</span></p> + +<p>“I don’t want to make no trouble for nobody, massa,” +sobbed the fugitive, peeping from her covert like a beast +at bay. “De missus done tuk keep o’ me ’dout ’siderin’ +any consikenses. Didn’t ye, honey?”</p> + +<p>“There was nothing else I could do,” said Mrs. +Ranger, firmly, though her cheeks blanched with an unspoken +fear.</p> + +<p>“Dey was goin’ to sell me down Souf, an’ keep my +coon for a body-servant for his own pappy’s new bride +dat’s a-comin’ to de plantation nex’ week. Wusn’t +dey, dawlin’?” holding aloft her mulatto offspring, who +blinked at the rising sun. “’Fo’ God, massa, I won’t +make a speck o’ trouble. I’ll jest keep a hidin’ till we +git across de Missouri Ribbah. Take me ’long to Oregon, +an’ ye won’t nebbah be sorry.”</p> + +<p>“I’ve already agreed to take along one widow and her +babies,” said the Captain, exchanging glances with Jean. +“It doesn’t seem possible to add to the number.”</p> + +<p>“Jes’ le’ me ride a hidin’ in a wagon till I get across +de Missouri Ribbah, massa! I kin take keer o’ myself +an’ my pickaninny too, if you’ll turn me loose among de +Injuns.”</p> + +<p>“It is the slaveholding, free American white man +that the poor creature’s afraid of,” said Mrs. Ranger, +with a bitter smile.</p> + +<p>Again the deep baying of the bloodhounds betokened +the finding of the trail.</p> + +<p>“Climb back into the wagon, quick,” cried the Captain, +“and take care that you keep out o’ sight! Deluge the +wagon-wheel and all around it with water, gals. Don’t +let the wench put her nose out, Annie. Hang the luck! +When it comes to such a pass that a runaway wench +would rather trust herself and her brat among the red +savages of the plains than among her white owners in a +free country, I get ashamed of a white man’s government. +What’s the wench’s name?”</p> + +<p>“She said it was Dugs.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_70"></a>[70]</span></p> + +<p>“The devil!”</p> + +<p>“Don’t swear, John. She didn’t name herself.”</p> + +<p>“And the name of the coon?”</p> + +<p>“Geo’ge Washin’t’n, sah. I named him for de faddah +o’ de kentry. He’s as han’some a coon as ebber had a +white daddy. Ain’t ye, honey?” And the mother held +him close. “Yo’s a flower o’ slavery, ain’t ye, dawlin’?” +a hidden meaning in her voice.</p> + +<p>Again the deep baying of the bloodhounds was +heard. But they were taking the back trail. The fugitive +laughed.</p> + +<p>“De way we larn ’em dat trick is a niggah’s secret,” +she said, as she again hid herself and child.</p> + +<p>“My massa didn’t use to b’lieve in slavery, missus,” +she said, as the baying of the dogs grew faint and distant. +“When massa first ’herited his slaves, he used to +tell us he’d set us free. But he got a habit o’ holdin’ on +to us, an’ it jist growed on him. It was like de whiskey +habit. It got fastened on him good an’ ha’d, and he +didn’t talk ’bout manumittin’ us no mo’. He didn’t +want to sell me, he said, but I was prope’ty, an’ times got +bad, an’ he was ’bleeged to have money to pay his debts. +His new wife’s ’spensive, awful, an’ he had to sell some +o’ de niggahs. If he’d sol’ me an’ Geo’dy Wah too, I +wouldn’t ’a’ runned away. But when he said he’d sell +me, an’ keep my coon to be his new wife’s niggah, I +couldn’t stan’ it nohow, so I scooted!” and the negress +laughed heartily.</p> + +<p>“Do you think you can hide her for a week, Annie? +We’ll be across the Missouri River, by that time.”</p> + +<p>“I’ll do my best, John. We’re running a terrible +risk, though. Sometimes, when I think of the sins of +this so-called free government, all committed in the name +of Liberty, I long to turn rebel, and do my best to destroy +it, root and branch.”</p> + +<p>“I had a husban’ once, suh. But massa tuk a liken’ +to me, so he sol’ him down Souf,” said the fugitive.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_71"></a>[71]</span></p> + +<p>“And this baby?”</p> + +<p>“Is my massa’s own coon. Massa wouldn’t ’a’ sol’ +him nohow.”</p> + +<p>“Be quick!” cried Jean, her breath hot with indignation. +“Hide yourself! You mustn’t let the teamsters +see you here. They’re coming in with the cattle now.”</p> + +<p>“Gimme some quilts an’ blankets, honey. Dah! Hol’ +’em up, so! Now lemme make an Injun wickiup in one +end o’ dis yah wagon. Geo’ge Washin’t’n ’ll be still as +a lamb. Won’t ye, my putty ’ittle yallow coon?”</p> + +<p>The baby, with its tawny skin, blue eyes, and blackish-brown, +tangled curls, looked elfish as he nestled close to +his mother’s breast and gazed affrighted into her turban-shaded +eyes.</p> + +<p>“Sh-sh-sh!” cried Jean; “the men are almost here. +Keep close to your den and be very quiet.”</p> + +<p class="tb">Day after day passed wearily along; but if the teamsters +suspected aught, they made no sign. And day after +day the teams wended their way westward without betraying +the commission of this crime against the commonwealth +of the great new State of Missouri and +the free government of the United States of America, +which it would have been base flattery to call a misdemeanor; +as its perpetrators would have learned to their +cost if they had been caught in the act.</p> + +<p class="tb">“You don’t seem as happy as formerly,” said Captain +Ranger to his wife at the close of a long and trying +day. “If the risk we’re running by harboring that +runaway nigger is making you uneasy, we can turn +her out. A man’s first duty is to his own flesh and +blood.”</p> + +<p>“It isn’t that, John. The woman is no trouble; and +her baby’s so afraid of bloodhounds that she keeps him +as quiet as a mouse. I’m willing to risk my life to get +them both away from their white owners and out into<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_72"></a>[72]</span> +the Indians’ country, where they may have at least comparative +freedom. I am not afraid.”</p> + +<p>“Then what is the matter, dear?”</p> + +<p>She toyed caressingly with his hair and beard, but said +nothing. They were seated on a log by the roadside, and +a laughing rivulet sprawled at their feet.</p> + +<p>“Speak, Annie; don’t hesitate. I can hear your heart +beat. What’s the matter?”</p> + +<p>“You remember my little farm, John? It’s only ten +acres, you know.”</p> + +<p>“Yes; what of it?”</p> + +<p>“You won’t be angry, John?”</p> + +<p>“Of course not. What about it?”</p> + +<p>“I want to deed the place over to my mother before +we leave the State o’ Missouri.”</p> + +<p>His manner changed instantly.</p> + +<p>“I thought that matter was settled,” he said tersely. +“Can’t you let me have a little peace?”</p> + +<p>“I have held my peace as long as my conscience will +let me, dear. You didn’t settle anything about it. You +merely put me off, you know.”</p> + +<p>“Well?”</p> + +<p>A man can put a world of meaning into a monosyllable +sometimes.</p> + +<p>“I want you to let me deed that piece of property to +my mother. If the deed were made to my father, and +she should outlive him, she’d be only allowed to occupy +it free from rent for one year after his death; but if it +is made hers absolutely, and he should outlive her, he’ll +be allowed to have a home and get his living off it as +long as he lives. You see, it makes a difference whether +it is a cow or an ox that is gored,” and she smiled grimly.</p> + +<p>“The women are all getting their heads turned over +the question of property,” said Captain Ranger to himself +as he watched the rivulet playing at his feet.</p> + +<p>“Jean’s been putting this into your head, Annie,” he +said after a painful silence.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_73"></a>[73]</span></p> + +<p>“The child has a strong sense of justice, inherited +from you, John. You know she is wonderfully like +you.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, yes, Annie. I wish she had been a boy instead +o’ Hal. She’d have made a rackin’ good lawyer.”</p> + +<p>“I’ll admit that she advised me to urge you to make +the deed, John.”</p> + +<p>“Very well; we’ll see about it sometime, Annie” +and he arose to go.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Ranger’s heart sank.</p> + +<p>“Why is it that men who are proverbially just and +upright in their dealings with their fellow-men are so +often derelict in duty where women, especially their own +wives, are concerned?” she asked herself as she tottered +by his side in silence.</p> + +<p>The next morning found her unable to rise. A racking +cough, which had disturbed her all through the night, +was followed at daybreak by a burning fever. Her husband, +who had slept like a top in an adjoining tent, was +startled when he saw the ravages the night had left upon +her pinched, white face.</p> + +<p>“You caught cold last night, darling,” he said, as he +prescribed a simple remedy. “You ought not to have +been sitting out in the night air.”</p> + +<p>“That didn’t hurt me, John.”</p> + +<p>“Then it is the apprehension you suffer on account o’ +that wench that is making you sick.”</p> + +<p>“No, John; it isn’t that at all.”</p> + +<p>“Then what is it?”</p> + +<p>“Ask Jean. I have nothing more to say.”</p> + +<p>But there was no time for further parleying. The +breakfast was ready, and the hurry of preparation for +departure was the theme of the hour.</p> + +<p class="tb">“We reached camp in a pouring rain last night and +pitched our tents, amid much discomfort, on the outskirts +of the little town of St. Joseph,” wrote Jean on<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_74"></a>[74]</span> +the morning of the fifth of May. “But I haven’t much +time for you, my journal, for there are other things to +claim attention,” and she shut the book with the usual +impatient bang.</p> + +<p>“Got any blank deeds along with you, daddie?” she +asked, after it was announced that they were to be ready +to break camp the next morning.</p> + +<p>“Yes; why?”</p> + +<p>“Because we must have that deed of Grandma Robinson’s +all ready for mother to acknowledge before a notary +in the morning, as we go through town on our way to +the ferry.”</p> + +<p>“Your mother isn’t able to attend to any business.”</p> + +<p>“She isn’t able to put it off, daddie dear.”</p> + +<p>“Very well; I’ll see about it.”</p> + +<p>“But I want the blank form now, so I can have it all +ready when we go through town. Mother has the original +deed, and I can easily duplicate it. I’ll search for a +blank among your papers, if you don’t object.”</p> + +<p>“You have no idea how this little act of justice will +help mother to regain her health,” said Mary. “She’s +been haunted by a fear that you’d put it off till it would +be too late.”</p> + +<p>Captain Ranger did not reply; but his silence was +considered as consent, and Jean hurried away to prepare +the deed.</p> + +<p>“I’ve been dreaming about an island somewhere in +mid-ocean,” said Marjorie, “where women could hold +their own earnings, just as men do in the United States; +where they had full liberty to help the men to make the +laws, for which they paid their full quota of taxes, just +as the women do in Missouri and Illinois and, for aught +I know, in Oregon.”</p> + +<p>“I’ve paid the taxes on that ten-acre farm for a dozen +years,” said her father.</p> + +<p>“Yes, out of mother’s income from it,” retorted Marjorie. +“It has always been rented, you know.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_75"></a>[75]</span></p> + +<p>The subject was dropped for the nonce, though John +Ranger did not feel wholly at ease, he hardly realized +why. But the next day, as the train was moving through +the principal street on its way to the river-front, he +stopped his team hard by a notary’s office and tenderly +assisted his wife to alight. Here, with her thin and trembling +fingers, Annie Ranger affixed her signature to her +last earthly deed of conveyance, her eyes beaming with +joy.</p> + +<p>“Are you satisfied now?” asked her husband, as he +lifted her to her seat in the wagon, where she watched +Harry rushing away to the post-office with a big envelope +containing the precious deed.</p> + +<p>“Yes, dear; and I am so glad I didn’t have to make +my mark! When I get to Oregon, I’ll manage somehow +to earn the money to pay you what I owe on my +taxes, John.”</p> + +<p>“Don’t speak of that,” her husband exclaimed, feeling +half ashamed of himself, for a reason he did not divine.</p> + +<p>“Then you’ll never try to hold those old tax receipts +as a lien on the property?”</p> + +<p>“Nonsense, Annie! Do you think I’m a brute beast?”</p> + +<p>“No, darling. I would to God all men were as good +as you are, my own dear, precious husband.”</p> + +<p class="tb">They were nearing the Missouri River now, and in +the rush that ensued, the family had no opportunity for +further exchange of confidences for many hours.</p> + +<p>“Look!” cried Marjorie, after the last loaded wagon +had been crowded on to the big ferry-boat, and they had +started to a point several miles up the river to make a +landing on the opposite bank. “There’s a posse of +officers. They’re after Dugs, I know they are, ’cause +they’ve got bloodhounds with ’em, and they’re signalling +the boat to stop and come back.”</p> + +<p>“She can’t do it,” said the captain of the ferry, after +a hurried conference with the captain of the train, as he<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_76"></a>[76]</span> +suspiciously thrust his closed hand into the breeches +pocket over his hip.</p> + +<p>“You can come out of hiding now, Sally O’Dowd,” +exclaimed Captain Ranger, as soon as the last team was +safely up the opposite bank.</p> + +<p>“I thought it was Dugs they were after,” said Mary.</p> + +<p>“So ’twas; and me too,” cried the grass widow, as +she jumped to the ground, surrounded by her three children. +“Sam O’Dowd was one o’ the posse. I saw him. +He couldn’t have taken me; but he was after my babies.” +She hugged her children, as she laughed and wept by +turns in a transport of joy.</p> + +<p>“Don’t cry, Sally,” said the Captain, coaxingly. +“You’re in the Indian country, safe and sound.”</p> + +<p>“Before Sam can get a requisition from the Governor +of Illinois to reclaim your babies, and before the Governor +o’ Missouri can give that party o’ slave-catchers the +power to arrest Dugs and her coon, we’ll have you out +under the protection of the Indians!” said Mrs. Ranger, +with a meaning smile.</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="X">X<br> +<span class="smaller"><i>THE CAPTAIN MAKES A DISTINCTION</i></span></h2> + +</div> + +<p>“I thought it was arranged that Sally was to +join us at Quincy, on the Mississippi,” said Captain +Ranger, after they were safely landed in the +Indians’ territory.</p> + +<p>“That was the agreement between Jean and myself,” +interposed the frightened fugitive, still holding her babies +close; “but I overheard a conversation at St. Louis that +changed my plans. I was in hiding, down among the +wharf-rats and niggers on the river-bank, in a cheap +hash-house, half scow and half log cabin. The walls<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_77"></a>[77]</span> +were thin, and I couldn’t sleep much, so I heard most +everything that was going on, out o’ doors and in. And +one night by the help of the good Lord I overheard a +voice that I knew was Sam’s. He was telling a pal that +he was hunting his runaway wife. He said she had stolen +his babies, and he meant to get ’em, dead or alive.”</p> + +<p>“I thought you’d led him off on an altogether different +scent,” exclaimed Jean.</p> + +<p>“So did I. But it appears that his mother got on the +scent somehow, and betrayed me. I don’t know why +she did it, for she was over-anxious to be rid of the +children. But I suppose she was moved by an impulse +of spite or revenge. I heard Sam say he’d overhaul us +at Quincy, so I had good reason to change my route.”</p> + +<p>“You had a close call, Mrs. O’Dowd!” exclaimed +the Captain, earnestly. “I don’t know as he could +have put me in limbo for harboring you, but he could +have made it go hard with me for hiding the children. +I hate a law-breaker; but what is a fellow to do in +such a case?”</p> + +<p>“God has been merciful to me, Squire. I felt all along +that I would get away safe and sound.”</p> + +<p>“Wouldn’t God have done a better job to have saved +you in the first place?” asked the Captain, dryly.</p> + +<p>“How did you get money to pay your travelling expenses?” +asked Mary.</p> + +<p>“I’ve a confession to make to you and Mrs. Ranger, +Captain. Will you promise not to scold?”</p> + +<p>“I’ll know better what to promise after I’ve learned +the provocation. Don’t be afraid to tell the truth. Speak +out. Don’t mind the gals.”</p> + +<p>“I stole three hundred dollars—it was my own money—from +Mother O’Dowd,” she whispered. “It didn’t +seem so very wicked. She got my home without any +equivalent, you know.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, Sally! How could you?” asked Mrs. Ranger, +her cheeks blanching.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_78"></a>[78]</span></p> + +<p>“Do you think it was wicked to take my own money +and my own children, when I had the opportunity?”</p> + +<p>“It was a theft, certainly, under the law; and it is +always wrong to steal,” retorted Mrs. Ranger.</p> + +<p>“We must uphold the majesty of the law, if necessary, +at the muzzle of our guns!” said the Captain, loftily.</p> + +<p>“How about Dugs and her coon?” asked Jean, with +a silvery laugh.</p> + +<p>“That was different. Slavery, as I have often said +before, is wrong, and no contingency can make it right.”</p> + +<p>“You are making a distinction where there is no perceptible +difference, except in the matter of complexion,” +exclaimed Mrs. Ranger.</p> + +<p>“Did Dugs, the slave, have money?” asked Mrs. +O’Dowd.</p> + +<p>“Dugs hasn’t taken me into her confidence,” said the +Captain. “What in creation are we to do with you +all?”</p> + +<p>“There’ll be a way, John; don’t worry,” said his wife. +“‘Trust in the Lord and do good, and verily thou shalt +be fed.’”</p> + +<p>“Do you know,” said Sally, turning to the Captain, +“that the pretty little blonde in black, whom I see over +yonder, is a jewel? I met her on the street this morning, +on her way to the ferry, with her mother and her carriage +and wagons and drivers. I was getting desperate with +the fear that I couldn’t overtake you; and I knew there +was no time to be lost. So I told her my story. I may +have exaggerated somewhat, for I told her you had +agreed to take me and the babies to Oregon. I said I +had been detained (which was true) and I must overtake +you before you crossed the river. She didn’t wait +to ask a question, but bundled us all into her carriage +without a word.”</p> + +<p>“Didn’t I tell you you could trust my daddie?” asked +Jean, aside. “He’s a whole lot better than he thinks +he is.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_79"></a>[79]</span></p> + +<p>“Father thinks he is a stickler for the law,” said Mary, +with a chuckle.</p> + +<p class="tb">Indians came and went in great numbers around and +into the company’s first night’s camp on the plains, +sometimes growing insolent in their persistent demands +for food and articles of clothing, but on the whole peaceable +and friendly. Every man, woman, and child was +under orders to give them no cause for offence, the Captain +hoping, by example, to disarm hostility. But he soon +learned that this liberal policy brought hordes of beggars; +and the necessity of carefully guarding their freight was +made apparent the next morning, when they found their +breakfast supplies had been stolen, and with them the +cooking utensils. The Captain found it necessary to send +a messenger back to St. Joseph to purchase fresh supplies +before they could go on.</p> + +<p>The next day’s drive over the beautiful prairie was +without unusual incident. The roads were good, the soil +rich, and the undulating landscape perfect.</p> + +<p>“Lengthy and Sawed-off are bringing in a buffalo,” +cried Hal.</p> + +<p>“We had one yesterday,” said Mrs. Ranger. “The +game ought not to be slaughtered in this wasteful manner. +You ought to stop it, John.”</p> + +<p>“Men are still in a state of savagery,” replied her +husband.</p> + +<p>“The instinct to kill is as strong in us as it was in +the days of Agamemnon,” said Scotty.</p> + +<p>“Or the Cæsars,” exclaimed the little widow.</p> + +<p>“We’ll need this meat for food before we get to +Oregon,” said Mrs. Ranger, surveying the huge carcass +of the fallen monarch thoughtfully. “We must cut the +flesh into strips and dry it, Indian fashion, in the sun.”</p> + +<p>“But we can’t stop to dry it, Annie,” exclaimed her +husband.</p> + +<p>“We needn’t stop, John. We can get the men to cut<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_80"></a>[80]</span> +it into strips while in camp. Here is a ball of strong cord. +We can string the strips of meat on the cord and festoon +it along the outsides of the wagon covers.”</p> + +<p>“A woman is a born provider,” exclaimed Scotty. +“We men may take to ourselves the credit for the care +of women and children, but we’d soon be on the road to +starvation if it were not for the protecting care of the +mother sex, to help us out.”</p> + +<p>Mrs. Ranger, pleased with the praises of her family +and the teamster, sank back on her pillows and slept +fitfully.</p> + +<p>“It pays a mother to rear a family of loyal children,” +said Mrs. O’Dowd to Mrs. McAlpin, with whom she +had become quite intimate. “I’d rather be an honored +mother, like Mrs. Ranger, than be a Queen Elizabeth +or a Madame de Staël.”</p> + +<p class="tb">“I believe I’ll reconnoitre a little, Annie, if you don’t +mind,” said the Captain, after the camp was still. “I’d +like to study the lay o’ the land from the adjacent heights. +You won’t miss me?”</p> + +<p>“No, John. Or, I mean, I won’t mind it. You must +learn, sooner or later, to depend upon yourself for company, +my dear. And you’d better practise a little beforehand.”</p> + +<p>“What do you mean, Annie?”</p> + +<p>“Can’t you see that I’ll not be able to finish this +journey, John?”</p> + +<p>“Nonsense, Annie! Just be patient till we get to +Oregon. I mean to build you a pretty room, away from +the noise of the household, where you’ll enjoy the fruits +of your labors. I’ve hired Dugs to be your body-servant +during the remainder of your days.”</p> + +<p>“I’ll change her name, John. I’ll have nobody +around me that answers to the name of Dugs. It isn’t +a good name for a dog.”</p> + +<p>“What’ll you call her?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_81"></a>[81]</span></p> + +<p>“Susannah.”</p> + +<p>“What if she objects?”</p> + +<p>“She’s already agreed to the change, if it suits you +and the girls.”</p> + +<p>John Ranger laughed.</p> + +<p>“So-long!” he cried, and galloped away to a point +overlooking a bend in the river, where he loosened the +reins and allowed the mare to nibble the tender herbage, +which, tempted by the sunshine, was clothing the moist +earth in a covering of grass and buttercups.</p> + +<p>“O life,” he cried, “what a mystery you are! How +puny, yet how mighty! The living rain comes down +in silent majesty upon the sleeping earth; the living sunshine +melts the ice and snow; and the living earth, +awakening from her season of hibernation, answers back +to rain and sun with a power of reproduction that defies +the mighty law of gravitation, and sends outward and +up toward the living sky the living vegetation that sustains +the living man. O sky, all a-twinkle with your +myriads of stars, how inscrutable you are in your infinitude! +And how like a worm of the dust is man, who +has no power to hold in the precious body of even the +woman he loves the mystery of existence, of which Creation +is the only master!”</p> + +<p>Below him, so far away that it gleamed like a silver +ribbon in the starlight, ran the muddy Missouri, carrying +in its turbid waves the <i>débris</i> of the Mandan district, +and bearing on its troubled breast the throng of river +craft at whose little windows hundreds of lights were +twinkling, like diamonds on parade. Beyond gleamed the +moving steamers and their accompanying hosts of lesser +boats, now nestling close to the water’s edge, and now +climbing in irregular fashion toward the uplands at the +town of St. Joseph; and, far beyond, his mental eyes beheld +the homes of his own and his Annie’s beloved +parents.</p> + +<p>“I do wonder if it is really wrong for me to leave them<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_82"></a>[82]</span> +in their old age, and take Annie away also,” he said to +himself, half audibly, as he continued his gaze over the +dim expanse of silence that surrounded him on every +hand.</p> + +<p>There was no answer. He gave Sukie the rein and +bowed his head upon his hands, and wept. How long he +remained alone, absorbed in the mingled emotions that +possessed him, he did not know. He took no note of time, +and Sukie moved leisurely over the plain, daintily cropping +the tender grass.</p> + +<p>“I was ambitious, selfish, and exacting,” he exclaimed +at last, as a sharp gust of wind slapped him in the face. +“Annie doesn’t complain; but she is fading from my +sight. It is all my fault. If she could be happy, she would +soon be well. I wonder if I ought not to take her back +to her father and mother and her childhood’s home. +Everybody would laugh; but what should I care? Are +not the life and happiness of my wife worth more to me +than all the world’s approval?” Then, after a long +silence, he tightened the reins and said: “Come, Sukie; +let’s go back to camp. Right or wrong, I must go ahead. +I’ve burned my bridges behind me.”</p> + +<p>As he expected, Scotty was found sitting in the midst +of an audience at Mrs. McAlpin’s camp-fire. He was +discoursing on his travels in Egypt, and had collected +about him quite a crowd.</p> + +<p>“The earth is old, very, very old,” the teamster was +saying. He arose to make room for Captain Ranger, +as he passed the reins to Jean, who, with Mary and +Marjorie, had been an enraptured listener. “The comparative +topography of Central America and northern +Africa excites the liveliest speculation. When I was in +Darien, I found many features among the ruins abounding +in the jungles of the isthmus, strikingly similar to +those one sees in the land of the Pyramids. True, the +analogy is not always apparent, because the almost total +absence of rain in Egypt is exchanged for an almost total<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_83"></a>[83]</span> +lack of dry skies in Panama and Yucatan. Science scoffs +at my assumptions, because I cannot prove them; but +I’d bet a million if I had it, and wait for the fact to be +proven—as it surely will be some day—that there was +once a continuous continent between the homes of the +early Pharaohs and those of a prehistoric people who +inhabited the two Americas.”</p> + +<p>“I’ve often reached a similar conclusion myself when +visiting the prehistoric scenes of both hemispheres,” said +Mrs. McAlpin. “Sometime, not so very remote in the +history of the planet, there must have been a sudden and +awful cataclysm, such as might result from a change in +the inclination of the earth’s axis, of which history can +as yet give no authentic account.”</p> + +<p>“Then the fabled Atlantis may not be so much of a +fable, after all,” exclaimed Mary.</p> + +<p>“Do you suppose any of you know what you are talking +about?” asked Captain Ranger.</p> + +<p>“The world has scarcely yet begun to read the testimony +of the air, the earth, the water, and the rocks,—especially +of this Western Continent,” said Scotty, with +a respectful bow to his captain.</p> + +<p>“That’s true,” remarked Mrs. McAlpin, rising to end +the interview. “Travel in any direction broadens and +enlightens anybody who has eyes to see or ears to hear.”</p> + +<p>“Or a soul to think,” echoed Jean.</p> + +<p>“Say, Scotty, have you watered your steers?” asked +Captain Ranger, in a sarcastic tone.</p> + +<p>“By Jove! I forgot. Good-evening, ladies!” The +teamster turned away, crestfallen.</p> + +<p>“Excuse me, madam; I didn’t intend to be rude,” +said the Captain, as he paused to say good-night; “but +we’ve embarked on a journey in which theories must be +set aside for duties sometimes,—that is, if we’re ever +to see Oregon.”</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_84"></a>[84]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="XI">XI<br> +<span class="smaller"><i>MRS. McALPIN SEEKS ADVICE</i></span></h2> + +</div> + +<p>The next forenoon Captain Ranger rode up +alongside the carriage of Mrs. McAlpin and her +mother, in which Jean was posing as driver and +guest, and said: “I hope I gave you no offence in speaking +as I did to Mr. Burns last night.”</p> + +<p>“No offence at all, Captain. Don’t mention it; you +were simply discharging your duty. But”—and Mrs. +McAlpin hesitated a little—“would you mind exchanging +your mount with Jean for a little while? I am quite +sure she will enjoy a canter on the back of Sukie, and I +wish to counsel with you a little. I am sorry to impose +upon your good nature.”</p> + +<p>Mrs. Benson took little notice of the Captain or of her +daughter, but leaned back on the cushions, apparently +absorbed in a book.</p> + +<p>“I want your candid opinion,” said Mrs. McAlpin. +“Do you consider the marriage ceremony infallible? Is +it an unpardonable sin to break it, except for a nameless +reason? I have an object in asking this question that is +not born of mere curiosity.”</p> + +<p>“Nothing of human origin is infallible, madam; and, +for aught I can see to the contrary, nothing is infallible +anywhere.”</p> + +<p>“Do you believe it is better to break a bad bargain +than to keep it?”</p> + +<p>“That depends upon circumstances.”</p> + +<p>“Why do you evade my question?”</p> + +<p>“Because I can’t see what you’re driving at.”</p> + +<p>“Then I’ll come at once to the point. Suppose you +had been born a woman?”</p> + +<p>“That isn’t a supposable case.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_85"></a>[85]</span></p> + +<p>“But we’ll let it rest for the present as if it were. +Suppose you were born to be a woman,—we’ll put it +that way for the sake of illustration,—and suppose, +while you were yet a child, you had been married to a +man many years your senior—married just to please +somebody else—in defiance of your own judgment or +desires?”</p> + +<p>“Millions of women are married in that way every +year, madam. Look at India, at China, at Turkey, and +at many modern homes, even in England and America! +It would seem to be the exception and not the rule where +women get the husbands of their choice. I know it is +the fashion to pretend they do; for a woman has to become +desperately weary of her bargain before she’ll own +up honestly to a matrimonial mistake.”</p> + +<p>“But suppose one of those women had been yourself; +don’t you think if you had been so married in childhood, +that you would have rebelled openly as soon as you +reached the years of discretion?”</p> + +<p>“Nonsense, Daphne!” interrupted Mrs. Benson. “You +harp forever on a single string. Suppose you discuss the +weather, for a change.”</p> + +<p>“There are points on which my estimable mother +and myself do not agree,” said the daughter, with a sad +smile. “Don’t mind her, please. I have learned that +you are a wise and just man, and I am in need of advice. +What would you do if, although you had obeyed the +letter of the human law, you knew in your own soul that +your marriage was a sin?”</p> + +<p>“Don’t talk like that in my presence, Daphne! I cannot +bear it!” exclaimed her mother, petulantly.</p> + +<p>“When I left the States I hoped to get away from +everybody’s domestic troubles,” said the Captain, earnestly. +“Please don’t tell me about yours—if you have +any—unless it is in my power to assist you.”</p> + +<p>They had reached a narrow and rocky grade, where +careful driving was necessary to avoid disaster.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_86"></a>[86]</span></p> + +<p>“We must turn aside here, ladies,” the Captain exclaimed +suddenly, as he dexterously alighted and guided +the horses by the bits to the only point of advantage in +sight. “Cattle and horses ought never to be compelled +to travel together. You can’t hurry a steer except in a +stampede, and then Old Nick himself couldn’t stop +him.”</p> + +<p>“They remind me of more than one pair of mismated +bipeds I have met,” said Mrs. McAlpin.</p> + +<p>The Captain stood at the horses’ heads till the last of +the jolting and complaining wagons had safely passed +the perilous bit of roadway. Then, guiding the team +back to the road, he resumed his seat in the carriage, his +lips compressed like a trap.</p> + +<p>“Don’t you think Mr. Burns is a wonderful man?” +asked Mrs. McAlpin, in a desperate effort to rekindle a +conversation.</p> + +<p>“He’s a fellow of considerable genius in some ways, +but a mighty poor ox-driver.”</p> + +<p>“He reminds me of many a woman I have seen,” continued +Mrs. McAlpin, “who has failed to get fitted into +her proper niche. His mind isn’t fitted to his work. I +have seen women chained by circumstances to the kitchen +sink, the wash-tub, the churn-dash, and the ironing-board, +who never could make a success of any one of these lines +of effort, though they might have made excellent astronomers, +first-class architects, capable lawyers, good +preachers, capital teachers, or splendid financiers. It is +a pity to spoil a natural statesman or stateswoman to +make a poor ox-driver or an indifferent housekeeper.”</p> + +<p>“You seem to take great interest in Scotty,” remarked +the Captain.</p> + +<p>“I do. We have travelled extensively through the +same lands, though we had never met until our orbits +chanced to coincide on this journey. He has a retentive +memory, a wide experience, and a keen appreciation of +the beautiful, both in nature and art, and so have I. He<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_87"></a>[87]</span> +is as much out of place as an ox-driver as I should be +in a cotton-field. He’s a perfect mine of information, +though, about a lot of things.”</p> + +<p>“Then why not take counsel of him, instead o’ +me?”</p> + +<p>“He would hardly be a disinterested adviser.”</p> + +<p>“Ah, I see!”</p> + +<p>Mrs. McAlpin blushed. “He has not spoken to me +one word of love, Captain,—if that is what you mean. +I am not an eligible party,” and the lady used her handkerchief +to wipe away a tear. “I want your opinion +about getting a divorce from a union that I detested +long before I ever met Mr. Burns. It is unbearable +now.”</p> + +<p>“Hush, Daphne! Not another word,” interposed her +mother. “Strangers have no right to an insight into our +family affairs.”</p> + +<p>“But I must speak to somebody. Stay, Captain!” +laying her hand upon his arm as he was about to leave +the carriage.</p> + +<p>“Are you running away from your husband, madam?” +he asked, resuming his seat.</p> + +<p>“You guess correctly, sir.”</p> + +<p>“I suspected it all along; but it was none of my business +in the beginning, nor is it now. But I confess that +it looks as if I were making it my business to conduct a +caravan of grass widows to Oregon, judging from the +present aspect of affairs.”</p> + +<p>“To make a long story short,—for I see you are +growing restless,—I was married in my callow childhood, +married in obedience to my mother’s wish. She +was a widow and poor; my suitor was accomplished and +rich. If he’d been a sensible man he would have courted +and married my mother, who adores him. But old men +are such idiots! They’re always hunting young women, +or children, for wives.”</p> + +<p>“You’re complimentary.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_88"></a>[88]</span></p> + +<p>“Beg your pardon; present company is always excepted. +They imagine that young and silly girls will +make happy and contented wives,—when any person +not overcome by vanity knows that no young man or +young woman can be truly enamored of anybody that’s +in the sere and yellow leaf. What would you think of +a woman of mamma’s age, for instance, making love to +a boy? And if such a boy should consent to marry her, +who believes that he would be content with his bargain +after his beard was grown?”</p> + +<p>“Ask me something easy,” said the Captain.</p> + +<p>“My father was a physician; and it was my childhood’s +delight to study his books, attend his clinics, and +make myself generally useful among his patients. I +never dreamed of surrendering my person, my liberty, +my will, and the absolute control of my individuality to +the commands of any human being on earth except myself, +till after the deed was done for me by another. No +wonder I rebelled when I reached the years of maturity +and discretion.”</p> + +<p>“Mr. McAlpin was a good man and a gentleman, +Captain Ranger,” interrupted Mrs. Benson.</p> + +<p>“Yes, mamma; he was always ‘good.’ He never +whipped his wife; he gave her everything that money +could buy. There is no reason that the law can recognize +for me to be dissatisfied. But I don’t belong primarily +to myself, and I don’t like it. Mamma here, with +her ideas of woman’s place in life, would have made him +an excellent and happy wife.”</p> + +<p>“He was always a gentleman, Daphne,” repeated her +mother. “Don’t do him an injustice.”</p> + +<p>“Yes; and I was his personal and private property. +I was a beautiful animal, as he thought, to bedeck with +his trinkets and show off his wealth; but I was nobody +on my own account. I was simply his echo,—or supposed +to be,—and nothing else.”</p> + +<p>“Daphne, you forget that this carriage, these horses,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_89"></a>[89]</span> +our wagons and oxen, and the supplies for this journey +are all the product of his bounty.”</p> + +<p>“They are the product of my jewels, Captain. This +outfit is mine; it was bought with my own heart’s blood! +I owe nothing to Donald McAlpin.”</p> + +<p>“Do you think you have dealt justly by your husband?” +asked the Captain. There was reproof and impatience +in his tone.</p> + +<p>“I owe him nothing, sir. I am in the same line with +Dugs,—a runaway chattel. That is all.”</p> + +<p>“But Dugs, whose name now is Susannah, did not +enter into her bargain voluntarily.”</p> + +<p>“Neither did I. My mother made the bargain.”</p> + +<p>“How did you escape, Mrs. McAlpin? And why did +you undertake this journey?”</p> + +<p>“Mr. McAlpin was called away to England last year, +to inherit an additional estate. Mamma was too ill to +go, so I stayed to nurse her. I had been his body vassal +for four years, and was at last a woman grown. One +taste of liberty was enough. I will never be his vassal +again. I decided to make this very unusual journey to +elude pursuit. He’d not think of searching for me outside +of the United States or Canada; least of all in the +Great American Desert, whither we are bound. I mean +to lose myself for good and all in Oregon.”</p> + +<p>“And so now you are seeking a divorce?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, sir; that is, when I reach Oregon.”</p> + +<p>“Thousands of other women have borne far worse +conjugal conditions all their lives, and died, making no +outward sign, Mrs. McAlpin. Men also have their full +share of these afflictions, which they bear in silence to +the bitter end.”</p> + +<p>“That is their own affair, sir. If other people choose +to wear a ball and chain through life, that is their privilege. +I would not do their choosing for them if I +could.”</p> + +<p>“What course would you pursue if you had children?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_90"></a>[90]</span></p> + +<p>“Then I suppose I should be compelled to die with my +feet in the stocks. Children might have diverted my +mind and helped to save my sanity, though. I’ve prayed +for them without ceasing, but in vain. I’m going to a +remote country, a new country, where new environments +make newer and more plastic conditions. The +laws of men, one-sided as they are, will divorce me after +seven years.”</p> + +<p>“And what is Scotty going to do during all this +time?”</p> + +<p>“If he loves me as he thinks he does, he’ll wait. If +it’s only a passing fancy, he’ll get over it in time. I +will not permit his attentions now, nor until Donald +McAlpin divorces me and gets another wife.”</p> + +<p class="tb">Captain Ranger’s union with the gentle bride of his +choice had been so natural, and their lives together had +been so harmonious, despite their many cares and sorrows, +that neither of them had ever harbored a thought +of living apart from the other. Differences of opinion +they had sometimes, and now and then a brief, angry +dispute, but the end was always peace; and he remembered +now, with a pang of self-reproach, that in all such +encounters he, whether right or wrong, had invariably +gained his point.</p> + +<p>“You are my guiding star, my faithful wife,” he whispered, +as he gently assisted her from the wagon after +they had halted for the night. “Come with me, dear, +and get some exercise, while Sally and Susannah help +the other girls to get supper.”</p> + +<p>“I don’t see why we mightn’t end our journey here, +John,” said his wife, as they gazed abroad over the vast +expanse of table-land that stretched away on every side, +intersected here and there with streams, their courses +marked by stately rows of cottonwood just bursting into +leaf, their bases hedged with pussy-willows. “Here are +land and wood and water as good as any we passed<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_91"></a>[91]</span> +yesterday. This surely will be a rich and thickly settled +country some day.”</p> + +<p>“But it is all Indian country, my dear. I wish you +would talk about something else.”</p> + +<p>They returned to the camp in silence.</p> + +<p>“I wish the girls were as tractable as you are, Annie,” +he said an hour later, after having had a heated dispute +with his daughters over some trifling disagreement. +“They are as headstrong as mules.”</p> + +<p>“Being girls, they take after you, John,” replied his +wife, with a smile. “I’m afraid their husbands won’t +find them as tractable as I have been.”</p> + +<p class="tb">“Bring on more of your flapjacks and bacon, Miss +Mary,” cried Scotty, as Mary poised a big pile of the +steaming cakes over the heads of the hungry men who +knelt at the mess-boxes.</p> + +<p>“You seem to be regaining your lost appetite,” exclaimed +Sawed-off. “Have you and the widder cried +quits?”</p> + +<p>“That’s our business,” was the curt reply.</p> + +<p>It was late when Mary sought her mother’s couch for +a brief visit that night. She was weeping silently, and +her mother caressed her tenderly. “I know your heart +is troubled, darling,” said Mrs. Ranger, “but do not be +discouraged. Be of good cheer. Every cloud has a +silver lining.” And Mary’s heart was comforted, though +her reason could not tell her why.</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_92"></a>[92]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="XII">XII<br> +<span class="smaller"><i>JEAN BECOMES A WITNESS</i></span></h2> + +</div> + +<p>“How’s your journal getting on, Jean?” asked +her father, one evening, after all was still in +camp.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Ranger had been unusually nervous and timid +all day, and Susannah had been in constant attendance +upon the wagon-bed full of little ones,—seven in all,—who +had been more than usually unruly, fretful, and +quarrelsome.</p> + +<p>Jean looked ruefully at her father. “The pesky thing +isn’t getting along at all!” she exclaimed. “There’s +nothing to inspire one to write. There’s no grass for +the cattle, no wood for the fires, and no comfort +anywhere.”</p> + +<p>“Then write up the facts. Don’t allow yourself to get +morbid. Don’t be so listless and lackadaisical.”</p> + +<p class="tb">It was now the twentieth of May; and under this date, +in restive obedience to her father’s command, Jean began +her entries again:—</p> + +<p>“We came about eighteen miles to-day. And such a +day! It has been drizzly, disagreeable, and cold from +morning till night, with no cheery prospects ahead. We +hear of an epidemic of measles having broken out on the +road, endangering much life among children and such +grown folks as didn’t have sense enough to get the disgusting +disease before they left their mothers’ apron-strings. +We passed several newly made graves by the +roadside to-day,—a melancholy fact which interested +mother deeply.</p> + +<p>“Indians, for some reason, are keeping out of our +sight. As we are right in the midst of the summer<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_93"></a>[93]</span> +haunts of many tribes, we are shunned, possibly on +account of the contagious diseases among the whites, +which are said to kill off Indians as the Asiatic plague +kills Europeans. Our company has escaped the epidemic +so far; so there is one blessing for which we may be +thankful.</p> + +<p>“We forded a stream to-day, called the Little Sandy, +in the midst of a driving rainstorm, and are now encamped +in a deep, dry gulch; that is, we call it dry, +because the water runs away nearly as fast as it falls. +There is a fine spring on the hillside; and some green +cottonwood which we found at the head of the gulch is +being slowly coaxed into the semblance of a fire.</p> + +<p>“May 21. The skies cleared this morning, and we +have found some good grazing for the poor, half-famished +stock. We haven’t travelled over a dozen +miles, but we must stop and give the animals a feed. +We have passed extensive beds of iron ore to-day, outcroppings +of which are seen in every direction.</p> + +<p>“May 22. We yoked up early this morning and came +three miles, to the banks of the Big Sandy. The day is +clear, but the roads are still muddy after the rain. The +early morning was dark and foggy, the air was raw +and cold, and the outlook was cheerless in the extreme. +Some of the horses in a neighbor’s outfit stampeded, +and it has taken nearly the whole day to recapture +them.</p> + +<p>“May 23. We hear rumors of Indian raids ahead of +us, and mother is much alarmed. We must not stop for +Sunday, but must hurry on to get past the danger-point. +If the Indians knew how defenceless we really are, they +would rout the camp before morning.</p> + +<p>“The sluggish waters of the Big Sandy are swarming +with larvæ. Daddie says it’s lucky they’re not mosquitoes +yet; but the trains coming along a week hence will +be terribly annoyed by the intruders, who are now unable +to molest us.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_94"></a>[94]</span></p> + +<p>“May 24. We are following the Little Blue,—a +muddy stream about a hundred feet in width.</p> + +<p>“May 25. We met to-day a long train of heavily +loaded wagons coming from Fort Laramie with great +mountains of buffalo robes. At this rate, the buffalo +will all be killed off in a very few years. The frightened +creatures are now so wild that it is next to impossible to +get a shot at one of them; and the antelope are even more +timid. Why is man such a destructive animal, I wonder?</p> + +<p>“The men driving the freight-teams we met were a +mixed-up lot of Indians, Spaniards, and French and Indian +half-breeds. Their speech was to us an unintelligible +jargon in everything but its profanity, which was +English, straight. There was one white man in the +crowd, or maybe two of them. They were on horseback, +and kept aloof from the common herd. A peculiar apprehension +overcame me as I gazed at one of these +strangers. He was large, bronzed, and portly, and sat +his horse like a centaur; or perhaps I should come +nearer the truth if I said like an Englishman. My heart +beat a strange tattoo as I watched him. Somehow, it +seemed to me that he was in some way concerned with +some of our company. I did not understand the feeling, +but it wasn’t comfortable.”</p> + +<p>“There, daddie!” she cried, exhibiting the written +pages. “Don’t say I’m neglecting my journal now!”</p> + +<p class="tb">The twilight had deepened. Below the camp ran a +deep ravine, at the base of which a little brook sang +merrily. Clumps of cottonwood, badly crippled by wayfarers’ +axes, struggled for existence here and there. In +her haste to reach the covert of the bushes unobserved, +Jean ran diagonally over a settlement of prairie dogs, +near which the campers had inadvertently pitched their +tents. The Lilliputian municipality was evidently well +disciplined, for at the sound of approaching footsteps +the same sharp, staccato bark, of mingled warning and<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_95"></a>[95]</span> +authority, that had for an instant startled the foremost +team at camping-time, was heard, and every little rodent +dropped instantly out of sight. Profound silence fell at +once upon the little city, which had before been a bedlam +of voices.</p> + +<p>Jean reached the foot of the ravine and stopped to +listen, her heart beating hard. “I am sure Sally made +an appointment to meet somebody in this ravine to-night,” +she said to herself, “and I’m just as sure she’ll need a +friend. Women are such fools where men are concerned.” +She heard the sound of human voices, and pressed her +hand hard over her heart.</p> + +<p>“I know you think you’re safe from arrest,” said a +voice she knew to be Sally O’Dowd’s. “As your wife, +I may not be able to give legal testimony that will send +you to the gallows; but you’re not beyond the pale of +lynch law.”</p> + +<p>A mocking laugh was the only audible response.</p> + +<p>“I haven’t even told the Squire,” resumed the woman’s +voice. “Nobody knows about it but you and me and the +unseen messengers of God.”</p> + +<p>Again that mocking, brutal laugh, followed by oaths, +with words of commingled anger and exultation. Jean +held her breath.</p> + +<p>“S’posing you could testify,—which you can’t, for +that divorce is tied up on appeal,— my oath would be +as binding as yours, Mrs. O’Dowd. And I would swear +to God that it was you did the deed. It would be easy +enough to make any court believe my story, for it was +common talk that you rebelled all the time against such +a litter of babies.”</p> + +<p>“O God, have mercy!”</p> + +<p>“Nobody saw me kill the brat but you, Sally. It +would have been bad enough if the young ones had come +one at a time, being only a year apart; but when it came +to two pairs of twins inside o’ thirteen months, it was +time to call a halt.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_96"></a>[96]</span></p> + +<p>“Are you never to have any mercy on me, Sam?”</p> + +<p>“Come back to me as my lawful wife, and you’ll see. +I’ll be easy enough to get along with if you’ll treat me +right.”</p> + +<p>The wife was struck dumb with astonishment.</p> + +<p>“Come back to me, darling!” The mocking tone gave +way to one of cooing tenderness. Jean saw his dusky +figure through the shadows. “You see you’re in my +power, Sally. Better make a virtue of necessity. You +can coax the Squire to let me join his train. I will +even be a teamster, if necessary, for your sake and the +children’s.”</p> + +<p>“What?” cried the woman, in sincere alarm. “Could +I be your wife after I’ve seen you kill one of our children +before my very eyes? No, no! Go your way, and +let me go mine in peace. If you will leave me and the +three surviving babies alone, I’ll never tell anybody about +the murder. I swear it!”</p> + +<p>Again that brutal laugh.</p> + +<p>“Do your worst, Sally O’Dowd! You can’t prove +that I killed the brat. You haven’t any witness.”</p> + +<p>“I have the silent witness of my own conscience; +and so have you, Sam O’Dowd. Do you think that +I am such an idiot as to come out here to meet you +alone?”</p> + +<p>“She knows he’s a coward,” thought Jean, “and she’s +bluffing.”</p> + +<p>“Now see here, Sally! You love me; you know you +do; you’ve told me so a thousand times.”</p> + +<p>“I did love you once, Sam; but that was so long ago +that it seems like a far-off dream. I despise, I loathe, I +abhor you now!”</p> + +<p>“Then this’ll settle it. I’ll go to the Squire and tell +him we’ve buried the hatchet, and I’m going with you +to Oregon. I don’t care a rap whether you hate me or +not. But if you give me any trouble, I’ll swear that you +did that killing.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_97"></a>[97]</span></p> + +<p>“Oh, help me, pitying Christ!” wailed the unhappy +woman. “Is there, in all this world, no Canada to which +a fugitive wife may flee, and no underground railroad +by which to reach it?”.</p> + +<p>Again arose that brutal laugh upon the air. The belated +bird in the bushes cooed to its mate, and the prairie +dogs chattered in the distance.</p> + +<p>“Don’t be afraid of him, Sally,” cried a clear voice +from the depths of the cottonwoods. “A tyrant is +always a coward. I heard your confession, Sam +O’Dowd; and as I am not your wife, I can be a +witness.”</p> + +<p>There was no more brutal laughter. A horse stood +picketed and stamping at the head of the gulch, and the +murderer hurried toward it with heavy strides. Jean +listened with eager attention till he mounted and rode +rapidly away.</p> + +<p>“Are you still there, Sally?” she asked, as the hoof-beats +died away in the distance.</p> + +<p>“Yes, Jean; but where are you, and why are you +here?”</p> + +<p>“The Holy Spirit guided me, I reckon. I was just +possessed to come. I didn’t know I was following you, +or why I came; but I just did it ’cause I had to.”</p> + +<p>“It was hazardous, Jean. He might have killed us +both.”</p> + +<p>“He’s too big a coward to kill a more formidable foe +than his own baby. But you were an idiot to meet him +out here, Sally.”</p> + +<p>“He was with that freighters’ outfit, but on horseback. +He came to me a few minutes before camping-time, when +I was walking for exercise. I didn’t want a scene at +camp, so I agreed to meet him out here alone, if he +would keep out of sight.”</p> + +<p>“You’re a bigger fool than Thompson’s colt, and he +swam the river to get a drink,” said Jean. “But we +mustn’t linger here. He may have a confederate.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_98"></a>[98]</span></p> + +<p>“Not he, Jean. He’s too suspicious to trust a +confederate.”</p> + +<p>“Let’s go back to camp, anyhow, Sally; mother will +be missing us. But you needn’t be afraid of Sam again. +I’ve settled his hash,” she said, as they hurried to the +open. “Isn’t it a terrible thing to be married?” she +added, as soon as she could speak again.</p> + +<p>“No, Jean. Marriage under right conditions is the +world’s greatest blessing. All enlightened men and +women prefer to live in pairs, and make each other and +their children as happy as possible. I admit that I made +a big mistake when I married; but your mother didn’t, +because your father is one of God’s noblemen. The +fault isn’t in marriage, but in the couple, one or both +of whom make the trouble, when there is trouble. But +the conditions between husbands and wives are not equal. +Law and usage make the husband and wife one, and +the husband that one. Where both the parties to the +compact are better than the law, it doesn’t pinch either +one; but when a woman finds herself chained for life to +a sordid, disagreeable, stingy, domineering man, the advantages +of law and custom are all on his side. It is +no wonder that trouble ensues in such cases.”</p> + +<p>“But, young as I am, I have seen wives that could +discount almost any man for meanness,” said Jean. +“There are women, now and then, who take all the +rights in the matrimonial category, and their husbands +haven’t any rights at all.”</p> + +<p>“Women sometimes inherit the strongest traits of +their fathers; I admit that. And such women can outwit +the very best husbands.”</p> + +<p>“I’ve read of a woman,” said Jean, musingly, +“Elizabeth Cady Stanton by name, who went before +a legislative assembly in New York a few years ago, +and secured the passage of a law enabling a married +woman of that State to hold, in her own right, the +property bequeathed to her by her father. And then,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_99"></a>[99]</span> +as if to prove that women are idiots, there were women +in Albany who refused to associate with their financial +savior any more. They said she had left her sphere. +But never mind. The world is moving, and women are +moving with it.”</p> + +<p>The camp-fires had died to heaps of embers, the lights +were out in the tents and wagons, and all except themselves +were settled for the night.</p> + +<p>“Don’t say anything to anybody about my meeting +with Sam, will you, Jean?”</p> + +<p>“Not unless he annoys you again. Then I’ll be ready +to meet him with facts.”</p> + +<p>“He might put your life in jeopardy, my dear.”</p> + +<p>“Jeopardy nothin’!” cried Jean, adopting the slang +of the road. “He’s too big a coward to put his neck +in danger. But just you wait! I’ll live to see an end +to one-sided laws and a one-sexed government. See if +I don’t! And the men will fight our battle for us, too, +as soon as they are wise enough.”</p> + +<p>“If you don’t come across a matrimonial fate that’ll +change your tune, my name isn’t Sally O’Dowd,” exclaimed +her companion, as they drew near the camp.</p> + +<p>“Your name isn’t O’Dowd, but Danover,” cried +Jean. “You’re safe in making such a prophecy on such +a basis.”</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="XIII">XIII<br> +<span class="smaller"><i>AN APPROACHING STORM</i></span></h2> + +</div> + +<p>“We came eighteen miles to-day,” wrote Jean, +under date of May 28, “and halted for the +night opposite Grand Island, in the Platte +River, where we find both wood and pasture. All day +we floundered through the muddy roads, occasionally +getting almost swamped in heavy and treacherous bogs,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_100"></a>[100]</span> +with ‘water, water everywhere, nor any drop to drink.’ +I’m too tired to write, and too sleepy to think.”</p> + +<p>On the evening of May 29 she added: “We started +early, and reached Fort Kearney after eight miles of +heavy wheeling, where we halted to write letters for the +folks at home, and examine many things quaint and +crude and curious. The old fort is weather-worn, and +a general air of dilapidation pervades its very atmosphere. +There are two substantial dwellings for the officers, +though; and they (I mean the officers) keep up a +show of military pomp, very amusing to us, but quite +necessary to maintain in an Indian country, to hold the +savage instinct in check. The officers were very gracious +to daddie, and very kind and condescending to the rest +of us. They made us a present of some mounted buffalo-horns, +some elks’ antlers, and the stuffed head of a +mountain sheep, all of which, mother says, we’ll be glad +to leave at the roadside before the weary oxen haul them +very far.</p> + +<p>“A week ago a party passed us, going westward with +a four-wheeled wagon, two yokes of discouraged oxen, +two anxious-looking men, two dispirited women, and +about fourteen snub-nosed, shaggy-headed children. On +their wagon-cover was a sign, done in yellow ochre, which +read: ‘Oregon or bust!’ To-day we met the same outfit +coming back, and no description from my unpractised +pen can do it justice. The party, doubtless from over-crowding, +had quarrelled; and the two families had +settled their dispute by dividing the wagon into two parts +of two wheels each. On the divided and dilapidated cover +of each cart were smeared in yellow ochre the words, +‘Busted, by thunder!’</p> + +<p>“May 30. We forded the Platte to-day. It is a +broad, lazy, milky sheet of silt-thickened water, with a +quicksand bottom. It is about two miles wide at this +season of the year at the ford, and is three feet deep.</p> + +<p>“The day was as hot as a furnace, and the sunshine<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_101"></a>[101]</span> +burned us like blisters of Spanish flies. Our wagon-beds +were hoisted to the tops of their standards to keep +them from taking water, and at a given signal from +daddie, they were all plunged pell-mell into the quicksand, +over which teams, drivers, wagons, and all were +compelled to move quickly to avoid catastrophe.</p> + +<p>“Poor dear mother suffered from constant nervous +fear because of the quicksand and the danger that some +of the children might be drowned. It took us two and +a half hours to ford the stream; but we reached the opposite +bank without accident, and camped near an old +buffalo wallow, where we get clearer water than that of +the Platte, but we are not allowed to drink it till it has +been boiled. Cholera has broken out in the trains both +before and behind us; and daddie lays our escape from +attack thus far to drinking boiled water. We have no +fuel but buffalo chips, and almost no grass for the poor +stock. The game has disappeared altogether, and the +fishes in the Platte don’t bite. But we have plenty of +beans and bacon, coffee, flour, and dried apples; so we +shall not starve.</p> + +<p>“June 1. The day has been intensely hot. The stifling +air shimmers, and the parched earth glitters as it bakes +in the sun. The mud has changed to a fine, impalpable +dust, and the loaded air is too oppressive to breathe, if +it could be avoided. We passed a number of newly made +graves during the day. We meet returning teams every +day that have given up the journey as a bad job. Daddie +often says he’d die before he’d retrace his tracks, and +then he wouldn’t do it! We found at sundown, just as +we were losing hope, a bountiful spring of clear, cold +water, beside which we have halted for the night.</p> + +<p>“June 3. Another insufferably hot day. But we encountered +at nightfall a stiff west wind, which soon arose +to a gale, in the teeth of which we with difficulty made +camp and cooked our food. Heavy clouds blacken the +sky as I write, and vivid flashes of sheet lightning, which<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_102"></a>[102]</span> +blind us for a moment, are followed by thunder that +startles and stuns.</p> + +<p>“June 4. The storm passed to the south of us, on +the other side of the Platte. But daddie has ordered the +tents and wagons staked to the ground hereafter every +night, as long as we are travelling in these treeless, unsheltered +bottom-lands, as he says we would have been +swept away <i>en masse</i> into the river if last night’s storm +had squarely struck our camp.”</p> + +<p>The hoods of the wagons, so white and clean at the +outset, were now of an ashen hue, disfigured by spots of +grease, and askew in many places from damage to their +supporting arches of hickory bows. Heavy log-chains, +for use in possible emergencies, dangled between axles, +and the inevitable tar-bucket rode adjacent on a creaking +hook, from which it hung suspended by a complaining +iron bail.</p> + +<p class="tb">“The incessant heat by day, followed by the chilly air +of night, is perilous to health, John,” said Mrs. Ranger, +one evening, as she lay wrapped in blankets in the big +family wagon, watching the usual preparations for the +evening meal.</p> + +<p>He gazed into her pinched, white face with sudden +apprehension.</p> + +<p>“Don’t be afraid of the cholera, dear,” he said tenderly. +“I understand the nature of the epidemic, and I +don’t fear it at all. Cholera is a filth disease, and we +are guarding against it at every point. Your blood is +pure, darling. There’s nothing the matter with you but +a little debility, the result of past years of overwork. +Time and rest and change of climate will cure all that. +No uncooked food or unboiled water is used by any of +us, and no cold victuals are allowed to be eaten after +long exposure to this pernicious, cholera-laden air. You +can’t get the germs of cholera unless you eat or drink +them.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_103"></a>[103]</span></p> + +<p>That Captain Ranger should have thus imbibed the +germ theory of cholera long in advance of its discovery +by medical schools, is only another proof that there is +nothing new under the sun. A newer system of medical +treatment than that of the Allopathic School, styled the +Eclectic by its founders, had come into vogue before his +departure from the States.</p> + +<p>Many different decoctions of fiery liquid, of which +capsicum was supposed to be the base,—conspicuous +among them a compound called “Number Six,”—proved +efficacious in effecting many cures in the early +stages of cholera; and the contents of Captain Ranger’s +medicine chest were in steady demand long after his +supplies for general distribution had been exhausted.</p> + +<p class="tb">“Can you imagine what this wild-goose chase of ours +is for?” asked Mrs. Benson.</p> + +<p>“I undertook it to gratify my good husband,” was +Mrs. Ranger’s prompt reply.</p> + +<p>“And I to gratify my daughter.”</p> + +<p>“Excuse me, ladies; but I came along to please myself,” +interposed Mrs. O’Dowd.</p> + +<p>“I, too, came to please myself,” cried Jean; “that is, +I made a virtue of necessity, and compelled myself to be +pleased. There are two things that mother says we must +never fret about: one is what we can, and the other +what we cannot, help. Every human being belongs primarily +to himself or herself, and to satisfy one’s self is +sure to please somebody.”</p> + +<p>“But a married couple belong, secondarily, at least, +to each other,” said Mrs. Ranger. “No couple can pull +in double and single harness at the same time.”</p> + +<p>“Some day,” said Mrs. Benson, “it will become the +fashion to read your journal, Jean; and then the dear +public will both praise and pity our unsophisticated Captain, +who led these hapless emigrants out on these plains +to die.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_104"></a>[104]</span></p> + +<p>“That’s so, Mrs. Benson,” exclaimed Jean; “and +they won’t see that it’s all a part of the eternal programme. +Evolution is the order of nature, and one +generation of human beings is a very small fraction +of the race at large.”</p> + +<p>“Haven’t you gossiped long enough, mamma?” asked +Mrs. McAlpin, petulantly. “Your supper is ready and +waiting. What has detained you so long?”</p> + +<p>“I was listening to the chat of the Ranger family. +They are an uncommon lot; very clever and original.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, mamma; they talk like oracles. A little brusque +and unpolished, but that will be outgrown in time. You’re +looking splendid, mamma! The society of your neighbors +is a tonic. You must take it often.”</p> + +<p>“I wish we might all stop here, Daphne.”</p> + +<p>“We’ve no more right to these lands of the Indians +than we have to—”</p> + +<p>“Oregon,” interrupted her mother. “Oregon was +Indian territory originally.”</p> + +<p>Jean approached with a plate of hot cakes, saying: +“I fell to thinking so deeply over the problems we had +been talking about that I forgot what I was doing, and +baked too many cakes. They’re sweet and light, and +we hope you’ll like them.”</p> + +<p>“Thank you ever so much, Miss Jean!” said Mrs. +McAlpin. “I congratulate you with all my heart upon +the way you cheer your mother, my dear. You are a +jewel of the first water!”</p> + +<p>“We all try to keep mother in good spirits,” replied +Jean. “Dear soul! she’s weak and nervous; and what +seem trifles to us often appear like mountains to her. +Never can I forget, to my dying day, the look of terror +that came into her gentle eyes when we were crossing +the Platte that day in the quicksands. The raised wagon-bed +had tilted, for some cause. I suppose the weight of +so many of us was not evenly distributed; and we should +all have been pitched into the water if it had not been that<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_105"></a>[105]</span> +dear mother hustled us to the other side. She forgot her +own danger in her effort to save the children, giving her +orders like a sea captain in a storm. Each of us grabbed +a baby,—Susannah’s coon fell to my lot,—and we +clung like death to the upper edge of the wagon-bed till +the danger was over, and the great lopsided thing settled +back to its place.</p> + +<p>“But I must go now. Daddie’s calling me to write +up that pestilent old journal!”</p> + +<p class="tb">On the evening of the 4th of June, the train had its +first encounter with a blizzard.</p> + +<p>Captain Ranger, seeing the approach of the storm, as +did the cattle and horses, ordered a sudden halt a little +way from the banks of the Platte. The day, like a number +of its predecessors, had been oppressively hot; but +about five o’clock a sudden squall came up, though not +without premonitory warning in the way of a calm so +dead that not a blade of grass was quivering. The +wagon-hoods flapped idly, like sails becalmed in the +tropics. Suddenly the air grew icy cold, bringing at +first a moment of relief to suffocating man and beast.</p> + +<p>“Gather your buffalo chips in a hurry,” exclaimed the +Captain, addressing the girls. “Get ’em under cover in +the tents, under the wagon-beds; anywhere so they’ll +keep dry. Turn out the stock in a jiffy, boys. Head +’em away from the river. Drive ’em up yonder gulch. +Be on the alert, everybody!”</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_106"></a>[106]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="XIV">XIV<br> +<span class="smaller"><i>A CAMP IN CONSTERNATION</i></span></h2> + +</div> + +<p>“Stake down the wagons,” was the next order. +“Don’t stop to pitch any more tents. Don’t try +to kindle any fires.”</p> + +<p>Scarcely had the orders been obeyed before a darkness +as black as Erebus had settled upon the camp like +a gigantic pall. It was a peculiar darkness, permeated by +an ominous, silent, intangible, vibrating, appalling Something! +A silence that could be felt was in the air. The +oxen in the gulch bellowed in terror; the horses neighed. +The stillness of the air was oppressive, portentous, awful. +The women clasped the children in close embrace. The +children clung to their protectors in silent terror. All +hands save the teamsters, who were out with the stock +at the mouth of the ravine, where they were stationed to +guard the animals against stampede, crouched under the +wagons in the Cimmerian blackness. Anon, a blinding +flash of sheet lightning, followed by others and yet others +in bewildering succession, awoke a rolling, roaring, reverberating +cannonade of thunder. Guided by the flashes +of lightning, the frightened men left the cattle to their +fate and, returning to the camp, took refuge under the +wagons. Hailstones as big as hens’ eggs fell by hundreds +of tons, displacing the awful silence with a cannonade +like unto the heaviest artillery of a great army in +battle.</p> + +<p>The wind blew a terrific gale. The chained wagons +rocked like cradles. Several heavy vehicles in a neighboring +train, not being chained to the ground, as the +Ranger wagons had been, were upset and their contents +ruined by the hail and rain. Others were blown bodily +into the river. Luckily no lives were lost. The cattle and<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_107"></a>[107]</span> +horses, pelted by the hail till their bodies were bruised +and bleeding, huddled together at the head of the gulch +for mutual protection.</p> + +<p>The storm lasted less than twenty minutes, and ceased +as suddenly as it began. The black clouds soared away +to the northward, leaving a blue starlit sky overhead, +and underfoot a mass of hail and mud. The Platte, +having caught the full fury of a cloud-burst a few miles +above the camp, rose rapidly, threatening the frightened +refugees in the wagons with a new danger. But the +shallow banks were high enough to confine the mad +rush of muddy water within an inch or two of the top, +thus averting the horror of a flood which, had it come, +would have completed the havoc of the storm.</p> + +<p>The lightning, as though weary of its display of power, +retreated to the distant hills, and played at hide-and-seek +on the horizon’s edge, while Heaven’s Gatling guns answered +each pyrotechnic display with a distant, growling, +intermittent roar.</p> + +<p>Mrs. McAlpin’s carriage was a total wreck; but her +wagons remained intact, and she and her mother escaped +to them in safety.</p> + +<p>The morning revealed a scene of desolation. The +earth in all directions as far as the eye could see had +been torn into gulleys by the mad rush of falling hail +and rain, each seeking its level in frantic haste. Hailstones +lay in heaps, some soiled by contact with the +liquid mud, some as clean and white as freshly fallen +snow.</p> + +<p>The contents of Mrs. McAlpin’s carriage were entirely +gone. Nothing remained of the vehicle but one of its +wheels and some shreds of its cover, which were found +half buried in the mud. Of the harness, nothing was left +but a bridle bit, in which was lodged a woman’s glove, +and near it the remains of a palm-leaf fan.</p> + +<p>“We should all be thankful that no lives were lost,” +said Mrs. Ranger, who was looking on while Sally<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_108"></a>[108]</span> +O’Dowd and Susannah assisted her daughters, who, with +Mrs. Benson and Mrs. McAlpin, were exposing the wet +and dilapidated paraphernalia of the camp to the hot rays +of the morning sun.</p> + +<p>“But we’d have a heap mo’ to thank Gahd fo’, missus, +if He’d hel’ off dat stawm,” exclaimed Susannah, with +a characteristic “yah! yah! yah!”</p> + +<p>At eleven o’clock the order was given to bring in the +stock, and prepare to move on, when it was discovered +that Scotty was missing.</p> + +<p>“We s’posed he was helpin’ Mrs. McAlpin’s men, as +he generally does, to get her things to rights, so we +didn’t bother our heads about him,” said Sawed-off, who +was Scotty’s partner of the whip and yoke. “I’ve been +doing the most of his share of the work ever since we’ve +been on the road.”</p> + +<p>Scotty was nowhere to be found. An organized search +was begun at once, and all thought of moving on was abandoned +till the Captain should learn his fate. The cattle +and horses were turned out on the range for another +badly needed half-holiday. Through all the remainder +of the day the anxious quest continued. Mrs. McAlpin +was as pale as death. Her sombre weeds, worn for no +known reason, formed a fitting frame for her pinched +and anxious face and bright, abundant hair. Her mother +was visibly agitated. Mrs. Ranger lay on her feather +bed all through the trying afternoon, her eyes closed +and her lips moving as if in prayer.</p> + +<p>“Night again, and no Scotty!” exclaimed Captain +Ranger, his voice husky with feeling. As no trace of +the man had been discovered, the organized search was +called off.</p> + +<p>“Scotty’s death was one of the freaks of the flood,” +said Hal.</p> + +<p>“None of you ever did Scotty justice,” exclaimed +Mary, as she descended upon the party with a heaped +plate of their staple food.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_109"></a>[109]</span></p> + +<p>“That’s what,” echoed Jean, as she brought on the +beans and bacon.</p> + +<p>“Scotty knew more in a minute than half of us can +ever learn,” cried Marjorie, with whom he was a favorite.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” said the Captain, dryly. “He’s a genius, +Scotty is! He’ll turn up presently. Doubtless he’s off +somewhere studying a new stratum of storm-clouds. He +has killed two of my leaders already by making them +start the whole load while his mind was on the incomprehensible +and unknowable in nature. But I’ll wager he +knows enough to look out for himself in a crisis.”</p> + +<p>“He was a whole mine of information about other +things, if he didn’t know much about driving oxen,” +sobbed Jean.</p> + +<p>“He isn’t dead!” exclaimed Mrs. McAlpin. “I mean +to continue the search myself to-night.”</p> + +<p>“You’ll get caught by a panther!” cried Bobbie. “I +haven’t seen ’em, but I know they’re there!”</p> + +<p>“Where, Bobbie?” asked Marjorie.</p> + +<p>“Up in the gulch. I can see ’em with my eyes shut!” +and the child, not understanding the laugh that followed +at his expense, hastened to the wagon where his mother +lay, to receive the consolation that never failed him.</p> + +<p class="tb">“It won’t be against the laws of God or man for me +to love Rollin if he is dead,” said Mrs. McAlpin to herself, +as she crept shivering from her retreat in her wagon to +the ground. Throwing a shawl over her head, she hastened +out in the direction in which Scotty was hurrying +when she had last seen him. The cattle, quite satisfied +from the unusual effects of a day’s rest and a full meal, +chewed their cuds quietly, or lay asleep in the best sheltered +spots they could command, breathing heavily. She +wandered fearlessly among them, calling frequently for +the lost man, but received no response save an occasional +“moo” from an awakened cow, or a friendly neigh from +Sukie, who was tethered near.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_110"></a>[110]</span></p> + +<p>The morning star rose in the clear blue of the bending +sky as her search went on, and she knew that the long +June day was breaking. Flowers of every hue, newly +born from the convulsions of the recent storm, smiled at +her in their dewy fragrance; and in the branches of a +crippled cottonwood a robin began his matin song. A +meadow lark, disturbed in its languorous wooing by the +lone watcher’s footsteps, soared upward in the crystal +ether, sending back, when out of her sight, a swelling +note of triumph, prolonged, triumphant, sweet.</p> + +<p>“Rollin! Rollin Burns!” she called, repeating the +name in every note of the scale.</p> + +<p>At length a long, low moan startled her. She listened +eagerly for a moment, and repeated her call. Whence had +come that moan? There was no repetition of the sound. +She spoke again, calling the name in a higher key.</p> + +<p>Another moan—it might have been an echo from the +canyon’s walls—came, more distinct than the first, but +the echoing gulch gave no indication of its location.</p> + +<p>“Call again, Rollin! It is I,—your own Daphne!”</p> + +<p>“Is it indeed you, Daphne?”</p> + +<p>She pinched herself to see if she was really awake. +She had never heard her Christian name spoken by +Burns before. The name sounded strangely sweet in +the breaking twilight, and in spite of her apprehension +and uncertainty her soul was glad.</p> + +<p>“Call again, Rollin! Help is near.”</p> + +<p>“Come this way, Daphne! I am in a cave, almost under +your feet. A bowlder that I stepped upon rolled over, +loosened by the storm, and let me through into the bowels +of the earth. My leg is broken. I must have been unconscious. +I have swooned or slept, or both. Be careful +how you tread. There are badgers in this hole, and +I have heard rattlesnakes.”</p> + +<p>“Which way, Rollin? Where are you?”</p> + +<p>The sound of his voice seemed to come from beneath +her feet.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_111"></a>[111]</span></p> + +<p>“Is the storm over?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, long ago. It’s been over for thirty-six hours. +But I can’t locate you.”</p> + +<p>“Here, I tell you! Under this rock. If it had fallen +directly on me, I should have been a goner. For God’s +sake, be careful, or you’ll break your own dear neck! +Don’t get excited. Run for help, and don’t stir up the +rattlesnakes.”</p> + +<p>The injured man had fallen at first by the turning of +the rock, as he had stated, giving his leg a twist that broke +it, and, by the turning of his body in falling farther, +had overturned the bowlder again, and thus was held a +prisoner.</p> + +<p>Mrs. McAlpin peered into a narrow aperture through +which the coming daylight had entered. Their eyes met.</p> + +<p>“Daphne!”</p> + +<p>“Rollin!”</p> + +<p>“So near and yet so far!” cried the prisoner, as he +struggled to free himself. A spasm of pain overspread +his face, and a dew, like the death damp, settled on his +hair and forehead.</p> + +<p>“O God! he has fainted again!” she cried, running +with all her might and screaming for help.</p> + +<p>“What in thunder is the matter now?” exclaimed Captain +Ranger, as he emerged, half dressed, from his tent.</p> + +<p>“I’ve found Rollin! He’s imprisoned in a cave, +with a broken leg! Fetch spades and a mattock to dig +away the dirt from the rock! Be quick!” cried Mrs. +McAlpin, leading the way.</p> + +<p>Nobody heard the robins sing, or paused to enjoy the +triumphant melody of the lark.</p> + +<p>Scotty was still in a merciful swoon. Very carefully +the men loosened the rock from its hold on his legs, and +with their united strength rolled it away from the mouth +of the cave.</p> + +<p>“It’s damned lucky you are, old boy!” cried Yank, +as the crippled man regained consciousness. “That rock<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_112"></a>[112]</span> +would have crushed you to pulp if the walls of the cave +hadn’t saved you.”</p> + +<p>“A miss would have been as good as a mile!” replied +Scotty, as he fainted again.</p> + +<p>“Who’s going to set these bones?” asked Sawed-off. +“It’s a bad fracture, compound and nasty. There’s no +severed artery, though, which is lucky, or he’d ’a’ bled +to death. Captain Ranger, did you ever set a broken +bone?”</p> + +<p>“Never.”</p> + +<p>“I’ll do it,” exclaimed Mrs. McAlpin. “Cut away his +boot. Bring a cot from the camp. Bring some adhesive +plaster. Captain, can you make some splints? Stay! I’ll +cut away the boot. There! Steady! Slow! If we can +set the bones before he recovers consciousness, so much +the better.”</p> + +<p>The cot with its unconscious burden was carried to the +side of the widow’s wagon.</p> + +<p>“Bring water and more bandages, girls.”</p> + +<p>“Where did you get your skill?” asked the Captain, +as Mrs. McAlpin felt cautiously for the broken bones +and deftly snapped them into place.</p> + +<p>“It isn’t a very bad fracture,” she said, unheeding the +question, as she held the bones together while the orders +for splints and bandages were being obeyed.</p> + +<p>“Some water, quick, and some brandy!” she said in a +firm voice, though her cheeks were blanching. She held +stoutly to her work till the limb was securely encased in +the proper supports. But when her patient recovered consciousness +and looked inquiringly into her eyes, she fell, +fainting, into the Captain’s arms, and was carried to his +family wagon, her eyelids twitching and her muscles +limp. When she recovered, she found herself reclining +in the wagon beside Mrs. Ranger, who was gently chafing +her face and hands.</p> + +<p>“All this has been too much for you, dearie,” said the +good woman.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_113"></a>[113]</span></p> + +<p>“Where’s Rollin?”</p> + +<p>“In your mother’s wagon. We have rigged him up a +swinging bed, and Mrs. Benson will see that he wants for +nothing. You are to ride here, in the big wagon, with +me.”</p> + +<p>“You have no room for me in here. You and I, and +Mary and Jean, and Marjorie and Bobbie, and Sadie +and the baby and Sally, and the three little O’Dowds, and +Susannah and George Washington can’t all ride and sleep +in this narrow space. We’d offend the open-air ordinances +of heaven.”</p> + +<p>“It is all arranged, my dear; don’t worry. Our overflow +has gone to another wagon. We’ll have plenty of +room.”</p> + +<p>“But Mr. Burns?”</p> + +<p>“Your good mother has taken entire charge of him. +She is behaving as beautifully in this crisis as you are, +my dear.”</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="XV">XV<br> +<span class="smaller"><i>CHOLERA RAGES</i></span></h2> + +</div> + +<p>“Cholera is epidemic everywhere along the +road,” wrote Jean in her diary on the 8th of +June. “Our company is not yet attacked, but +our dear mother is seriously alarmed. She counts all the +graves we pass during the day, and sums them up at +night for us to think about. Some days there is a formidable +aggregate.”</p> + +<p>The fame of Mrs. McAlpin’s skill as a physician and +surgeon, and of Captain Ranger’s marvellous medicine-chest, +grew rapidly in the front and rear of the Ranger +train as the epidemic spread.</p> + +<p>“It is lamentable to note the lack of forethought in +many people,” Captain Ranger would say, as he dealt out<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_114"></a>[114]</span> +his supplies of “Number Six,” podophyllin and capsicum, +which grew alarmingly scant as the demand increased, +and his patience was sorely tried. But he never refused +aid to any who applied for it; and the “woman doctor,” +who because of her proficiency was considered +little else than a witch, was scarcely given time to eat +or sleep.</p> + +<p>“How do you keep your company from catching the +cholera?” asked the anxious father of a numerous family, +most of whom had fallen victims to the scourge.</p> + +<p>“Common-sense should teach us to allow no uncooked +or stale food to be eaten, and no surface or unboiled water +to be drunk. Let all companies be broken into small trains, +and keep as far apart from each other as possible. Rest +a while in the heat of every noonday. Don’t be afraid of +the Indians, or of anything or anybody else. The greatest +enemy of mankind is fear.”</p> + +<p>But in spite of both his precept and his example, the +cholera continued its ravages; and Captain Ranger, to +avoid contact with the epidemic, and, if possible, relieve +Mrs. Ranger’s mind of apprehension, changed his course +from the main travelled road, and turned off to the north +by west, leaving the multitude to their fate.</p> + +<p>“The other trains can follow if they choose, and we +can’t help it,” he said to his wife; “but I must get my +family away from the crowd, as the best way to save us +all from the nasty epidemic.”</p> + +<p>“Isn’t there danger of getting lost, John, or of getting +captured by the Indians?” asked Mrs. Ranger, as the +teams were headed for the Black Hills,—a long, undulating +line, which looked in the shimmering distance like +low banks of dense fog.</p> + +<p>“My compass will point the way, Annie. The Indians +will give us no trouble if we treat them kindly. They’re +a plaguy sight more afraid of us than we have any reason +to be of them.”</p> + +<p>Mrs. Ranger, blessed with full confidence in her husband’s<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_115"></a>[115]</span> +ability to accomplish whatsoever he undertook, +leaned back on her pillows and guarded the children +from danger, as was her wont.</p> + +<p>On June 15, Jean made another entry in her much-neglected +journal, as follows:—</p> + +<p>“We have travelled all day between and over and +around, and then back again, among low ranges of the +Black Hills. The scenery is grand beyond description, +and the road we are making as we go along, for others +to follow if they are wise, is good. Lilliputian forests +of prickly pears spread in all directions, and are very +troublesome. Their thorns, barbed, and sharp as needle-points, +are in a degree poisonous. We laugh together +over our frequent encounters with the little pests, though +our poor wounded feet refuse to be comforted. But we +are missing the long lines of moving wagons, before and +behind us, swaying and jolting over the dusty roads we’ve +left to the southward, and we are glad to be alone, or as +nearly so as our big company will permit. The streams +we cross at intervals are clear, and the water is sweet and +cold.</p> + +<p>“Mother seems in better health and spirits since we +have removed her from the constant sight of so much +suffering and death.</p> + +<p>“Dear, patient, faithful, loving mother! Will her +true history, and that of the thousands like her, who +are heroically enduring the dangers and hardships of +this long, long journey, be ever given to the world, I +wonder?”</p> + +<p>Near nightfall, on their second day’s journey away +from the main thoroughfare, they encountered a long +freight-train, in charge of fur-traders, the second thus +met since their travels began. Every wagon was heavily +loaded with buffalo robes which had been prepared for +market by the tedious, patient labor of Indian women. +As the wives and slaves of English, French, Spanish, and +Canadian hunters and traders, these women followed the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_116"></a>[116]</span> +fates of their grumbling and often cruel lords and masters +through the vicissitudes of a precarious existence, with +which nevertheless they seemed strangely content.</p> + +<p>The leader or captain of the freighters’ outfit was a +tall, bronzed, and handsome Scotchman, whose nationality +was betrayed at a glance. Captain Ranger bargained with +him for a big, handsomely dressed buffalo robe, paying +therefor in dried apples and potatoes.</p> + +<p>“Our men are getting scurvy from the lack of fruit +and vegetables,” the leader said, as the exchange was +concluded. “When they are in camp the squaws keep +them supplied with berries, camas, and wapatoes. But +they can’t bring the women out on a trip like this, away +from the scenes of their labors.”</p> + +<p>“Here’s a present for you, Annie,” said Captain +Ranger, bringing a soft, heavy, furry robe to his wife, +and spreading it over her much-prized feather bed. “It +will help you to bear the rough jolting over the rocky +roads.”</p> + +<p>“Thanks, darling. You are very kind and thoughtful, +but I shall not need it long.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, yes, you will, Annie! We’ve passed the cholera +belt. The sun rides higher every day; and I’m sure +you’ll soon be all right.”</p> + +<p class="tb">“Did you notice that big handsome Scotchman who +seemed to be the boss of that freighters’ outfit?” asked +Mrs. McAlpin, addressing Jean, and emerging from her +hiding-place in one of the wagons after the outfit had +passed out of sight and hearing and the Ranger company +had encamped.</p> + +<p>“Yes, Mrs. McAlpin. He seemed master of the +situation.”</p> + +<p>“Do you think he discovered me or mamma?”</p> + +<p>“I didn’t think to notice whether he saw either of +you or not.”</p> + +<p>“I kept out of his sight, and made mamma do likewise.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_117"></a>[117]</span></p> + +<p>“Did you know him?”</p> + +<p>“May I trust you, Jean?”</p> + +<p>“Why, certainly! What’s up?”</p> + +<p>“I need you, Jeanie; I need a friend with a level +head.”</p> + +<p>Mrs. McAlpin’s face was gray, like ashes, and her aspect +of fear was startling.</p> + +<p>“What under heaven is the matter?” asked Jean.</p> + +<p>“That man is my husband!”</p> + +<p>“Then I congratulate you. Daddie was much pleased +with him. But I thought your husband was a man of +leisure, travelling in Europe, or Asia, or among the +ruins of Central America. You told me he was an +archæologist. Did you expect to find him here on these +plains?”</p> + +<p>“No, Jean, or I should not have been here myself. +Only think of it! I started on this journey on purpose +to hide myself away from him for good and all. He had +gone to England a year ago to claim a vast estate, and +I planned to leave Chicago for this wild-goose chase on +purpose to avoid him. I had no idea he’d ever think of +taking up a business like freighting in a fur company. +But there is no way to foresee the acts of a man who +has more money than he knows what to do with. I suppose +he grew weary of the Old World.” Mrs. McAlpin +sighed.</p> + +<p>“Are you quite sure it was he?”</p> + +<p>“It could not have been anybody else. I’d know that +voice if I heard it in Kamchatka. And I saw him, too. +I cannot be mistaken.”</p> + +<p>“And you are determined not to live as his wife any +more?”</p> + +<p>“I simply cannot, will not, live a lie any longer.”</p> + +<p>“Why do you tell me about this, Mrs. McAlpin? I’m +nothing but an inexperienced girl.”</p> + +<p>“But you have more discretion than most grown-up +people.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_118"></a>[118]</span></p> + +<p>“That’s ’cause I’ve never been in love, I guess. They +say that all people when in love are fools.”</p> + +<p>“I want you to go with me to meet that man to-night, +Jean.”</p> + +<p>“I? What for?”</p> + +<p>“I’m going to talk it out; and I’ll need a witness.”</p> + +<p>“Absurd! You remind me of a moth around a candle. +Does your mother know about this?”</p> + +<p>“No. I let her think an Indian was wanting me for +a wife, and she remained hidden till the freighters had +gone. The rest was easy. She is mortally afraid of +Indians.”</p> + +<p>“I can’t imagine why you desire an interview with a +man you are trying to avoid. How did you arrange a +meeting?”</p> + +<p>“I sent him a note by Hal, who thinks I want to buy a +buffalo robe like your mother’s.”</p> + +<p>“To be plain with you, Mrs. McAlpin, you’re a +fool.”</p> + +<p>“I know it. But I confess to you that I want to see +him so I can defy him.”</p> + +<p>“If you want sensible advice, go to daddie.”</p> + +<p>“I don’t want anybody’s advice. I just want you to +accompany me, and keep hidden so as to be close at hand +during the interview. He has no idea that he is going to +meet Daphne Benson.”</p> + +<p>As Jean had been forbidden by her father to continue +her rides in Mrs. McAlpin’s company, she did not feel +satisfied with herself during this stolen interview.</p> + +<p>“Then you didn’t let your husband know it was you +who wanted to see him?”</p> + +<p>“Of course not. What do you take me for?”</p> + +<p>“I’ll certainly take you for one of the silliest women +on earth if you don’t give up this interview.”</p> + +<p>“I believe, after all, that you’re right, Jeanie. But +I thought, if I met him unexpectedly out here in these +wilds and put him upon his honor, he would never try<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_119"></a>[119]</span> +to trouble me again. I have something very important +to say to him.”</p> + +<p>“Then wait till we get to Oregon. We must go back +to camp at once. It is time all honest folks were at home +in bed.”</p> + +<p>They found Mrs. Ranger sitting alone on a wagon-tongue, +shivering in the sharp night air.</p> + +<p>“I’m very ill, my daughter,” she said; “dangerously +so. I’ve been watching and waiting for you the past +half-hour. Where have you been?”</p> + +<p>“She’s been pommelling a little common-sense into my +addled noddle,” said Mrs. McAlpin.</p> + +<p>“I’ve been taking a little walk with Mrs. McAlpin, +mother dear, that’s all. But what’s the matter, mother? +Where’s daddie?”</p> + +<p>“Asleep, poor man. I don’t want him disturbed. Get +me the bottle of ‘Number Six.’ There!” taking a draught +of the fiery liquid. “I’ll soon be better. Go to bed.”</p> + +<p>Jean never could forgive herself for not sounding an +alarm. During the remainder of the short summer night +Mrs. Ranger wrestled with her fate, suffering and unattended. +The heavy breathing of the weary oxen as they +slept, or the low chewing of their cuds in the silence, the +occasional hoot of an owl, or the sharp scream of a belated +eagle, the sighing of the wind in the juniper-trees, and the +acute pangs of her suffering body occupied her half conscious +thoughts as she patiently awaited the dawn, which +broke at last, spreading over earth and sky the radiance +of approaching sunrise.</p> + +<p>“John dear, come quickly; I’m very sick, and I believe +I’m dying!” cried the lone sufferer at last.</p> + +<p>Her husband was instantly aroused.</p> + +<p>“Why didn’t you call me long ago, darling?” he +asked, crawling from beneath a tent and rubbing his +eyes to accustom them to the light. A deadly fear +blanched his cheeks as his wife fell back in convulsions +in his arms.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_120"></a>[120]</span></p> + +<p>She opened her eyes after a prolonged spasm of pain +and gave him a look of melting tenderness.</p> + +<p>“Make the biggest tent ready, boys!” he called, holding +her close. “Fetch the feather bed and the buffalo +robe. Get hot water, Sally. Get everything, everybody,” +he exclaimed, carrying her in his arms and pacing excitedly +to and fro.</p> + +<p>“Oh, why did I bring you out here into this wilderness?” +he sobbed, as he laid her on the bed and +chafed her stiffening fingers. “Only live, and the remainder +of your days shall be as free from care as a +bird’s!”</p> + +<p>“But I shall not live, John,” she whispered during a +brief lucid interval, her eyes beaming with love and devotion. +“Or, rather, I shall not die, but awake into +newness of life. This body is worn out, but that is all. +The life that animates it will never die, though I am +going away.”</p> + +<p>No effort that circumstances permitted was spared to +retain the vital spark. Not a man, woman, or child in +the company would have hesitated at any possible sacrifice +to keep her spirit within the body, or to give her +ease and comfort in passing to the land of souls.</p> + +<p>The afternoon was wellnigh spent when she grew easier. +A prolonged interval of consciousness followed.</p> + +<p>“Where’s Bobbie?” she asked in a whisper.</p> + +<p>“Here, mother!” cried the child, who had been a dazed +and silent watcher all the day.</p> + +<p>“Bless his little life!” she whispered with a look of +unutterable love.</p> + +<p>“Come, Bobbie dear,” said Jean, “let’s go out and +see if we can’t find heaven, where God is. Mother is +going there to live with the angels. Let’s see if there’ll +be any room for us.”</p> + +<p>“There’ll be room for me, Jeanie; there’ll have to +be, for I’m going to die before long.”</p> + +<p>“Why do you think so, Bobbie?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_121"></a>[121]</span></p> + +<p>“Cos I just am. I dreamed I went to heaven. It was +a tight house, too, like Oregon, or Texas.”</p> + +<p>“You mustn’t think you’re going to die, Bobbie.”</p> + +<p>“There isn’t any surely death,” said the child. “It +is just going to heaven.”</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="XVI">XVI<br> +<span class="smaller"><i>JEAN’S VISIT BEYOND THE VEIL</i></span></h2> + +</div> + +<p>To the surprise of her sorrowing loved ones, Mrs. +Ranger rallied before sundown, after a stupor of +several hours, her eyes bright and her faculties +wonderfully clear.</p> + +<p>“It seems hard to leave you alone in this wilderness, +John,” she said in a low whisper, while feebly clasping +her husband’s hand.</p> + +<p>The sun’s expiring rays fell upon the open tent, illuminating +her angelic face, settling like an aureole upon her +bright brown hair, and causing her eyes to glow like stars. +“I’m not afraid of death, dear. I am not even afraid to +leave you alone with the children in the wilderness, for +I know you’ll do your duty. But I am sorry to leave all +the burden for you to carry alone. There is One who +heareth even the young ravens when they cry. Trust in +Him, dearest. He doeth all things well.”</p> + +<p>“How can I give you up?” cried the distracted husband, +stroking her pale cheeks and forehead tenderly.</p> + +<p>“You won’t be giving me up, John. God will let me +come to you sometimes to bless and comfort you. I +know He will; for He is good, and His mercy endureth +forever. I couldn’t leave you to go far away if I tried, +dear, and I’ll never try. Do try to be a Christian, John.”</p> + +<p>“I’ve always been a Christian, according to my lights, +my darling; and God Himself can’t keep me away from<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_122"></a>[122]</span> +you in heaven,—if there is a God and a heaven,” he +added under his breath, unable, even in that trying hour, +to lay aside his doubts.</p> + +<p>“God is just, and He will give you the benefit of every +honest doubt, John.”</p> + +<p>“But He ought to let me keep you, darling; I need +you, oh, I need you!”</p> + +<p>“All is well, my husband. I am safe, and so are you, +in the Everlasting Arms. Call the children; I must be +going. Don’t you hear the angels sing?”</p> + +<p>The children were aroused, but she had relapsed into +unconsciousness, and it was fully an hour before her +reason again returned.</p> + +<p>“Mother,” she said once, while her mind was wandering, +“did you get my deed? Are you snugly settled in +the little house? I tried very hard to provide for your +and father’s welfare in your last days, and—” Her +concluding words were inaudible.</p> + +<p>“Yes, darling, your parents are provided for; there +is no doubt about it,” cried her husband, as she awoke +again to semi-consciousness. And if ever a man experienced +a thrill of supreme satisfaction in the midst of a +grave sorrow, that man was Captain John Ranger, of +the overland wagon train.</p> + +<p>“Mary!”</p> + +<p>It was her next word of consciousness.</p> + +<p>“Come close, dear; and Jean, and Marjorie, and +Harry. The light has faded, and I cannot see you, darlings. +But be good. Obey your father. Take good care +of Bobbie, Sadie, and Baby Annie. God bless—” The +sentence was not finished.</p> + +<p>There was another prolonged convulsion. Her husband +released her hand and closed her eyes, believing all +was over. But while they all waited, silent and awe-stricken, +as if expecting a resolute move from some one, +she opened her eyes again and whispered, “John!”</p> + +<p>“Yes, Annie. John is here.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_123"></a>[123]</span></p> + +<p>For an instant she beamed upon him with a look of +unutterable love. Then, as if attracted by a familiar +voice, she turned her gaze toward the only space in the +tent where no one was standing.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” she cried in clear, ringing tones; and her +brightening eyes grew strangely full of eager expectation. +“I’m coming! Tell grannie I’ll be ready for her +when she comes to heaven!”</p> + +<p>“Leave me alone with my dead!” said the bereaved +husband, as he cleared the tent of other occupants and +threw himself upon the ground beside the still and cold +and irresponsive body. No longer animated by the invisible +power that for forty years had thrilled it with the +mystery of being, it lay with closed eyes and folded +hands beneath its drapings of white, upon the heavy, +furry buffalo robe, placed beneath the inanimate form by +the husband’s loving hands.</p> + +<p>Through all the years of John Ranger’s sturdy manhood, +that self-denying life had been his, devoted with +all its tenderness to his interests and those of the sweet +pledges of their love, for whose sake he must now live +on, alone.</p> + +<p class="tb">Months after, when the remnant of the Ranger family +had reached the land “where rolls the Oregon,” a letter +came to the bereaved husband and father, by way of the +Isthmus of Panama, bringing tidings of the dear great-grandmother’s +transition; and John Ranger, still an +agnostic, awaiting the proofs of immortality that had +never come to his physical senses in such a manner as +to be recognized, wandered out alone among the whispering +firs, and cried in bitterness of spirit: “Man giveth +up the ghost, and where is he?”</p> + +<p class="tb">“I ought to have known better than to bring you out +here to die in the wilderness, Annie darling!” cried the +grief-stricken husband, caressing the attenuated fingers<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_124"></a>[124]</span> +that lay stiff and cold upon the pulseless breast. “You +would never have undertaken the journey but to gratify +me; and the end is here! If you had positively refused +to come, that might have settled it. But I knew your +wishes, and disregarded them; so all the blame is mine. +If I had always taken counsel of you, my better self, as +I ought to have done, I should not now have been left +with our precious little ones in these wild fastnesses, in +danger of I know not what.”</p> + +<p>“Daddie!” cried an anxious voice, “may I come in?”</p> + +<p>He heard, but did not answer. Jean opened the door +of the tent, and knelt beside the still, white form of her +mother.</p> + +<p>“Couldn’t you sleep, my daughter?” asked her father, +reaching across the shrouded figure of his dead and tenderly +caressing her tear-wet face.</p> + +<p>“No, daddie; at least, not any more. I’ve had one +short nap. When I woke and heard you moaning, I +thought maybe you’d be glad to have me come in. I +want to tell you my dream. May I, daddie dear, for +mother’s sake?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, child.”</p> + +<p>“I dreamed that I was all alone in a great park. I +have never seen anything half so beautiful when awake, +so I can’t tell you what it was like. But there were +flowers and trees and fountains, and birds of paradise +that sang heavenly songs. It seemed that I could understand +the language of every bird and butterfly and +tree and flower. The birds did not seem the least bit +afraid of me; and the memory of their music is sweet +in my ears now.</p> + +<p>“I don’t know how I got across, but before I had time +to think about it, I found myself on the opposite side of +a broad and shining river, as clear as crystal and as blue +as the sky. On the water, which I could see through to +a wonderful depth, were countless living things, reflecting +all the colors of the rainbow, and many more,—all swimming,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_125"></a>[125]</span> +as if without effort, among the rarest foliage and +flowers. Everything seemed alive,—that is, sentient, +if that’s the proper word,—and acted as if it knew me, +and was glad I had come.</p> + +<p>“The park I had first entered was even prettier at a +distance than it had been at closer range. The river-bank, +which was covered with grass that looked like +pea-green velvet spangled with diamonds, was furnished +in spots with vine-embowered seats. To sit or step upon +them did not crush the vines; and I noticed that after +they had yielded to pressure, they would rebound at its +removal, like a rubber ball,—only, unlike the rubber, +they seemed to have a consciousness all their own. The +bending green of the trees was like emeralds, and their +leaves shone like satin. The hearts of the flowers glowed +like balls of living fire; and when I plucked a spray, +there was left no broken stem to show what I had done. +I was too happy to think, and I closed my eyes in absolute +peace.</p> + +<p>“Suddenly a brilliant light permeated everything; the +river looked like melted silver, and the park glowed so +brightly that I tried to shield my eyes with my hand. +But my hand was almost transparent, and I could see +everything as well when my eyes were closed as open. +As I sat, quietly inbreathing the wonderful beauty of it +all, filled with a happiness that I cannot express in words, +there came to me, not audibly, but yet as if spoken by +somebody, the words of the last Sunday-school lesson I +had learned in the little log schoolhouse in the Illinois +woods: ‘And there shall be no night there!’</p> + +<p>“‘Am I in heaven?’ I tried to ask aloud; but my words +gave forth no audible sound. And though I heard nothing +in the way we hear sounds, a reply reached my senses +instantly. I heard it through and through me, though +not a word was spoken. Do you want to hear the rest +of it, daddie dear?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, child. Go on.” His eager gaze betrayed his<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_126"></a>[126]</span> +soul-hunger. He buried his face in his hands. “I am +listening, Jean.”</p> + +<p>“Then I will go on. In a little while I found myself +floating, but I wasn’t the least bit afraid; I just trusted. +Pretty soon I became conscious that somebody was guiding +me along. I did not stir; I hardly breathed. I was +too happy to move, lest I should break the spell and find +that I was only dreaming.</p> + +<p>“Suddenly I found myself seated in a wonderful chair. +It was clear, like crystal, but white, like ivory. It was +beautifully carved, and the figures seemed instinct with +life. They yielded readily beneath my weight,—though +I was not conscious of any weight,—and they always +returned to their proper shape when relieved of pressure. +The crystal river rippled at my feet. The beautiful park +spread everywhere. A bird of paradise alighted on a +bough over my head and shook its plumage in the air, +exhaling a perfume that was like that of the tuberose.</p> + +<p>“And now comes the part that you will most like to +hear. As I sat, I heard, or rather felt, a sound, as of a +gentle wind. A white arm, thinly covered with a filmy, +lustrous lace, stole gently around my neck, and mother +glided down beside me into the chair. Her eyes were +as blue as the heavens and as bright as the morning star.</p> + +<p>“I wasn’t the least bit surprised or startled. I did +not care to speak, nor did I expect her to utter a word. +I did not want the heavenly silence broken. I pressed her +hand, which was as soft as down, and pink and white, +like a sea-shell. She put her finger to her lips, as if in +token of silence.</p> + +<p>“Suddenly a light, different from any I had yet seen, +surrounded us. We looked upward, and a form like unto +the Son of Man stood before us. He was transparent, +and as radiant as the sun. We lost ourselves in the light +of His presence, as the stars lose themselves in the light +of the sun. He did not speak an audible word; but as +He outspread His hands above our heads, I turned to<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_127"></a>[127]</span> +gaze at mother, whose raiment was as sheer as the finest +gauze. It was all edged with luminous lace; and the +sheen on her hair was like spun gold, glistening in the +sunshine.”</p> + +<p>“Didn’t she say anything, Jean?”</p> + +<p>This man, who had all his life refused to listen to any +story which could not be verified by physical law, had +lost himself in the strange recital. Jean looked as one +transfigured. She resumed her story.</p> + +<p>“Mother said: ‘You must go back to your duties, +Jean.’ Her arms were about my neck, and her shining +draperies floated around us like a mist with the sun +shining on it. ‘You have a long and weary road before +you, Jean,’ she said, speaking silently, but in words +that could be felt. ‘The experiences you will encounter +will all be good for your development, my dear,’ she +added, still inaudibly. ‘The time will come when you +will realize, no matter what befalls you, that every lesson +in life is necessary for your development. You are in the +arms of the Infinite One, whose kingdom is within you, +and who doeth all things well. Go back to your dear +father, Jean. Tell him I am not dead. Tell Mary, +Marjorie, Harry, and all the rest—’ Just then I felt +a sudden sensation, as of floating downward, toward the +earth.</p> + +<p>“A cow lowed as I stirred myself in the wagon, and +I remembered that you had tied Flossie to a wheel to +keep her from straying from camp. Bells tinkled on the +hillsides, the wind whistled in the trees, and I sat up, +wide awake. I heard you moaning, daddie, and my heart +went out to you with a longing that I cannot describe. +I could not rest till I had told you all. What do you +suppose it means?”</p> + +<p>“I can only say, like one of old, ‘Such knowledge is +too wonderful for me; it is high, I cannot attain unto +it.’ Leave me now, daughter. You are weary and must +sleep.”</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_128"></a>[128]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="XVII">XVII<br> +<span class="smaller"><i>FATHER AND DAUGHTER</i></span></h2> + +</div> + +<p>Jean passed out silently into the night, and pausing +a moment, looked up to the silent stars, and whispered: +“‘The heavens declare the glory of God; +and the firmament sheweth His handywork.’”</p> + +<p>How long she stood meditating she never realized. +The tethered cow lowed again,—a plaintive, beseeching +wail, that seemed almost human. She was mourning for +her slain calf, poor thing,—a calf left by the roadside +at its birth. It had been mercifully killed by Captain +Ranger’s order, that it might escape the hardships of a +sure but lingering death in following its ill-fated mother.</p> + +<p>The cow’s udder was distended and feverish. Jean, +as mindful of the practical affairs of life as of its mysteries, +knelt upon the ground, and, with the skill of much +practice in the art of milking, relieved the poor bereft +mother of her pain.</p> + +<p>“Poor Flossie!” she said, as the patient animal drew +a sigh of relief. “Poor Flossie! It seemed cruel to +deprive you of your baby. And they did it, too, before +your very eyes! You must be thirsty, Flossie; you’re +so feverish,” she said, as she brought the grateful animal +a pail of clear, cold water.</p> + +<p>Jean crept shivering into bed between her sleeping sisters, +where she tried in vain to lie awake, to live over +again the vivid experiences of her dream.</p> + +<p>“Was it a dream?” she asked herself as she cuddled +close among the blankets. “Who knows what dreams +are, anyhow? And is there anybody on the earth who +can understand, define, or fathom the mystery of sleep?” +In a few minutes she was fast asleep, and when she awoke +it was morning.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_129"></a>[129]</span></p> + +<p>“There are, there must be, other senses finer and more +acute than our five physical ones,” she thought, as she +crept from her bed, refreshed and wide awake.</p> + +<p>The stars had paled, and the clear gray of the early +dawn lit up the crests of the abounding hills.</p> + +<p class="tb">The simple preparations for the funeral rites were made +in silence. Men and women moved mechanically about +the camp. The very cattle seemed to understand.</p> + +<p>No casket was procurable, but every man in camp was +ready to do all in his power to supply the need. Junipers +of goodly size abounded in the neighboring woods. From +two of these, felled for the purpose, thick puncheons were +hewn to form a crude but stanch enclosure for the good +woman’s final home. A grave was made, with hard labor, +in the abounding sandstone, and the women lined its +vault and edges with flattened boughs of evergreen, thus +making an ideal resting-place for the still, white form, +as beautiful in death as it had been in youth.</p> + +<p>There was no prayer or sermon. The simple rites were +about to close when Mary whispered to her father: “I +have heard mother say she wanted us all to sing when +they should be laying her away.” And the three eldest +daughters of the peaceful dead and the storm-rent living +sang with tremulous but not unmusical tones:—</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">“Oh, heaven is nearer than mortals think,</div> + <div class="verse indent2">When they look with trembling dread</div> + <div class="verse indent0">At the misty future that stretches on</div> + <div class="verse indent2">From the silent home of the dead.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">“’Tis no lone isle in a boundless main;</div> + <div class="verse indent2">No brilliant but distant shore,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Where the loving ones who are called away</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Must go to return no more.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">“No, heaven is near us; the mighty veil</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Of mortality blinds the eye,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">That we see not the glorious angel bands,</div> + <div class="verse indent2">On the shores of eternity.</div><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_130"></a>[130]</span> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">“I know, when the silver cord is loosed,</div> + <div class="verse indent2">When the veil is rent away,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Not long and dark shall the passage be</div> + <div class="verse indent2">To the realms of endless day.”</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<p>John Ranger looked upward with bared brow and +streaming eyes, and in his heart a flickering hope was +born.</p> + +<p>The Reverend Thomas Rogers, with all his fervent +eloquence and well grounded belief in the very orthodox +scheme of salvation which he had so constantly preached, +had never shaken his doubts as did the plaintive promises +of that simple, impressive hymn.</p> + +<p>His devoted wife, strong in her faith in the efficacy of +prayer, had long ceased to speak to him of her religious +convictions, for which his ready logic and quaint ridicule +suggested no answer. At such times, consoling herself +with the command of her Master, she would enter into +her closet, shut the door, and pray for him and their +children in secret, with never a doubt that sometime, +someway, her prayers would be answered openly. And +who shall say that her faith was not at last rewarded, +in a way she least expected, through that plaintive song, +through which, being dead, she had yet spoken?</p> + +<p>After the burial, the remainder of the day was spent +in the silent performance of the many accumulated +duties of the camp. There was no time for the luxury +of grief. The women and girls washed, ironed, +cooked, did the dishes, mended wearing apparel, sewed +up rents in wagon-covers and tents, and gathered heaps +of wild flowers, with which they adorned the fresh +mound of earth that none of them expected ever to +see again.</p> + +<p class="tb">The men were not idle. A broken ox-yoke needed +mending. Wagon-tires were reset. Such heavy articles +as could be dispensed with were discarded.</p> + +<p>Jamie’s cradle, for which Mrs. Ranger had begged a<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_131"></a>[131]</span> +place in their effects, and her grandmother’s spinning-wheel, +which she had stored in one of the wagons, were +among the articles ordered to be thrown away.</p> + +<p>“Your mother will not miss them now,” said Captain +Ranger, huskily.</p> + +<p>“It is a shame to disregard our dear mother’s wishes, +now that she cannot speak for herself,” said Mary, in a +whisper, aside to Jean.</p> + +<p>“I know it; and I’ve already made a bargain with +Mrs. McAlpin to store them in one of her wagons. +Daddie will thank us for it sometime.”</p> + +<p>Sadly and silently the work went on; for the living +had to be cared for, and nothing more could be done for +the dead.</p> + +<p>When evening came Jean sought her journal, climbed +to the rim of the little natural amphitheatre overlooking +the sparkling spring of icy water near her mother’s last +resting-place, and read in the last space she had left +blank, in her father’s bold chirography, some lines of a +poem which he had quoted from memory:—</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">“’Twas midnight, and he sat alone,</div> + <div class="verse indent2">The husband of the dead.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">That day the dark dust had been thrown</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Above her buried head.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">“Her orphaned children round him slept,</div> + <div class="verse indent2">But in their sleep would moan;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">In bitterness of soul he wept.</div> + <div class="verse indent2">He was alone—alone.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">“The world is full of life and light,</div> + <div class="verse indent2">But, ah, no light for me!</div> + <div class="verse indent0">My little world, once warm and bright,</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Is cheerless as the sea.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">“Where is her sweet and kindly face?</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Where is her cordial tone?</div> + <div class="verse indent0">I gaze upon her resting-place</div> + <div class="verse indent2">And feel that I’m alone.</div><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_132"></a>[132]</span> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">“The lovely wife, maternal care,</div> + <div class="verse indent2">The self-denying zeal,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">The smile of hope that chased despair,</div> + <div class="verse indent2">And promised future weal;</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">“The clean, bright hearth, nice table spread,</div> + <div class="verse indent2">The charm o’er all things thrown,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">The sweetness in whate’er she said,—</div> + <div class="verse indent2">All gone! I am alone.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">“I slept last night, and then I dreamed;</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Perchance her spirit woke;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">A soft light o’er my pillow gleamed,</div> + <div class="verse indent2">A voice in music spoke:</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">“‘Forgot, forgiven, all neglect,</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Thy love recalled, alone;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">The babes I loved, O love, protect,</div> + <div class="verse indent2">I still am all thine own.’”</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<p>“Dear bereaved and sorrowing daddie!” sighed Jean, +as she closed the book. “I cannot write a word to-night. +Sacred to him and his be the page on which he has inscribed +these echoes of his heart. But let nobody say, +after this, that daddie has no sentiment in his make-up. +The trouble is that he is too busy a man to give rein to +his feelings, except under extraordinary pressure. I wish +he hadn’t tried to throw away those heirlooms of mother’s, +though. The oxen wouldn’t have felt the difference in +the load. It was an act that he’ll be ashamed of some +day.”</p> + +<p>Weeks after, when the memory-hallowed relics came to +light, Captain Ranger bowed his head upon his hands and +gave way to such a convulsion of grief as had not shaken +him, even at the time of her transition. Jean had good +cause to recall the stanzas he had inscribed to her mother’s +memory in her battered journal, as she said to herself: +“I knew all the time that daddie’s heart was right. It +is only necessary to touch it in the proper place to show +that it is tender.” Once more she closed the book without +having written a word.</p> + +<p>But we must not anticipate.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_133"></a>[133]</span></p> + +<p>On the 22d of June another entry is recorded,—Jean’s +last memorandum of their journey in the Black Hills: +“The prickly pears still give us much annoyance. The +roads are heavy with sand, and the rocks over which our +wagons must bump and bound are terribly rough and +jagged.</p> + +<p>“Across the Platte, and away to the southward many +miles, though they seem much nearer, owing to the rarity +of the air, are quaint and curious formations in the rocky +cliffs, worn by the winds of ages into rude images of men +and animals that stare at us with sunken eyes, their broken +noses, grinning skulls, and disfigured bodies reminding +us of unhappy phantoms risen from the under world.</p> + +<p>“Sometimes the semblance of a great mosque or cathedral +rears its domes and minarets in the clear blue of the +heavens; and sometimes what seems a great embattled +fortification is seen rising with realistic majesty from a +vast sage plain that looks, with a little aid of the imagination, +like the dried-up bed of a big moat. Of course, +‘’tis distance lends enchantment to the view,’ as no doubt +the images we see so distinctly would resolve themselves +into shapeless masses if we could see them at close range.</p> + +<p>“The grass we so much need for the stock has again +disappeared, and daddie says we shall return to-morrow +to the main travelled road. Wild flowers are blooming +in profusion all around our camp, smiling at us as if in +mockery of the prevailing desolation. Wood is scarce +again, and we find few buffalo chips.</p> + +<p>“We seldom see any more deer or antelope, and the +buffalo have all escaped to the distant hills; that is, all +but the hapless multitudes that have been cruelly and +needlessly slaughtered by the unthinking and greedy +hunters of the plains.</p> + +<p>“We passed half-a-dozen newly made graves again +to-day, and it is evident that we are getting back into +the dreaded cholera belt. The day has been extremely +hot, but the evening is chilly and blustering. Daddie<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_134"></a>[134]</span> +says the most of the victims of the epidemic are women. +I wonder if such sorrow as ours pervades every family +into whose ranks the Silent Messenger comes unbidden +and steals away its hope.</p> + +<p>“The Indians seem to have all been scared away by +the cholera. What must they think of us, who claim to +be civilized and even enlightened, who have come to +bring them our religion, and with it starvation, pestilence, +and death?</p> + +<p>“Our world isn’t yet fit for the abode of anything but +beasts of prey, of which poorly civilized man is chief. +No wonder the Indians fear and hate us. We destroy +their range, we scare away their game, we scatter disease +and death among them; and as rapidly as possible we +seize and possess their lands. ‘No quarter for man or +beast’ should be written upon our foreheads in letters of +fire. But maybe we are merely fulfilling our destiny. I +cannot tell; it’s all a mystery.” She closed the book +with a sigh.</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="XVIII">XVIII<br> +<span class="smaller"><i>THE LITTLE DOCTOR</i></span></h2> + +</div> + +<p>After leaving the Black Hills and descending +again into the valley of the Platte, the Ranger +company found travelling still more difficult than +before they had left the main travelled road. The cattle, +from burning their hoofs in the alkali pools, through +which they were often compelled to wade for hours at a +stretch, became afflicted with a serious foot-ail.</p> + +<p>“A more dangerous epidemic than the cholera menaces +us now,” said Mrs. McAlpin, as she watched the poor +brutes limping along the road, many of them bellowing +with pain and writhing under the cruel lashes of the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_135"></a>[135]</span> +drivers’ whips, as they hobbled wearily on toward the +setting sun.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” replied Captain Ranger, as he blanched with +apprehension. “Our very lives depend upon the cattle; +we have no other means of getting out of the wilderness. +We must do something heroic to heal their feet, or we’ll +all be left to die together.”</p> + +<p>Scotty, whose serious accident had been overshadowed +by the death and burial of Mrs. Ranger, and who had +grown weary of receiving only such attention as could +be bestowed upon an invalid not considered dangerously +afflicted, began to demand the careful nursing he at first +pretended to disdain. The jolting of the wagon, in which +he still lay upon a sort of swinging stretcher, though it +alleviated the roughness of constant rebounds from the +rocky roads, aggravated the inflammation of his wound; +and the pain grew more intolerable as the bones began +to knit. His ravings of discontent were often hard for +Mrs. Benson to endure. But she adhered resolutely to +her purpose as her daughter’s chaperon to prevent too +frequent visits between the twain, and often kept Mrs. +McAlpin away from his side for many hours together.</p> + +<p>“Scotty has managed somehow to disarrange his +bandages, Little Doctor,” said Captain Ranger; “and +badly as our cattle need attention, you will be obliged +to look after his case this evening. I know how punctilious +your mother is over what she is pleased to call the +proprieties, but you must attend the fellow professionally, +whether she consents or not.</p> + +<p>“I do not want any more disagreeable encounters with +my mother, Captain.”</p> + +<p>“Damn it! I beg your pardon, ma’am! But I’m sure +God swore in His wrath under less provocation,—if there +is any truth in Holy Writ. These are no times for conventional +hair-splittings. You are in duty bound to visit +Scotty as his physician. I will accompany you if it will +help you out.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_136"></a>[136]</span></p> + +<p>“I shall be glad indeed of your company, Captain. But +women are not supposed to be doctors. We’ve always +been taught to look upon the profession as one beyond +our comprehension.”</p> + +<p>“And indeed it is beyond your comprehension. Men +do not comprehend it any more than you do. If they did, +it would long ago have been developed into a science, +instead of what it is,—empiricism. I’m afraid I’ll +swear again if I hear any more nonsense about the +things women are not supposed to know because they +are women.”</p> + +<p>“Are you ready to accompany me now, Captain?”</p> + +<p>“I’ll have to be. But our lunch is ready; and, by my +beans and bacon, I must have something to eat first! +There! I didn’t mean to swear. It was a sort of slip +of the tongue.”</p> + +<p>“I am free to admit that it isn’t polite to swear, Captain. +But you didn’t take the name of God in vain; so +you are forgiven. You will grant that swearing, even +by beans and bacon, is a bad habit, though. Don’t set +a bad example before the children, to say nothing of the +rest of us,” she added, laughing.</p> + +<p>They found the patient in a high fever.</p> + +<p>“It is his impatience that does it,” said Mrs. Benson. +“He fumes like a madman sometimes.”</p> + +<p>Mrs. McAlpin deftly unbound, dressed, and rebandaged +the unfortunate limb.</p> + +<p>“We’re doing nicely,” she said, when her work was +finished. “You mustn’t fret yourself into a fever again. +A sick man should be as serene as a May morning.”</p> + +<p>“How in the name o’ Melchizedek and the Twelve +Apostles is a man going to keep cool when the thermometer +is raging in the nineties, and one’s self-elected +nurse is scolding like a sitting hen? If she’d ride in +the other wagon and leave you to do the nursing, I’d +stand a chance to recover.”</p> + +<p>“Mamma is getting on famously,” laughed the Little<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_137"></a>[137]</span> +Doctor. “You are so amiable and sweet-tempered yourself +that I can’t see why she doesn’t fall down before +your injured foot and worship you. I feel almost +tempted to try it myself. You don’t think she is enduring +all this for fun, do you?”</p> + +<p>“I suppose I haven’t been acting the angel; but it was +because I wanted the society of my doctor.”</p> + +<p>“You allude to Mrs. McAlpin, of course,” said the +Captain, smiling.</p> + +<p>“Who else in thunder should I mean? There is but +one woman doctor in the world, so far as I know. +Didn’t she find me in that infernal hole, wedged in it +like a rat in a trap? And didn’t she patch my broken +bones, like a trained physician, when there wasn’t a man +in a hundred miles that could have done it?”</p> + +<p>“It is never wise to argue a point with a man in a +fever, Mr. Burns. We can talk it out later on. See! +Mamma has brought soap, fresh water, and towels. You +couldn’t have a better nurse. You must let her bathe +your face and hands and head.”</p> + +<p>“Won’t you take her place, Daphne?”</p> + +<p>Captain Ranger and Mrs. Benson were not listening +or looking just then; and as for an instant their eyes +met, the patient felt upon his fevered forehead the fluttering +touch of a soft, cool hand.</p> + +<p>“Delicious!” he whispered. “I shall get well now.”</p> + +<p>“Allow me,” said Mrs. Benson, elbowing her daughter +aside; “I am head nurse in this ward.”</p> + +<p>The patient groaned.</p> + +<p>“The Captain says you ought to have been a man, +Daphne,” said Mrs. Benson, as her daughter yielded her +place.</p> + +<p>“If my father had lived to see this day, he would have +rejoiced that I didn’t allow my usefulness to run to waste +because of my femininity. Of that I am as certain as +that my patient is better.”</p> + +<p>“You are a disobedient and ungrateful girl, Daphne.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_138"></a>[138]</span></p> + +<p>“You are my mamma.”</p> + +<p>“I am not to blame for that, Daphne.”</p> + +<p>“Am <i>I</i>?” asked the daughter, seriously. “I don’t +pretend to understand, and so of course cannot explain +the cause that leads to individual being, mamma dear. +I know, though, that I am; and if the time should ever +come that I can know why I am, I shall understand why +I am a woman. I cannot now see that anybody is to be +blamed on account of the fact, or accident, of sex.”</p> + +<p>“You are to blame for being a thankless child, +Daphne.”</p> + +<p>“I am neither a child nor thankless, mamma dear. +I simply desire to be and act myself. You know I love +and honor you; but I have learned, by sad experience, +that each human being exists primarily for himself or +herself; and not one of us can live for another. If I +had been taught this truth in my childhood, we might +both have been spared much suffering. But”—turning +to her patient—“we have other duties. Your fever has +fallen several degrees in the past fifteen minutes. I must +go. When you want to rail at anybody just pitch into +me and let mamma have a rest. Jean will bring you +some broth. I’ll send Mrs. O’Dowd to sit with you +sometimes, to give mamma a little liberty. You two +have been forced to keep each other’s company till you +are both as cross as a pair of imprisoned cats.”</p> + +<p>“I believe I’ve been pursuing the wrong policy,” said +Mrs. Benson to the Captain, as they walked together on +the burning sand. “If Daphne had been compelled to +endure that patient’s petulance for more than a week, +as I have, she would have been as weary of the sight +of him as I am.”</p> + +<p>“I am not so sure of that,” replied the Captain, “seeing +they’re not married yet. Two cats will agree together +like two doves, as long as they have their individual +freedom; but if you tie ’em together, they’ll fight like +dogs and tigers.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_139"></a>[139]</span></p> + +<p>“Poor little mamma! She’s all tired out, so she is!” +exclaimed Mrs. McAlpin, as she and her mother were +walking out together after they had stopped for the +night. “You must change places to-morrow with Mrs. +O’Dowd. Then you can ride in Captain Ranger’s big +family wagon with the children and me, and get your +much-needed rest.”</p> + +<p>“Do you mean to say that I shall ride in that +widower’s wagon, Daphne, and his wife only just buried? +What would people say?”</p> + +<p>“Why should you think or care what anybody says, +so long as you do your duty, mamma? Captain Ranger +is a gentleman. His heart is buried with his wife. +Don’t be a silly! Beg pardon, mamma. I didn’t mean +to be slangy or saucy. We’ve other troubles in store, +and ought not to be quarrelling between ourselves. Do +you know that Donald McAlpin is following, or at least +shadowing, this train?”</p> + +<p>Mrs. Benson blanched.</p> + +<p>“Why do you think that, Daphne?”</p> + +<p>“I’ve seen him twice since we met that colony of +freighters. If he persists in his persecutions, I’ll kill +him!”</p> + +<p>“Do not talk that way, child. People have been +made innocent victims of the scaffold for having +made threats which they never meant to and never did +fulfil.”</p> + +<p>“I have nothing to say against him as a man. But +before God he is not my husband, no matter what the +law may have decreed, and I am living a lie when I permit +the outrage. He would make you an agreeable +husband, because you love him. I’ve known this for +many a day. If I were dead or divorced, you could +become his wife, and then you would both be happy. +We are all miserable as it is.”</p> + +<p>“But think of the looks of it, daughter! What would +people say?” Her eyes grew suddenly aglow with a<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_140"></a>[140]</span> +newly awakened hope, in spite of her demurrer, and her +heart beat hard.</p> + +<p>“Do you intend to do what you know to be right in +the sight of God? or do you mean to remain a slave all +the days of your life to the idle words of men and women +who care nothing for you, and to whom you owe no allegiance? +Man looks at the outward appearance, but God +looks at the heart. At least, I so read the Scripture, +which you say is your rule of faith and practice.”</p> + +<p>“But we owe allegiance to the English Church and to +human law, my child.”</p> + +<p>“That is true; and I for one intend to obey the laws +of man till they are amended, although I was allowed +no voice in their construction. But, thanks to the progressive +spirit of the age, we have divorce courts established +almost everywhere throughout the civilized world, +so anybody can obey the law and still ‘to his own self +be true.’”</p> + +<p>“No divorce can be had in our church, Daphne, except +for a nameless crime.”</p> + +<p>“That ruling is a relic of barbarism. I will see that +the way is opened for both you and Donald to obey the +law and be honest with yourselves also.”</p> + +<p>“But how about Mr. Burns? Does your rule apply +to him?”</p> + +<p>“We won’t discuss that matter, mamma. Mr. Burns +fully understands that I am not a free woman, and he +has no right to discuss with me a question that I am not +at liberty to consider. Although I despise the law that +holds me in its thrall, I will obey it till it is annulled.”</p> + +<p>“You don’t know what you’re saying, child.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, I do, mamma. I have studied the law carefully. +I shall obey it in everything I undertake.”</p> + +<p>“Don’t you know that Rollin Burns is a pauper?”</p> + +<p>“That’s neither here nor there. The possible future +relations between Mr. Burns and myself are neither supposable +nor discussable under present conditions. What<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_141"></a>[141]</span> +a glorious world we live in!” she exclaimed, clinging to +her mother’s arm and pulling her along. “How happy +everybody might become if everybody could afford to be +honest!”</p> + +<p>“But public opinion is a moral safeguard, my child.”</p> + +<p>“It has wellnigh made a lunatic of me,” exclaimed the +daughter, with a sigh. “I should have been in an insane +asylum if I had not grown strong enough to defy the +thing you call public opinion. Now please remember, +mamma, you may meet Donald McAlpin at any time. I +have told you that he was shadowing us. But you are +not to recognize him so long as I am his lawful wife, or +it will be the worse for all of us. God knows, I am +anxious enough to set him free; and I’ll do it as soon +as the law will let me. ‘All things come to him who +waits.’ Be hopeful, be trustful, be patient, mamma dear; +and be sure ‘your own will come to you.’”</p> + +<p>A solitary horseman galloped past them and halted at +the camp.</p> + +<p>“It’s Donald!” cried Mrs. Benson, nervously clutching +her daughter’s arm. “Why can’t we speak to him, +Daphne?”</p> + +<p>“Come this way.”</p> + +<p>Reluctantly Mrs. Benson followed.</p> + +<p>“Let’s sit behind these rocks,” said the daughter. “It +is fortunate that I gave Captain Ranger his latest name. +He knows him only as Donald McPherson.”</p> + +<p>They watched the two men parleying. Captain Ranger +pointed toward the distant hills with one hand, and with +the other was gesticulating vigorously.</p> + +<p>“Will you promise not to let him recognize you while +we are on this journey, mamma dear?”</p> + +<p>“It would be an easy promise to make, my child, if I +could know when, where, and under what circumstances +we might meet again in the future.”</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_142"></a>[142]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="XIX">XIX<br> +<span class="smaller"><i>A BRIEF MESSAGE FOR MRS. BENSON</i></span></h2> + +</div> + +<p>“We’ll not be able to advance another mile +unless something can be done to cure the +cattle’s feet,” exclaimed the Captain the +next morning, when his teamsters came together for +consultation.</p> + +<p>“I have been studying the case during the night,” said +Mrs. McAlpin, who was preparing breakfast. “It is cool +and pleasant now, but it will be terribly hot by nine +o’clock. We must treat the sore feet of our sufferers to +a heroic cure, and get them out on the range, away from +the sand of the public road, before the sun gets over the +hills. We can’t drive a hoof over the road to-day.”</p> + +<p>“I’d like to know how in blazes we’re going to doctor +the cattle’s feet without medicine,” cried Hal. “We +haven’t even enough o’ ‘Number Six’ on hand to give +my off-leader’s left foot a thorough treatment.”</p> + +<p>“I guess we have everything we need,” replied the +Little Doctor. “Bring me your fullest tar-bucket. +There, that’s encouraging. Got any turpentine, Captain? +That’s good. Now bring me an iron pot, Susannah. +Here’s a good bed of glowing coals. There,” she +cried, as she emptied the liquid tar into the iron kettle. +“Now let’s add the turpentine, and I’ll heat the mixture +as slowly as possible over these red-hot coals. It is fortunate +that the flames are dead, otherwise we might set +our dish on fire and spoil our broth. Have you any +oakum?”</p> + +<p>“Not a bit. Who’d ’a’ thought we’d need oakum on +a land-lubbers’ journey like this?” said the Captain.</p> + +<p>The Little Doctor knitted her brows. “Have you +some Manila rope and a big pan?” she asked.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_143"></a>[143]</span></p> + +<p>“We have mother’s clothes-line, if that will do,” said +Jean.</p> + +<p>“Yo’ uns not gwine to empty dat stuff in my dish-pan, +honey?” exclaimed Susannah, in indignant protest, as +Mary was fetching the pan.</p> + +<p>Mrs. McAlpin laughed.</p> + +<p>The seething mixture was lifted dexterously from the +coals in the nick of time to prevent an accident by fire. +It was then emptied into the dish-pan and stirred to +the consistency of blackstrap,—a commodity with which +the wayfarers were familiar,—and pieces of the tarred +rope were made ready for placing between the doctored +hoofs.</p> + +<p>“We’ll try our Little Doctor’s remedy on Scotty’s off-leader +first,” said Hal. “If it should kill him, there will +be only one dead, and he’s nearly dead anyhow.”</p> + +<p>The poor beast bellowed pitifully as his hoof was +plunged into the almost scalding mixture; but like the +lassoed victim of a branding iron, he could not get away, +and each hoof received its treatment in its turn.</p> + +<p>By the doctor’s order, a tent had been cut into convenient +patches; and the seared feet of the afflicted brute, +after a liberal supply of the flour of sulphur had been +added to the tar and turpentine, were securely wrapped +with the pieces and bound with rope, to protect them +from the dust and gravel of the roads.</p> + +<p>By the time that each disabled animal had been subjected +to this heroic treatment, it was long past noon, +and the Captain decided to turn the teams back upon the +range for the remainder of the day.</p> + +<p class="tb">“May I take a ride on Sukie, daddie dear?” asked +Jean. “I’ll find good grass for her, and plenty of +it.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, Jean. Take her to yonder ravine, where you +see a clump of cottonwoods. You’ll be pretty sure to +find some tender grass at their roots.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_144"></a>[144]</span></p> + +<p>Jean leaped nimbly to the saddle and cantered leisurely +away.</p> + +<p>Suddenly a bronzed and handsome horseman rode up +beside her and lifted his hat,—a large sombrero, surmounting +a pair of square shoulders that sported a gay +serape.</p> + +<p>“Good-morning, little miss. Or would you call it +afternoon? I had stopped under the cottonwoods to +graze my horse, and I couldn’t resist the temptation to +accost you. Going to California?”</p> + +<p>“No; to Oregon.”</p> + +<p>“A God-forsaken country that. Rains thirteen months +in every year.”</p> + +<p>“Have you ever been there?”</p> + +<p>The stranger shook his head. “I’ve had rain enough +in England to do me for the rest of my life.”</p> + +<p>“A little of the Oregon rains we’ve read about would +be a godsend if we could have it now,” said Jean, mopping +her perspiring face with the curtain of her sunbonnet, +and glancing ruefully at the brazen sky.</p> + +<p>“May I ride beside you for a little distance?”</p> + +<p>“If we keep in sight of the wagons, sir.”</p> + +<p>“You’re not afraid of me, I hope?”</p> + +<p>He was close beside her now, so close he could have +grasped her bridle-rein.</p> + +<p>“Afraid? Of course not. I am not afraid of any +gentleman.”</p> + +<p>“Do you belong to yonder camp?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, sir.”</p> + +<p>“And there are two ladies travelling with you,—a +widow and her daughter?”</p> + +<p>“There are a grass widow and a nigger, sir.”</p> + +<p>“Now see here, little one,” and his voice grew harsh +and loud, “you’ve been coached; that’s evident. Don’t +be frightened. I don’t mean to harm you. But I am no +longer deceived. Will you do me a favor?”</p> + +<p>He was reading her face anxiously.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_145"></a>[145]</span></p> + +<p>“What can I do for you, sir?”</p> + +<p>“Will you carry a note for me to Mrs. Benson?”</p> + +<p>“I don’t know, sir. See! They’re bringing in the +cattle. I must hurry back to camp.”</p> + +<p>“Wait a little, miss. I must write a note.”</p> + +<p>“I haven’t promised to give it to anybody, sir.”</p> + +<p>“But you’ll do it,” he said, thrusting a few hastily +written, unsealed lines into her hand. “Give that to the +young lady’s mother. I feel that I can trust you. Here’s +a dollar. You will not read the note, nor say a word +about it to any one?”</p> + +<p>“You can trust me, sir, but I do not want your dollar.”</p> + +<p>“Keep it, child.”</p> + +<p>He wheeled and was gone. She watched him disappear +in a cloud of dust, and hid the note away in the bosom of +her dress.</p> + +<p>“He trusted me, and I won’t read it, though I’d be +glad to know its contents,” she whispered to herself. +“Why does Fate make me the depositary of other +people’s affairs and then burden me with secrecy? I’m +only an ignorant girl; but I know enough about the +secrets of more than one of our fellow-travellers to +explode bombs in several directions if I’d tell!”</p> + +<p class="tb">“I am overjoyed at the success of my first practice +as a veterinary doctor,” said Mrs. McAlpin the next day.</p> + +<p>“We’re all glad,” said the Captain. “Small use any +man would have for this world if it weren’t for the +women to help him out under difficulties.”</p> + +<p>“Poor Captain! How he misses his wife!” she +thought, as she sought the wagon where Scotty lay.</p> + +<p>“I’d get well a great deal faster if I had you for a +nurse, Daphne,” he said appealingly.</p> + +<p>“Nature is doing her best for you. She’s mending +your bones thoroughly. If we patched you up in too +big a hurry, we’d soon be in trouble again.”</p> + +<p>“But I feel like a chained eagle, lying here.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_146"></a>[146]</span></p> + +<p>“Captain Ranger is making you a pair of crutches, +Mr. Burns. You’ll soon be out again on your well foot, +if you obey orders. Where’s mamma?”</p> + +<p>“In the shadow of the wagon, yonder.”</p> + +<p>Mrs. Benson was resting in the shade, indulging in +a silent reverie. “Are all the teachings of my life to be +overthrown?” she said, as she thrust a note into her +pocket and buried her face in her hands. “Can it be true +that Daphne was right and I was wrong? What will +people say? Daphne has good principles, but she’s as +unsentimental as a Mandan squaw. She has no more +romance in her make-up than black Susannah. Yet,” +and a fluttering hope welled up in her heart, “she’s a +true and faithful daughter. I would to Heaven that all +the people in the world were as good.”</p> + +<p>She produced her treasured note again, and read it +stealthily.</p> + +<p>“Yes, yes! it can be managed, and none of the curious +will ever be the wiser,” she said, after due reflection. +“It is indeed fortunate that he’s been compelled by the +law of entail to take his mother’s name. Nobody will +know him in Oregon.”</p> + +<p>Mrs. McAlpin found Scotty at camping time with a +voracious appetite and a temper like a caged bear.</p> + +<p>“Where have you kept yourself through all this blistering +afternoon?” he asked, munching his food heartily.</p> + +<p>“I can’t stay with all my patients all the time, Mr. +Burns, especially as so many of them are quadrupeds, +with the hoof-ail.”</p> + +<p>“I suppose, then, that I am to be classed as a biped, +with the leg-ail.”</p> + +<p>“Exactly.”</p> + +<p>“Ouch! oh!” he exclaimed with a grimace, as the +knitting bones gave a sudden twinge, reminding him that +they were awake and on duty. “These infernal bandages +are loose again, I hope.”</p> + +<p>“Your bandages are doing nicely, sir. The Captain<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_147"></a>[147]</span> +will have your crutches ready in a day or two. Then you +can take some exercise.”</p> + +<p>“What have you done with those hideous black garments, +Daphne?”</p> + +<p>“Do you like these gray ones better?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, I like the gray ones better.”</p> + +<p>“So does this abounding dust. My black clothes +were getting rusty, so I made a contribution of them to +the water nymphs of the Platte.”</p> + +<p>“Why did you wear those weeds?”</p> + +<p>“They served my purpose, sir.”</p> + +<p>“You almost provoke me into profanity, Mrs. McAlpin; +you are so mysteriously non-committal.”</p> + +<p>“Glad to hear it. Men don’t feel like swearing when +death is staring them in the face.”</p> + +<p>“Your supper is getting cold, and Mrs. Benson says +you must hurry up.” The intruder, as usual, was Jean.</p> + +<p>“I will see you later, Mr. Burns,” said Mrs. McAlpin, +and she ran away, laughing.</p> + +<p>“You seem very happy this evening, mamma,” she +said, as with cup and plate in hand she seated herself +on a wagon-tongue.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Benson blushed. “Why don’t you eat?” she +asked, evading her daughter’s question.</p> + +<p>“I hardly know. But I am out of sorts. Just think +of men coming out on a journey like this, with ailing +wives and unborn children, with no adequate preparation +for their needs! I left one woman, less than two hours +ago, with newly born twins, and a yearling squalling like +mad at the foot of her bed. The mother was as docile +as a kitten, and a hundred times more helpless.”</p> + +<p>“Where was the father?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, he was shambling around, helpless and in the +way. He was kindness personified; but he was as useless +as a monkey. When woman’s true history shall have +been written, her part in the upbuilding of this nation +will astound the world. I’ve seen heroines on this journey<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_148"></a>[148]</span> +who far outrank the Alexanders, Washingtons, and +Napoleons of any of our school histories. Yonder’s a +herald coming to announce another case! Will you accompany +me, mamma? I can ask Captain Ranger to +stay with Mr. Burns.”</p> + +<p>“Not to-night, Daphne. I am very tired. And you +know I have no patience with a woman doctor, anyway. +Women were seen and not heard when I was a girl.”</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="XX">XX<br> +<span class="smaller"><i>THE TEAMSTERS DESERT</i></span></h2> + +</div> + +<p>“You seem to be in trouble, my little man. What +can I do to help you?” asked the Little Doctor, +as a shocky-headed, freckle-faced child, ragged, +barefoot, and dirty, paused in her presence, balancing +himself first on one foot and then on the other, and occasionally +rubbing his eyes with a grimy shirt-sleeve, open +at the wrist and badly out at elbow.</p> + +<p>“I hearn tell that you was a doctor, mum. Can you +come to see my mam? She’s sick, awful.”</p> + +<p>The child led the way to a rickety wagon, which had +halted at an inconvenient distance from the creek, in the +blazing sunshine, though a friendly tree stood near that +might have afforded a grateful shade for an hour or +more if the head of the family had thought to stop the +wagon in the right spot before unhitching his team. +Three or four sallow, barefoot, and ragged little children +were playing in the sand. The scant remains of a most +uninviting repast littered the ground. A half-dozen +hungry dogs, tied to the wagon-wheels, out of reach of +the poor remains of food, whined piteously.</p> + +<p>A loose-jointed man shambled aimlessly about, wiping +his tear-stained face on the buttonless sleeve of a very<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_149"></a>[149]</span> +dirty shirt. “She’s got the cholera, an’ she’ll die, an’ +thar’ll be nobody left to keer fur her young uns!” he +sobbed within hearing of the writhing patient.</p> + +<p>“When did this suffering begin?” asked the Little +Doctor, trying hard not to smile.</p> + +<p>“Nigh on to half a day ago, mum. I druv like hell to +git to this ’ere crick. I’d hearn of it afore I left the last +camp.”</p> + +<p>“Have you a tent?”</p> + +<p>“Lawd, no! nor nothin’ else to speak of.”</p> + +<p>“But dogs and children!” the visitor thought, as she +ruefully surveyed the scene.</p> + +<p>“The steers have got the foot-rot. Kin you kore +’em?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, but we must first attend to the needs of your +wife. Go to Captain Ranger. Tell him I sent you. Tell +him I must borrow one of his tents and some physic and +a bottle of ‘Number Six.’ Ask for Mrs. O’Dowd, and be +sure to say that Mrs. McAlpin wants her badly.”</p> + +<p>When Captain Ranger and his man Limpy appeared on +the scene, bringing the tent and medicines, water was +already boiling in a black iron kettle, the only cooking +utensil in sight. The tent was soon pitched, and a +bed prepared for the sufferer, who was writhing in +convulsions.</p> + +<p>“Any woman accustomed to the comforts of a well-ordered +home would have died,” said Mrs. McAlpin the +next morning, after the crisis was past. “But the average +specimen of the poor white trash of the original +slave States has as many lives as a cat.”</p> + +<p>“I didn’t have no doctor,” said the patient, as soon +as she was able to be on her feet. “Thar was a woman +yar, an’ she giv’ me some hot truck, but I jist kored myself.”</p> + +<p>The woman was telling her story to a visitor, who had +called, partly from sympathy, but chiefly from curiosity; +and Mrs. McAlpin, who was assisting Captain Ranger<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_150"></a>[150]</span> +to compound the mixture for the ailing feet of the +stranger’s cattle, overheard the shrill-voiced visitor add, +“I never did take no stock in them women doctors.”</p> + +<p>“I wanted water,” continued the patient, “an’ couldn’t +git none; so I waited till nobody was watchin’ and jist +stole out o’ the tent in the night an’ swallered all I could +hol’ from a canteen; and I mended from the word ‘go.’ +The stuff was as warm as dish-water, but I wanted it +so bad I didn’t stop to taste it.”</p> + +<p>All day the convalescent wrestled with weakness; but +as the afflicted cattle could not go forward till the following +morning, she moved languidly about the camp and +fed her family with beans and bacon, with the never-failing +accompaniment of black coffee, which Captain +Ranger declared was “strong enough to bear up an iron +wedge.”</p> + +<p class="tb">The scenery became more diversified as the travellers +continued their journey up the Platte. Gradually the +heat became less suffocating. Desert sands gave way to +alluvial valleys, and the health of man and beast improved. +On the opposite, or south side of the river, the scenery +was strikingly unlike that of the plain through which +the emigrant road ran, winding its sinewy length in and +out, over the vast, untilled fields that lay asleep in the +sunshine, awaiting the fructifying power of the autumn +rains, and the future labor of plough and seedsman.</p> + +<p>It was now the first of July. The heavy duties of the +day were over, the short summer evening had come, and +Captain Ranger lay upon the grass, playing with his own +little ones, Susannah’s George Washington, and the three +babies of Sally O’Dowd.</p> + +<p>The evening breezes stirred his hair and beard and +filed his lungs with a sensation of vigor he had not +enjoyed since bidding farewell to his faithful wife.</p> + +<p>“The story goes that some prospectors have discovered +gold in the foot-hills across the big drink,” said Yank,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_151"></a>[151]</span> +approaching the Captain with a sort of half-military +salute.</p> + +<p>“What of it?” asked the Captain, as he shook himself +loose from the little group, and arose to his knees, +a vague fear tugging at his heart. “What does such a +discovery mean to us?”</p> + +<p>“Nothing; only the most of us are going to throw up +our job and go off a-prospecting.”</p> + +<p>“What! and leave me alone in this wilderness, without +teamsters, a thousand miles from nowhere, with all +these women and children on my hands to starve to death +or be captured by Indians?”</p> + +<p>“That’ll have to be your own lookout, I reckon. The +gold fever’s as sudden as the cholera, and takes you off +without warning when you get it bad.”</p> + +<p>“What’s the matter, daddie?” asked Jean. “Are +you sick?”</p> + +<p>“I’m face to face with an awful difficulty, daughter. +Our ox-drivers have caught the gold fever. They are +all going to leave us in this wilderness but Scotty; +and he’d go too, no doubt, if he weren’t crippled and +helpless.”</p> + +<p>“Don’t let the desertion of your teamsters worry you,” +exclaimed Sally O’Dowd. “I can drive one of the teams +myself.”</p> + +<p>“What! You?”</p> + +<p>“Yes! Didn’t I tell you that you’d never be sorry +if you’d let me travel in your train to Oregon?”</p> + +<p>“We can all drive oxen,” cried his three daughters, +in a breath.</p> + +<p>“But who will drive for Mrs. Benson and the Little +Doctor? Their teamsters have joined the stampede, and +they can’t drive oxen.”</p> + +<p>“Just try us and see if we can’t,” laughed the Little +Doctor.</p> + +<p>“But you have two teams, and your mother cannot +drive one of them.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_152"></a>[152]</span></p> + +<p>“I’ll make a trailer of one of the wagons, just as the +freighters do in the Assiniboin country.”</p> + +<p>“Does Mrs. Benson know about this?”</p> + +<p>“Yes; we’ve talked it all over. It’s a genuine case +of ‘have to,’ Captain.”</p> + +<p>“What will you do with Scotty?”</p> + +<p>“We’ve considered him! He’ll soon be on his feet +again. Meanwhile, he’ll have to stay on in his hammock.”</p> + +<p>“He’s not good for anything there nor anywhere +else!” said the Captain, testily. “He doesn’t know +beans about driving oxen, and I doubt if he can ever +learn!”</p> + +<p>“He’s great on ‘intervention’ and ‘non-intervention,’ +though,” laughed Mrs. McAlpin. “He’s even greater +on the Monroe Doctrine.”</p> + +<p>“Yes!” exclaimed Jean, “and you ought to hear him +rave over the nation’s allegiance to Mason and Dixon’s +Line. It’s on the troubles over the slavery question, +which he says are looming all along the national horizon, +that he comes out strong.”</p> + +<p>“He’s taught me a lot about law and equity, courts +and criminals, constitutions and codes,” said Hal.</p> + +<p>“You make light of the peril of our situation because +you do not comprehend its gravity,” exclaimed Captain +Ranger. “We need our teamsters. Scotty is a capital +theorist, but he’ll never set a river afire.”</p> + +<p>“That’s a feat you’ve never accomplished yet, daddie,” +laughed Jean.</p> + +<p>“I’ve come as near it as any living man; for I +boiled the Illinois dry, once!” replied the Captain, +alluding to an experience of a former year of drouth, +when a steam sawmill he was operating on the river-bank +had to be closed down for a season for want of +water.</p> + +<p>“Don’t worry, Captain,” cried Sally O’Dowd. “The +women and children won’t forsake you.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_153"></a>[153]</span></p> + +<p>“Because they can’t,” was the curt response, and he +walked away to be alone.</p> + +<p class="tb">The next morning, the teamsters, notwithstanding the +strike, were standing around the camp-fires, waiting for +breakfast. Some of them looked a little ashamed, some +were a little concerned as to the fate of the train, and +two or three seemed to enjoy the Captain’s predicament.</p> + +<p>“Clear out, every last one of you!” he exclaimed, as +they made a move for the mess-boxes as soon as breakfast +was ready. “The women folks are my teamsters +now, and they shall have the first seats at my table.”</p> + +<p>As the men turned away, crestfallen and hungry, their +resolution to “get rich quick” began to drop toward +zero; but their leader and spokesman hurried them away, +explaining that they would find a trading-post and plenty +of “grub” across the river.</p> + +<p>Mrs. McAlpin paused to visit Scotty a moment at +his hammock; and as Mrs. Benson was busy with some +duties at the fire, the couple were alone.</p> + +<p>“Why these groanings, Mr. Burns?” she asked, placing +her cool hand upon his corrugated forehead.</p> + +<p>“Because I’m a fool!”</p> + +<p>“Did anybody ever dispute it?” she asked with a silvery +laugh. “There! Not another word. You are my patient, +remember. You mustn’t talk back.”</p> + +<p>“Your touch is the touch of an angel.”</p> + +<p>“Did you ever see an angel?”</p> + +<p>“I’m <i>vis-à-vis</i> with one this holy minute. Ouch! +Confound that pain!”</p> + +<p>“I thought you enjoyed my surgery. You said you +did.”</p> + +<p>“I have just said I was a fool.”</p> + +<p>“Did I dispute it?”</p> + +<p>He laughed in spite of his pain. “Say, Little Doctor, +are you never going to let me talk it out?”</p> + +<p>“Talk what out?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_154"></a>[154]</span></p> + +<p>“Our personal affairs.”</p> + +<p>“Not yet. You must be patient. I am not a free +woman yet.”</p> + +<p>“But you’ll let me hope?”</p> + +<p>“I cannot say. I am determined to obey the letter of +the law.”</p> + +<p>“I could leap for joy, Daphne!”</p> + +<p>“Better not try it; might injure your knitting-bones.”</p> + +<p>“Here,” said Mrs. Benson, who had been purposely +busy at the fire, “is a dish of savory stew. And here +is some hardtack, soaked till it is light and soft. It is +hot and nicely buttered. The coffee is guiltless of cream, +but it is fresh and good.”</p> + +<p>“And black and aromatic and Frenchy,” exclaimed +Scotty. “Mrs. McAlpin, will you dine with me to-day?”</p> + +<p>“No, Mr. Burns; my meal awaits me at the fire.”</p> + +<p>“What sort of game is this?” he asked, as he ate with +relish.</p> + +<p>“Captain Ranger called it a prairie bird.”</p> + +<p>“Birds in my country don’t wear hair, but feathers,” +he said, holding to the light the hind-quarter of a prairie +dog, and pointing to bits of hair afloat in the gravy.</p> + +<p>“Ask me no questions, for conscience’ sake,” cried Mrs. +Benson, who was laughing heartily. “It may be a prairie +dog, or it may be a prairie squirrel. But it is good for +food, and much to be desired to make you well and wise.”</p> + +<p>“It is all right,” laughed Mrs. McAlpin. “When +Lewis and Clark were on the Oregon trail, nearly fifty +years ago, away yonder to the north of us, they were +glad to trade with the Indians for mangy dogs, sometimes, +if they got any food at all.”</p> + +<p class="tb">When Scotty awoke the following morning, after a +sleep that was as refreshing as it seemed brief, the sun +was creeping over the wide expanse of the Platte, making +it shine like a gigantic mirror. The women and girls, +who had been up for an hour, were bringing in the stock.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_155"></a>[155]</span> +Susannah, who had been detailed to cook the breakfast +and mind the children, was baking flapjacks, and the +aroma of coffee was in the air.</p> + +<p>“We can all eat at the first table now,” said Jean, as +they knelt around the mess-boxes.</p> + +<p>Before the repast was finished, they were surprised to +see the men who had left them for the gold mines reappear +at camp, looking cheap and ashamed.</p> + +<p>Sawed-off was the first to speak. “We talked it over +with Brownson and Jordan, and the four of us concluded +that we couldn’t desert you, Captain. So the rest of ’em +joined in.”</p> + +<p>“I reckon you got hungry,” said the Captain, dryly.</p> + +<p>“No, Captain. It wasn’t hunger; it was conscience +that sent us back.”</p> + +<p>“How much cash can you put up as collateral, if I +conclude to trust you again?”</p> + +<p>The crestfallen men were silent.</p> + +<p>“Seeing the risk is all mine, and all the provisions and +other parts of the entire outfit are mine, and you are foot-loose +and can play quits at any time, I guess we’d better +not make any new deal. My gals and these widders can +help drive the teams.”</p> + +<p>The self-discharged teamsters withdrew beyond hearing +of the camp, and parleyed long and earnestly.</p> + +<p>“We’ve got to do something!” exclaimed Sawed-off. +“Just watch them gals handle them cattle! They’ve the +true grit.”</p> + +<p>“Do you s’pose the Cap’n ’d take us back if we’d +pungle say fifty dollars apiece?” asked Limpy.</p> + +<p>“We can’t do better than make the offer,” said Yank.</p> + +<p>“This cash’ll come handy at the other end of the +line,” said the Captain, intrusting the gold to the care +of his daughters and reinstating his men, after a sharp +exhortation to avoid repeating the offence.</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_156"></a>[156]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="XXI">XXI<br> +<span class="smaller"><i>AN UNEXPECTED ENCOUNTER</i></span></h2> + +</div> + +<p>“Oh, this wonderful Western country!” wrote +Jean in her diary, under date of midnight, +July 4. “After travelling so long on the +banks of the Platte that we had come to look upon +it as a familiar friend, we left it to the southward and +turned our course up the valley of the Sweet Water, +through a succession of low, wooded hills. This little +river, though not more than a hundred feet wide, is +quite deep, and runs like a mill-race. The water is as +clear as ether, and agreeably cold.</p> + +<p>“Nobody can conceive the vastness of this country, +or imagine its future possibilities, until he has crossed +the great unsettled part of this continent to the westward +and seen it for himself.</p> + +<p>“Some days we move for many hours over great +stretches of alluvial soil, which only needs the impulse +of cultivation to make it yield of the fruits of the earth +like magic. Again, we are in the midst of big fields of +crude saleratus, or salt, or sulphur. Now and then our +cattle are compelled to wade through an alkali swamp, +suggesting more foot-ail; but our Little Doctor says that +danger is past for this year; she has not stated why, and +maybe she doesn’t know.</p> + +<p>“We encamped last night near Independence Rock,—a +huge pile of gray basalt, covering an area of perhaps +ten acres, and looking to be about three hundred +feet high. Its sides are formed of great irregular +bowlders, worn smooth by the warring elements of +ages.</p> + +<p>“July 5. Yesterday was Independence Day, and as<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_157"></a>[157]</span> +we had camped near Independence Rock, daddie laid +over to celebrate.</p> + +<p>“About noon, Mary, Marjorie, and I concluded that +we would climb the rock to its summit, carrying with +us the only star-spangled banner the train could boast. +But our scheme failed through the fickleness and fury +of the same elements that have been smoothing the surface +of the rock during the ages gone.</p> + +<p>“We had climbed over halfway to the top when a +low, dense cloud, as blue-black as a kettle of indigo dye, +enveloped us. It came upon us so suddenly that we hardly +realized our danger till we were surrounded by semi-darkness +in the midst of a pelting hailstorm. We retreated +so blindly and hastily that it is a miracle we +didn’t break our necks.</p> + +<p>“Thunder and lightning followed, or rather accompanied +the hail, and were succeeded by a deluge of rain. +Sudden squalls of wind would fairly lift us off our feet +at times as we hurried downward, making the descent +doubly perilous. But the storm soon spent its fury, leaving +the air as clear and sweet as a chime of bells.</p> + +<p>“A roaring fire welcomed us at camp, by which we +warmed our chilled marrow-bones and dried our sodden +toggery.</p> + +<p>“Daddie scolded; Mame charged our mishap all to +me; Marj blamed both of us, and excused herself. It is +the way of the world, or of most people in it, but it is +sometimes very provoking. I hadn’t thought of attempting +the climb till the other girls proposed it; but I took +the brunt of the blame, and, as usual, got all the scolding.</p> + +<p>“The storm wouldn’t let us try to float the flag, but +it got very wet, and we had our labor for our pains.</p> + +<p>“Sally and Susannah prepared a Fourth of July banquet +of antelope steaks, to go with our regulation diet +of beans and coffee. After dinner Mrs. McAlpin sang +‘The Star-Spangled Banner,’ the rest of us joining in +the chorus. Susannah sang a lot of negro melodies, and<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_158"></a>[158]</span> +George Washington danced for us, his white teeth shining, +and eyeballs gleaming. Hal read the Declaration +of Independence, and daddie ‘made the eagle scream.’</p> + +<p>“He was in the midst of his oration, and I was wondering +where all the men of valor came from, seeing they +had had no mothers to assist in getting up this spread-eagle +scheme we call a republic, when I was compelled +to leave the crowd and poise myself on a wet wagon-tongue +to write the thing up. Scotty, who is still on +crutches, delivered an oration on the side, of which I +heard but little, owing to my banishment.</p> + +<p>“But I won’t always be so meek and silent on the +Fourth of July. I’ll write a Declaration of Independence +for women some day.</p> + +<p>“Daddie burned some powder after dark, ‘to amuse +the children,’ he said, but I noticed that the men enjoyed +the noise even more than the children did. Poor Bobbie +got some powder burns about the face, and Sadie and +the babies gave us a squalling chorus, prompted by +fright, causing me to wonder why men must always +celebrate our patriotism with the emblems of death and +destruction.”</p> + +<p>On July 6 she wrote: “We have reached the edges of +the Rocky Mountains now; and as we climb slowly and +almost imperceptibly toward their summits, our road +winds in and out along the meandering bases of a great +divide, down which many little streams of icy water dash +with foam and roar, forever in a hurry, always trying to +go somewhere, and never reaching any settled goal.</p> + +<p>“Now and then we get glimpses of distant summits, +but we are reaching them by an ascent so gradual that +daddie says we shall not realize that we have crossed the +great divide till we see the water has changed its course +from east to west.</p> + +<p>“We passed a trading-post to-day, belonging to a +company having its headquarters at Salt Lake. The men +in charge wore big sombreros, buckskin trousers, and<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_159"></a>[159]</span> +moccasins of buffalo hide. They all smoked incessantly +and affected the airs of the genus cowboy, or <i>vaquero</i> of +the plains, of whom we often see specimens roving over +hill and plain on horseback, their shoulders covered with +gayly colored serapes, flapping in the wind like wings.</p> + +<p>“We pass daily from six to a dozen graves, but not +so newly made as those noticed heretofore; so we conclude +the cholera is abating.</p> + +<p>“There, old Journal! I’ve done my level best to write +you up to date. But it’s like climbing these mountains,—uphill +work, and dreadfully monotonous!”</p> + +<p class="tb">“Did you buy a fresh stock of provisions, Captain?” +asked Sally O’Dowd, as they were preparing to leave the +trading-post which Jean had mentioned, after he had held +a long parley with a big, bronzed, and heavily bearded +mountaineer, who was strikingly handsome despite his +peculiar make-up.</p> + +<p>“Yes, Sally. I bought a couple o’ hundred pounds o’ +flour, for which I paid a twenty-dollar gold-piece.”</p> + +<p>“I was feeding the children, and didn’t get a chance +to make my purchases at the proper time. Won’t you +hold the teams back a few minutes for me?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, but hurry up.”</p> + +<p>“Let me have a hundred pounds of flour, sir,” she +said, approaching the counter, behind which the trader +stood, smoking a huge meerschaum.</p> + +<p>“Anything else?”</p> + +<p>“Yes; the balance of this twenty-dollar gold-piece in +dried peaches, please.”</p> + +<p>In filling her order, the trader raised the cloth partition +of the tent to reach his base of supplies, and in the middle +of the tent Sally espied an unkempt squaw and half-a-dozen +dusky children.</p> + +<p>“I’ll be compelled to hurry,” she said, as he leisurely +weighed her fruit. “Captain Ranger is always demanding +haste.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_160"></a>[160]</span></p> + +<p>The trader started suddenly, his face blanching.</p> + +<p>“Where does your train hail from?” he asked.</p> + +<p>“From the middle West, sir. We are going from the +West to the West.” The trader balanced two sacks of +Salt Lake flour on his shoulders, and grasping the +smaller package of peaches, strode out hurriedly toward +the wagon near which Captain Ranger was standing, +impatient to be gone.</p> + +<p>“These purchases are for the lady, sir. Where will +you have them dumped?”</p> + +<p>“Any place where there’s room, and don’t let any +grass grow under your feet!”</p> + +<p>“The lady tells me your name is Ranger, sir.”</p> + +<p>“Yes. What of it?”</p> + +<p>“Will you walk with me a little way ahead of the +wagons? I have something important to say to you +alone.”</p> + +<p>“We are scarce of drivers,” replied the Captain, hesitating. +“Two of my men are out hunting.”</p> + +<p>“I can drive,” exclaimed Jean, reaching for the whip, +which she handled with the skill of a freighter, finishing +her flourishes with a series of snaps at the end of +a deerskin cracker, like the explosion of a bunch of +fire-crackers.</p> + +<p>“If we’ll take this cut-off, we’ll come out a mile or +more ahead of the wagons,” said the trader. “Then we +can rest by the roadside till they catch up.”</p> + +<p>The Captain strode by his side in silence.</p> + +<p>“Don’t you know me, John?” asked the stranger, +grasping him by the arm, and speaking in a hoarse +whisper.</p> + +<p>Captain Ranger eyed him earnestly, his cheeks paling.</p> + +<p>“Can it be possible that you are—Joe?” he asked, +seizing his hand with a vise-like grip.</p> + +<p>“I am indeed your brother Joe,—an outlaw, now and +always.”</p> + +<p>“No, you are not an outlaw; the fellow over whom<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_161"></a>[161]</span> +you got into that trouble is alive and well. You’d have +got out of that scrape all right if you hadn’t jumped +your bail and left all the rest of us in the lurch. Why +didn’t you stand your trial, like a man?”</p> + +<p>John Ranger’s feelings overcame him, and he sank upon +the ground, filled with old-time memories. He buried his +face in his hands. Time and distance faded away, and he +saw, with eyes of memory, the gentle, fading face of his +toiling, uncomplaining wife, whose life had been for years +a sacrifice to penury through the debt entailed by this +brother’s cowardice.</p> + +<p>“Do you mean to tell me that Elmer Edson is not +dead?”</p> + +<p>The question called him back to present conditions with +a sudden start.</p> + +<p>“Elmer Edson is not dead, but Annie Ranger is!” he +said hoarsely. “We had to leave her precious dust in the +ground away back yonder in the Black Hills. We started +together on this terrible journey, hoping to escape the +consequences of that awful mortgage with which you left +us in the lurch. She had denied herself many comforts +and all the luxuries of life for a dozen years to feed the +ever-eating cankerworm of interest. No, Joe, you didn’t +kill Edson; but through my efforts to help you out of a +trouble in which you should never have been entangled, +you became accessory to the lingering death of my +wife.”</p> + +<p>“Don’t reproach me, John! I loved Annie like a +sister. I did indeed. She was a sister to me from the +day she became your wife. You don’t or won’t see how +it grieves me to hear of her death.”</p> + +<p>“Why didn’t you write to us, like a man?”</p> + +<p>The brother had risen to his feet, and was pacing +nervously to and fro, whittling aimlessly on a bit of sagebrush.</p> + +<p>“I was afraid to write. There was a price upon my +head, as you have no need to be informed.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_162"></a>[162]</span></p> + +<p>“Yes, Joe; and to pay the interest on that price was +the bane of my existence for a dozen years. But you can +write now. Our dear mother—God bless her!—would +forget all the terrible past if she could hold you in her +arms once more. It is your duty to return at once, and +settle, as well as you can, for the trouble you have caused. +You ought at least to lift that accursed mortgage from +the farm, and let Lije Robinson and Sister Mary and our +parents spend the remainder of their lives in peace. You +are a free man, and can go where you please.”</p> + +<p>“But I am not a free man, John. Even with that +horrible load off my shoulders, I still am bound, hand +and foot.”</p> + +<p>“Are you married, Joe?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, John. You see, when a fellow is in hiding +among the Indians, with a price set upon his head, and +is therefore afraid to go home, he’s nothing but a fugitive +from justice; he expects to spend his life there, +and never see the face of another white woman; and +when there are scores of pretty Indian girls in sight—”</p> + +<p>John Ranger jumped to his feet, his fists clinched and +his eyes glaring.</p> + +<p>“You don’t mean to tell me that my brother is married +to—to a—squaw?”</p> + +<p>There was ineffable scorn in his tone and manner. It +was now Joe’s turn to sink upon the ground and bury his +face in his hands. When he again looked at his brother, +there was an expression of age and anguish upon his face +which had not been there before.</p> + +<p>“I am the husband of an Indian woman, and the father +of seven half-breed children,” he said with the air of a +guilty man on trial for his life. “But there are extenuating +circumstances, John. My wife was no common +squaw. If you care for me at all, you will not apply +that epithet to the mother of my children. She was the +daughter of a Mandan chief, who had large dealings with +the Hudson Bay Company, and who sent her to England<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_163"></a>[163]</span> +to be educated. You’d hardly think it to see her now, +though; for the Indian women fall back into aboriginal +customs when they leave the haunts of civilization to return +to their people and take up life, especially as mothers, +among their own kind and kin. At least, that is what +Wahnetta did.”</p> + +<p>John Ranger groaned. “My God! has it come to +this?” he cried, looking the picture of despair.</p> + +<p>“If you had been in my place, you would have married +her yourself, John. Nobody has a right to judge another; +for no one knows what he will do till he is tried.”</p> + +<p>“Don’t you regret the marriage, Joe?”</p> + +<p>“It is too late for regrets. The deed is done, and I +cannot get away from my fate. Shall we part as friends +and brothers? Or is there an impassable gulf between +us?”</p> + +<p>There was an unspoken appeal in his tone, far stronger +than words, which John Ranger remembered for many +a day. But he refused his brother’s proffered hand, and +said hoarsely, as he sprang to his feet: “Don’t, at your +peril, let anybody know that you are my brother!”</p> + +<p>He wheeled upon his heel and was gone.</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="XXII">XXII<br> +<span class="smaller"><i>THE SQUAW MAN</i></span></h2> + +</div> + +<p>Captain Ranger overtook his train at a late +hour, still nursing his towering wrath. His face +was livid, and his breathing stertorous. Snatching +the ox-whip from the hands of Jean and frightening +the discouraged cattle into the semblance of an attempt +at hurry by the cruel vehemence with which he belabored +their lash-beflecked hides, he urged them forward, never +once relaxing his attacks with the whip till he had rushed<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_164"></a>[164]</span> +them over the uneven road and rocks for six or seven +miles.</p> + +<p>“Daddie is in a terrible tantrum over something very +unusual,” said Jean. “Do you know what is the +matter?” she asked aside, addressing Sally O’Dowd.</p> + +<p>“No, Jean; unless he had some hot words with that +post-trader. I know he thought ten dollars a hundred +for flour was robbery. And think of a dollar a pound +for dried peaches!”</p> + +<p>“Daddie’s not idiot enough to work himself into a +fever over a trifle like that,” answered Jean. “But suppose +he has been thrown into a passion by anybody, the +poor half-sick and half-famished oxen ought not to be +punished for it. He reminds me of an old Kentucky +slave-owner who got so mad because one of his sons +failed to pass his first exams at West Point that he went +out, as soon as he heard about it, and cruelly whipped a +nigger.” And falling back to the family team, beside +which Hal was trudging, whip in hand, striving to keep +the jaded cattle close behind his father’s oxen, she dropped +hastily on one knee on the wagon-tongue and climbed +nimbly to a seat.</p> + +<p>“That trader is still sitting by the roadside,” she cried +to Sally, who was trudging through the sand. “He’s +digging the earth with a jack-knife or dirk, or some other +sharp implement, and seems quite as savage and out of +humor as daddie. Wonder what daddie said to him.”</p> + +<p>One by one the wagons passed the solitary trader, who +had climbed to a low ledge of rocks, where he sat as +silent as the sun. His knife had fallen to the ground +and lay glittering at his feet. His broad sombrero shaded +his face.</p> + +<p>The sudden rebound from the great happiness that had +been his when first informed that he was not a murderer +and an outlaw, to the abject position of a spurned and +degraded “squaw man” seemed more than he could bear. +“I am not a murderer, though, and that’s some comfort,”<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_165"></a>[165]</span> +he moaned. “But I am still a Pariah,—an outcast from +my own people. What will my dear mother think of me +when John acquaints her with the facts? What will my +father say or do?”</p> + +<p>It is well that Mother Nature, in her wisdom and +mercy, has provided a limit to human suffering, else +everybody in this world would at times become insane.</p> + +<p>Cicadas gave forth their rasping notes in the dry grass, +and a colony of prairie dogs played hide-and-seek over +the uneven streets above an underground settlement +hard by. A badger peeped cautiously from the mouth +of his sagebrush-guarded den, and a rattlesnake crawled +unnoticed past his feet.</p> + +<p>“I don’t blame John for being disappointed and angry,” +he said aloud, “but I am amazed at his lack of charity. +If he could have seen and known Wahnetta as I did, at +the time of our marriage, he would have been pleased +with my choice. But it is too late now. Her girlish +grace and beauty are gone, and one could hardly distinguish +her from any of the other pappoose-burdened, +camas-digging squaws that abound in spots in the land +of the Latter-Day Saints. I might send her back, with +the children, to the remnant of her tribe among the Bad +Lands, but the act would be infamous. No, Joseph +Ranger; you must take your medicine.”</p> + +<p>He thought of his joyous exultation at the time he had +won the accomplished and graceful Indian princess, whom +half-a-dozen distinguished braves and as many handsome +white traders had sought in marriage; of her trusting +preference for him; of their joyous honeymoon; and of +the herd of beautiful horses with which he had purchased +her for his chosen bride, thus making her a slave. He +winced as he thought of the legal status of his wife and +children.</p> + +<p>He blushed with shame as he thought of her loyalty +to him through all the years of her transformation from +a lithe and pretty maiden of sixteen, whom every man<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_166"></a>[166]</span> +admired, to the shapeless and slovenly specimen of her +people, of whom he was now ashamed. He thought +bitterly yet lovingly of the numerous children she had +borne him uncomplainingly, while wandering from place +to place in quest of roots and berries to save them from +starvation in their early married years, when game would +be scarce and his fickle fortunes had vanished for months +at a stretch.</p> + +<p>He remembered with what loving pride he had named +his first two children John and Annie, in honor of the +brother and sister for whom his heart had so often +hungered. “And the end is this!” he cried, noting with +a start that the sun was down. “Why did I name them +John and Annie? I might have known better. I was a +fool. And yet why should they be spurned on account +of their Indian blood? If, instead of marrying Wahnetta, +I had refused to make her my lawful wife, would my +white relations have spurned me now?”</p> + +<p>His childhood days passed and repassed before his +mental vision like a panorama.</p> + +<p>His family had been proud of him. What sacrifices +they had made to send him to college, and with what base +ingratitude he had repaid their loyalty and love! He had +worse than wasted his opportunities, he thought, as he +gazed abroad over the mighty landscape, bounded on the +one hand by the wide basin of the receded and still slowly +receding waters of Great Salt Lake, and on the other by +the Rocky Mountains,—so near that they obstructed his +vision, though he well knew their extent and majesty. +“This won’t do!” cried the wretched man, as he started +homeward, reeling like a drunken man.</p> + +<p>“Papa!” cried a childish voice. “Do hurry home! +We are so hungry! Where have you been for so long?”</p> + +<p>“All right, Johnnie; I’m coming. Papa forgot.”</p> + +<p class="tb">In a large military tent, or annex, at the rear end of +the trader’s tent sat Wahnetta, his wife. He shuddered<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_167"></a>[167]</span> +at the thought. And yet why should he? Was she not +as good as he? Had all her years of faithful servitude +counted for nothing?</p> + +<p>A meal of boiled buffalo meat and vegetables, with +bread, coffee, butter, and eggs, was waiting on a table +of rough boards resting on trestles, and covered with an +oilcloth that had once been white.</p> + +<p>In one corner, beside a big sheet-iron cook-stove, sat, +or rather crouched, the woman whom he had made his +wife. She was not yet thirty years of age, but all traces +of her girlish youth and beauty of face and figure were +gone. Her dress, a cheap and garish print, was open at +the neck and arms, and hung in slovenly folds about her +fat form and moccasined feet.</p> + +<p>“Why in thunder don’t you keep yourself and the +young ones clean and dressed up?” asked her husband, +as he dropped into his seat at table. “You keep yourself +like a Digger squaw!”</p> + +<p>“I should belie the customs of my people if I aped the +airs of white folks when I must live like an Indian, Joseph +Addicks!” said the woman, in well-modulated English, +as she arose and approached the table, coffee-pot in hand.</p> + +<p>“I loathe and abhor the very sight of you!” he exclaimed +with a savage glare.</p> + +<p>“You didn’t talk like that when I was young and +pretty, Joseph! If you had tried it once, you would not +have had a chance to repeat it then. Perhaps,” she added +bitterly, a moment later, as she filled his plate, “perhaps +I could have retained my charms if you had taken me back +to London and kept me within the pale of civilization in +which I was educated. You said before you married me +that you would take me back to Canada, where you said +your people lived, who would be glad to welcome me. +How well you have kept your promise let these surroundings +answer. I married you believing that your +people would be my people, and your God my God. +And,” looking around her, “this is the result!”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_168"></a>[168]</span></p> + +<p>The sleeves of her gaudy dress were rolled back above +the elbows, exposing her fat yet muscular arms, not over-clean; +and the dingy pipe she had been smoking protruded +from the open bosom of her gown.</p> + +<p>“Where have you been during all this busy afternoon, +Joseph?” she asked, still standing.</p> + +<p>“To hell!”</p> + +<p>“Your missionaries have taught me that people only +go to hell from choice, Joseph; that is, if there is any +worse hell anywhere than we are in all the time,—which +I love the Great Spirit too well to believe. It seems to +me we are compelled to take the punishment we bring +upon ourselves here and now.”</p> + +<p>“You haven’t any right to think, you loathsome, +disgusting—”</p> + +<p>“Stop, Joseph Addicks! This is, you say, a white +man’s country now. Will you prove it by behaving +yourself like a gentleman? I didn’t live for four years +in a white man’s country for nothing.”</p> + +<p>He arose and left the table without a word. His wife +had seen him in moods like this before.</p> + +<p>“Come, John; come, Annie; take your seats at table. +You must be half famished.”</p> + +<p>Four or five smaller children as dusky as herself were +playing on the earthen floor; and, leaning helplessly +against a pyramid of flour sacks, lashed in Indian style +to its birchen cradle, was a pappoose of three months, +defencelessly enduring an attack of mosquitoes on its +face and eyes.</p> + +<p>“My father was a fool for sending me to college,” +thought Joseph Ranger, who, like many others that go +wrong, was ready to blame everything and everybody +except himself. “The university should have stopped +that hazing before it began, so I couldn’t have had that +fracas.”</p> + +<p>“Why didn’t you eat your dinner, Joseph?” asked +his wife, after she had fed the children.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_169"></a>[169]</span></p> + +<p>“Because I hate this accursed life too heartily to have +any appetite for food.”</p> + +<p>“Haven’t I always urged you to go with us back to +civilization, Joseph?”</p> + +<p>“With you for a wife? You don’t know what you are +talking about.”</p> + +<p>Then—but it was not the first time since Wahnetta +had become his property by purchase—he fired himself +up with the vile whiskey his company held in stock, and, +taking advantage of the English common law, at that +time an acknowledged authority in every State and Territory +in the Union, he provided himself with a stick, no +thicker than his thumb, and beat Wahnetta, his wife, long +and brutally.</p> + +<p class="tb">Captain Ranger had allowed his anger to cool before +the sun went down. To his credit be it spoken, he was +very much ashamed of himself. “I was like an enraged, +unreasoning animal,” he exclaimed aloud. “I might at +least have repulsed Joe with kindness. I will write to +my father and mother and tell them that my brother who +was lost is alive and is found. But I’ll say nothing about +the domestic side of his history. It would only grieve +them all, and they couldn’t help matters. It is none of +my business, anyhow.”</p> + +<p>But he could not sleep. The memory of his and +Joseph’s boyhood days reproached him, and he thought +lovingly, in spite of himself, of the younger brother of +whom he had been so proud. Many incidents of their +childhood, long forgotten, passed before him with startling +vividness.</p> + +<p>“Joe saved my life once,” he said, half audibly. “I +would have been drowned as sure as fate, when I broke +through the ice that day, if he hadn’t saved me at the +risk of his own life. Dear boy! I’ll saddle Sukie and +go back to see him in the morning.” With this resolution +settled in his mind, he fell asleep; but his sleep was<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_170"></a>[170]</span> +fitful. Sometimes the sad, sweet face of his gentle Annie +would bend over him, awakening him with a start. A +conviction settled more and more strongly upon his mind +that he had cruelly wronged his brother, and he would +be allowed no rest till he should atone.</p> + +<p>Once, long before morning, he saw himself face to face +with a raging buffalo bull. It was without eyes, and +gazed at him through sightless sockets, and shook its +formidable head at him with as much certainty of aim +as though its thick and darkened skull were ablaze with +light. The beast held the only vantage-ground,—an +open plain,—and at his back rose a sheer and inaccessible +mountain, up which there was no chance of escape.</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="XXIII">XXIII<br> +<span class="smaller"><i>THE SQUAW ASSERTS HER RIGHTS</i></span></h2> + +</div> + +<p>The morning found the post-trader with a raging +headache. For several minutes after awakening +to consciousness he remained motionless, not +realizing time or place.</p> + +<p>“Oh, mother! my head, my head!” he exclaimed, as +he locked his fingers above his throbbing temples. Never +before since his marriage had he uttered a cry of pain +without bringing Wahnetta to his side. Now no one noticed +his groaning. He raised himself upon his elbow and +gazed through the open door of his sleeping apartment +upon the broad and dusty plain. The sun was already +an hour high. Numerous campers had struck their tents, +and the teams were moving toward the farther West. +He turned his gaze within the tent and regarded Wahnetta +with a look and feeling of disgust. She had prepared +his breakfast while he slept, and had fed their<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_171"></a>[171]</span> +ravenous brood,—all save the baby in its Indian basket, +which was whining pitifully as it blinked its eyes in a +helpless attempt to drive away the flies.</p> + +<p>“Why don’t you keep your young one quiet?” roared +her husband, savagely.</p> + +<p>“I’ve been doing the best I could,” said the woman, +meekly. “I’ve gotten all the children settled outside in +the shade, studying their lessons, except this poor little +pappoose, and I’ll ’tend to his wants as soon as I have +disposed of the worst baby in the lot,—and that’s you.”</p> + +<p>“What in thunder has come over you, woman?”</p> + +<p>“Nothing.”</p> + +<p>“Have you had breakfast?”</p> + +<p>“Food would choke me, Joseph Addicks! See what +you did last night!” She threw back her heavy mass of +torn and tangled hair, exposing an ugly bruise on her +temple. “If it were not for these children, I’d leave +you and strike out for myself. But as I cannot get away +from them, I will stay by them, as many a woman in all +countries is obliged to do under like circumstances till +she either dies or can run away. But I tell you right +here and now that I will never take another blow from +you or any other man.”</p> + +<p>“I’d like to see you help yourself.”</p> + +<p>“I’ll help myself by laying you dead at my feet! +No man who respects himself will marry a woman not +his equal, or if she is of an inferior race. I didn’t know +this when I was a foolish young girl, but I understand +it now. In marrying an Indian girl you did not elevate +her one atom, but you degraded us both. I now tell you +to your teeth that I hate you, and you can’t help it.”</p> + +<p>“I never would have married you if I had known that +I was not an outlaw. I thought myself a murderer till +yesterday. I know better now. I am sorry I beat you, +though. I wouldn’t have done it if I hadn’t been in a +drunken frenzy. I’m in a better temper this morning; +but oh, my head, my head!”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_172"></a>[172]</span></p> + +<p>“Let it ache! So does mine, but I can’t lie abed and +groan. I am compelled to look after the family’s needs, +sick or well.”</p> + +<p>Then, womanlike, though the poor little pappoose +fretted pitifully in its Indian basket, his wife brought +cold water and towels and bathed his throbbing forehead.</p> + +<p>“I’m better now,” he said, as his temples cooled. +“Will you forgive me for beating you last night, +Wahnetta?”</p> + +<p>She looked at him in astonishment. Never before, +though he had often bestowed indignities upon her that +he would not have inflicted upon a favorite dog or +horse, had he addressed her thus, or shown any sign of +repentance.</p> + +<p>“If I had kept my promise, Wahnetta, as I should +have done, I would have taken you as a bride to London +or Montreal and replaced you in the world of civilization, +in which you were educated by your fond, mistaken father. +But I couldn’t do it, because of my daily dread of the +hangman’s rope. I do not wonder that you despise me. +I did not realize that I had become that thing that every +self-respecting man of the West abhors,—a ‘squaw-man’!”</p> + +<p>“Don’t you dare to say ‘squaw’ to me, Joseph Addicks! +It is an epithet no white man uses except in +contempt. When we were married I was your equal in +education, your superior in personal appearance, and your +match in ambition. I now see that I was far ahead of +you in moral character, for I was never a fugitive from +what the world calls justice. But why didn’t you confide +all this to me long ago?”</p> + +<p>He laughed derisively. “I knew the treacherous Indian +nature too well, woman; and I wouldn’t trust you +now if it were in your power to betray me; but there is +nothing now to betray.”</p> + +<p>“And I am no longer afraid of you, Joseph Addicks.”</p> + +<p>“My name is not Addicks. My brother passed through<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_173"></a>[173]</span> +here yesterday. His name is John Ranger, and I am his +long-lost brother, Joseph. He is taking his family to the +Territory of Oregon.”</p> + +<p>He arose finally and made a tolerable breakfast, she, +for the first time since their marriage, taking her seat at +the table beside him as he ate.</p> + +<p>“If you’d keep yourself clean and tidy, like a self-respecting +white woman, you wouldn’t appear so—so +Injuny, and I wouldn’t be so very much ashamed of +you. I’m sick to death of this bondage, Wahnetta. I, +too, was a young and unsophisticated fool when we were +married. What will you take to let me out of it honorably? +I want to do everything I can to atone; but +something must be done. I will not longer endure this +mode of existence.”</p> + +<p>“I have an idea, Joseph. My inheritance from my +father arrived several days ago. I hadn’t thought of +claiming it for myself, but I will now. Give me a letter +of credit for the whole of it, with an outfit for travelling, +and I will go, with the children, to a village on the +Willamette River called Portland, in the Territory of +Oregon. You know Dr. McLoughlin well, and so do I. +There’s a convent in Portland, where I can place the +girls, and a brothers’ school near by for the boys. I’ll +get a boarding-place, not too far away, for myself and +the little tots that are too young to be in school. I will +soon recruit if I can get a chance to rest up and dress +myself as the white women in my position do. You +won’t know me in three months after I have had a +chance to live in keeping with my station.”</p> + +<p>She paused, panting because of her own audacity. +Never before had she ventured to give utterance to so +long a speech in his presence. He saw a ray of hope +and pursued it eagerly.</p> + +<p>“I have a good wagon, and a fine four-mule team that +is idle,” he said musingly. “I guess we can manage to +make the change.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_174"></a>[174]</span></p> + +<p>“What will you do, Joseph? Can you stay here when +we are gone?”</p> + +<p>“I shouldn’t think you’d care to consider me after all +that’s happened, Wahnetta.”</p> + +<p>“You cannot give me back my heart, my husband. I +can never be happy without you. But, savagely as I spoke +a while ago, my heart is full of love for you, and the +thought of leaving you alone in this God-forsaken wilderness +brings back all the tenderness of the past.”</p> + +<p>“I can take care of myself, I reckon.”</p> + +<p>“Of course; if I can take care of myself and seven +children, you ought to be able to get along alone, or hire +somebody to help you,” she exclaimed, straightening her +shoulders, and revealing long-lost or hidden traces of her +girlhood’s beauty in the light of an awakening hope. “I +know the tendency of my race, or any other, to hark back +to primitive conditions under adverse circumstances. The +time has now come when the children must have the +social and educational advantages of a higher civilization, +or they’ll be Indians to the end of the chapter. As you +will not permit me to take them to the East, I am glad +that I can take them to the farthest West.”</p> + +<p>“How soon can you be ready to start?”</p> + +<p>“To-morrow, or as soon as the team is ready. We’ll +pose as Indians till we get to Oregon. We can camp in +the Portland woods till an outfit of clothing can be prepared +in which you wouldn’t be ashamed to see your wife +and children appear before kings.”</p> + +<p>The next morning early, while the Ranger team was +yet in camp, and its Captain was not yet awake, an Indian +woman, with an unkempt swarm of dusky children, +passed him on their westward way, unrecognized.</p> + +<p class="tb">“Daddie’s in a raging fever!” cried Jean, arousing +the Little Doctor.</p> + +<p>“We’ll fetch him out all right,” said the doctor, as the +frightened children shivered around the fire in the crisp<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_175"></a>[175]</span> +morning air, silent and awe-stricken. “I saw an Indian +‘sweat-house’ near the river-bank after we had encamped +last night. We’ll fumigate it, and give your father a +thorough steaming, children. Don’t be frightened. He’s +caught the mountain fever. Luckily, I have on hand a +lot of crude brimstone. I gathered it near Hell Gate.”</p> + +<p>“But we mustn’t use the sweat-house without the +consent of the Indians,” said Scotty. “Yonder comes +a lot of them on horseback now. I’ll see them and make +terms.”</p> + +<p>The terms having been arranged satisfactorily, the +Little Doctor proceeded to make preparations for the +reception of her patient.</p> + +<p>When the inner surface of the dugout had reached a +white heat, the fire was permitted to die, and the place +was cleansed of coals and ashes. It was then tested by +a thermometer; and when cooled to the proper temperature, +the Captain, now almost incoherent from fever, was +wrapped in blankets and placed, feet foremost, within its +depths, where he lay with his head enveloped with cold, +wet towels, leaving only a small aperture at the mouth +of the “infernal pit,” as he called it, for air. Thus situated, +and perspiring at every pore, he fell asleep.</p> + +<p>A delicious, restful languor followed his awakening, +and he was aroused, against his protest, to be removed +by willing attendants to a closed tent, where he was +packed in cold, wet sheets, and left to rest for another +hour or more.</p> + +<p>“His heart has good action, and he’ll come out all +right; but we can’t break camp to-day,” said the Little +Doctor.</p> + +<p>By evening the Captain found his fever conquered. +But he was not strong enough to ride back to his +brother’s trading-post for the amicable interview he had +planned; so, like most of our “ships that pass in the +night,” his opportunity was gone; and as time wore on, +his good resolutions vanished also.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_176"></a>[176]</span></p> + +<p>The long-drawn monotony of the journey caused the +entries in her journal to become exceedingly monotonous +to Jean, who often neglected a duty she would have highly +prized had she been able to foresee the value of the record +she was making under constant protest.</p> + +<p>On the tenth of July she wrote as follows: “We are +now in Utah Territory, which is the first organized part +of Uncle Sam’s dominions we have set foot upon since +leaving the Missouri River. Our hunters to-day killed +an antelope and a brace of ‘fool’ hens, or sage-chickens, +which our half-famished crowd cooked and ate with relish.</p> + +<p>“What a way we human animals have of preying upon +the brute creation, as we falsely name the mild-eyed entities +which we must slay and eat that we may live! I +have no heart to write. I can only think of the beautiful +eyes of that antelope we have killed and eaten, and of the +sage-hens that were not enough afraid of a boot that +Yank threw at them to get out of his way. And we +called them ‘fools’ because they trusted us, who, as +compared to them, are knaves.”</p> + +<p>After crossing the Rocky Mountains through a huge +and devious gap<a id="FNanchor_2" href="#Footnote_2" class="fnanchor">[2]</a> by ascents and descents so gradual that +nothing but the changing trend of the water-currents +marked the point or points of demarcation, the train +reached a height overlooking the valley of the Great Salt +Lake,—the “Promised Land” of the Latter-Day Saints, +who even in that early day had made it, in many spots, +to blossom as the rose.</p> + +<p>The almost intolerable heat of midday was followed at +night by cold and marrow-piercing winds, making both +day and night uncomfortable.</p> + +<p>“No wonder the immigrants are ill, Mr. Burns,” said +Mrs. McAlpin, one evening, when, as she could not +politely avoid him, she sought to control the conversation. +“Nothing saves any of us but the snow-laden air +from these grand old mountains. I have stood on the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_177"></a>[177]</span> +Himalayas, where the Mahatmas are said to hold sway, +I have beheld the shimmering beauty of Egyptian skies, +I have floated among the silent wonders of the Dead Sea; +but the majestic beauty of these Rocky Mountains transcends +them all.”</p> + +<p>“I’ve just left a family of Mormons, where there is +a bishop ill with the fever. The faithful were trying to +cure him by the ridiculous custom of laying on of hands,” +said Burns, who had sought her company, hoping to “talk +it out.”</p> + +<p>“Not necessarily ridiculous,” answered the lady. “If +a faithful Catholic crowd can change a little vial of +mummy-dry blood into liquid form in answer to faith +and prayer, why can’t an equally faithful Mormon crowd +heal the sick through the same power of concentration, +which is only another name for faith?” and the Little +Doctor hurried away.</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="XXIV">XXIV<br> +<span class="smaller"><i>A MORMON WOMAN</i></span></h2> + +</div> + +<p>Newly created Mormon settlements came occasionally +into view, the long, low, ashy-white +adobe houses of the Latter-Day Saints proclaiming, +by the front doors to be counted in their dwellings, +the number of wives each patriarch possessed.</p> + +<p>One cold, blustering evening a lone woman, middle-aged, +swarthy, sinewy, and tall, came into the camp afoot. +A bundle of bedding strapped to her back gave her an +uncanny appearance as she shrank into the shadows. A +reticule of generous dimensions depended from her neck +in front and reached below her waist-line, containing her +little stock of clothing and provisions.</p> + +<p>“I am making my way to the Northern Oregon country,”<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_178"></a>[178]</span> +she said, meaning the great expanse of territory +which at that time embraced the present States of Oregon, +Washington, and Idaho, with a large slice of the present +State of Montana included. “President Young saw I was +going crazy,” she added, throwing aside her reticence after +being warmed and fed. “I wasn’t the least mite dangerous +to have around, as I wasn’t violent; but I cried and +took on so, after I had to give my husband away in marriage +to another woman, that I scared the hull church into +a fear that I’d upset polygamy. So President Young +said I might have a permit to leave the country.”</p> + +<p>“Do you mind telling us all about it?” asked Sally +O’Dowd.</p> + +<p>“It can all be summed up in one word,—polygamy,” +she exclaimed, glancing furtively around. “Are there +any Mormons about?”</p> + +<p>“No, madam,” said the Captain. “The boss of this +combination is a pagan, and he wouldn’t hurt a Christian. +You have no cause to be afraid. But you’d better +not tell us any secrets. The proper way to keep a secret +is to keep it to one’s self, unless you want to keep it +going.”</p> + +<p>“I am a Mormon, good and true,” she began again, +rising to her feet and spreading her thin hands to the +blaze; “but when my husband went into polygamy, which +it was his Christian duty to do, according to the Scripture +(and I’m not blaming him), the Devil got the upper +hand of me, and I couldn’t stand it. You see, they made +me go to the Endowment House and give my own husband +away in marriage to another woman; and that, too, +after we had stood together at the altar, in the little church +in my father’s parish, ever so long before, and swore before +God and a score of witnesses that we would forsake +all others and keep ourselves only to each other as long +as we both should live. Polygamy may be all right for +people who haven’t made such vows; but I know it was +not right for us. What do you think, Mr. Captain?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_179"></a>[179]</span></p> + +<p>“I think that women have had their hearts cultivated +at the expense of their heads quite long enough,” was his +emphatic response.</p> + +<p>“I thought the Mormons didn’t compel any woman to +give her husband away in marriage against her will,” +said Jean.</p> + +<p>The woman uttered a sharp, rasping, staccato laugh +that betokened incipient insanity.</p> + +<p>“There are other ways to kill a dog besides choking +him to death on butter!” she cried, throwing her arms +wildly about, and casting grotesque shadows upon those +sitting behind her. “They told me that as a good Mormon +I was bound to obey the mandates of the Church; +that my eternal salvation, and my husband’s also, depended +upon obedience. And they said it so often, and +prayed over me so long and hard, that at last I said I’d +do it. Then they held me to my promise. But my heart +would beat, and the world would move; so in spite of +what I did in the Endowment House, I would go about +and tell my woes to everybody that would listen. And +I was getting to be a scandal in Zion, so that by-and-by, +when a lot of Gentiles got to making a fuss about it,—they +made it hot for polygamy through my story,—the +elders took it up. But they couldn’t tie my tongue, +for the Devil had hold of it, and he just kept it wagging. +The cases of Abraham and Jacob and David +didn’t fit my case at all, for they hadn’t made any such +vows.”</p> + +<p>The woman, as if suddenly recollecting herself, stopped +speaking, and glared at her awe-stricken listeners with +an insane gleam in her fiery eyes.</p> + +<p>“Oh, my head, my head!” she cried, clasping her +hands tightly over her temples. “The Devil has caught +me again!”</p> + +<p>“You’d better not talk any more to-night,” said the +Little Doctor, soothingly. “And you cannot go on till +morning. I’ll make a warm, snug bed for you in one of<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_180"></a>[180]</span> +the wagons. After you’ve had a sound sleep and a good +breakfast, you can go on your way refreshed.”</p> + +<p>“But I’ve got to talk it out. You’re like all the rest! +You want me to be quiet, when the rocks and stones +would cry out against me if I did!”</p> + +<p>“You’ll take a drink of our ‘Number Six,’ won’t +you?” asked the Little Doctor. “Here it is. I’ve +mixed and sweetened it for you.”</p> + +<p>She grasped the decoction and gulped it eagerly.</p> + +<p>“Thanks,” she said, returning the cup. “I must be +going now. I’ve stayed too long already. The Danites +will be after me. Do you think any of them are in hearing +now? President Young put me under their surveillance +before they’d let me start. He put his hands on +my head and blessed me, too. Talk about your popes! +Why, Brigham Young can discount a ten-acre field full +of Apostolic successors, and be the father of a whole +regiment of American progeny in the bargain. I know +you think I’m crazy, but there’s plenty of method in +my madness. I’m not half as crazy as I act and talk.”</p> + +<p>“Will the Danites protect you till you reach the end +of your journey?” asked Jean. “Are you sure?”</p> + +<p>“Not if they catch me among Gentiles. President +Young took precautions to prevent me from talking to +outsiders, he thought. I mustn’t be seen here. But I +must tell you before I go that his blessing came direct +from God. It filled my very marrow-bones with light. It +was like phosphorus in the dark, or diamonds in the sunlight. +I felt like a bird! No man can do these things +that President Young is doing unless God be with him.”</p> + +<p>“Do you believe that Brigham Young is really inspired +of God?” asked Mary, incredulously.</p> + +<p>“It is by their fruits that we know them, miss. Zion +has been greatly blessed under the ministrations and +guidance of President Young.”</p> + +<p>“Then why do you wish to escape from his kingdom?” +asked Marjorie.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_181"></a>[181]</span></p> + +<p>“Because I was not good enough to endure polygamy; +I was too great a sinner. I couldn’t obey the gospel and +keep my senses.”</p> + +<p>“Did the thought never strike you that the fault might +be in the gospel, instead of your heart or head?” asked +Hal.</p> + +<p>“The High and Holy One of Israel cannot err,” she replied, +shaking her head, and again waving her long arms +to and fro in the smoky air. “There are disbelievers in +this camp, and I cannot tarry. May Heaven guide and +protect you all, and bring you into the holy faith of the +Latter-Day Saints! O blessed Lord, direct these souls +into Thy kingdom before it is everlastingly too late!”</p> + +<p>She waved her arms over their heads once more, and +turning suddenly, vanished like a deer into the darkness.</p> + +<p>“That poor misguided creature has the spirit of a +martyr,” said Captain Ranger, after a painful silence.</p> + +<p>“It is a good deal easier for some folks to preach than +to practise,” exclaimed Sally O’Dowd.</p> + +<p>“There are kernels of truth in all ’ologies,” said Scotty.</p> + +<p>“As a man thinketh, so is he,” exclaimed Mary.</p> + +<p>“She is striving to save her immortal soul. All religions +have their origin in human selfishness,” remarked +the Captain, dryly.</p> + +<p>“Better say they originate in human needs,” replied +Jean; “but selfishness is universal, all the same.”</p> + +<p>“Yes. Selfishness is a necessary attribute of human +existence,” said the Little Doctor, punching the dying +fire into a blaze. “Don’t you think so, Mr. Burns?”</p> + +<p>“I quite agree with you, madam. Selfishness belongs +to human environment, and is as much a part of us as +hunger, thirst, love, or ambition. Nothing is made in +vain.”</p> + +<p>“Not even sin?” asked Mary.</p> + +<p>“Not even sin!” echoed Jean. “This would have been +a very useless world if there had been no wrongs to set +right in it, and no suffering to relieve. Nobody could<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_182"></a>[182]</span> +appreciate heat if it were not for cold, or light if there +were no darkness. Hunger compels us to search for +food; thirst seeks satisfaction in drink, and ambition +in the search for personal advancement. It often unconsciously +assists the weak by its efforts, when it intends +to help nothing but the personal selfishness that inspires +it. Everything, both good and evil, is a part of the +eternal programme.”</p> + +<p>“Where did you imbibe such ideas as you often express +on this subject?” asked her father, a great pride in her +springing afresh in his heart.</p> + +<p>“From the stars, I guess, or from the angels. Or +maybe they were born within me. I never could reconcile +myself to the generally accepted idea of gratitude. +To thank God for blessings we enjoy that are not accessible +to others, to me is nothing else but blasphemy.”</p> + +<p>“Then you cannot say with the poet,—</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">“‘Some hae meat, and canna eat,</div> + <div class="verse indent2">And some would eat that want it;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">But we hae meat, and we can eat,</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Sae let the Lord be thankit!’”</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<p class="noindent">said Mrs. Benson, who had been looking on in silence.</p> + +<p>“Indeed I can’t!” exclaimed Jean. “But we’ve all +heard just such prayers and praises through all our lives.”</p> + +<p>“Nobody in normal health has any right to be thankful +for anything unless he earns it,” said the Captain; “and +then he has nobody to thank but himself.”</p> + +<p>“He ought to be thankful for health, at least,” suggested +Marjorie.</p> + +<p>“If you’d follow your logic to its natural sequence, +Captain, my occupation would be gone,” laughed the +Little Doctor. “It is as unnatural and unscientific to be +sick as to be hungry; therefore there should be no +doctors.”</p> + +<p>“I can see no analogy between your conclusions and my +observations,” said the Captain.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_183"></a>[183]</span></p> + +<p>“I can,” cried Jean.</p> + +<p>“Every error under the sun is mixed with good, or it +couldn’t exist at all,” said Scotty. “But the truth remains +that the Universe with all that it contains exemplifies the +Divine Idea. God IS.</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">“‘All are but parts of one stupendous whole,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Whose <i>mother</i> Nature is, and God the soul.’</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<p>“You see, I’ve altered the thought a little, Mrs. McAlpin; +but I look to the shade of Pope for pardon. If +he were with us to-day, he would doubtless accept my +amendment. We can’t know much about the mystery +we call God. It makes little difference to the humanity +of the various nations of the earth, all of whom must +worship the Divine Idea, whether it be called Vishnu, +Chrishna, Isis, Allah, Jehovah—”</p> + +<p>“These learned disquisitions over things unknown +make me very weary,” yawned Jean.</p> + +<p>“And border on blasphemy,” added Mary.</p> + +<p>“We had better go to bed,” exclaimed the Captain, +rising. “These questions have taken a wide range, and +we’ve all followed that poor Mormon devotee beyond her +depth and our own.”</p> + +<p>“But such discussions relieve the monotony of travel +and sometimes lead to independent thought,” said +Lengthy, who had sat squat upon his heels and +haunches, a silent listener.</p> + +<p>“God be with our Mormon sister,” said Scotty, rising +and adjusting his crutches. “Let us hope for her a safe +journey to some friendly spot where polygamy ceases +from troubling, and the saints are at rest!”</p> + +<p>“That’s from the Bible,” cried Hal.</p> + +<p>“Nobody can conceive of a better method of expressing +an idea than that modelled after the language of the +Bible,” was the ready retort. “If I were as pronounced +an agnostic as our Captain pretends to be, which I am not, +I’d read my Bible daily, if for no other reason than to<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_184"></a>[184]</span> +improve my vocabulary. Read it, Hal; study its precepts; +imitate its language; revere its antiquity; emulate +the example of its good men; shun the sins of its Davids +and Solomons; fill your mind with the wisdom of its +Isaiahs and Deborahs; and, above all, obey its Ten Commandments +and follow the teachings of the Sermon on +the Mount and the Golden Rule.”</p> + +<p>“I’ll see spooks to-night!” cried Jean.</p> + +<p class="tb">As these chronicles will have no further dealings with +the Mormon refugee, it is well to add, in closing the incident, +that twenty years after the episode had passed and +was almost forgotten, some of the members of the long +disbanded Ranger train, who were passing through eastern +Oregon, on their way to the mines of northern Idaho, +found her keeping a “Travellers’ Rest” in the bunchgrass +country, where, as cook, chambermaid, waiter, and +general scullion, she was supporting her repentant consort, +who dutifully received the cash given by her guests +in exchange for such food for man and beast as her +unique hostelry afforded.</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="XXV">XXV<br> +<span class="smaller"><i>JEAN LOSES HER WAY</i></span></h2> + +</div> + +<p>A stanch but frail-looking ferry-boat waited to +carry the Ranger train across Green River.</p> + +<p>Jean, who, after her mother’s death, had developed +a strong propensity for daily hours of solitude, +looked longingly at the desolate scenery while her father’s +train was awaiting its turn at the ferry, and, noting the +great table-rock that still overlooks the river, climbed unaided +to its top, where she became so deeply absorbed in +contemplating the wild, weird character of the scenery<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_185"></a>[185]</span> +about her that she did not see that the afternoon was +waning, until the sun was down.</p> + +<p>“The Psalmist wondered at the mystery of the heavens, +but I marvel at the mysteries of earth,” she said. “Tell +me, ye rugged rocks, and you, ye waters of the desert, +the secret of existence, if you can. Am I alone with +Thee, O God? Or are these rough-ribbed rocks, like +me, instinct with life?”</p> + +<p>“You’d better hurry, young lady, or you’ll miss the +last trip of the ferry-boat for the night,” cried a voice that +seemed to come from beneath her feet. Thoroughly +frightened, she hastened to retrace her steps. How she +regained the river-bank she could never recollect; but +when she stood panting at the water’s edge, and beheld +through the gloaming the last of her father’s wagons +ascending the opposite steep, it was past the twilight +hour, and one by one the stars came out amid the circling +blue of the bending sky. The roar of the waters was +deafening.</p> + +<p>“Can I do anything for you, miss?”</p> + +<p>It was the same voice that had reached her from beneath +the rock. She looked up and beheld a tall, sunburned +young man, bowing and lifting a broad sombrero, who +seemed as much embarrassed over the novel situation as +herself.</p> + +<p>“I am glad to see the face of a white man, sir. I +was frightened half out of my senses till I saw you.”</p> + +<p>“And are you not frightened now?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, a little bit. There are too many Indians stalking +about to allow me to feel exactly comfortable. But +I shall rely upon you for protection, sir.”</p> + +<p>“I suppose other trains will be along presently. They +will encamp on this side of the river for the night, so +you will have company.”</p> + +<p>“We are away ahead of the other trains, sir. We +took a cut-off in the mountains.”</p> + +<p>“But you are afraid of the Indians?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_186"></a>[186]</span></p> + +<p>“No, sir; not now, because—” She stopped as she +looked into his kindly face and caught the amused gleam +of a pair of piercing eyes.</p> + +<p>“Because—why?”</p> + +<p>“Because you talk and act like a gentleman, sir. I +am not afraid of a gentleman.” She paused again, surprised +at her own composure. Her eyes fell, and a deep +flush overspread her features, as the thought flashed +through her mind that she was utterly in the power of +this stranger.</p> + +<p>“Can you ferry me across the river to-night, sir? My +daddie will pay you well for your trouble.”</p> + +<p>“I could not attempt it. We never risk running the +ferry after sundown. Guess we can make you comfortable +on this side till morning.”</p> + +<p>“But there is no house where I can stop, and I haven’t +any money. But that’s nothing new for girls. They +never have money.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, yes, they do, often. In the old country, where I +came from, girls often inherit money; and some of them +own very large estates.”</p> + +<p>“But only by courtesy, sir.”</p> + +<p>He smiled at her frank simplicity. “You are sure of +a safe night’s lodging and a speedy return to the custody +of the man you call daddie. What ever possessed you +to bestow upon him such a name?”</p> + +<p>“It was merely a notion, and is peculiar to myself in +our family. But, sir, what ever shall I do? Daddie will +be frightened out of his wits; and so will Mame and +Marjorie and Hal!” and Jean began to weep convulsively.</p> + +<p>“There, there, don’t cry! There is nothing to be afraid +of. I have a home in the bank yonder. It isn’t a palace,—only +a cave, or dugout, in the side of the rock,—but +it is clean and dry and warm. You’ll be as securely protected +there as in your father’s camp. I could do no better, +under the circumstances, for my mother or my Queen.”</p> + +<p>“Are you English, sir?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_187"></a>[187]</span></p> + +<p>“I am proud to answer, Yes.”</p> + +<p>“You don’t look like the subject of a woman ruler.”</p> + +<p>“Why not?”</p> + +<p>“Because you seem like a sovereign in your own right.”</p> + +<p>“So I am, in America.”</p> + +<p>“I mean to be a sovereign American, myself, some +day.”</p> + +<p>He laughed and shook his head.</p> + +<p>“I hope you are never going to become one of those +discontented women whom I’ve heard of in America, who +are engaged in a perpetual quarrel with their Creator +because they were not born men.”</p> + +<p>“Have you seen such women in America, sir?”</p> + +<p>“No; but I have read some newspapers that made the +charge.”</p> + +<p>“Do you believe everything that you read in the papers? +Daddie don’t.”</p> + +<p>“I can’t say that I do.”</p> + +<p>“God understands what He is about when He creates a +girl, sir; and God didn’t create us to be the vassals of +anybody. All we ask is a chance to do our best in everything, +ourselves being the judges as to what that best +shall be.”</p> + +<p>“How old are you?”</p> + +<p>“Almost sixteen.”</p> + +<p>“You act with the charm of a child, but you talk like +a grown-up woman. Are all the girls of your family +equally clever?”</p> + +<p>“God never made two trees, or even two leaves of a +tree, exactly alike. You couldn’t expect two persons to +be alike.”</p> + +<p>The stranger, conscious of a peculiar interest in this +new and original character, felt a tumultuous sensation +in the region of his heart.</p> + +<p>“I am hungry, sir. But as I haven’t any money, I +must ask you to trust me till to-morrow.”</p> + +<p>He was leading her toward his dugout as they talked,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_188"></a>[188]</span> +or rather as he listened. He had a school-day remembrance +of a pair of brown eyes like Jean’s. He had +worshipped those eyes from a distance, for their possessor +was a nobleman’s daughter with whom he had never +exchanged sentiments, and she had never bestowed a +thought upon him. And here was this artless, untaught, +but wonderfully intelligent maiden, in a travel-soiled blue +calico dress, and sunbonnet to match, who seemed to him +possessed of potentialities so far in advance of any promise +ever given by the object of his earlier dreams that he +spurned the thought of comparing the two as he dwelt +upon her words. His heart continued its wild tattoo, and +he felt as if walking on air.</p> + +<p>“Here! This way, Siwash,” he called to his Indian +servant, as he paused in front of his lodgings and tendered +her a seat outside. “As you see, I have company. +Get up the very best meal the place affords. This guest +and I are to dine together.”</p> + +<p>The Indian grunted assent; and the simple meal of +pemmican, black coffee, army biscuit, and baked beans +fresh from the covering of hot ashes in which they had +been smothered till done to a turn, which formed the +ferryman’s usual bill of fare, was supplemented by a +dessert of tea-cakes and preserved ginger, the whole +arranged on a small table covered with a white oilcloth +and furnished with tin dishes and steel cutlery.</p> + +<p>“I trust you will excuse the accompaniments of a +higher civilization, little miss. You will find the fare +plain but palatable.”</p> + +<p>“It is fine,” cried Jean, as she ate with the zest that a +life in the open air alone can give. “Nobody need ask +for better.”</p> + +<p>“Will you favor me with your past history?” asked +her host, after the repast was finished.</p> + +<p>“There isn’t much to tell, sir. My daddie got the +farthest West fever a good while ago; but he never +sold out his farm and sawmill till last March. Then he<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_189"></a>[189]</span> +got ready, and we started across the continent. God +saw that the journey was too hard for my dear mother, +so He took her to heaven from the Black Hills. And +now, sir, will you tell me about yourself? Were you +born in London?”</p> + +<p>“Why do you think I was born in London?”</p> + +<p>“Because you remind me of my great-grandmother. +She was born in London. We call her Grannie.”</p> + +<p>The Indian servant had heaped some fagots of sagewood +upon the hearth, filling the little room with a pungent +and not unpleasant odor, and diffusing a delightful +warmth and glow through the air, to which the light of +a pair of candles gave an eerie charm.</p> + +<p>“To be plain with you, I grew weary of life at college, +so I ran away and went to sea. I was a headstrong +boy, and gave my mother a whole lot of trouble.”</p> + +<p>He ceased speaking and bowed his head upon his hands, +his elbows upon the table. Jean saw that his fingers were +long and shapely, his head was large and well-balanced, +and his abundant hair was brown and bright and slightly +curled.</p> + +<p>“Were you never sorry, sir?”</p> + +<p>“Having put my hand to the plough, or rather helm, +I couldn’t afford to turn back—or at least I thought I +couldn’t—till I had made my fortune.”</p> + +<p>“Did you make your fortune, sir?”</p> + +<p>“Not till—” He checked the word that was in his +heart. “I first went to Montreal, where I fell in with a +company of Hudson Bay traders, with whom I went to +the Great Northern Lakes. I soon made, and lost, several +fortunes. I have always intended to return to my +mother, but the years have come and gone; and now, +at the age of twenty-four, you find me, as you see, +with another fortune to make. But it seems an uphill +struggle.”</p> + +<p>“Do you write regularly to your mother, sir?”</p> + +<p>“I am sorry to be compelled to answer no; but I<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_190"></a>[190]</span> +promise you to do better hereafter. And now, as the +evening wanes, and I must leave you to the privileges of +my castle for the night, will you tell me your name?”</p> + +<p>“Certainly. It is Ranger,—Jean Robinson Ranger. +And you are Mr.—?”</p> + +<p>“Ashleigh; Ashton Ashleigh, of Ashton Place, London, +England.”</p> + +<p>“May I write to your mother from my Oregon home, +when I get there, and tell her all I know about you?”</p> + +<p>“Isn’t that an odd request, Miss Ranger?”</p> + +<p>Jean blushed to the tips of her ears.</p> + +<p>“Nobody ever called me Miss Ranger before,” she +said, to hide her confusion. “My sister Mary is the +Miss Ranger of our family. Yes, I did make an unusual +request; but I thought of your mother pining for +news of her son, and fancied she might be glad to +hear about him, even from a stranger. But I see that +it would hardly be proper for me to write; so please +do it yourself.”</p> + +<p>“Write to her by all means, Miss Ranger, as I assure +you I surely will. And now,” he added, rising, “I hear +your Indian maid tapping outside, and it is time to say +good-night. I trust you will sleep well and have pleasant +dreams.”</p> + +<p>“Good-night, Mr. Ashleigh. I thank you ever so +much for all your kindness.”</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_191"></a>[191]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="XXVI">XXVI<br> +<span class="smaller"><i>LE-LE, THE INDIAN GIRL</i></span></h2> + +</div> + +<p>“Nika klosh cloochman!” clucked the Indian +girl.</p> + +<p>Jean looked at her inquiringly.</p> + +<p>“Nika wake cumtux Siwah wa-wa?” asked the dusky +maiden, offering her hand.</p> + +<p>“She says she is a good Indian girl, and asks if you +understand her,” said Siwash, who was leisurely putting +the room to rights. “She’s my little sister; heap good. +Ugh! Nika speak jargon?”</p> + +<p>“No, Siwash.”</p> + +<p>But the maiden’s manner, though coy, was assuring, +and Jean clasped her hand eagerly. She was a graceful, +nimble, and pretty creature; and Jean thought with a sigh +of regret of the ugly transformation awaiting her under +the cares and burdens of maturity and maternity, when, +no longer like “the wild gazelle, with its nimble feet,” +she would resemble other elderly Indian women.</p> + +<p>“What is your name, little girl?” she asked, as the +maiden dropped gracefully upon the hearth at her feet.</p> + +<p>“Nika wake cumtux Boston wa-wa.”</p> + +<p>“She says she doesn’t understand you,” grunted +Siwash.</p> + +<p>“Ah-to-ke-nika a-it sewar.”</p> + +<p>“She says she has a good heart.”</p> + +<p>“Why doesn’t she speak her name?”</p> + +<p>The girl crouched low on the hearth and spread her +shapely brown fingers before the dying embers.</p> + +<p>“Nika Le-Le. Nika caid.”</p> + +<p>“She says her name is Le-Le, and she is a slave.”</p> + +<p>“Your sister? and a slave?”</p> + +<p>“I, too, was a slave,” said Siwash, “but I bought my<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_192"></a>[192]</span> +freedom; and when I get ten horses of my own, I will +buy Le-Le’s. Could you help us? Your father is good.”</p> + +<p>“A good heart isn’t always accompanied by a full +purse,” thought Jean.</p> + +<p>“Who imagines that he has a property interest in your +sister?” she asked aloud.</p> + +<p>“Our chief, Tyee of the Nootkas. He captured both of +us in a war with our people, the Seattles, many, many +moons ago.”</p> + +<p>“Ugh! Way-siyah! Whulge!” cried the girl, writhing +like a captured eel.</p> + +<p>“Mac-kam-mah-shish, copa-nika?”</p> + +<p>“She asks if you cannot buy her.”</p> + +<p>“Nowitka! Mika! Closh potlatch hy-u chickamin?”</p> + +<p>“God knows I wish I could buy her,” said Jean.</p> + +<p>No painter could have done justice to the varying +expressions that alternately lighted and clouded the +Madonna-like face of Le-Le, as she strained every nerve +to comprehend the conversation. And when at last every +vestige of her awakening hope had settled into a conviction +of failure, she buried her face in her hands, and, +bending forward, shook her black abundant hair over her +face and body to the floor, and uttered a piercing wail, +making Jean’s blood curdle.</p> + +<p>“Le-Le’s cold!” cried the girl, crouching lower, till +the embers singed the ends of her straying locks.</p> + +<p>“Don’t cry, Le-Le dear. You have come to spend the +night with me,” exclaimed Jean, seizing her gently by +the arm.</p> + +<p>“Nika wake cumtux,” cried the girl.</p> + +<p>“You have come to sleep,” pointing to the bed in the +corner.</p> + +<p>“Nowitka! sleep! Nika cumtux.”</p> + +<p>“She understands,” said Jean, rising and turning to +Siwash. “Good-night.”</p> + +<p>Jean was too full of contending emotions for sleep. +She lingered long upon the hearth. “I could stay here<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_193"></a>[193]</span> +always,” she exclaimed in a low voice, but loud enough +to awaken the wary maiden from her slumbers on the +bed. But the mutual vocabulary of the twain did not +admit of satisfactory conversation, and the Indian girl +sank back into unconsciousness.</p> + +<p>As she sat there thinking, a pair of kindly eyes seemed +watching her every movement with a tender devotion that +made her heart beat wildly. “I wish I’d never teased +or laughed at Mame,” she sighed, as the Reverend Thomas +Rogers flitted past her inner vision. “What is Life but +Love? And who and what is Love but God? And what +is God but the wonderful Mystery that is both Life and +Love?”</p> + +<p>Le-Le was away in dreamland, on the enchanted shores +of Whulge,—the Indian name for the magnificent body +of water known to the civilized world as Puget Sound.</p> + +<p>“This is holy ground,” cried Jean, so softly to herself +that none but Cupid heard. “These lowly walls will be +a sacred memory to me through all the rest of my life. +But life will mean worse than nothing to me without my +one hero. Must I go away to-morrow? Oh, my God! +can I ever live again, away from this lodge in the wilderness? +Guard and guide my love, O Spirit of Life, and +shield him with Thine everlasting arms!”</p> + +<p>Then, recollecting that she had not prayed, as usual, +for the dear ones in camp, she lovingly invoked divine +protection for each and all, and was soon in a sound, +refreshing sleep.</p> + +<p class="tb">“Yes, daddie dear, I’m safe and sound,” she cried, as +she awoke to consciousness, to find that the sun was shining +and her father’s familiar voice was calling her name +in vigorous tones at the door.</p> + +<p>Jean hastily donned her clothing, which, simple as it +was, excited the envy of Le-Le. “Mika klosh, cultus +potlatch?” she said inquiringly, as she fondled a blue-and-white +neck-ribbon, which was not over clean.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_194"></a>[194]</span></p> + +<p>“Cultus potlatch?” she asked again.</p> + +<p>Although Jean was not certain as to the maiden’s +meaning, she gave her the ribbon and tried to think her +excusable.</p> + +<p>“Did you want it? Was that what you meant?”</p> + +<p>“Nowitka! Cultus potlatch! Hy-as klosh!”</p> + +<p>Jean tied the ribbon in a double bow-knot around the +girl’s tawny neck, and Le-Le, studying its effect in the +little mirror on the wall, exclaimed with a low chuckle, +“Hi-yu klosh!”</p> + +<p class="tb">“Oh, daddie darling,” exclaimed Jean, opening the +door and springing to his embrace, “did you think your +historian was lost?”</p> + +<p>“Yes; or worse!” replied her father, his anger displacing +anxiety as soon as he saw that she was safe. +“This isn’t the first time you’ve lost yourself on this +trip. If it happens again, I’ll—”</p> + +<p>“Don’t chide or punish the young lady, please!” interposed +her obliging host. “If you had seen how badly +frightened and anxious she was last night when she +found herself left alone among strangers, you’d forgive +her without a word.”</p> + +<p>“That’s so, daddie,” sobbed Jean.</p> + +<p>“I surrendered my country-seat to her, and sent for +this little Indian maiden to keep her company.”</p> + +<p>There was a touch of humor in his tone, augmented by +a kindly smile, which sent the hot blood into the truant’s +face and made her heart beat hard.</p> + +<p>“Won’t you thank the gentleman, daddie? I might +have been murdered but for him.”</p> + +<p>“Of course I thank the gentleman; but that doesn’t +lessen your offence. You deserve a good thrashing!”</p> + +<p>“Which I’ll never get, daddie dear!” Then turning +to her host, she added, “Daddie never whips us, but he +threatens us sometimes.”</p> + +<p>“I think I owe you a little explanation, Captain,” said<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_195"></a>[195]</span> +the host. “I might have risked taking your daughter +across the river in a rowboat last night if it had been +safe to trust her on the other side after dark. There +are Indians camped along the way; and, though they are +peaceful enough when they are compelled to be, they are +not trustworthy under all circumstances. But my servant, +Siwash, has breakfast ready and waiting. I can’t +allow you to go on till you have broken your fast.”</p> + +<p>The host conducted his guests into the dugout to a +table loaded with a bountiful supply of coffee, fish, venison, +hot biscuit, beans, and wapatoes,—the last two +dishes being deftly exhumed from the depths of a bed +of ashes, where they had been cooked to perfection during +the night.</p> + +<p>“Your servant is an artist in his business,” said the +Captain, in praise of the food.</p> + +<p>“Yes, Captain. I found him a slave, and, seeing he +was superior to most of his class, I purchased him for +what you would consider a trifle. Then, as time wore +on, I encouraged him to buy his freedom from me. He +is now trying to purchase his sister; but he finds it slow +work, as her value increases as she gets older and better +able to dig camas and tan buffalo hides.”</p> + +<p>“It is awful to enslave the Indians!” cried Jean. +“The Government ought to stop it!”</p> + +<p>“Slavery among the Indians is no worse than among +the negroes,” said her host, with an admiring smile.</p> + +<p>“Women are not responsible for slavery, sir,” said +Jean.</p> + +<p>“But women are very ardent defenders of slavery +wherever it exists, my daughter,” added her father, +gravely.</p> + +<p>“That’s because they themselves are servants without +wages, daddie. Mother used to say that the worst slave-drivers +she ever saw down South were the overseers who +were slaves themselves. Women are not angels, but they +are doing the best they can without political power.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_196"></a>[196]</span></p> + +<p>“I don’t know but you are right, Miss Ranger. Women +ought to have power. My sovereign is a woman, and we +have no slavery in England.”</p> + +<p>“Thank you for giving me the best of the argument, +Mr. Ashleigh. But I see that daddie is impatient, and +we must be going.”</p> + +<p>“I hope you’ll pardon me for referring to a proposition +you made last evening, although you may have +changed your mind, Miss Ranger. You proposed writing +to my mother. Will you do it?”</p> + +<p>“Ask daddie.”</p> + +<p>“I have no objection, of course,” said her father, “if +it is understood that I shall see the letters.”</p> + +<p>“Of course,” responded Jean.</p> + +<p>“May I have the pleasure of corresponding with your +daughter, sir?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, if I can see the correspondence.”</p> + +<p>This was a greater concession than Jean had dared to +hope for.</p> + +<p>“Thank you, Captain Ranger. I am sure my mother +will be delighted with the young lady’s letters. She has +awakened my dormant sense of filial duty and inspired +me with a determination to return to it. I shall not +neglect my mother again.”</p> + +<p>“Come, Jean! It is high time we were off!”</p> + +<p>As her father spoke, the possible termination to this +peculiar meeting gave him a heartache.</p> + +<p>The last good-byes were spoken, and Captain Ranger +heaved a sigh of relief. “It will be out of sight, out of +mind, with both of ’em in less than a month!” he said, +<i>sotto voce</i>.</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_197"></a>[197]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="XXVII">XXVII<br> +<span class="smaller"><i>JEAN TRANSFORMED</i></span></h2> + +</div> + +<p>“Where did you spend the night, Jean?” asked +Mary.</p> + +<p>“In heaven,” answered Jean, her cheeks +glowing.</p> + +<p>“Nonsense.”</p> + +<p>“I mean exactly what I say, Mame. I lodged with an +Indian princess, and ate my meals with a member of the +British aristocracy. The princess couldn’t speak English, +but her brother acted as interpreter, so we got on all +right. She is a slave of an old chief of the Seattles. I +wish I had the money; I’d buy her, and send her back to +her people.”</p> + +<p>“You might as well wish you owned the moon!”</p> + +<p>“I own the earth,—as much of it as I need. Everybody +does.”</p> + +<p>“Then the most of us get cheated out of our patrimony,” +laughed Sally O’Dowd.</p> + +<p>“I wish you could all have had a chance to look in +on me and my princess last night; we were as snug as +two bugs in a rug. The crickets sang on the hearth, +just as they used to do of nights in the old home. The +wind roared like a storm at sea, and the rush of the +river was grand. I can shut my eyes and live it all +over again.”</p> + +<p>“You’ve gone stark mad!” laughed Hal.</p> + +<p>“As mad as a March hare,” said Sally O’Dowd. “I +know the symptoms from sad experience.”</p> + +<p>“You ought to be repenting in sackcloth and ashes. +Why are you not sorry?” asked Mary.</p> + +<p>“Because in losing myself I found my fate.”</p> + +<p>“Was it an Indian brave in a breech-cloth, with a bow<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_198"></a>[198]</span> +and arrow, a shirt-collar, and a pair of spurs?” asked +Hal.</p> + +<p>The roar of laughter that greeted this query made Jean +fairly frantic. “You’re worse than a lot of savages yourselves,” +she cried. “If I had my way, I’d go back to +that lodge in the wilderness and stay there!”</p> + +<p>Jean climbed into the wagon, buried her face in her +hands, and abandoned herself to a deep, absorbing reverie. +“Oh, mother dear,” she said softly, “if you could speak, +you would sympathize with me, I am sure. If I only had +your love and sympathy, I wouldn’t care what anybody +else might think or say,—not even daddie. A new light +and a new life have come into my soul. Though a cruel +fate may separate us through this life, we shall always be +one. But God made us for each other, and we shall surely +meet again.”</p> + +<p class="tb">There was no longer any game to be had for the shooting; +the little extra food the company could purchase +from the Indians, or from the few white borderers at +infrequent trading-posts, was held at almost prohibitive +prices. Dead cattle continued to abound at the roadside, +filling the air with an intolerable stench through +every hour of the day and night. No camping-spot +could be found where the surroundings were not thus +polluted. Captain Ranger’s teams were giving out +from sheer exhaustion, induced by starvation rather +than overwork, and two or more of his weaker oxen +were dying daily.</p> + +<p>“I’ll break the horrible monotony of this diary,” said +Jean at last, “or I’ll die trying.” And for many days +her jottings were confined to minute, and sometimes glowing, +descriptions of snow-capped mountains, bald hills, +tree-studded lesser heights, and vast and desolate wastes +of sand and sage and rocks. Sterile valleys, verdant +banks of little rivers, mighty streams, and running brooks +received attention, in their turn, from her pen, the whole<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_199"></a>[199]</span> +making a record surprisingly akin to the journals kept +by Lewis and Clark, and left on record half a century +earlier, of the existence of which she had no knowledge. +There was one theme of which her father enforced daily +mention,—a regular account of the scarcity of grass and +game and wood and water.</p> + +<p>A murder by the roadside, and the consequent trial, +conviction, and execution of the murderer by a “provisional +government” temporarily organized for the +purpose received a painstaking record, as did also a +difficulty with some thieving and beggarly Indians, +whose hostility was awakened by the rashness of one of +a trio of bachelors, who were encamped one night near +the Ranger wagons. Captain Ranger made the Indians +a pacifying speech, but only by the aid of some trifling +present among the women of the tribe, and a gift of a +pair of blankets to their chieftain, was the impending +danger averted. A double guard was placed outside +that night; and, for several nights following, a corral +was made of the wagons in the shape of a hollow +square, into which the cattle were driven to rest and +sleep.</p> + +<p>The now famous Soda Springs, known to the commercial +world as Idanha, next caught the coloring of Jean’s +pen. The different geysers rising from the tops of the +gutter-sided mounds of soda-stone were carefully and +graphically described. The crater of a long-extinct volcano +received special mention. The bad water of alkali-infected +streams and swamps, left by slowly evaporating +pools and ponds, through which cattle and wagons labored +with the greatest difficulty; the dreary wastes of +sagebrush, sand, and rock, through which everybody who +was able to walk at all was compelled to trudge on foot; +the devastations of prairie fires; the endless wastes of +stunted sage and greasewood; the struggling aspens on +the margins of tiny streams,—all met graphic and detailed +delineation, such as nobody can appreciate to the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_200"></a>[200]</span> +full who to-day traverses these vast and wondrous wilds +in a railway coach, or gazes upon them from a Pullman +car.</p> + +<p class="tb">“Captain Ranger,” said Sally O’Dowd one evening, +“do you notice that Jean is growing strikingly beautiful?”</p> + +<p>They were halting for the night after a day’s hard +drive; and the jaded oxen, weak and sick from the combined +effects of hard labor, cruel whippings, and an insufficient +supply of grass and water, were necessarily the +chief objects of his attention and solicitude. A broken +wagon-tongue added to his perplexities, as good timber +for repairs was not available; and the mileage of the +day’s travel had been much shortened by the necessity +of stopping to mend the break, or, as the Little Doctor +not inaptly said, “to reduce the compound fracture of a +most important part of the wagon’s anatomy.”</p> + +<p>“All my girls are handsome,” said the Captain, as he +tested the strength of a splice on the broken tongue by +jumping upon it with both feet.</p> + +<p>“But Jean has been transformed, Captain. The change +has been growing upon her daily since the date of that +Green River episode. The child is hopelessly infatuated +with that young Englishman.”</p> + +<p>“Much good it’ll do her,” he exclaimed, mopping his +brow with a soiled bandanna. “It is painfully evident +that three of my girls will soon be women. If their +mother were here, it wouldn’t be so hard to manage +them. No, Sally, I’ve noticed no particular change in +Jean.”</p> + +<p>“Because you are too busy for observation, sir. She +hasn’t been a particle like herself of late.”</p> + +<p>The Captain hurried away to his work, muttering, +“Nonsense!”</p> + +<p>Jean had seated herself on the most distant wagon-tongue, +her battered, ink-bespattered journal in her lap, +her pen in one hand, her inkstand in the other, her<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_201"></a>[201]</span> +knitted brows and glowing face expressing deep concentration +of thought and feeling.</p> + +<p>Captain Ranger, having finished his work of repairs, +dropped wearily upon an axle-tree, and, for the first time +in several days, prompted doubtless by the words of Sally +O’Dowd, took a long and searching look at Jean.</p> + +<p>“Yes, indeed; Sally is right,” he soliloquized. “Jean +is developing a wonderfully beautiful style of womanhood. +What a pity it is that she cannot have her mother at the +very time when she needs her most!”</p> + +<p>Pangs of anxiety akin to jealousy shot through his +heart as he studied her features; her downcast eyes were +hidden by the heavy lashes as she bent over her work. +“She doesn’t resemble her mother as Mary does, but +she must be the almost exact counterpart of what my +mother was at her age,” he mused, as he noted for the +first time the ripening lips, the rosy and yet transparent +hue of her cheeks, and the sunny sheen of her hair. He +was surprised that he had not before observed the soft, +exquisite contour of her face and neck, the full rounded +bust, and the shapely development of her feet and hands.</p> + +<p>As he sat watching the lights and shadows of thought +and feeling that played upon her features, the remembrance +of the girlhood of her mother, whose arduous +married years had all been spent in his service, arose +before him with startling power. “Dear, patient, tender, +self-sacrificing Annie!” he exclaimed, as he arose from +his rocking seat and strode away in the gloaming. “I +never half appreciated your worth until I lost you for +ever!”</p> + +<p>“No, not for ever,” softly sung a still, small voice in +the depths of his inner consciousness. “Do not reproach +yourself. All eternity is yet to be.”</p> + +<p>Jean felt, rather than saw, the pressure of his eyes, and +half divined his thoughts. She felt the telltale blood as +it rushed unbidden to her cheeks, and was seized with a +great longing to throw herself into his arms and breathe<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_202"></a>[202]</span> +out the full secret of her great awakening in his ears; but +something in his manner repelled her advances, and she +withdrew more than ever into herself.</p> + +<p>“O Love!” she cried in a tone so low and sweet that +none but a messenger from the Unseen might hear, “how +ungovernable art thou, and how incomprehensible! The +worldly-wise may decry thee; the misanthropic may deride +thee; the vulgar may make of thy existence an +unholy jest; the selfish and ignorant may trample upon +thee; human laws may crush thee; but thou remainest +still a thing of life, to fill thy votaries with a holy joy +and endow them with the very attributes of God. An +imperishable entity art thou, O Love! Thou art interblended +with every fibre of my being now, and I accept +thee as a sweet fulfilment of my earthly destiny.”</p> + +<p>Of course Jean was young and fond and inexperienced +and foolish; and these chronicles would offer her rhapsodies +as the utterances of no worldly-wise oracle. But +her thoughts were fresh and pure; and who shall say +they did not emanate from the very fountain of life itself, +whose presence she could sense but could not understand?</p> + +<p>She wandered off toward the rushing, maddening torrent +of Snake River, whose music had for her, in these +moods of introspection, but one interpretation.</p> + +<p>“Daddie may denounce, Hal and Mame may tease, +and Marjorie,—yes, and all the world deride me,” she +said, as she sat upon a bowlder and abandoned herself to +reverie; “but henceforth there shall be nothing in this +world for me to cherish but Love and its handmaiden, +Duty.”</p> + +<p>Snake River, full at this point of jutting rocky islands, +through which the foaming, roaring waters rushed like +a thousand mill-races on parade, dashed madly against its +banks beneath her feet, and rushing on again, roared and +laughed and shrieked and sang. Lichens clung to the +uplifted rocks, which, hoary with age and massive in +proportions, held vigil in the midst of the eternal<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_203"></a>[203]</span> +grandeur. Mountains clambered over mountains in the +dimly lighted distance, and reaching to the red horizon, +overlooked the Pacific seas.</p> + +<p>“The antelope and elk are gone,” she thought, “and +we are lone watchers amid the eternal vastness. But the +sage-hen, the lizard, the owl, and the jaybird linger; and +yonder, among the everlasting rocks, are the homes of +the Indian, the rattlesnake, the badger, and the wolf.”</p> + +<p>Rustling footsteps startled her. “Why, it’s daddie!” +she exclaimed, her heart beating audibly. “I thought +you were an Indian or a bear!”</p> + +<p>“You oughtn’t to go off alone, my daughter. There +is some hidden danger threatening us; I feel, but cannot +divine it. Something is going wrong somewhere or somehow. +Let’s hurry back to camp.”</p> + +<p>“You’re the last person on earth I’d suspect of giving +way to a morbid fancy, daddie dear. You must be very +tired.”</p> + +<p>“It isn’t that, my daughter. I am sad because you +have allowed your heart to stray, and I do need you so +much—so much!”</p> + +<p>She answered not a word.</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="XXVIII">XXVIII<br> +<span class="smaller"><i>THE STAMPEDE</i></span></h2> + +</div> + +<p>The next morning brought unexpected delays. +The repairs about the camp and wagons consumed +more time than had been anticipated, and +it was ten o’clock before the cattle, which had been allowed +to stray farther from camp than usual, in search +of the dried and scanty herbage that alone staved off +starvation, were driven into camp and hurried down to +the river-bank to drink. The swiftness, foam, and sudden<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_204"></a>[204]</span> +chill of the water, its depth and roaring, confused +and frightened the half-sick and half-starved animals; +and one, a patriarchal bull, the master and leader of the +herd, who had often before made trouble, gave vent +to a deep, sonorous bellow like the roar of an ancient +aurochs. Then, with nose in air, he struck out across +the stream, the herd following. A small, rocky cape +crept out into the water on the opposite bank, affording +the only visible landing-place; and up this the panic-stricken +creatures scrambled in a mad stampede, which +the helpless occupants of the camp surveyed with the +calmness of despair.</p> + +<p>“I had no idea that the poor creatures had enough +life left in them to run a dozen rods on level ground,” +said Captain Ranger, after a grim silence. “Boys,” +he added in a husky voice, as he swallowed a great lump +in his throat, “are any of you able to swim Snake River?”</p> + +<p>“I can do it,” answered John Brownson, an obliging +young teamster, who had joined the company early in +the journey and had made himself useful on many trying +occasions.</p> + +<p>“And I too,” said John Jordan, another favorite of +road and camp. The two intrepid volunteers shook hands +with their anxious Captain and plunged boldly into the +roaring, swirling, deafening torrent, through which Jordan +swam with ease, his head now bobbing out of sight +and now rising above the foaming current, to disappear +again and again, till at last he was seen to emerge +from the water on the opposite steep and ascend the +almost sheer acclivity leading to the table-land above. +It was a brave and daring feat, but it proved fruitless. +The poor, panic-stricken cattle failed to recognize as a +friend the stark white apparition, entirely bereft of clothing. +It was all in vain that he called the leader of the +herd by name; and when the frightened creature turned +and charged him, and there was no shelter but some +patriarchal sagebrush trees, he took refuge behind the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_205"></a>[205]</span> +biggest of them till the aurochs changed his mind and +turned to follow the stampeding herd.</p> + +<p>The panic continued. The stampede was irresistible. +The cattle were lost, and most of them were never heard +of more, though it is said that Flossie, the companion +and patient of Jean during the hours of her vigil on that +never-to-be-forgotten night in the Black Hills,—Flossie, +the faithful, enduring, and kindly-eyed milch cow whose +calf had been killed on the road,—reappeared long afterwards +in the sagebrush wilds of Baker County, Oregon, +with quite a following of her children, grandchildren, +and great-great-grandchildren, all but herself as wild as +so many deer. Flossie herself was recognized, they say, +by the Ranger brand; and her hide, with the letters +J. R. still visible behind the shoulder-blade, is to-day a +valued relic of departed years in the mansion of a prominent +actor in the drama of that eventful summer.</p> + +<p>But what of Brownson? All day the hapless watchers +of the camp had strained their eyes and ears for sight or +sound of him, in vain.</p> + +<p>“He must have been caught with cramps, or been +dashed against the rocks by the current, for I saw him +drown,” said Jordan, at sundown, as he rejoined the +helpless watchers near the wagons.</p> + +<p>Meanwhile, the men and women of the camp had not +been idle. The lightest wagon-box the train afforded +was selected and pressed into service for a ferry-boat; +and while the men made oars, rowlocks, and rudder as +best they could with the materials at hand, the women +skilfully caulked the seams of the wagon-bed with an +improvised substitute for oakum, under the supervision +of the Little Doctor, making it tolerably water-tight. The +wagon-box was then replaced on wheels and hauled upstream +about half-a-dozen miles to a little valley where +the river was wide, the banks low, and the water comparatively +shoal and calm.</p> + +<p>It was conjectured by Captain Ranger that the entire<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_206"></a>[206]</span> +force of men in the train might be able, by a concerted +effort, to assist the watcher on the upland in his brave +attempt to arrest the stampede and secure the cattle’s +return. But their united efforts were unavailing; and +long before they returned, disheartened, apprehensive, +and weary, the helpless watchers at the camp saw the +bruised body of Captain Ranger’s favorite mare rolling, +tumbling, bumping, and thumping through the roaring +waters and among the jagged rocks, near the very spot +where Brownson had been drowned.</p> + +<p>Noble, faithful, obedient Sukie! In her attempt to +swim the river with her devoted master, who was seated +in the stern of the novel boat leading her by the halter and +encouraging her with kindly words, her strength failed +utterly; and when she turned upon her side and Captain +Ranger let go his hold upon the halter, she uttered a +dying scream, rolled over, and was gone.</p> + +<p>“If there isn’t any horse heaven, the creative Force +has been derelict in duty,” sadly exclaimed the master, +as he watched the lifeless body of his beloved and faithful +servant floating down the stream.</p> + +<p>Through the silent watches of the awful night that +followed, John Ranger pondered, planned, and waited.</p> + +<p>His three daughters and three younger children, Sally +O’Dowd and her three babies, and Susannah and George +Washington, all occupied the family wagon, around which +he stalked through the silent hours as one in a dream.</p> + +<p>“A formidable array of dependent ones,” he said to +himself over and over again. “And what is to become +of my Annie’s darlings? Was it for this that she started +with me on this terrible journey?”</p> + +<p>There was no audible answer to his anxious queries +save the roaring of the river as it crashed its way between +the rocks that formed its grim and tortuous +channel.</p> + +<p>Weary at last of walking, he crept into his tent beside +Hal, who had been dead to the world from the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_207"></a>[207]</span> +moment he touched his bed, so sweet is the deep forgetfulness +of childhood when “tired Nature’s sweet +restorer, balmy sleep,” is preparing it for the further +endurance of an exacting and ambitious life. But Captain +Ranger could not sleep. He arose and faced again the +silent horrors of the situation.</p> + +<p>The stars twinkled overhead in their usual triumph +over disturbing forces; and, slowly fading into the coming +twilight, rode the gibbous moon.</p> + +<p>In his helplessness the lonely watcher lifted up his voice +and prayed.</p> + +<p>“I’ve never felt much worry over original sin, O +Lord!” he cried, standing with hands uplifted in the chilly +air, “but you know I’ve generally been honest. I’ve tried +hard to do my duty according to my lights. I didn’t +mean to bring my Annie and her babies out here in the +wilderness to die; but you understood the conditions, +and because you understood, you took my wife away. I +rebelled at first, but you helped me to bear it for her +sake; and for this, for the first time, I thank you. And +now, if you have the love for her children for which she +always gave you credit, I am sure that you’ll guide me +safely out of this present trouble. And if you do, O Lord, +I’ll serve you as long as I live in whatever way you +lead. Amen.”</p> + +<p>“I have been young, and now am old; yet have I +not seen the righteous forsaken, nor his seed begging +bread!”</p> + +<p>“Who spoke to me?” he asked, aloud. “Where did +that voice come from? I could have sworn it was Annie! +No; Annie is dead!”</p> + +<p>In a flurry of excitement he peered in all directions, +listening eagerly. But in his soul there slowly crept a +quiet peace, and with it a sense of security and elation +which he could not comprehend; neither could he doubt +its reality.</p> + +<p>Before him passed, in mental review, the strenuous<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_208"></a>[208]</span> +days of his boyhood, awakening youth, and early manhood. +The memory of his mother arose before him, inexpressibly +sweet and tender. He thought lovingly of his father, +strong in the religious faith of which he had often made +a jest. His gentle Annie seemed so near that he could +almost reach her. But closer to him than any other seemed +the presence of his brother Joseph. What a promising +lad he was, and with what joy had the whole family +striven to bestow upon him the educational advantages to +which none of the others had dared to aspire!</p> + +<p>Then passed before him, like scenes in a panorama, +the awful pecuniary straits that followed, when the beloved +brother fell under the ban of the law.</p> + +<p>Then came in review his unexpected meeting with that +brother in the wilderness. “Forgive my pride, brutality, +and selfishness, O Lord! and by all that’s holy, I’ll +make it right with Joe!”</p> + +<p>And who shall say that this unique appeal to the great +Source of Life was less acceptable to the Infinite than the +studied petitions of gowned prelates? whose often conflicting +appeals to Jehovah, if answered literally, would +plunge the world into confusion and chaos under the diverse +demands of the children of men.</p> + +<p>His prayer ended, the chilled and worried wanderer +returned to his bed and readdressed himself to sleep, +this time with such success that when he awoke the sun +was riding high in the heavens, and he heard the familiar +voice of a train-master, whom he had left in his rear by +taking the Green River cut-off, and who had now overtaken +him.</p> + +<p>“Hello, Captain!” exclaimed the new arrival, striking +the wall of the sleeper’s tent with the butt of his heavy +ox-whip. “What’s all this I’ve been hearing? Didn’t +you get back any of your stampeded cattle?”</p> + +<p>“Nary a hoof,” replied the Captain. “I tell you we’re +in a mighty bad fix, Harlan.”</p> + +<p>“How are you going to get out?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_209"></a>[209]</span></p> + +<p>“Don’t know yet. It’s a ground-hog case, though, +I’m bound to make it somehow. Got any cattle to sell?”</p> + +<p>“Possibly. Might spare two yoke and an odd steer. +Got any money?”</p> + +<p>“A few dollars. But I don’t want to get into Oregon +dead broke. Can’t you trust a fellow till we reach the +settlements?”</p> + +<p>“I could if we weren’t running short o’ grub. This +journey has cost like the dickens from the start; and it +won’t get any cheaper on the home stretch. Every +fellow you strike wants money. It wasn’t so in the +States.”</p> + +<p>“We can swap accommodations if we like, Harlan. I +have several bags of jerked buffalo meat.” His voice +faltered, as he remembered that this meat had been prepared +by the order of his vanished wife. “We laid in +a lot of flour and other stuff at our last Utah trading-post; +so we’re not short.”</p> + +<p>An old-fashioned game of barter and dicker was soon +concluded; and Captain Ranger set his men to work, +rearranging the wagons and making ready to move on.</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="XXIX">XXIX<br> +<span class="smaller"><i>IN THE LAND OF DROUTH</i></span></h2> + +</div> + +<p>All the wagons except the “saloon,” or family +vehicle, were ruthlessly stripped of their various +appurtenances; the running gear of those that +had seemed to stand the wear and travel with the least +injury were selected to hold the absolute necessaries of +the remainder of the journey. Many articles of utility +were compelled to find a lodgment in the family wagon, +causing Sally O’Dowd to ruefully survey the limited +space for the little flock who were too young in years +to walk regularly.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_210"></a>[210]</span></p> + +<p>“We’ll see what can be done,” said the Captain, +thoughtfully. “I’ve left the saloon wagon to the last, +hoping somebody would come along who could spare us +a few more steers. We’ve thrown away everything we +can do without. But we’ll get the cattle.”</p> + +<p>“It’s lucky we’ve got the money the teamsters paid +us to get back after they deserted us,” said Jean. The +Captain’s face brightened.</p> + +<p>“Why, surely!” he cried. “I had forgotten all about +the financial end of that incident. You have a business +head on you, my girl!”</p> + +<p>“Here it is,” cried Marjorie. “It is in our great-grandmother’s +silver spectacle-case. Jean put it there.”</p> + +<p>“Sure enough,” said her father. “Your great-grandfather +carried that tarnished and battered spectacle-case +all through the Revolutionary War. It is indeed a lucky +find.”</p> + +<p>In less than an hour another train of dilapidated +wagons came along, accompanied by half-a-dozen loose +oxen and a discouraged cow.</p> + +<p>Then for the first time the faces of Mrs. Benson and +Mrs. McAlpin brightened. During all the hurry of the +day they had wandered aimlessly about, steadfastly refusing +to accept any assistance until the Ranger family +should first be provided with oxen.</p> + +<p>“Now, as we can get cattle enough to move one of +our wagons, it is our time to make preparations for a +start,” said the Little Doctor.</p> + +<p>“Did you think for a minute that you’d be abandoned +to your fate?” asked Captain Ranger.</p> + +<p>“We didn’t allow ourselves to think at all; we just +waited and trusted.”</p> + +<p>In less than an hour what was left of the Ranger +outfit was in motion. And a sorry-looking outfit it was +indeed.</p> + +<p>One of Mrs. McAlpin’s wagons was abandoned after +she had discarded everything of appreciable weight that<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_211"></a>[211]</span> +could be spared. But there are exceptions to every rule, +and the Little Doctor, watching her opportunity, managed +with the aid of Scotty to stow away the long-secreted +spinning-wheel and baby’s cradle which had been Mrs. +Ranger’s property.</p> + +<p>“If we can complete our journey at all, we can carry +these things,” the Little Doctor said to Jean. “We are +getting near the Columbia River, as we can see by the +topography of the country; and there’s a mission at The +Dalles, where we can get more help if we need it, I am +sure. Mamma and I will ride our horses as long as +they are able to carry us. We have provisions enough +to feed our two teamsters and ourselves till we reach a +settlement.”</p> + +<p>One woman at a time was detailed to ride in the family +wagon and take care of the babies; all the rest walked, +stopping to ride only when the frequent streams that were +too deep to wade were to be crossed; at which times the +wearied oxen were compelled to do the double duty of +pulling the loads and carrying the footsore pedestrians on +their backs.</p> + +<p>The weather was now intensely hot during the long +hours of sunshine. The sandy wastes radiated the blistering +heat under which the vast sageplains lay staring at +the unmerciful sun in apathetic stillness, like a Lilliputian +forest under a state of arrested development. But the +nights were chilly, and the storms of wind and dust that +came up with the going down of the sun were trying in +the extreme. The men of the party no longer had tents +or wagon-covers for shelter, and were obliged to sleep +on the lee side of friendly rocks, beside which they awoke, +sometimes, to find themselves uncomfortably near a den +of rattlesnakes or the decaying carcass of an animal.</p> + +<p>At every spot where a little grass was found, the cattle +were unhitched from the wagons and turned out in pairs, +under the yoke, to feed. Every stray bit of wood, every +discarded ox-yoke or ox-bow, and not infrequently the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_212"></a>[212]</span> +entire woodworks of an abandoned wagon, were split into +firewood and carried along among the baggage for camping +purposes.</p> + +<p>Unknown guides, in whom the prolonged hardships of +the plains had not destroyed the spirit of human kindness, +left frequent notices on the rocks by the wayside, giving +valuable information in regard to springs and streams, +but for which there would have been terrible suffering at +times from thirst.</p> + +<p>The cattle were too weak and their loads too heavy to +permit long hours of travel, and their progress was necessarily +slow.</p> + +<p>The beds of small streams had gradually dried under the +fierce sunshine, and it became necessary to keep as near +as possible to the banks of the Snake River, from which, +however, the way often deviated for days together because +of intervening rocks, gulches, sand, and sheer bluffs.</p> + +<p>On the third day of August Jean made entry as +follows:—</p> + +<p>“The fiery weather of the past fortnight has moderated +somewhat; but the roads are, as usual, rocky and dusty, +with many stretches of sand, through which the poor, +weak cattle pull the wagons, which, though lightened by +the reduction of our loads, are far too heavy for their +strength, which decreases daily.</p> + +<p>“Our road, during the afternoon of to-day, lay close +to the almost dry bed of a rocky-bottomed creek, beside +which we camped for the night, without food for our +stock, and almost without water. I wonder what the poor +creatures think of us for bringing them out here in the +wilderness, face to face with such a fate?</p> + +<p>“Some of our teamsters have been growing quarrelsome +of late. Two men who fell in with us shortly +after our loss of cattle and have been following us ever +since and begging food, suddenly left the train yesterday; +since their departure some of our men are growing +insubordinate.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_213"></a>[213]</span></p> + +<p>“Their grievance arises from the inability of the cattle +to haul them when not on duty as drivers, they assuming +that they made no bargain with daddie to do any extra +walking. Our teamster Yank, the aristocratic son of +Virginia, who claims to be an F.F.V., climbed on a +wagon-tongue early in the day, and compelled the oxen +to pull his weight through the rocks and sand, the added +strain upon their neck yokes making their lot doubly hard. +Daddie is holding a conference with the fellow now. He +said before we halted for the night that he hoped the dissatisfied +ones would leave of their own accord, as otherwise +he expected trouble. He announced to-night that +there would be no more riding on wagon-tongues; and +although we await the result of the conference with some +anxiety, daddie says he isn’t worried, since the dissatisfied +fellows must stay with the train or starve.</p> + +<p>“August 4. We travelled seventeen miles to-day, having +halted for two hours to feast the cattle on a bed of +dry bunchgrass, fortunately discovered by Scotty in a +ravine overlooked by trains ahead. It was a great comfort +to see the hungry animals fill themselves with the dry +but nutritious grass, and drink their fill from a trench +made in the bed of the dry creek.</p> + +<p>“Three miles’ further travel brought us to a bend in +the creek, where we succeeded in digging again for water.</p> + +<p>“August 5. We are in better spirits than at any time +since our loss of cattle. All traces of mutiny have disappeared, +and even Yank trudges over the road without +protest. The animals, too, are stepping briskly.</p> + +<p>“We find nothing at all for the cattle to eat to-day. +The road continues rough and rocky, and abounds in +chuck-holes which the narrow track will not permit the +wheels to avoid. The tires are all loose on the wagon-wheels, +and it seems a miracle that the wheels do not fall +to pieces.</p> + +<p>“After we halted for the night on the banks of the +Snake River, once more our men were compelled to drive<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_214"></a>[214]</span> +the cattle down the stream for over a mile to find an +opening between the bluffs through which they could +reach water. And the men had to carry back a limited +supply in their canteens to relieve the distress at camp. +We are in plain and provoking sight of a foaming waterfall +on the opposite bank, but as thoroughly out of reach +of it as if it were in the mountains of the moon. It bursts +from a ledge of rocks, and descends to the river with a +roar that at this distance is sweetly musical. Some day, +in the years to come, some enterprising individual will +preëmpt that spring, and make a fortune by selling the +pure water to his less fortunate fellow-men.</p> + +<p>“August 6. At ten o’clock to-day we were refreshed +by a welcome shower.</p> + +<p>“Oh, the blessed summer rain! How it cooled the +parching air and arid earth, and revived the drooping +spirits of poor dear daddie, who is growing hollow-eyed +and thin, like the cattle!</p> + +<p>“We find no game, and nothing for the stock to eat +but some willows.”</p> + +<p class="tb">“Yonder,” said Captain Ranger, in an excited tone, +“are the falls of Salmon River. Make a note of them, +Jean!”</p> + +<p>The dilapidated wagons were halted on a great plateau +overlooking a rapid river, spanned by a mighty ledge of +rocks, over which a great torrent of foamy-white water +rolled and surged, glistening in the sunshine with great +schools of female salmon in quest of spawning-ground, +followed by the male contingent, fierce of aspect and in +fighting mood, ready to destroy one another or anything +else that might impede their progress.</p> + +<p>Indians were camped in great numbers below the bluffs, +the women drying the fish for winter use, and the men +bartering the produce of their skill with lance and spear +for such articles of food and apparel as the depleted stores +of the wanderers could spare.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_215"></a>[215]</span></p> + +<p>“August 7. We travelled eighteen miles to-day. At +ten o’clock we found a little plat of dry bunchgrass, and +halted for an hour to allow the stock to graze. It was +well we did, for to-night we find no grass at all. The +river is over a mile from camp, and we are compelled to +carry water all that distance for domestic use. We don’t +use very much.”</p> + +<p>For many miles the road continued through a rocky +canyon, where the way was so perilous that the locked +wagon-wheels had to be held in place by men on the +upper side of the grade to prevent the wagons from +tumbling down the bluffs into the raging current far +below.</p> + +<p>The entries in Jean’s journal were interrupted at this +time by a serious siege of toothache; and for this +reason we find, under date of August 10 and 11, in +Captain Ranger’s painstaking chirography, the following +entries:—</p> + +<p>“We travelled about eight miles and again came to +Snake River. The weather has been insufferably hot; +and, as our weak and famished cattle were unable to go +on, we were compelled to halt and await the coming of +a breeze.</p> + +<p>“The general face of the country is barren in the extreme. +No vegetation is in sight except the ever abounding +sagebrush. Gnarled, old, dwarfed, and shaggy, this +seemingly boundless waste of sage subsists without apparent +moisture; and for no conceivable purpose it lives +on and on forever, staring stolidly at the sun by day and +keeping vigil with the moon and stars by night.”</p> + +<p>On the 12th of August Jean made the following entry: +“We reached the banks of the river every few miles to-day, +and camped near it at night. We find here no grass, +game, or fuel; but, thank God, there is plenty of water.</p> + +<p>“After resting the cattle till sundown, daddie gave +orders to yoke up and move ahead to a plat of grass +that he had heard of, about six miles to the westward,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_216"></a>[216]</span> +and half a mile to the left of the main travelled road. +We were all packed, ready to start, when Shorty and +Limpy came into camp, bringing about half of the cattle, +and reported all the others missing. So we are compelled +to await the morning with such forebodings as no pen +can portray; mine at least will not make the attempt.</p> + +<p>“August 13. The missing cattle were found and +brought in at an early hour this morning; and after a +hurried breakfast we started for the promised feeding-grounds, +where we found good grass and water, but no +fuel. We halted for a couple of hours, and then came on +seven miles farther, when we once more reached Snake +River.</p> + +<p>“The dust throughout the day has been almost unbearable. +It is as fine as the finest flour, and, being impregnated +with alkali, is very irritating to nostrils, throats, +and lungs.</p> + +<p>“August 14. This has been the hardest day yet upon +the cattle,—poor starved and wretched creatures! And +I might add, poor alkalied and used-up people!</p> + +<p>“Not a person in our company is well. We are a +fretful, impatient, and anxious lot, and no wonder. And +yet our journeyings even now have their amusing side. +Susannah sings like a nightingale, and ‘Geo’die Wah,’ +as her lisping coon calls himself, leads the chorus. Scotty +quotes poetry by the yard, and the Little Doctor seeks +diversion in every incident. Mrs. Benson continues amiable +and obliging, showing a side to her nature wholly +unlike the waspish way she had when we first knew her. +The men often clear away the sagebrush from a level plat +of ground after their chores are finished for the night, +and hold dancing carnivals among themselves (daddie +draws the line at dancing, so we don’t participate). +Sawed-off makes tolerable music on a fairly good violin. +The humble jotter of these chronicles finds her chief diversion +in the fact that we are every day drawing nearer to +the Oregon City Post-office.”</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_217"></a>[217]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="XXX">XXX<br> +<span class="smaller"><i>BOBBIE GOES TO HIS MOTHER</i></span></h2> + +</div> + +<p>Jean’s aching tooth suffered a relapse, and the suppuration +that ensued made her seriously ill.</p> + +<p>On the 14th of August her father again made an +entry:—</p> + +<p>“Five of our escort have left us, taking with them a +wagon-bed left by the wayside by somebody whose cattle +have died or strayed. They made a clumsy boat of the +square-bottomed thing; and with this frail craft, which +they successfully launched in the tortuous waters of the +Snake, they expect to find safe navigation to its confluence +with the Columbia. Although it was a relief to get +rid of some of them, chiefly because they thought they +knew so much more about my business than I was able +to learn, I am apprehensive of results solely on their account. +Snake River doesn’t look to me like a safe stream +to be trusted. But it was a relief to see them go, because +we are yet many hundreds of miles from our goal, and +our supplies of food and means of transportation are getting +more precarious daily.</p> + +<p>“August 15. Lost another ox by drowning.</p> + +<p>“August 16. Weather insufferably hot. Lost an ox +to-day from eating a poisonous herb. At this rate we +shall soon be left with one wagon. The cattle must hustle +for food after every day’s pull, making it very hard to +keep life in their poor skeleton bodies.”</p> + +<p>On the evening of the 18th Jean resumed her writing, +which ran in part as follows:—</p> + +<p>“The long and dreary road is rough and hilly, and the +yielding sand is deep. We found to-day at noon a patch +of dry grass, and stopped to graze our famishing cattle. +But we neglected, by some mischance, to fill our water-casks<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_218"></a>[218]</span> +in the morning, so we had a dry luncheon in the +hot sand, under the blistering sunshine. Our shoes have +all given out from constant walking, and we are reduced +to moccasins, which we get by barter among the Indian +women. But the deerskin things afford us no protection +from the still abounding cacti, which seem to thrive best +where there is the least moisture.</p> + +<p>“We are encamped once more on the banks of the +Snake. It was quite dark when a halt was ordered.</p> + +<p>“August 19. Glory to God in the highest! We are +once more within sight of some trees that are not sagebrush. +They are off to the westward, several miles away, +and their stately presence marks the course of a stream +we cannot see.</p> + +<p>“August 20. The stream proved to be the Owyhee,—a +lukewarm, clear, and rapid little river with a pebbly +bottom. The air is so foul from the stench of decaying +cattle, the water of the little river is so warm, and the +heat so intolerable that sickness and death must soon +ensue if the conditions do not change. It is no wonder +that we see many graves by the roadside. Most of them +are the last resting-places of mothers who have mercifully +fallen asleep and been buried, often with their babes in +their arms.</p> + +<p>“August 21. Old Fort Boisé lies opposite our camp, +away beyond and across Snake River, looming in the distance +like a mediæval fortress from the midst of a gray, +dry moat. Our printed guide, a little pamphlet written +by General Palmer in the forties, tells us that this fort +was built by the Hudson Bay Company for shelter and +storage, and as a means of protection from the Indians, +with whom the traders did a thriving business when the +century was young. It is now fallen into decay, and is +doubtless the abode of bats and birds and creeping things.</p> + +<p>“The men who left our company on the 16th inst., +in a boat made of a wagon-bed, rejoined us to-day, having +had all the navigation on the Snake they seemed to<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_219"></a>[219]</span> +care for. They were a woe-begone and God-and-man-forsaken +set; and their chief fear was that they would +not be permitted to come into our train again on the old +footing. Daddie—dear, big-hearted, hospitable man—took +them in, though they deserved a different fate; but +we think they’ll be content to let the best that can be had +alone hereafter.</p> + +<p>“August 23. After a long, hot, and arduous journey +of over thirty miles, and consuming two days of the most +trying experience possible, we reached Malheur River, +another tributary of the Snake. But we failed to find +any food for the cattle, and were compelled to pull out +again the next morning before dawn, headed for what +appeared to be a stream of water, as we judged from a +fringe of willows. But when we reached the bed of the +stream it was dry as a bone. We were compelled to +stop, though, as it was then high noon, and it was reported +twelve miles to the next water. So a part of our +force was detailed to dig a well in the creek bottom for +water for domestic use, and the rest were sent back to +the Malheur to water the stock, as soon as they had eaten +their fill of the dry grass, which to us is more precious +than gold, or anything else just now but water.</p> + +<p>“On the 24th we left this camp and travelled down the +dry bed of the creek for several miles, through a valley +that had evidently been missed by the trains ahead, as +the grass was fine and abundant. After leaving this +valley, we travelled over a blind trail through a hot, +dusty ravine till ten o’clock at night, when we reached +some sulphur springs and encamped, feeling cross, half +sick, and disgusted with all the world. The air is heavy +with the fumes of sulphur, and Limpy says we are less +than half a mile from hell.”</p> + +<p>On the 25th of August Jean’s journal again gave evidence +of Captain Ranger’s chirography and style. His +characteristic narrative follows: “To-day we made eight +miles, which brought us to a deep and rocky canyon debouching<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_220"></a>[220]</span> +into the Snake. This is to be our last encounter +with this tortuous, treacherous, and in every way terrible +serpent, of whose presence we long ago had much more +than enough.</p> + +<p>“Three miles farther brought us to Burnt River,—a +small, rapid, and crooked stream, with a sandy delta at +its disproportionately extended mouth. Here the country +changes its entire topography. The bold and abrupt +foot-hills are covered to their tops with an abundant coat +of seed-bearing bunchgrass; and numerous juniper-trees +which somehow in the long ago gained a footing among +the sloping shale and sand, lend a peculiar beauty to the +scene.”</p> + +<p class="tb">“Mr. Burns, I’m going to die before long.”</p> + +<p>These were the words of little Bobbie, the darling of +the family and of the entire company, and were spoken +to Scotty on that memorable day in the Black Hills when +preparations were in progress for the burial of his mother.</p> + +<p>The blow came suddenly. The child had been overjoyed +at the prospect of reaching the end of the journey +at an early day. The sight of Burnt River filled him +with pleasing anticipations. He was never more playful, +quaint, and original than when his father stood him on +his shoulder to view the last they should see of the Snake +River.</p> + +<p>“Where is it going now, papa?” he asked artlessly. +“Is it always hungry? Is that what makes it in such a +hurry? What does it eat? And where does it sleep o’ +nights? It’s a sure enough snake, isn’t it?”</p> + +<p>At midnight, when the weary party were sound asleep, +Mary, who was lying near him, was wakened by an +ominous cough, which rapidly developed into an acute +attack of croup.</p> + +<p class="tb">“It was a stubborn case, and quite beyond my poor +skill,” said the Little Doctor, as they all stood weeping<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_221"></a>[221]</span> +around the still and beautiful form of the precious +dead.</p> + +<p>“What do you imagine caused the child to predict his +untimely taking off, Mr. Burns?” asked Mrs. McAlpin, +as they watched alone.</p> + +<p>“I suppose it was merely a child’s fancy,—a coincidence, +probably.”</p> + +<p>“And I suppose it was a revelation. Many important +lessons may be learned from the artless utterances of a +child.”</p> + +<p>For many weeks Mrs. McAlpin had studiously avoided +conversation on any subject with the one man on earth +whom she believed to be her counterpart.</p> + +<p>“Wait till that human imperfection called the Law has +made me legally free,” was her invariable command whenever +her suitor showed symptoms of impatience.</p> + +<p>But to-night, as they knelt together in the presence of +what the world calls Death, he seized her hand, and it +was not withdrawn.</p> + +<p>“Kneeling in this presence, may I have my answer, +Daphne?”</p> + +<p>The dim light of a sputtering tallow candle shed a faint +glow across the white sheet under which the still form of +Bobbie lay in dreamless sleep.</p> + +<p>She returned the pressure of his hand in silence. But +when he would have caught her in a close embrace, she +gently withdrew and whispered: “We will take our first +kiss at the altar, darling.”</p> + +<p>“I am happy now, and I can wait. God bless you!” +he whispered; and as others were about entering the tent, +he arose from his knees and went out silently among the +stars.</p> + +<p>The morning came at last. Amid the tearful silence +of the company the train moved on for a couple of miles +and halted at the foot of a mountain to consign the mortal +remains of the little soul to their last resting-place. +High up on the mountain-side, on a natural terrace, the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_222"></a>[222]</span> +grave was made under a spreading juniper-tree, in whose +branches the wild birds chant his requiem as the years +roll on, and the eternal breezes sing.</p> + +<p class="tb">The next morning, August 29, found the face of Nature +covered everywhere with a thick coating of hoar-frost. +Ice had formed during the night in the water-pails, an +eighth of an inch in thickness, and an inspiriting sensation +of chilliness filled the air. But as the sun rode high +in the brassy heavens, the day grew intensely hot. On and +on and up and up the ailing cattle labored; and on +and on and up and up the dispirited company toiled, footsore +and weary, ragged and dirty. But hope was not +dead; for was not the goal of their ambition now almost +in sight?</p> + +<p>The mountains of Powder River were next crossed, +and the weary pilgrims emerged upon an open plain over +which the pygmy sagebrush of the desert ran riot. Here +a quarter of a century later an enterprising city was +destined to arise, in the midst of abounding mines and +burdened wheatfields, wherein the irrigated lands would +drop fatness and the stockman grow rich among the cattle +of a thousand hills.</p> + +<p>“This valley,” wrote Jean, under date of September 1, +“is beautiful to look upon; but it is considered worthless, +as it is too dry for cultivation, and there is no way to rid +the land of the ever-obtruding sage. Daddie says it will +never be made to sprout white beans.”</p> + +<p>The ranchers, stock-raisers, mine-owners, merchants, +artisans, mechanics, speculators, newspaper men, politicians, +and successful schemers in every walk of life can +well afford to forgive Daniel Webster, John Ranger, and +every other false prophet who in his day harped on the +same string, in view of the continuous fields of wheat, +oats, barley, rye, vetch, hops, and fruits of all kinds peculiar +to the temperate zone which this wonderfully fertile +valley now produces under the impulse of irrigation, not<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_223"></a>[223]</span> +to mention the mines of gold and silver, precious stones, +and baser metals with which the hills and mountains are +fabulously rich.</p> + +<p>The descent of the Ranger company into the now +famous Grande Ronde valley was most perilous. It was +made long after nightfall, through a precipitous and +rocky defile, where a slip of the wagon-wheel or the +misstep of an ox would have plunged the adventurous +teams, wagons, men, women, children, and all, over +sheer bluffs.</p> + +<p>Camp was pitched in the edge of the beautiful valley, +then a reservation belonging to the Nez Percé Indians. +Rye-grass was growing as high as the top of the head +of a man on horseback; and at one end of the valley, +where now is a famous resort for health and pleasure, +a number of hot springs were outlined by great columns +of steam, which, rising beneath the arid air, hung low +over the foot-hills, and, hanging lower yet in the vale +below, spread itself like an enormous fleece over a lake +of seething water.</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="XXXI">XXXI<br> +<span class="smaller"><i>THROUGH THE OREGON MOUNTAINS</i></span></h2> + +</div> + +<p>After moving across the Grande Ronde valley +through a veritable Eden of untamed verdure, +and crossing the Grande Ronde River by ford, +our travellers began the ascent of the Blue Mountains.</p> + +<p>The air was cool and delicious. The cattle, much refreshed +by their luscious feed in the bountiful and beautiful +valley, moved more briskly than had been their wont, +and were soon in the midst of the grand old forest trees, +which, at that time untouched by the woodman’s ax, stood +in all their native grandeur upon the grass-grown slopes. +In the midst of one of these groves of stately whispering<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_224"></a>[224]</span> +pines the company halted for the night near a sparkling +spring, with scenery all around them so enchanting that +Jean exclaimed in her journal, “Oh, this beautiful world! +how big it is compared to the pygmy mortals who roam +over its surface; and yet how little it is compared to the +countless stars that gaze upon us from above this ‘boundless +contiguity of shade’!”</p> + +<p>For several days she had written little. Her thoughts +wandered to the Green River experience that had awakened +within her being a new life, from which, for her +at least, there was to be no ending. She could not +write, so she strolled aimlessly away to a mossy rock +in a starlit ravine, at the foot of which a rivulet was +singing.</p> + +<p>“Why can’t I see you, mother dear?” she asked. +“And you, Bobbie, can’t you say a word to your sister +Jean?”</p> + +<p>For a long time she sat thus, lost in reverie, while the +eternal silence around her was broken only by the low +cadence of the whispering pines.</p> + +<p>Suddenly there came into her inner consciousness a +call, unspoken yet heard, “Jean!”</p> + +<p>She closed her eyes and saw, as plainly as with physical +vision, Ashton Ashleigh’s border home; and he was gazing +hard at Le-Le, who was kneeling at his feet in beseeching +attitude.</p> + +<p>“Jean!”</p> + +<p>Gradually, as the demon Doubt aroused her senses, +a wild, unreasoning jealousy crept into her heart. She +turned her face to the eastward and sent out to him an +answering call, “Ashleigh!”</p> + +<p>She listened eagerly; but no response was felt or +heard, and no mental vision reappeared. With her +heart like lead, she returned to the wagon and crept +into bed.</p> + +<p>When she awoke the sun was shining, and she could +not recall the vision that had distressed her. Had her<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_225"></a>[225]</span> +soul visited the abode of her heart’s idol? Who knows? +and who can tell?</p> + +<p class="tb">On and on the teams kept crawling, until on the 6th +of September the summit of the Blue Mountains was +passed, and the wearied travellers gazed for the first time +upon the Cascade Mountains, lying to the westward in +the purple distance; and in their midst arose, supported +by a continuous chain of undulating, tree-crowned, lesser +heights, the majestic proportions of Mount Hood, the +patriarch of the solitudes, his hoary head uplifted in the +shimmering air, and at his feet a drapery of mist.</p> + +<p>The Umatilla River left the gorges through which it +had fought its way, and glided peacefully through a sagebrush +plain toward the great Columbia. But no settlements +were yet to be seen. No navigation had yet been +started on the broad bosom of the upper Columbia. The +rock-ribbed Dalles frowned far below in the misty distance; +and no dream of a fleet of palatial river craft, with +portage railways around otherwise impassable gorges, had +yet taken practical shape. The Cascade locks had not +entered the liveliest imagination, and a transcontinental +railroad was considered an engineering impossibility, +existing only in the mind of an impractical theorist or +incurable crank.</p> + +<p>A vast and practically level plain or upland lay between +the Blue and the Cascade mountains. The Whitman +settlement had already made the existence of the infant +city of Walla Walla possible. Wallula and Umatilla were +not, and the site of Pendleton was an unbroken plain.</p> + +<p>But game was plenty and grass was good. Choke-cherries +and salmon-berries grew thickly among the deciduous +groves that bordered the Umatilla River; and +but for the sad bereavements in the Ranger family, which +time alone could heal, the company would have been in +exuberant spirits.</p> + +<p>At Willow Creek station, which is now a veritable<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_226"></a>[226]</span> +oasis in the desert, the party found a trading-post, where +some fresh potatoes and onions made a welcome change +in the diet.</p> + +<p>On the 13th of September Jean wrote: “Old friends +and relatives, tried and true, have come to meet us from +the Willamette valley, and their unexpected coming fills +us with gratitude unspeakable.”</p> + +<p>After stopping merely to exchange greetings and gather +what meagre tidings they could obtain from each end of +the long and tedious road, the jaded immigrants pushed +onward through the heat and dust till nightfall, when they +came to a small stream, where they were compelled to +halt for the night on account of the water, though the +grass was poor and the cattle fared badly.</p> + +<p>The relief party reported the Willamette valley as the +“Garden of Eden,” and gave glowing accounts of the +soil, climate, scenery, and plenty with which the western +part of the great Oregon country abounded. Even the +dumb animals seemed to understand and take courage; +for they stepped more briskly under the yoke and chewed +the cud to a later hour than had been their wont.</p> + +<p>Guided by the advice of the relief party, the train was +again put in motion at midnight.</p> + +<p>“It is fully twenty miles to the next camping-ground +where there are wood and water,” said a kindly recruit +who had recently been over the road. It was a forced +march, but the animals were well repaid for making it, +as they found good water and a tolerable supply of grass.</p> + +<p>“September 16. We are encamped near the mouth of +the Des Chutes River,” wrote Jean. “It is a clear, swift, +and considerable stream which empties its waters into the +Columbia.</p> + +<p>“I know to-night just how Balboa must have felt when +he discovered the Pacific Ocean. For have I not set eyes +upon the lordly Columbia, the mighty river of the West, +which</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">“‘Hears no sound save its own dashings’?”</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_227"></a>[227]</span></p> + +<p>The Des Chutes was safely forded by the teams, under +the direction of an Indian guide, and the women and +children were taken across it in a canoe.</p> + +<p>The wild and broken desolation of the plains now gave +way to vast alluvial uplands,—dry, owing to the season, +but giving promise of great prosperity for future husbandmen. +Numerous gulches intersected the otherwise +unbroken level, upon which the teams would often come +without warning; therefore travel was difficult and progress +slow.</p> + +<p>“If the season were not so far advanced, I’d like to +stop over at The Dalles and visit the mission,” said +Captain Ranger; “but a storm is threatening, and it +will never do to risk such an experience in the Cascade +Mountains.”</p> + +<p>“Quite right you air!” exclaimed a mountaineer, who +visited the train avowedly in search of a wife. None of +the women or girls saw fit to accept the negotiations +proposed; but his advice as to a coming storm was good. +The train, in seeking to slip through the mountains by the +way of Barlow’s Gap,—a road made passable for teams +by the indefatigable labors of an honored pioneer, whose +name it perpetuates,—was halted just in time to prevent +a disastrous ending.</p> + +<p>Captain Ranger’s worn and famishing cattle were reinforced +at Barlow’s Gap by two yokes of fat oxen sent +to the rescue by an immigrant of 1850,—a grand and +enterprising preacher of the gospel, who, all unknown, +even to himself, was a striking example of a working +parson, imbued with the practical idea of what constitutes +a “Church of the Big Licks.” Not that he was +pugnacious, but he was philanthropic and practical and enterprising; +and many are the beneficiaries of his industry +and skill who have long survived his ministry, and date +their material progress in Oregon, as well as their spiritual +welfare, to this practical promoter of an every-day +religion.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_228"></a>[228]</span></p> + +<p>Provisions were by this time running short, and the +necessity of reaching the settlements was imperative; +but there was no appeal from the borderer’s experience, +and the impatient wayfarers were compelled to remain +in camp for four consecutive days and nights, while the +excited heavens warred among the serrated steeps, as</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">“From rock to rock leaped the live thunder.”</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<p>The storm, which condensed its forces into a deluge of +rain at both the eastern and western bases of the Cascade +Mountains, had raged as snow in the forest-studded +heights; and this, melting rapidly under the sunny skies +which succeeded the heavy precipitation, made Barlow’s +Gap so slippery that the teamsters had to exercise the +utmost care in guiding the oxen and to keep their own +feet.</p> + +<p>Provisions ran lower every day, and finally gave out +entirely; and one jolly wayfarer, who had for many +weeks professed to be enjoying the prospect of a ten-days’ +famine, grew so ravenous when compelled to face +the reality at the foot of Laurel Hill, that he begged +piteously for some coffee-grounds to ease the cravings +of his stomach.</p> + +<p>The next morning the three girls crossed the raging +torrent of the glacial river Sandy by jumping from rock +to rock over the roaring and perilous current, and gathered +a bountiful supply of salal-berries for the children; +but it was almost night before the half-starved men (who +would not eat the purple fruit) were met by a packer, who +brought beef and flour; and as soon as a fire could be +kindled, a meal was made ready.</p> + +<p>On the 27th of September the company descended the +last long and rocky steep, and halted with a shout at +the foot of the mountains on the famous Foster Ranch, +where fresh vegetables, milk, cream, and butter were +added to the beef and flour on which they had been glad +to subsist when necessary.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_229"></a>[229]</span></p> + +<p>On the thirtieth day of the month they reached Oregon +City, and were royally welcomed by Dr. John McLoughlin,—the +renowned, revered, and idolized hero of Old +Oregon.</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="XXXII">XXXII<br> +<span class="smaller"><i>LETTERS FROM HOME</i></span></h2> + +</div> + +<p>Oregon City, in the autumn of 1852 and for +more than a decade thereafter, consisted chiefly +of a single narrow street bordering the Willamette +River and lying under the sheer bluffs of lichen-clad +basaltic rock that overlook the Falls of the +Willamette, valued at that time only as a fishing site +for the wily Indian and a strenuous leaping-place for +schools of salmon. But future enterprise was destined +to utilize the stupendous water-power for the convenience +of man in the city of Portland, a dozen miles below. +In this one narrow street the Ranger company +halted to read letters from the States. These letters, +many of them now nearly six months old, brought to +them the first tidings from the old home. The latest +was dated August 1, and was from Grandfather Ranger, +announcing the transition of “Grannie,” the beloved +great-grandmother, whose demise was described with +much detail:—</p> + +<p>“She was in usual health up to the last day of her sojourn +in the body,” he wrote, “and retained her faculties +to the last. She had walked to Lijah’s and back during +the day, with no companion but Rover, who deemed her +his especial charge from the time he took up his abode +with us. But she complained of being tired on her return, +and ate less dinner than usual. While your mother +and I were sitting at the table, we heard a peculiar gasp +and gurgle from Grannie’s chair in the next room, and<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_230"></a>[230]</span> +we hastened to her side; but she never spoke again, except +in whispered messages of love to us all.</p> + +<p>“We laid her precious remains in the family lot, in +the dear, peaceful, leafy burying-ground of Glen Eden, +and returned to our lonely home, and put away her empty +chair. On the last morning of her earth-life, as she sat +at breakfast with us, she said, ‘I saw Joseph in my +dreams last night. I heard him speak as plainly as if he +had been in this room. He had a troubled look, but he +said: “Tell mother I have written.”’ We thought little +of it at the time; but to-day we had a letter from him, +saying he is alive and well. He spoke of having seen +you, John, but he said you had quarrelled with him, or +rather at him, and had left him in a fit of anger. He did +not say why you had quarrelled. But, oh, John, how +could you do it? We know he must have given you +cause, but you should, for our sakes, have risen above +it. My old heart is heavy with sorrow. And your dear, +patient mother, who has prayed so long and earnestly +for this meeting between you two,—to think when her +prayer is answered at last that you would add to it such +a sting! No matter which one of you is the more to +blame, you, my son, as the elder brother, should be the +first to make concessions. I know your gentle Annie +joins me in this appeal. She seems strangely near me +as I write; and I can almost hear her say: ‘To err is +human; to forgive divine.’ Give her and all the children +our messages of love and sympathy.”</p> + +<p>The strong man wept convulsively. No tidings of his +wife’s transition had yet been despatched to the folks at +home; nor could letters reach them now for a month to +come. There was no overland mail, and all “through” +letters sought transit <i>via</i> Panama.</p> + +<p>A long postscript was added, over which father and +children shed tears in unison. It said: “The dog, Rover, +returned at nightfall on the memorable day of your departure, +weary, wet, and bedraggled. He would take no<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_231"></a>[231]</span> +notice of me, your mother, or Grannie, although we all +tried to pet and console him. But he went straight to +your deserted doorstep, where he lay for a long time +moaning like a man in pain. Grannie regularly carried +him food, but he refused to eat for many days, and his +wailing and howling could be heard at all hours of the +night. But finally your mother won him over, and he now +makes his home with us, and seems quite happy and contented. +We all thought he would want to leave us and go +back to the old house when Lijah took possession of it, +but he didn’t. He just clung all the closer to us old folks +in the cottage; and it would have done your soul good to +see the faithful watch he kept over dear old Grannie to +the last day of her life. He was conspicuous among the +chief mourners at the burial, and lingered alone beside +the grave long after we all had returned to our homes.”</p> + +<p>Jean, recalling her father’s words on that far-away +ferry-boat, where she had last seen the faithful animal +watching and wailing from the river-bank, said, as she +looked up from reading her own letters: “Daddie, don’t +you think now that a dog has a soul?” And her father +answered huskily: “I don’t see why he hasn’t as good a +right to a soul as I have.”</p> + +<p>“Here, Mame,” said Jean, “is a letter from Cousin +Annie Robinson. Listen. She says: ‘Please break it +gently to Cousin Mame that her <i>beau ideal</i> of a man, the +Reverend Thomas Rogers, took to himself a wife before +she had been gone a week. And who should it have been +but that detestable Agnes Winter, who used to say such +spiteful things about Mame? She won’t be as happy +after a while as she is now, but she’ll know a whole lot +more. Who could have believed that so saintly a sinner +as the Reverend Thomas would prove so fickle? I hope +Mame will see him with our eyes after this. He isn’t +worthy of her passing thought.’”</p> + +<p>Mary, whose dreams for long and weary months had +been of a package of letters from the preacher that never<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_232"></a>[232]</span> +came at all, faced suddenly the first great crisis in her +life; and stilling, with a strong effort of the will, the +tumultuous beatings of her heart, she walked rapidly on, +ahead of the teams, from starting-time until nightfall, +fighting her first great battle with herself alone, and +gaining the mastery at last without human aid or +sympathy.</p> + +<p>The immigrants, having concluded their purchases, +toiled up the narrow grade to the table-land above the +bluffs, and pursued their way through the stately evergreen +forests and level plains of the Willamette valley to +the homes of relatives, who awaited their coming with +joy that was changed to mourning when they learned for +the first time of the death of Mrs. Ranger.</p> + +<p>After a few days of much-needed rest among the hospitable +pioneers who had preceded them by two years +and were now installed on a beautiful and valuable donation +claim, the immigrant party decided to remain in +each other’s vicinity, and removed for the purpose to a +beautiful vista of vacant land under the friendly shadow +of the Cascade Mountains, with a westward outlook across +the Willamette valley to the Coast Range, which alone +intervened to shut from sight the surging billows of the +Pacific Ocean.</p> + +<p>It was here that the genius and education of Scotty, +who will hereafter be designated by his lawful name, +proved of inestimable value. Supplied only with a rope +and a carpenter’s square, he led a private surveying party +through the woods and prairies, locating their claims with +such accuracy that the government survey, which was +made years after, fully approved his work.</p> + +<p>“You may not be a success at driving oxen or taking +care of steers at night,” said Captain Ranger, “but you +are an artist with a rope and a square.”</p> + +<p>“Didn’t I tell you he’d be worth his weight in gold +when he reached a place where he could have a chance +to use his brains?” asked Mrs. McAlpin, who took as<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_233"></a>[233]</span> +kindly and intelligently to her surroundings as if to the +manner born.</p> + +<p>“Women have a way of divination that I won’t attempt +to analyze,” was the laughing reply.</p> + +<p>The donation claim of each settler, the acreage of +which had by this time been cut into halves by Act of +Congress, was still of ample proportions, being a mile +long and half a mile wide, and was so surveyed as to +allow four families or claimants to settle on extreme +corners of their land at points where four corners +met.</p> + +<p>“This will enable each claimant to build a cabin on his +own claim, so he can reside upon and cultivate his own +land, as required by the law, and at the same time have +neighbors within call in case of accident or other need,” +said Mr. Burns.</p> + +<p>“What a grand and glorious prospect!” exclaimed +Captain Ranger, standing on an eminence where his new +house was to go up, and gazing abroad over the wide +expanse of the Willamette valley, in which the winding +river was gleaming through the openings in the forest; +“but I can sense one drawback to your scheme, Mr. +Burns.”</p> + +<p>“What is it?”</p> + +<p>“Some of us will be getting married before long and +doubling our opportunity for holding government lands; +and as each must reside upon and cultivate his claim +and his wife’s, it will make it a little awkward, won’t +it?”</p> + +<p>“Not if the contracting parties exercise a little ordinary +business ability and discretion, sir. They have but +to locate their claims with a view to matrimony and +settle their own bargains to suit themselves.”</p> + +<p>But the Captain, who had dealt with the domestic +infelicities of his neighbors too often to look upon all +such bargains as imbued with old-time stability, had his +doubts.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_234"></a>[234]</span></p> + +<p>“If an engaged couple should tire of their bargain, +and their change of sentiment should fail to fit the agreement,—what +then?”</p> + +<p>“It would be a blessing for them to discover their +mistake in time to forestall the divorce court,” was the +ready reply.</p> + +<p>“Mr. Burns is right,” said Mrs. McAlpin. “Two-thirds +of the unhappy marriages we hear about are the +result of haste and lack of understanding. A couple will +marry, and when it is too late to recede from the bargain +they want to break it. I don’t mind telling you, Captain +Ranger, that Mr. Burns and I expect to marry each other +some day, and our claims were chosen accordingly; but +we’ll wait until the law frees me from a bargain which +I repudiated in spirit before it was consummated. And +we’ll not marry then if we conclude we are making a +mistake.”</p> + +<p>“I am glad to hear you make so open and frank a +statement in the presence of so competent a witness,” +exclaimed Mrs. Benson, who still carried an important +note in her pocket, frayed and travel-soiled, but none the +less precious from being scarcely legible.</p> + +<p>“I think it is a shame to make a commercial bargain +of a matrimonial agreement,” exclaimed Mary Ranger.</p> + +<p>“And so do I!” echoed Jean.</p> + +<p>Nevertheless, when the boundaries of the several donation +claims were established, and the different allotments +were assigned to the proper claimants, it was noticed +that, in addition to the Captain’s own quota of virgin +acres, an extra claim was reserved adjacent to that of +each of his daughters, Mary and Jean, and one next to +that of Sally O’Dowd.</p> + +<p class="tb">“Equality before the law is a fundamental idea in the +government of the United States of America,” the Captain +explained at the Land Office; “and I am glad to see +it practically applied to the property rights of the pioneer<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_235"></a>[235]</span> +women of Oregon. It is a good beginning, and none can +see the end.”</p> + +<p>“Sally O’Dowd isn’t a free woman, and she can’t get +married, thank goodness!” cried Jean, as she and her +sisters talked the matter over together between themselves +alone.</p> + +<p>“That’s so,” echoed Mary. “Sally has a husband +living, and so there is no danger of our losing father.”</p> + +<p>“Let’s not be too certain,” cried Jean. “If you’d +kept your eyes open for the last month, as I have, you +wouldn’t be surprised at anything. Sally’s case was up +on appeal when she left the States, but it has doubtless +gone by default. She has the custody of her children, +and that was all she asked of Sam O’Dowd.”</p> + +<p>“Then Sally is a free woman,” said Marjorie.</p> + +<p>“No woman is free when she is married,” retorted +Jean. “The laws of men do not recognize the individuality +of a married woman. I, for instance, am Jean +Ranger to-day, but if I should marry to-morrow, I’d +be—”</p> + +<p>“Nothing but a nonentity named Mrs. Ashton Ashleigh,” +interrupted Mary. “Women delight in surrendering +their names in marriage to the man they love.”</p> + +<p>“You’re right,” cried Jean, her eyes blazing. “I’d +surrender to-morrow if Ashton would come to claim his +own. But it would be a partnership, and not a one-sided +agreement.”</p> + +<p>“That’s what every woman thinks when she puts her +neck in the noose,” laughed Marjorie; “but when the +man comes along who is able to capture her heart, she is +ready to make the venture.”</p> + +<p>“That’s because the fundamental principle of matrimony +is correct,” retorted Jean.</p> + +<p>“Dat’s so, honey,” said Susannah. “Women is jist +like pigs. When one of ’em burns his nose in a trough +o’ hot mash, dey’ll all hurry to ’vestigate an’ git de same +sperience.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_236"></a>[236]</span></p> + +<p>“Of course you’ll get some land,” said Jean.</p> + +<p>“I’ve done axed de Cap’n ’bout it, an’ he’s looked +up de law. He says I can’t take up no lan’ ’cos I’m +nothin’ but a niggah. De laws o’ Oregon are ag’in it; +so are de laws o’ de gen’ral gov’ment. A free country’s +a great blessin’ to women an’ niggahs! It’s a great +blessin’ to be bawn in a free country; ain’t it, Geo’die +Wah?”</p> + +<p>The coon, who had grown and flourished under his +six months’ regimen of flapjacks and bacon, shook his +bright brown curls and grinned, displaying an even set +of polished ivories.</p> + +<p>“I couldn’t git married if I wanted to,” added the +negress, “’cos the law is sot ag’in mixed matches; but +da’hs no law nowhar ag’in coons”; and she ended hers +harangue with a characteristic “Yah! yah! yah!”</p> + +<p>“Then, if you can’t marry, you can always work for +wages, Susannah; and you’ll be better off than Mrs. +McAlpin,”—she was coming to join the group,—“who +is going to be married soon, if I can read the stars correctly,” +laughed Marjorie.</p> + +<p>“No, Marjorie; I cannot even talk of marriage with +the man whom God created for me, and me only. I am +not even a grass widow. I cannot legally file upon a claim +because I am the victim of a marriage I cannot honor. +And the law cannot set me free because the party of the +second part objects.”</p> + +<p>“What’s that you were saying to the Ranger girls, +Daphne?” asked Mrs. Benson, who had been engaged in +assisting Captain Ranger and Mr. Burns to plan the two +sets of log houses that were to be erected a mile apart, +and to be so arranged as to form separate abodes for four +families.</p> + +<p>“Nothing, mamma, only I was bewailing my fate.”</p> + +<p>“Come with me, Daphne; I have something to show +you,” said Mrs. Benson, in a low tone.</p> + +<p>“Listen to this letter,” said the mother, as soon as they<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_237"></a>[237]</span> +were seated among the trees. “The time has come for +you to know its contents:—</p> + +<div class="letter"> + +<p>“<span class="smcap">My dear Mrs. Benson</span>,—You have been a brave, +devoted mother to an unhappily environed daughter. I +have long known that you and I were made for each +other. We became mismatched through adherence to +false customs. Daphne does not love me, and has never +willingly accepted our union, as you have painful reason +to know. You love me! Pardon this abrupt announcement. +You have never told me so, but I have known +the truth for years. To have this opportunity to tell you +that I reciprocate, is at present my only joy.</p> + +<p>“I will meet you in the wilds of Oregon. Daphne’s +latest erratic movements to escape me have all along been +known. To follow you I became a wanderer in these +Western wilds. I will take measures to set your beautiful +daughter free. A couple whom God hath <i>not</i> joined +together it is man’s duty to put asunder. Keep your +own counsel till such time as you are strong enough to +take your life and destiny into your own hands, and +declare yourself accountable primarily to yourself and +God for your own actions.</p> + +<p>“I will be in Portland, Oregon, by November first. We +shall surely meet again.</p> + +<p>“Faithfully, through time and for eternity, your devoted +but never yet accredited counterpart,</p> + +<p class="right">“<span class="smcap">Donald McPherson</span>.”</p> + +</div> + +<p>The daughter clasped her mother’s hand and fervently +exclaimed, “Thank God!”</p> + +<p>Mrs. Benson wept.</p> + +<p>“It will never do for you and me to meet again after +this revelation,” said the daughter, after a long silence. +“I will take up my permanent abode in this new country, +and you can rejoin Donald in New York or Philadelphia, +<i>via</i> the city of Panama. But you must go to Portland +now. We will not set idle tongues to wagging here. It +is fortunate indeed that Donald took his mother’s name +as a part of his last inheritance.”</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_238"></a>[238]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="XXXIII">XXXIII<br> +<span class="smaller"><i>LOVE FINDS A WAY</i></span></h2> + +</div> + +<p>“You needn’t select any lands for me, Captain,” +said Mrs. Benson. “I have decided to go to +Portland to-morrow with the team that’s going +down for supplies. I shall not return. But my daughter +will remain and take a claim. She has decided to turn +rancher, but I do not like the life.”</p> + +<p>“Isn’t this a rather sudden change in your programme, +Mrs. Benson?”</p> + +<p>“Not at all. I didn’t intend to remain when I came +here. I wouldn’t have come any farther than Oregon +City, but I wanted to get a view of the future home of +Daphne; and now, as she has chosen for herself and +has a fair prospect of happiness ahead, I am ready to +look out for myself. I shall stop awhile in Portland, and +be ready to take the next steamer for San Francisco. I +will go to New York by way of the Isthmus, and will +spend the evening of my days in Paris or London.”</p> + +<p>“I’m sure I wish you well, Mrs. Benson.”</p> + +<p>“Thank you, Captain. My heart is too full for words! +I know you will always be a friend to my dear daughter.”</p> + +<p>“You surely do not mean to go where you can never +see your daughter again!”</p> + +<p>“Yes, Captain. Do you recall that tall and bronzed +and handsome man of whom you bought the buffalo robe +you gave to your wife a short time before her death?”</p> + +<p>“You mean Donald McPherson?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, sir. The fates have settled it. He is to be +my husband, and Daphne and I must part.”</p> + +<p>“You have my best wishes for success and happiness,” +said the Captain, earnestly, as he offered his hand.</p> + +<p>“There is some peculiar mystery about all this!” he<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_239"></a>[239]</span> +exclaimed to himself the next day, as Mrs. Benson climbed +into the wagon and started off to meet her fate. “But +it’s the way of women. They are as fickle as the wind.” +He thought bitterly of his own budding and now blighted +hopes.</p> + +<p>“Don’t grieve for her, Daphne,” said Mr. Burns, in +a husky voice, as the wagon disappeared. “She was +kind to me when I was crippled and cross, and I shall +never forget her watchfulness and care for me under the +most trying conditions. She is your mother, too, and that +of itself is enough to inspire my everlasting gratitude. I +have no respect for the man who fails to appreciate the +woman to whom he is indebted for his wife.”</p> + +<p>“It is well for the three of us that we have learned +our lesson, Rollin. We are all young yet, and all eternity +is before us.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, Daphne! Eternity is both before and behind us. +We are henceforth to be all in all to each other, as I +believe we have been in the past, my darling.”</p> + +<p>“No, Mr. Burns, do not ‘darling’ me yet. We must +await the tardy action of that human imperfection called +the law before I can honorably become your ‘darling.’”</p> + +<p>Nevertheless, being human, she feigned not to notice +the prolonged pressure of his hand at parting, nor did +she refrain from answering his eager and tender gaze +with a look that quickened every pulse and sent a thrill of +gladness to his heart.</p> + +<p class="tb">At the primitive hotel in the primitive little city of +Portland, Mrs. Benson met an Indian woman, the mother +of many children, who was introduced to her as Mrs. +Addicks. The woman was richly and stylishly gowned +and seemed much at home among the guests. Her mien +and carriage were queenly, as she moved about the little +parlor, exchanging a word here and there among the +loiterers, with whom she seemed a general favorite.</p> + +<p>“Haven’t I met you somewhere before?” asked Mrs.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_240"></a>[240]</span> +Benson, with whom, in truth, she had exchanged greetings +on the plains under circumstances quite different +from the present, as one, at least, had cause to remember.</p> + +<p>“I do not recall a former meeting, madam. But you +might have met me on the plains. I was on my way to +Portland when you saw me, if you saw me at all. A +frontier trading-post is no proper place to bring up a lot +of Indian half-breeds. I came here to educate my +children.”</p> + +<p>“Then your husband is a white man?”</p> + +<p>“Yes.”</p> + +<p>“I beg your pardon, but you do not speak and act like +the other Indians I have met.”</p> + +<p>“I am a chieftain’s daughter, and I was educated in +London. You spoke of travelling in the Ranger train. +Mr. Ranger is my husband’s brother.”</p> + +<p>“Does Captain Ranger know of this?”</p> + +<p>“I neither know nor care! One thing is certain. I +shall do my best to train and educate my children in such +a way that he will be proud some day to own them as +relatives. I have the girls in school at the Academy of +the Sacred Heart. The boys are at the Brothers’ School.”</p> + +<p>“Do you know Dr. McLoughlin?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, and my husband knows him well. I saw him +as the children and I passed through Oregon City. He +was very kind, and bade me be of good cheer. He has an +Indian wife himself, as you know. But he did not ask +me in to see her, so we did not meet.”</p> + +<p class="tb">As Donald McPherson had not yet arrived in Portland, +Mrs. Benson had ample leisure for letter-writing.</p> + +<p>“My dear Daphne,” she wrote, “a letter from Mr. McPherson +awaited me, as I expected. He had sent it forward +by a courier from the plains, in care of one of Dr. +McLoughlin’s agents. I need not repeat its contents. +Suffice it to say, that I am serene and calm. God has +been very merciful to us all. Within the letter was a<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_241"></a>[241]</span> +letter of credit, upon which I am now able to draw ample +funds. I will place on deposit, subject to your order, +all the money you will need. Do not hesitate to accept +it. It is mine, to do with as I choose; and this is my +choice of methods to expend the portion I have assigned +to you.</p> + +<p>“I have decided not to meet him till after you are a +free woman, Daphne. I know you and Donald will guard +our secret carefully; but I have doubts about Jean Ranger. +She brought me that unsealed note, and, as you know, she +is such a precocious little witch she might have read it +before giving it into my possession. Could you, in some +way, get at the truth of this without letting her see just +what you are after?”</p> + +<p>To which Mrs. McAlpin replied: “I will not do Jean +the injustice to imagine for a moment that she would +read a private note that was intrusted to her care and +honor. Tell Donald that I will honor him as my step-father, +but I will never see his face again. He was very +patient with me during all the trying years when the +Juggernaut of public opinion, combined with the inquisition +of the law, kept us in bondage; and I thank him +for his patience with all my heart. I am as painfully +aware of the unconventionality of our proceedings as +yourself, dear mamma, but as what the public doesn’t +know doesn’t disturb that composite being in the least, +we’ll keep our own counsel and be happy.</p> + +<p>“My donation claim lies parallel to Sally O’Dowd’s. +Captain Ranger’s claim adjoins hers on the south,—a +plan that implies foreknowledge, if not foreordination.</p> + +<p>“Mr. Burns and Albert Evans, our faithful teamster, +have selected their land adjacent to mine. Evans has +chosen a double allotment, having in prospect a wife +who is a mere child, belonging to a neighbor about three +miles away. I am disgusted with the venality of the +transaction, which the child’s father regards with satisfaction, +and the mother with tears.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_242"></a>[242]</span></p> + +<p>A few days later, Mrs. Benson wrote to Captain +Ranger, as follows:—</p> + +<p>“I have met here an interesting and highly educated +Indian woman, who says she is the wife of the post-trader +you met in Utah. She says that trader is your +brother Joseph, whom for many years you mourned as +dead. She is here to educate her boys at the Brothers’ +School, and her girls at the Academy of the Sacred +Heart.</p> + +<p>“When we saw her on the plains, she looked nothing +but an ordinary squaw. Now she and the children are +well and fashionably dressed, and as presentable in every +way as any family in this primitive hostelry; and that is +saying a good deal, for there are ladies here of high rank +and breeding from the Eastern cities, and also from over +the seas. Mrs. Ranger (she still answers to the name of +Addicks) was educated in London, she says, where, as +the daughter of an Indian chieftain of the land of the +Dakotas, she was admitted into the most aristocratic +circles. After completing her education she returned to +her native haunts and met your brother, who made her +his wife. She seems to have plenty of money; her children +are bright and intelligent,—the girls especially so, +they being, she says, more like their father than the boys; +and for this, as you know, there is a physiological reason.”</p> + +<p>“I’ll see that woman the very first time I go to +Portland,” said the Captain, aloud, as he folded the letter +deliberately.</p> + +<p>“What woman?” asked Sally O’Dowd.</p> + +<p>“Nobody in particular,” he answered, thrusting the +letter hurriedly into his pocket, and looking confused and +foolish as he returned to his work.</p> + +<p>The labor of felling, hewing, hauling, and finally raising +into houses the timbers for the big log buildings +which were to afford homes for the half-dozen or more +families who had, by common consent, adopted a sort +of corporate method for residing upon and cultivating<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_243"></a>[243]</span> +their claims, told heavily upon the men, who, already +depleted in strength by much hardship, were poorly +equipped for their tasks. But there was no shirking of +duties nor complaint over backaches, and the borderers’ +homes arose like magic.</p> + +<p>“How do you like the appearance of the new buildings?” +asked Captain Ranger, addressing Sally O’Dowd.</p> + +<p>“Why should you ask me?” was the curt response.</p> + +<p>Surprised at her reply but disposed to be communicative, +he added: “If all goes well, I’ll have a sawmill up +yonder in the timber by this time next year.”</p> + +<p>“That’s none of my business,” she retorted testily.</p> + +<p>He looked at her for a moment in blank astonishment. +“Why isn’t it your business?” he asked, at +length. “Haven’t we agreed to first get you free from +a bad bargain, and after that take up our line of march +together? And won’t your belongings then be mine, and +mine yours?”</p> + +<p>“What about that other woman you are going to Portland +to see? Do you take me for an idiot, Squire?”</p> + +<p>He looked her in the face for an instant, nonplussed. +Then as the reason for her change of manner dawned +upon him, he threw back his head and laughed heartily.</p> + +<p>“So that’s what the matter with us, is it?” he exclaimed, +approaching her with a proffered caress. “We’ve +been a trifle jealous, haven’t we?”</p> + +<p>“Behave yourself, sir!” elbowing him away. “Go to +Portland and see that other woman. No doubt a party +by the name of Benson is expecting you.”</p> + +<p>He guffawed again, making her angrier still.</p> + +<p>“Come, Sally; let’s have no more nonsense,” he said, +after his laughter had ceased, motioning her to a seat +beside him on the doorway.</p> + +<p>She stood irresolute.</p> + +<p>“Very well, if you prefer to do so, you can sit a-standing, +like the Dutchman’s hen. I’ve been keeping a letter +that’s been burning my pocket for three days waiting for<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_244"></a>[244]</span> +an opportunity to show it to you, Mrs. O’Dowd; but +you’ve been so shy I couldn’t touch you with a forty-foot +pole.”</p> + +<p>“What do you suppose I care for your letters from +that other woman?” she asked, dropping into the space +in the doorway, all eagerness and attention, in spite of her +disclaimer.</p> + +<p>“Read it yourself, Sally. It is from my brother-in-law, +Lije Robinson.”</p> + +<p>“The latest sensation is the suicide of Sam O’Dowd,” +the letter went on to say, after the usual preliminaries +of the border scribe.</p> + +<p>“No!” cried the widow, now such <i>de facto</i>, rising to +her feet and turning deathly pale. “Sam wouldn’t commit +suicide. He’d be afraid to meet his Maker.”</p> + +<p>“But he did it, Sally. Read on.”</p> + +<p>“He left a confession, saying it was remorse that +drove him to it, and extolling his wife as a model +woman, whom he had wronged beyond reparation in +every way imaginable.</p> + +<p>“His mother is wellnigh crazy. The home the two +of them had wrested from his wife and her mother, in +which the old woman had allotted to spend her days, +goes back to Sally now, as, by his confession, his mother +has no right to it.”</p> + +<p>“Poor Sam!” cried the widow, dropping again into +the proffered space in the doorway. “He had his faults, +but he wasn’t all bad. This letter and his confession +prove it. I shall try hard to think that he atoned for +his greatest crime by his voluntary death. But I’d be +sorry myself to meet the reception that he’ll get in +heaven!”</p> + +<p>“Why, Sally? What do you mean?”</p> + +<p>“Nothing. Let the dead past bury its dead.”</p> + +<p>Captain Ranger, who, in first proposing matrimony, +had stated earnestly that his heart was still with Annie, +gazed tenderly at the weeping woman, who arose and<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_245"></a>[245]</span> +stood before him in a mute yet beseeching attitude, while +a warm love for her sprang spontaneously within him.</p> + +<p>“Come, Sally dear,” he pleaded; “sit down by me +again, and let us talk it out.”</p> + +<p>She obeyed mechanically, her frame convulsed with +weeping.</p> + +<p>“I can never talk again about a platonic union,” he +said feelingly. “I know that Annie would sanction our +marriage now if she could speak to us; and I believe +with all my heart that she knows of our proposed relations, +and that she will, under the peculiar circumstances, +also approve.”</p> + +<p>Ah, John Ranger! Materialist as you used always to +proclaim yourself, you cannot, in the deepest recesses of +your soul, rebel against the faith that is “the evidence +of things not seen.” What have you done with your +agnosticism?</p> + +<p>“Captain,” said Sally, in a subdued tone, “I have seen +the day when I would have followed Sam O’Dowd to the +ends of the earth if he had commanded. I could and +would have lived on the acorns of the forest rather than +have failed to be his wife. Do not ask me to love you +now. I cannot be your wife.”</p> + +<p>“Are we not engaged?” he asked, astonished.</p> + +<p>“Yes; conditionally. But I cannot think about it now. +If I can ever bring myself to think it right for me to be +your wife, I will not hesitate to tell you so. But not now, +Captain; not now.”</p> + +<p>She arose abruptly, and was gone.</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_246"></a>[246]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="XXXIV">XXXIV<br> +<span class="smaller"><i>HAPPY JACK INTRODUCES HIMSELF</i></span></h2> + +</div> + +<p>“Here,” said Jean, the next morning, approaching +her father, who was hard at work by sunrise, +“are the letters I promised to write to +Mr. Ashleigh and his mother. You stipulated that you +should see them, as you will remember.”</p> + +<p>His head and heart were aching. “I don’t care a rap +for your nonsense,” he exclaimed. “Nothing’ll ever +come of it. The fellow has never written to you.”</p> + +<p>“That’s so!” thought Jean, strolling off aimlessly into +the woods. “Daddie gave him our address as Oregon +City. Oh, my God! can it be possible that my other self +has been married (or the same as married) to Le-Le, the +Indian slave?”</p> + +<p>Giant trees rose often to the height of three hundred +feet,—one hundred and fifty feet from the ground without +a limb,—and so straight that no hand-made colonnade +could equal them for grace and symmetry. As Jean +stood under these stately monarchs of the soil and listened +to the soft sighing of the wind among their evergreen +leaves, she heard the roar of rushing water. She clambered +through a labyrinth of deciduous undergrowth till +she came to a horseshoe bend at the head of a gulch, over +which the water foamed and tumbled till lost from sight +amid the tangled ferns and foliage.</p> + +<p>“Halloa!” cried a voice from an unseen source.</p> + +<p>She looked in the direction whence the call seemed to +proceed, and beheld, standing on the opposite bluff, a +typical young backwoodsman, tall and shapely.</p> + +<p>She returned the salutation by waving her sunbonnet, +which she had been swinging aimlessly by its strings,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_247"></a>[247]</span> +exposing her face and head to the caress of the balm-laden +air.</p> + +<p>A minute later, and the stranger was by her side. She +noticed that he carried in a careless way a long, old-fashioned +rifle; that a pipe was in his mouth, and a +pistol of the “pepper-box” variety protruded from the +leg of his boot.</p> + +<p>“Are you the Ranger gal what got left at Green +River?”</p> + +<p>She turned ghastly pale at mention of the locality where +her thoughts were centred, but made no audible reply.</p> + +<p>“My name is Henry Jackman,—better known as +Happy Jack,” he said, as he dropped the butt-end of his +rifle to the ground with a thud, and stood waiting for +her to speak.</p> + +<p>“I’ve heard of you before,” said Jean; “you are the +man who’s been talking sawmill to my daddie.”</p> + +<p>“That’s what!”</p> + +<p>“Then we may as well become acquainted. I am Jean +Ranger, and I have an older sister Mary and a younger +one named Marjorie, besides my brother Hal and two +little sisters.”</p> + +<p>“I seed yer dad yisti’dy an’ we talked things over. +Thar’s a fine prospec’ hyer fur a sawmill.”</p> + +<p>“So I perceive.”</p> + +<p>“Yer dad an’ me’s goin’ to go snucks.”</p> + +<p>“I do not understand.”</p> + +<p>“I mean pardners. He’s got the sabé an’ I’ve got the +rocks, so we can make a go of it. The kentry’s settlin’ +up powerful fast, an’ thar’ll be lots o’ demand for lumber +for bridges an’ barns an’ houses an’ fencin’ an’ sich.”</p> + +<p>“I see. We had a lot of spavined, wind-broken old +horses for our sawmill power in the States, sir.”</p> + +<p>“Thar’s a water-power yander that beats hosses all to +thunder, miss.”</p> + +<p>“So I see, sir.”</p> + +<p>“Thar’s millions o’ feet o’ logs in sight; an’ out<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_248"></a>[248]</span> +yander in the mountains is a place to build a flume, so +we kin raf’ the logs down to a lake that I found up thar +in the woods. We’ll have a town here some day an’ +make things hum.”</p> + +<p>“Have you often met my daddie?” asked Jean.</p> + +<p>“I’m lookin’ fur him now, every minute. We’re goin’ +to survey some timber-land fur the mill-hands, farther up +the crick. The curse o’ this kentry is bachelders. Ah! +here’s the Cap’n now. It’s lucky you’ve brought along +so many weemen folks, ole man; we’ll all be needin’ +wives.”</p> + +<p>This concluding remark brought the hot blood of indignation +to the cheeks of Jean as she turned to meet her +father, who was carrying an ax and a gun, followed by +Mr. Burns, equipped with a clothes-line and a carpenter’s +square.</p> + +<p>“What in thunder are you doing out here, Jean?” +asked her father, taking no notice of the stranger’s remark. +“Don’t you know that the woods are full of wild +beasts?”</p> + +<p>“I’ve seen nothing wilder than your prospective +‘pardner,’” she answered aside. “He seems harmless; +but he’s an ignoramus and a boor.”</p> + +<p>“Very well, Jean. But ruin home now, and help the +women folks. They have a whole lot o’ work on hand, +getting settled, and you do like to shirk.”</p> + +<p>“Thar’ll be lots more of it for ’em to do afore this +timber is all sawed up,” added the prospective “pardner.” +“It takes a mountain o’ grub to keep a lot o’ +loggers in workin’ order. I’m mighty glad, Cap’n, that +you’ve got a lot a weemin folks; we’ll need ’em in our +business.”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” retorted Jean. “They’re as handy to have in +the house as a coffin with the proper combination of letters +on the plate!”</p> + +<p>Mr. Burns laughed; but Mr. Jackman dropped his +lower jaw and looked the picture of an exaggerated interrogation<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_249"></a>[249]</span> +point. “What’s the gal drivin’ at?” he +asked under his breath; and her father said gravely, +“Stop talking nonsense, Jean.”</p> + +<p>It was mutually agreed upon that a logging-camp +should be started at once, and the ground prepared during +the coming rainy season for the foundation and erection +of a combined sawmill, planer, and shingle-mill, and +that Captain Ranger should return, as early as practicable, +to the States, <i>via</i> the Isthmus, to purchase the necessary +machinery, which could not at that time be procured on +the Pacific Coast.</p> + +<p class="tb">Soon thereafter Captain Ranger went to Portland to +purchase the necessary supplies for the winter’s use. +Arriving there, he repaired, in his best Sunday suit, to +the primitive hotel, and inquired for Mrs. Addicks.</p> + +<p>The lady appeared, after long waiting, fastidiously +gowned and so thoroughly at ease that all his thought +of the superior quality of the white man’s blood departed +as he saw her, and he stood in her presence in embarrassed +silence.</p> + +<p>“Won’t you be seated, Mr.—”</p> + +<p>“Ranger,” he said, fumbling his hat awkwardly and +shambling into the proffered chair.</p> + +<p>“To what am I indebted for this visit, Mr. Ranger?”</p> + +<p>“You will please excuse me, ma’am,” he said, crossing +his legs clumsily, “but I have come to see you on a little +business that concerns us both. Your husband is my +brother.”</p> + +<p>“Then, sir, you can tell me something about his family. +Do his parents yet live?”</p> + +<p>“They were alive and well at last accounts; but it +takes two months or more for a letter to go and come. +Our grandmother died recently.”</p> + +<p>“The dear old lady he calls ‘Grannie’?”</p> + +<p>“Yes.”</p> + +<p>“My husband will be grieved to hear of this. I must<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_250"></a>[250]</span> +write to him at once. Can you give me any particulars +concerning her last days? Did she remember +Joseph?”</p> + +<p>“She had a dream of him, and said his mother would +live to see him again.”</p> + +<p>“I used to wonder why my husband was so reticent +about his family affairs. I supposed when we were married +that he would take me back to live among his people. +But he steadfastly refused to do it, and would not even +let me know their post-office address. But I know all +about it now. He left home under a cloud.”</p> + +<p>“But it was not nearly so bad as he thought. I set his +mind at rest on that score when we had that last interview. +The poor fellow was in daily dread of discovery +and pursuit for more than a dozen years.”</p> + +<p>The woman arose and paced the floor in silence, the +coppery hue of her complexion enriched by the blood +that rushed to her face. She paused and stood before +him, her hands folded over the back of a chair, as she +waited for him to speak again.</p> + +<p>“I did your husband a grievous wrong when I saw +him at the post, madam. I must confess that I had no +idea that the Indian woman he told me that he had married +was—”</p> + +<p>She waved her hand in protest. “There, there, Mr. +John; no flattery, if you please. If you had seen me as +I was that day, you would have felt justified in spurning +your brother’s wife. It was not my fault, though, that +he kept me like a common squaw. Your conduct is fully +forgiven, since it resulted in an open declaration of independence +on my part.</p> + +<p>“There were a dozen young chieftains and half as +many white men who aspired to my hand and heart in +my girlhood; but Joseph was a king among them all. +But we had not been married a month before I found +that I was doomed to the same treatment, as his wife, +that other Indian wives endure. So I lost heart, and<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_251"></a>[251]</span> +accepted the situation as stolidly as my father would have +done if he had been doomed to perpetual slavery.”</p> + +<p>“Did Joseph always treat you badly after your marriage?”</p> + +<p>The woman shrugged her shoulders.</p> + +<p>“Hard times came to our tribe. The Hudson Bay +Company’s business languished. We had a succession +of bitter cold winters, with dry, hot summers following. +The different tribes became involved in war. Then +famine came, and pestilence. We will draw a veil over +what followed, Mr. John. Joseph will never beat his +wife again; I have sworn it!</p> + +<p>“The fluctuations of fortune brought us at last to the +Utah trading-post, where you saw Joseph. We were +prosperous then, and might have lived like white folks; +but he seemed to prefer to keep me situated like an ordinary +squaw, so I gave him all he bargained for. But, +ugh! I did detest the life. Finally my father died and +left me an ample inheritance, which is mine absolutely. +I will educate my children and take them to London, +where there is no prejudice against my people such as +abounds in this ‘land of the free and home of the +brave’!”</p> + +<p>“Do you think Joseph is able to repay a part of the +money we lost on his account?”</p> + +<p>“My husband will waste more money in a single night +sometimes, at the gambling-table, than he will expend on +his family in a year. I think he is quite able to pay his +debts.”</p> + +<p>“How would you like to visit our people back in the +old home?”</p> + +<p>“When our children reach the age of six or seven +years, they begin to outgrow the Indian style and complexion,” +she said; “but I’ll not take them among my +husband’s people while they look like little pappooses.”</p> + +<p>“Why not take them out to my donation claim? My +family will be glad to welcome you.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_252"></a>[252]</span></p> + +<p>“Couldn’t I take my nurse along?”</p> + +<p>“If you did, some fool would coax her to marry him, +so he and she could hold a double quota of land. Better +leave her here with your little ones, or set her to washing +dishes.”</p> + +<p>“In either case our landlord would marry her himself, +I fear. But I’ll risk it.”</p> + +<p>The older girls were out of school for a walk, in the +company of their brother John and a black-robed Sister, +and thus were permitted at this juncture to enter their +mother’s presence for an introduction to their uncle.</p> + +<p>“John and Annie are Rangers, as you see, sir. My +husband is very proud of them.”</p> + +<p>“And well he might be,” thought the Captain, as he +scanned them critically.</p> + +<p class="tb">The sun was sinking behind the Coast Range the next +evening, throwing the picturesque valley of the Willamette +into deep shadows, and lighting up the tops of the +Cascade heights with tinges of rose and gold and purple, +when a carriage and pair were seen ascending the narrow +grade leading to the great log house occupied temporarily +by all the families of the Ranger colony. The unexpected +arrival of the Captain created a sensation, which was not +at all abated when he vaulted to the ground, followed, +before he could turn to assist her, by a large, well-formed, +and faultlessly attired Indian woman, with a sheen of +gold in her raven-hued hair.</p> + +<p>“Mrs. O’Dowd,” said the Captain, offering his hand, +“allow me to introduce Mrs. Ranger Number Two,—my +brother Joseph’s wife.”</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_253"></a>[253]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="XXXV">XXXV<br> +<span class="smaller"><i>ASHLEIGH MAKES NEW PLANS</i></span></h2> + +</div> + +<p>When Henry Jackman saw the wife of Joseph +Ranger, whom he had known at the trading-post +in Utah as Mr. Addicks, and understood +the full significance of her arrival as a welcome visitor +and relative of the Ranger family, he shrugged his shoulders +and walked away, exclaiming: “I’m dummed!”</p> + +<p>“No wonder Uncle Joe was captured by that fine +creature,” said Jean to herself. “She must have been +as handsome in her girlhood as Le-Le.” And for the +first time in her life she fainted away.</p> + +<p>When she awoke to consciousness, which was not till +the next morning, she was on the big white bed in the +spare chamber, whither she had been carried by loving +friends and treated through all the watches of the night +by the Little Doctor with the untiring faithfulness of a +devoted friend.</p> + +<p>“Take that Indian away! I cannot bear the sight of +her,” cried Jean, as her copper-colored aunt approached +her, proffering kindly offices.</p> + +<p>“She must be humored in her whims till she has had +time to recover, Mrs. Ranger,” said Mrs. McAlpin, aside. +“There’s a love story and a disappointment behind all +this. Her antipathy is not against you, but another +Indian princess whom she thinks she has cause to +remember.”</p> + +<p>“I didn’t come here to make wounds, but to heal +them,” faltered Mrs. Ranger, as, with an indistinct conception +of the trouble, she left the room, followed by +Sally O’Dowd.</p> + +<p>“I want you to know that you have healed my +wounds,” said Sally. “I was miserably and unreasonably<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_254"></a>[254]</span> +jealous of—I didn’t know of whom—for a whole +week before you came to us. I shall never be such a +simpleton again.”</p> + +<p>“My wise brother says you and he have concluded to +marry each other, Mrs. O’Dowd.”</p> + +<p>“We were engaged for a short time, but when I overheard +him talking to himself about going to Portland ‘to +see a woman,’ and he wouldn’t take me into his confidence +about her, I got angry and jealous, and treated +him shabbily.”</p> + +<p>They found the Captain, of whom they went in quest, +in his favorite seat on the front doorstep.</p> + +<p>“I don’t see why you and Joseph cannot go together +to visit your parents this winter,” said Mrs. Ranger, +coming at once to the point. “Your partner can have +ample time while you are away to get the foundations +ready for the mill and other buildings. I will write to +Joseph this very night and urge it if you say so.”</p> + +<p>The Captain looked inquiringly at Mrs. O’Dowd.</p> + +<p>“I quite agree with your brother’s wife,” she said, +extending her hand. “I was an idiot to act toward you +as I did.”</p> + +<p>“With your permission, I will write at once to Joseph, +explaining everything and urging him to come to the +ranch at once. The courier goes out to-night, so there +is no time to lose.”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” said Sally, whose eyes were blazing with a new +joy, “it is just as Wahnetta says. You can be spared +better this winter than later. Will you go if Joseph consents +to accompany you?”</p> + +<p>“And leave you behind?”</p> + +<p>“It would be very humiliating to your family and +embarrassing to both of us for me to return as your +wife to the old home of your Annie, John.”</p> + +<p>“But you’ll marry me before I start?”</p> + +<p>“No, John,” she said, the tears welling to her eyes; +“we owe to your Annie’s people a tender regard for<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_255"></a>[255]</span> +their feelings. If we were to be married before you +visit them, they could never be reconciled to me.”</p> + +<p>“I must consult my partner,” said the Captain. “He +may not want me to leave at this time. The fellow is +terribly unreasonable at times.”</p> + +<p>“Is that ‘fellow,’ as you call him, your master?” +asked Mary, who was passing, on her way to the milk-house. +“He’s been hanging around the house ever since +sun-up, waiting for a chance to see Jean. He’s depending +on the three of us to keep the boarding-house, and +he wants to marry Jean, to stop her wages.”</p> + +<p>“Excuse me, ladies; I must see my partner at once,” +said the Captain, as he hurried away.</p> + +<p>It required much persuasive argument to secure the +consent of Happy Jack to Mrs. Joseph’s proposition; but +he yielded at length, as men are wont to do when women +to whom they are not married combine to carry a point.</p> + +<p>The outgoing courier was to leave Oregon City at +sunset, and it was necessary to write many letters for +the overland mail, destined for Salt Lake and the few +intervening points along the route.</p> + +<p>Among the missives was one from Jean to Ashton +Ashleigh, containing only a few sentences:—</p> + +<p>“I have loved you more than life, but I have awaited +tidings from you till hope is dead. I wrote a letter +for your mother, but it was not sent to her because I +had not heard from you. You will understand. I am +deeply wounded, but I shall not die. I shall do my +duty and be honest with myself, no matter what others +may do or be.</p> + +<p>“A man who styles himself Happy Jack has come +among us, who wants to make me his wife. He is +forming a partnership with daddie in the sawmill business; +and he insinuates that you have married Le-Le. +Does this explain your silence?”</p> + +<p class="tb">A fortnight passed, and Ashton Ashleigh read this<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_256"></a>[256]</span> +letter by the flickering light of a smoking kerosene +lamp. Siwash lay on a buffalo robe in a corner, reading; +and near him sat Le-Le, making a cunningly +wrought moccasin.</p> + +<p>The wind outside was rising. The ice-laden chains +and pulleys of the idle ferry-boat resounded to its attack +like a thousand-stringed Æolian harp. Suddenly, under +a louder and more furious blast than any that had preceded +it, the ice-incrusted cables snapped asunder, and +the frozen boat crashed through the ice blockade, her +timbers breaking as if made of withes.</p> + +<p>Ashleigh opened the door and peered out into the +moonlight. White clouds rolled over and over one another, +and the stark white landscape seemed alive with +flurrying snow.</p> + +<p>“Good-bye, Green River Ferry,” he said. “This is +a fitting finale to my cherished hopes. Oh, Jean! my +bonnie Jean! To think that the end should be like +this!”</p> + +<p class="tb">“The ferry-boat is gone, Le-Le,” he said the next +morning. “Your ransom price has been paid, and you +are, as you know, a slave no longer. I am going away. +Take good care of Le-Le, Siwash, my boy; and take +good care of yourself also.”</p> + +<p>The girl’s English vocabulary was too meagre to admit +of much expostulation in speech, but her wailing was +blood-curdling as she knelt at his feet, alternately embracing +his knees and tearing her hair.</p> + +<p>“I have made a terrible mistake, poor girl,” he cried, +tearing himself away, “but I meant only to be kind. It +was my dream to set you free and take you with me to—to—her. +But now I see that it will be impossible!”</p> + +<p>Le-Le, still wailing, prepared his breakfast. Siwash +brought his mules to the door, in stolid obedience to +orders, his face as expressionless as flint.</p> + +<p>“The white man’s heart is hard, like the hoof of the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_257"></a>[257]</span> +buffalo,” he said to Le-Le in her native tongue. “You +mistook his kindness for love. But never mind. You’ll +get over it.”</p> + +<p class="tb">Two days of steady travel through the solitudes +brought Ashleigh to the lodgings of the post-trader, +Joseph Ranger, alias Addicks.</p> + +<p>“Your wife,” John had written to his brother, “has +come to visit us at the Ranch of the Whispering Firs, as +my girls have named our donation claims, to hold which +we have pooled our issues, and have filed upon them as +individuals. My family are charmed with her. Do join +us here at once. Take a donation claim near to one or +more of ours. Forget bygones. And, best of all, go with +me this winter, by the Isthmus route, to the dear old +home. Do say yes, Joe, and we may all be happy yet.”</p> + +<p>“Halloa!” cried Ashleigh, as he alighted at the post.</p> + +<p>“Well,” cried Joseph Ranger, as he opened his canvas +door; “it’s Ashleigh. Come right in! You’re the very +man I wanted to see.”</p> + +<p>A savory odor of hot biscuits and frying ham greeted +the nostrils of the benumbed and hungry wayfarer.</p> + +<p>“This supper smells good, Mr. Addicks.”</p> + +<p>“Mr. Addicks no more, if you please, Mr. Ashleigh. +My name is Ranger,—Joseph Ranger. I have found +myself, and I shall be known by my real name hereafter. +But help yourself to pot-luck. And please excuse me. I +have just begun to read a letter from the coast. The +courier hasn’t been gone five minutes.”</p> + +<p>After Ashleigh had finished his meal his host thrust +the letter in his face and said, “What do you think of +that?”</p> + +<p>“What do you propose to do?” asked Ashleigh, after +carefully considering the missive.</p> + +<p>“Why, go to Oregon, of course. What else could a +fellow do? But I don’t know what in the dickens to do +with my stuff.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_258"></a>[258]</span></p> + +<p>“You can leave me in charge, if you like. You can +invoice at your lowest selling-price, and I’ll make what +profit I can on the venture and close it out in the spring; +that is, if you do not care to return next year.”</p> + +<p>“The good Lord has taken pity on me at last,” cried +the delighted host. “My luck has begun to turn.”</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="XXXVI">XXXVI<br> +<span class="smaller"><i>HAPPY JACK IS SURPRISED</i></span></h2> + +</div> + +<p>“You don’t seem to like the idea of my going to +the States this winter, after all,” said Captain +Ranger to his partner, who had been for several +days exhibiting a degree of ill temper not assuring +to a man of peaceful inclinations.</p> + +<p>“Not by a darn sight. Business is business. Them +weemen folks o’ yourn is as independent as so many +hogs on ice. They are goin’ back on me about the +cookin’ for the men. But say! I won’t object to your +goin’ no more, if you’ll make Jean marry me afore you +start. I could manage her all right if she was my wife; +an’ then I could set the pace for the rest of ’em.”</p> + +<p>The Captain paused a moment, in doubt whether to +give the fellow the toe of his boot or wipe the ground +with his whole body. “My daughters are to be their +own choosers,” he said. “I have already engaged a +crew of loggers to work while I am absent. If the +winter is open, we can have everything shipshape by +the time the machinery arrives.”</p> + +<p>“Stay, daddie,” cried Jean, who, with Mary, had come +up unobserved by their father. She was ghastly pale and +strangely tremulous. “Mame and I have something important +to say to you both before you part.”</p> + +<p>“What is it, gals? Don’t hesitate to speak right out.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_259"></a>[259]</span></p> + +<p>“We—that is, Jean and I and Sally O’Dowd—have +been talking things over; and we have concluded that we +had better settle our side of this business proposition before +matters go any further,” said Mary, speaking with +unusual decision. “As you, father, have arranged to +have a partner, and as—to use his own words—‘business +is business,’ I want to say that I will be your cook +at the partnership mess-house, but only at a reasonable +salary. If you had no partner, the work would be all +in the family, and we could settle its dividend among +ourselves.”</p> + +<p>“I have engaged a dozen pupils and will open a little +school in a few days,” interrupted Jean, who had not +heard the partner’s proposition in regard to herself, and +therefore spoke without embarrassment. “But I shall +have plenty of time to keep the books of the concern +after school hours, and I will see that everything is done +on business principles.”</p> + +<p>“The deuce you will!” thought the partner. Then +aloud: “I was intendin’ to keep the books myself.”</p> + +<p>“Are you a practical book-keeper?” asked Jean.</p> + +<p>“No; that is, not edzactly. But I kin keep most +any set o’ transactions in my head. I never in my +born days hearn tell of any woman or gal that could +keep books. An’ I never knowed any woman to git a +salary.”</p> + +<p>“That was because you never knew the Ranger family,” +laughed Marjorie.</p> + +<p>“It is arranged that Hal is to have employment in the +mill at a salary,” said Mary, “and he is very proud of +the opportunity. We girls are all as willing to work as +he is. But we do not believe at all in the custom of +servitude without salary, to which all married women, +and most of the single ones, are subject.”</p> + +<p>“Is that the way you look at it, Miss Jean?” asked +her would-be suitor.</p> + +<p>“Daddie has always taught us that the highest type<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_260"></a>[260]</span> +of humanity is built on the self-dependence of the individual. +Haven’t you, daddie?”</p> + +<p>“My daughters are right, Mr. Jackman. I have trained +them to the idea of self-government. I am glad indeed +to see them taking hold of these principles firmly.”</p> + +<p>The partner turned away crestfallen. When he was +fairly out of hearing, he took off his hat and exclaimed: +“I’ll be gol darned! What is the weemin comin’ to?”</p> + +<p class="tb">“I have engaged Susannah to live at my house,” said +the Little Doctor, addressing the Captain as he sauntered +toward a spreading fir near the front doorsteps, +where the family were holding a consultation with Mrs. +Joseph Ranger prior to her departure.</p> + +<p>“Then who will assist Mrs. O’Dowd while I am +away?” asked the Captain. “She’ll surely need both +company and assistance at the Ranch of the Whispering +Firs as badly as you will need it at the Four Corners.”</p> + +<p>“Don’t worry about me, Captain,” said Sally. “I can +manage the whole place without the help of anybody.”</p> + +<p>“Thank you, Mrs. O’Dowd. You are a thoroughly +unselfish woman.”</p> + +<p>“Pardon me, daddie,” said Jean, as soon as she could +address him privately. “You make a great mistake if +you imagine Sally O’Dowd isn’t as selfish as the rest of +us. The Little Doctor was quite taken aback by a remark +to the contrary that you made a while ago.”</p> + +<p>“I’m sure I meant no offence, Jean. But I confess +that I am disappointed in both the Little Doctor and +Susannah. They ought not to leave me in an extremity +like the present when I have been so kind to them.”</p> + +<p>“Everything we attempt is actuated by selfishness, +daddie.”</p> + +<p>“I can’t agree with you, Jean.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, yes, you can! You took the Little Doctor under +your wing away back in the States, because you could +only hope by that means to get some help that you<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_261"></a>[261]</span> +needed out o’ Scotty. You smuggled Dugs out o’ Missouri +because it pleased you to please your wife. I am +going to teach a little school from a purely selfish +motive.”</p> + +<p>“Was it selfishness that prompted you to fall in love +with your unfaithful Green River hero, Jean?”</p> + +<p>She turned deathly pale. “Yes, daddie dear. I +thought I was going to be happy; and that was selfishness, +of course. But I’m getting my punishment.”</p> + +<p>“If selfishness is a natural attribute of humanity, we +ought not to decry it, but should seek to control and +guide it, Jean.”</p> + +<p>“That is right, daddie. We have a right to life, liberty, +and the pursuit of happiness. But we also need toughening. +I am getting my share of toughening.”</p> + +<p>“Do you object to my marrying Sally O’Dowd?”</p> + +<p>“That is your affair, daddie; but there is no accounting +for tastes.”</p> + +<p>“Do you think your angel-mother would approve the +step, my child?”</p> + +<p>“Ah!” cried Jean, her face brightening, “there is one +love that never dies,—the love of a mother for her child. +It is the same sort of unselfish love that prompted the Son +of Man to lay down His life for the redemption of the +race; it is the same love that prompted my mother to +risk and lose her life in the wilderness. You will please +yourself by marrying Sally O’Dowd. We children will +pay her allegiance as our father’s wife, chiefly because +we know on which side our bread is buttered. But we +will not call her mother; nor do we believe you would +ask it.”</p> + +<p>“I couldn’t think of taking the step, my child, unless +I thought your mother would approve it, if she could +know. But I am very sure she doesn’t know.”</p> + +<p>“You do not want to believe she knows, daddie. It +is always easier to believe or disbelieve anything when +the wish is father to the thought.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_262"></a>[262]</span></p> + +<p>“Well, Jean, it will not do to be loitering here. Yonder +come the logging crew. There’ll be a lot of hungry men +to feed. Some of them are educated men, quite equal in +intelligence and culture to Mr. Burns. Don’t go to losing +your heart.”</p> + +<p>“Don’t speak of hearts to me, daddie dear; mine is +dead and buried. But you have no idea how cruelly it +was wrung.”</p> + +<p>“There, there, daughter, don’t worry! There are as +good fish in the sea as any that have ever been caught.”</p> + +<p class="tb">There was no time for loitering. There was an extra +lodge to be built in the wilderness for the crew of loggers, +and a long dining-shed to be added; the rails had +to be made and fences built; the ground had to be cleared +and broken for the spring’s planting; and much rude furniture +for the homes had yet to be manufactured. The +building of a skid road was another pressing need; and, +taken all together, the Captain did not wonder that his +partner should take his departure seriously.</p> + +<p>That the partner was not lacking in executive ability +was evident.</p> + +<p>“I tell you, gals, that partner of mine is a corker for +business,” said the Captain.</p> + +<p>“He may be, daddie,” said Jean, “but that is all he’s +good for. If there’s a chance to murder the Queen’s +English, he’ll do it. He afflicts me with nausea whenever +he speaks.”</p> + +<p>“But if you had a man like him for a husband, you +would never lack means for the indulgence of the selfish +philanthropies you and I have been talking about. You +know you promised your grandfather that you would +assist him as soon as you could earn some money.”</p> + +<p>“That’s so, daddie; but I must earn it honestly. And +I’d be getting it through the worst kind of fraudulent +practice if I married Happy Jack. Besides, he will be +too stingy for anything after he’s married.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_263"></a>[263]</span></p> + +<p>“Don’t be too hard on him, Jean. He’s got good +credentials.”</p> + +<p>“And so had Sam O’Dowd. No, daddie, I won’t have +any money unless I can get it honestly. As soon as I +can earn some cash by teaching, I’ll send it to the dear +old grandfolks. They capped the climax of their selfishness +in jeopardizing the property and happiness of all +concerned to gratify their selfish pride in Uncle Joe.”</p> + +<p>“Your theories and practices don’t tally, Jean,” laughed +her father as he turned, and, with a tender good-bye +aside for Sally O’Dowd and an open and hearty adieu +to the children, he seated himself in the buggy beside +his sister-in-law and drove rapidly away.</p> + +<p>“I wonder how many years must elapse before the +roads to Portland are as snugly finished and kept in +as good repair as they are to-day from one suburb of +London town to another?” asked Mrs. Joseph, merely +to break an embarrassing silence.</p> + +<p>“In another fifty years the people’ll be awake to the +need, mebbe. It takes a hundred years to make a new +country habitable.”</p> + +<p>“My people always want their hunting-grounds to +remain wild,” said Mrs. Joseph. “I used to like the +most primitive modes of life in my childhood; but I +learned a better way in London.”</p> + +<p>“Did you learn to like the Indian life again, Wahnetta?”</p> + +<p>“Never, sir. But I stooped to conquer, and I have +succeeded. But I never could have done the best that +was in me, for myself and Joseph, to say nothing of the +children, if my father hadn’t made me, instead of my +husband, his legatee. It takes money to do things.”</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_264"></a>[264]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="XXXVII">XXXVII<br> +<span class="smaller"><i>NEWS FOR JEAN</i></span></h2> + +</div> + +<p>The second meeting between the Ranger brothers +was much more embarrassing than cordial. Each +at sight of the other recalled their last encounter. +They shook hands hesitatingly, and after an awkward +pause sat down together on the front porch of the primitive +hotel.</p> + +<p>Joseph, who had been awaiting the arrival of his wife +and the Captain for a couple of days, was displeased because +his Wahnetta had not been within call from the +moment of his advent, as long habit had led him to expect. +That she met him now with the air of a friend +and an equal, and after a pleasant greeting on her part +discreetly left the brothers to themselves while she went +in quest of her babies, was a display of good breeding +and motherly solicitude which Joseph Ranger would have +commended in any woman not his wife. But his will had +so long been her only law that her greeting, in connection +with his embarrassment at meeting his brother, put him +in a very unamiable frame of mind.</p> + +<p>“I concluded that you had gone back on your agreement, +John,” he growled, after a painful silence.</p> + +<p>“Oh, did you? Since when have you made a new +record for punctuality, Joe?”</p> + +<p>“Since the arrival of the last courier at the trading-post, +who brought me your letter.”</p> + +<p>“What did you think of my proposition?”</p> + +<p>“I accepted it at once, or I would not have been here. +Who is Wahnetta going out driving with, I wonder?”</p> + +<p>“I called the cab for a drive with the children a little +before you came, sir,” said the nurse.</p> + +<p>“Oh!”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_265"></a>[265]</span></p> + +<p>“You ought to be very proud of your wife, Joe.”</p> + +<p>“I am beginning to be. Yet you never can tell what +the Indian nature will attempt. She seems to be all right +when she lives with white people, but she’d lapse at once +into barbarism again if she got a chance. They all do it. +It is in the blood.”</p> + +<p>“She doesn’t seems to want that sort of a chance, +Joe.”</p> + +<p>“An Indian is like a wild coyote, John.”</p> + +<p>“But you have caught a tame one, Joe. She is above +the average, even of white women. Give her the chance +she craves. Stand by her like a gentleman. She is as +thoroughly civilized as any of us.”</p> + +<p>“Did you see her at the trading-post last summer?”</p> + +<p>“No; but why do you ask?”</p> + +<p>“Because you would have beheld her in her native +element. You may capture and tame a coyote, but when +you turn him loose among his natural environments, you +can’t distinguish him in a short time from the wildest +wolf of the pack.”</p> + +<p>“That being the case, there is strong need for keeping +your wife in her adopted home, among your own people.”</p> + +<p>John was thawing toward his brother at a rapid rate; +and Joseph, the erring but encouraged and repenting +brother, felt a pang of remorse as he arose to welcome +his wife and children upon their return from their drive, +resolving in his heart that he would never again allow +himself to regret the vows he had taken upon himself in +his early manhood.</p> + +<p>The paper was awaiting the Captain at his table the +next morning, with the announcement that the sailing of +the ocean steamer was to be delayed for a couple of days +on account of an accident to her propeller.</p> + +<p>“Then we’ll have time for a spin out to the Ranch +of the Whispering Firs, eh, Joe?” he asked, as his +brother, accompanied by Wahnetta, who was resplendent +in a crimson cashmere robe, over which her black<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_266"></a>[266]</span> +mantilla was carelessly thrown, took his seat at his elbow +at breakfast.</p> + +<p>“I thought I’d like to take a spin through this embryo +city,” was the quiet response.</p> + +<p>“But I want you to see the lay of the land. I’m +hoping to make you a partner in the ranch and sawmill +business. You won’t want to buy a pig in a poke.”</p> + +<p>A visit to Joseph’s sons and daughters at school was +first in order. Then a carriage was called, and the entire +party was conducted around and over stumps, logs, and +devious primitive roadways to the heights.</p> + +<p>“Why anybody wants to go to the Old World for +scenery, when he can enjoy such a prospect as this right +at his very door, is one of the mysteries of modern existence,” +said Wahnetta. “Away to the north by east +of us, in the home of my people, there is a land so different +from this that it might be a part of another planet, +yet it is passing beautiful. Directly to the north is the +traditional Whulge, or Puget Sound, where the enemies +of my people live, who, like my own, are dying out. This +mighty land is a giant baby; wait half a century, and she +will be a full-grown giantess.”</p> + +<p>It was three o’clock when they returned to the hotel, +but a fresh team from the one livery stable the metropolis +of Oregon Territory was able to boast was placed at the +disposal of the brothers, who spanned a distance of thirty +miles in three hours. A light rain had fallen in the early +morning, and the face of Nature was as pure as ether. +Resplendent green abounded in the valley, lighted here +and there by gleams of the gliding Willamette, on whose +silvery current little white steamers were seen at intervals, +flitting to and fro like swans. In many spots in the +valley, and everywhere on the mountain-sides, stood rows +on rows of forest firs, and beyond these, coming frequently +into view as the road wound in and out among +the trees, arose the snow-crowned monarch of the Cascades, +majestic Mount Hood, whose slowly dying glaciers<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_267"></a>[267]</span> +discharged their silt into the milk-white waters of the +Sandy.</p> + +<p>“What do you think of it all?” asked the elder brother, +after a long silence, in which each had been feasting his +eyes upon the beauty of the scene and filling his lungs +with the exhilarating air.</p> + +<p>“I’m thinking of the glories that await the later +comers into this beautiful land, after the pioneers have +worn their bodies out in their struggles with the native +wilderness. I’ve been shutting my eyes and seeing coal +mines, iron mines, gold mines, oil mines, silver mines, +farms, fisheries, mills, factories, orchards, gardens, everything! +I’ve lived in Utah and witnessed the marvels of +irrigation there; but God does the irrigating in this +country, and He does it well.”</p> + +<p>“Did you see the fishes that swarmed in the Sandy, +Joe?”</p> + +<p>“Yes; and I’ve seen salmon and sturgeon struggling +up the Columbia, so thick in the current that they looked +like Illinois saw-logs. I think I know how Moses felt +when he had</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">“‘Climbed to Pisgah’s top,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And viewed the landscape o’er.’”</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<p>“Wait till we reach the Ranch of the Whispering Firs. +Then you will see something worthy of all your rhapsodies. +There!” cried the Captain, as they sighted the +broad and slightly sloping plateau on which his new log +house was built.</p> + +<p>In front of it stood a towering fir-tree, like an ever-vigilant +sentinel; and behind it rose gigantic colonnades +of evergreen forests. Foaming waters surged and leaped +through a ragged gulch; and tangled thickets of hazel, +alder, dogwood, and elder crowded the luxurious growth +of ferns that struggled for the mastery. “There!” he +repeated, “what do you think now?”</p> + +<p>“That I’d like to transport the entire family of Rangers,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_268"></a>[268]</span> +root and branch, to the Ranch of the Whispering +Firs. Suppose we take your old sawmill off Lije’s hands +and remove the whole thing to Oregon, John? It would +be a good way to relieve him of his elephant.”</p> + +<p>“The machinery is old and old-fashioned, Joe. We’d +better buy everything new, and the best of its kind.”</p> + +<p>“I was merely thinking of relieving Lije; that’s all.”</p> + +<p>As they made the last turn leading to the house, they +were accosted impatiently by the Captain’s junior partner.</p> + +<p>“At this rate, you won’t git started to the States afore +Christmas, Cap’n.”</p> + +<p>“This is my brother Joseph, Mr. Jackman. And this, +Joseph, is my partner, Mr. Jackman.”</p> + +<p>The two men glared at each other for a moment in +silence. Jackman was the first to speak,—</p> + +<p>“Well, I’m dummed!”</p> + +<p>“How came you to be known as Jackman? You posed +as Hankins in Utah.”</p> + +<p>“An’ you was Joe Addicks, pard. Better not tell tales +out o’ school. That’s a game two can play at.”</p> + +<p>“There are no tales to tell on my part. I am masquerading +no more. Can you say as much?”</p> + +<p>“I’m just a-beginnin’, as it were.”</p> + +<p>“How in the name of Fate did you come across that +chap, John?” asked Joseph, as they alighted from the +buggy.</p> + +<p>“He has taken a donation claim on the mountain-side +which includes the water-power for our mill site. At +least, he says it does. Burns and I haven’t had time to +survey it yet.”</p> + +<p>“Better go slow with that fellow, John.”</p> + +<p>“What do you know about him, Joe?”</p> + +<p>“Nothing; only he’s been a noted crook and jail-breaker.”</p> + +<p>“Jean is to be our book-keeper. She’s been disappointed +over that Green River affair. Do you know +what became of Ashleigh?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_269"></a>[269]</span></p> + +<p>“I left him at my station in charge of my business. +He’s as honest as the day. But, by the way, why didn’t +Jean answer the letter he sent out in care of your Happy +Jack?”</p> + +<p>“She received no letter. But what about Le-Le? Did +he marry her?”</p> + +<p>“Did Ashleigh marry Le-Le? What a question! +Who said he did?”</p> + +<p>“Jackman.”</p> + +<p>“Jean must know of all this. Will you break it to her, +Joe?”</p> + +<p class="tb">Night had come; and the autumn rains were gently enwrapping +the Ranch of the Whispering Firs in a sheet of +mist when Joseph Ranger sought Jean in her little schoolroom +for a private conversation.</p> + +<p>The flickering light of a single kerosene lamp emitted +a characteristic odor. A rough table supported the lamp; +and on a three-legged stool sat the schoolma’am, trying +to bring order out of the chaos of a score or more of +papers left by the children.</p> + +<p>“Ah!” she said, arising. “Come in, Uncle Joe. +You won’t find our crude beginnings very inviting, but +we mustn’t despise the day of small things.”</p> + +<p>“You’re making a good beginning, Jean. But I have +not come to talk about your school. I have brought you +some tidings from Mr. Ashleigh.”</p> + +<p>Jean turned pale and would have fallen if her uncle +had not caught her in his arms.</p> + +<p>“Here is a note which he gave me just as I was leaving +for the West.”</p> + +<p>Jean retained her composure by a supreme effort of the +will.</p> + +<p>“You were my dream,” the letter began; “I trusted +and loved you as I can never trust and love another. And +the end is to be your marriage with a fellow you call +Happy Jack! Oh, Jean, my bonnie Jean! Why have<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_270"></a>[270]</span> +you been so fickle and so rash? I sent you a letter and a +ring. It was my great-great-grandmother’s ring, and a +hereditary talisman. The messenger was one Harry +Hankins, a borderer and scout, who was going to Oregon +City. No, Jean; I did not marry Le-Le, but I did secure +her ransom, and I should before now have been on my +way to you, but was awaiting your letter. Good-bye, and +may God guard and keep you! Think of me as your +heartbroken friend and lover.”</p> + +<p>“I never received one single word from him,” said +Jean; “and I never saw or heard of Harry Hankins.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, yes, you did, Jean. He is none other than your +father’s partner.”</p> + +<p>“How can I reach Mr. Ashleigh with a letter? It +must be sent at once.”</p> + +<p>“That will be impossible, Jean; there will be no courier +going out for a month yet. But we will take a letter to +Portland, and leave it in care of Wahnetta. She will see +that it is forwarded at the first opportunity.”</p> + +<p class="tb">Busily the work went forward. But Happy Jack was +nowhere to be seen, and the brothers were compelled to +take their departure without making the business settlement +with him which they so much desired.</p> + +<p>“Never mind! We’ll freeze him out, or scare him +out, if he shows up here again,” said the Captain, as he +and his brother turned their faces Portland-ward.</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_271"></a>[271]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="XXXVIII">XXXVIII<br> +<span class="smaller"><i>THE BROTHERS JOURNEY HOMEWARD TOGETHER</i></span></h2> + +</div> + +<p>The steamer in which the Ranger brothers embarked +for San Francisco was an ancient and +somewhat decrepit tub, as much unlike the floating +palaces that plough the Pacific Ocean to-day as the +long railway trains with their Pullman coaches, cushioned +seats, and electric bells are unlike the prairie schooners +which belabored oxen hauled across deserts and mountains +when the oldest pioneer of to-day was young, and +Captain Ranger was in his prime.</p> + +<p>“We’re at the jumping-off place,” said the elder +brother, when the vessel stopped at Astoria. “There +will never be a chance for the restive American citizen +to get any farther west than the eastern edge of the +Pacific Ocean. And yet who knows?” he added, after +a pause. “Burns has a theory in which, after all, there +may be some logic. He says that the entire planet will +some day be under the management of an affiliated government +formed by a few great powers, who will organize +an alliance to control, and maybe protect, the weaker +nationalities from one another. Jean is enthusiastic over +the theme.”</p> + +<p>“You seem to set great store by Jean.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, I don’t know. She’s about raking up a new engagement +with that Green River chap. If she does, she’ll +marry soon, and get immersed in the cares of a family, +like all the rest of the girls. If so, she’ll never amount +to much.”</p> + +<p>“No great general can do as much for the world, no +matter how many nations he conquers, as the mother<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_272"></a>[272]</span> +who rears a family of noble men and women, John. I +would rather be in some mothers’ shoes than in the +President’s.”</p> + +<p>“And so would I. But it is hard, when a man has +raised a daughter of great mental promise, to see her +talents buried under the selfish domination of some prig +of a husband who has all the power though he hasn’t +half her sense.”</p> + +<p class="tb">“Wait long enough,” said John, as they passed Tillamook +Head and pursued their undulating way southward; +“wait long enough, and the genius of American liberty +and enterprise will settle yonder shores with a million or +more inhabitants. Railroads by the dozen will cross the +continent in time, sending out lateral branches in all directions, +till the whole country is gridironed with paths for +the iron horse.”</p> + +<p>“But the mountains are in the way, John.”</p> + +<p>“They will be tunnelled or looped, Joe. New feats +of engineering are being developed constantly; and I +should not be surprised to hear of the discovery of some +new force, or rather of the discovery of the utility of +some always existing force, which will revolutionize +transportation on the land and the sea. There are +islands to the west of us, lots of them. And who knows +but they will become a part of the possessions of the +United States before the close of the century? I’d like +to have Burns and Jean and the Little Doctor here to +help me talk it out.”</p> + +<p>“I can’t let my mind get away from me, as you do,” +laughed Joseph, and they changed the subject.</p> + +<p class="tb">Days passed, and the timber lines of southern Oregon +and northern California gave way to the extensive treeless +regions that border the central and southern edges +of the Golden State. Immense stretches of barren, sandy +wastes rose high in the arid heavens, revealing a region<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_273"></a>[273]</span> +of desolation that seemed good for nothing but range for +savage beasts and poisonous serpents.</p> + +<p>“It is now my turn to prophesy and philosophize,” +said Joseph. “My experience and observation in Utah, +where irrigation has relieved the barren soil of its drouth, +has taught me that irrigation will develop the latent power +of the desert to sustain and perpetuate the race long after +the Mississippi basin has ceased to respond to the demands +of the husbandman and the vernal lands of the Willamette +valley are worn out.”</p> + +<p>“But the Willamette valley and the entire northwest +coast will always beat the world with the fruits and +cereals that thrive in the temperate zone.”</p> + +<p>“‘Always’ is a good while, John. It is a pity that we +can’t live always.”</p> + +<p>“Jean declares that we do.”</p> + +<p>“How came she to know so much?”</p> + +<p>“I cannot tell; but she has evolved a theory from her +studies and conclusions that seems plausible. At any rate, +we cannot disprove it; and as it comforts her and hurts +nobody, I am glad she can enjoy it. But the gong has +sounded for dinner, and I am as hungry as a bear.”</p> + +<p class="tb">“It is a glorious thing to be alive,” exclaimed the +Captain, when they spied the lights of the Farallones +to the leeward, while on their left rose Mare Island; +and they knew that they were nearing the Golden Gate. +Four days of happy, languorous idleness on a glassy sea +had been theirs to enjoy. But each decided that he had +had enough of leisure, and was glad when Telegraph Hill, +the towering head of the city of San Francisco, was seen +among its myriads of sand-dunes and rioting patches of +native weeds.</p> + +<p>“It is indeed a glorious thing to be alive!” said Joseph, +as they were being jostled in the streets of the city, where +a babel of tongues kept up a continuous clatter, as bewildering +as it was unintelligible.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_274"></a>[274]</span></p> + +<p>The hotel in which the brothers found lodgings was a +little superior to the Portland hostelry, being larger; but +the food was far from satisfactory, and they found the +sand-fleas and Benicia Bay mosquitoes more voracious +than welcome. The sights of the truly cosmopolitan city +were new and alluring; and once, but for the intervention +of the police, the verdant pair would have been fleeced by +a smooth-tongued swindler. They were directed by a big +policeman to an immense hardware establishment, where +they found a complete up-to-date outfit for their plant. +They then continued their journey toward the Isthmus +with a feeling of anticipation to which their frequent +conversations concerning the legendary lore of the peculiar +country for which they were bound possessed a fascinating +interest.</p> + +<p>“I have read of a lost continent, which is said to have +existed in a prehistoric age,” said the younger brother. +“The Indians of the Mandan district have many legends +in regard to it. They say the Great Spirit submerged the +dry land in a fit of anger, thus separating the so-called +Old World from the so-called New, and driving the remnant +of the surviving inhabitants to the north as far as the +Great Lakes, where they speedily relapsed into the barbarism +that ensues from isolation, hardships, and necessity, +until at last they perished from the face of the earth.”</p> + +<p>“But what of the origin of the Indian race?” asked +John.</p> + +<p>“Their legends tell us that their ancestors came originally +from Russia, by the way of Behring Strait, which +in winter was closed by ice; that at one time the ice +gorges were suddenly broken up by a tremendous gale +and were never closed again. There were natives of the +great Northland who were caught on the south side of +the gorge, and, being unable to return, remained in what +is now Alaska, whence they migrated, multiplied, and +spread till they covered what is now the United States +of America.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_275"></a>[275]</span></p> + +<p>“When we return to Oregon, you must not fail to +start Burns on some of these legends, Joe. The Widow +McAlpin, whom he means to marry as soon as she will +consent, is as deeply interested in the origin of the Indians +as he is.”</p> + +<p>“But if we knew all about the immediate origin of the +Indians, that wouldn’t settle the question, John. Where +did the Russians get their start; and how did every +island of the great oceans become inhabited?”</p> + +<p>“You are carrying me away beyond my depth, Joe. +Burns has a theory that different races of people are indigenous +to all countries. He calls the story of Adam +and Eve a myth, or a sort of cabalistic tale. That reminds +me that Jean once completely nonplussed the Reverend +Thomas Rogers by asking who were the daughters +of men whom the sons of God took as wives. ‘And +where,’ she asked, ‘did Cain get his wife?’”</p> + +<p>“These speculations, which are by no means new, are +as fruitless as they are perplexing, John. We know no +more about them than these donkeys do that are floundering, +with us on their backs, across this God-forsaken +Isthmus. Will there ever be a canal cut across it, I +wonder?”</p> + +<p>“Guess we’d better talk about spring. That is something +we can understand.”</p> + +<p>“No, John. We can no more clearly comprehend the +springtime, with its many wondrous revelations, than we +can comprehend anything else that is unknowable. We +know that sunshine, air, and moisture are necessary for +the sustenance of organic life; but we don’t know what +life itself is. It is as invisible to us, in all its wonderful +activities, as God himself. No; we know no more about +the life that animates spring than we know about the +Atlantans. But we do know that travel is a great eye-opener; +and by showing us how little we know, or can +learn, it helps to take away much of our overweening +self-conceit.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_276"></a>[276]</span></p> + +<p>There being no delay at Acapulco, and but little at +New Orleans, our voyagers were soon aboard one of the +palatial steamers that ploughed the waters of the Mississippi +in the days when steamboating on the river was in +the height of its glory. Floating palaces, with hearts of +fire and arteries of steam, were equipped in the most +sumptuous style. The cuisine of their tables was never +excelled in any land. Trained servants were on duty at +every hand in all departments, and such river races as +the pen of Mark Twain has made immortal infused an +alluring element of danger into the daily life of the adventurous +traveller.</p> + +<p>St. Louis was passed, and Cairo; and the voyage up the +Illinois to Peoria was speedily consummated.</p> + +<p>The brothers struck out afoot for the old home, which +they came into sight of at sundown. A light snow covered +the ground, and a bitter wind was blowing hard.</p> + +<p class="tb">“Down, Rover, down! Don’t you know your master?” +exclaimed the returned wanderer, as the great +mastiff sprang at him with a low, savage growl, which +changed at once to vehement proclamations of welcome +as the faithful creature recognized his friend.</p> + +<p>“Bless the dog! But be quiet! We want to surprise +the old folks.”</p> + +<p>In the cosey sitting-room of the little cottage sat a +prematurely aged woman, plying her needle and softly +crooning a plaintive lullaby. A couple of tallow candles +burned dimly on a little table, and a much-worn work-basket +sat at her left. In the opposite corner an old man +sat, his head bowed, as if sleeping. An open Bible had +fallen from his hand.</p> + +<p>“There’s but one pair of stockings to mend to-night,” +sighed the woman, as she folded her finished work, her +thoughts reverting to scenes long vanished.</p> + +<p>The white-bearded man aroused himself at her words +and spoke.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_277"></a>[277]</span></p> + +<p>“John is forty-three to-night,” he said huskily, his +finger pointing to the family record.</p> + +<p>“God be with him till we meet again!” was the sighing +response as the mother struggled to thread her needle +by the flickering light.</p> + +<p>“Mary is a year younger than John; and Joseph came +to us two years later than Mary,” said the patriarch, his +finger still pointing to the cherished page.</p> + +<p>“Oh, father!” cried the wife, “do you think I shall +ever hold my Joseph in my arms again?”</p> + +<p>“God knows best,” was the sad reply.</p> + +<p>A cat purred contentedly at the woman’s feet, and +crickets sang upon the hearth. Outside, the wind sighed +dolefully.</p> + +<p>“Wonder what’s the matter with Rover?” said the +old man, rising to his feet, after repeated efforts, and +hobbling toward the door. “He’s acting strangely to-night.”</p> + +<p>“Don’t open the door, father,” pleaded the wife. +“The whole country is infested with tramps and robbers. +We’d better be cautious. I’m sure I saw faces +at the window a while ago.”</p> + +<p>“Rover knows what he’s about, wife. He never +speaks like that to an enemy. I will open the door.”</p> + +<p>It seemed to the men outside that the door was long +in opening. “My fingers are all thumbs!” they heard +the old man exclaim, after a fruitless effort to withdraw +the bolt.</p> + +<p>“Good-evening!” exclaimed Joseph, in a husky voice. +“We are a pair of belated travellers, and seek a night’s +lodging. Can we be accommodated?”</p> + +<p>“We’re not used to keeping travellers,” said the patriarch, +“but it is late, and another storm is brewing. +Come right in. Wife can fix you a shake-down somewhere, +I reckon; and we always have a bite on hand +to eat.”</p> + +<p>“We have two sons of our own out in the world somewhere,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_278"></a>[278]</span> +father,” said the wife. “I will trust the Lord to +do by them as we will do by these strangers.”</p> + +<p>John Ranger threw back his heavy coat and hat and +stood before the pair erect and motionless.</p> + +<p>“Mother!” he exclaimed, after a moment’s waiting, +as he caught her in his arms, “don’t you know your +boy?”</p> + +<p>“Why, bless my soul, it’s our John,—my firstborn +baby boy!” faltered the mother, as she resigned herself +to his realistic “bear hug.” “I thought you was in +Oregon.”</p> + +<p>“So I was a few weeks ago; but I am here now! How +are you, mother dear? And you, father? I am so glad +to see you again! How goes the world with both of +you?”</p> + +<p>“All right, son, considering. That is, it’s all right +now you are here. We can bear poverty and hardship +now. Eh, wife?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, father. If the Lord sees fit to afflict us, we +can now bear it without complaining. Blessed be His +holy name! But how did it happen, John dear? I was +thinking about you to-night as being far away on this, +your forty-third birthday.”</p> + +<p>“We do things in a hurry on the Pacific coast, mother +mine. This is an unexpected visit. But you are neglecting +somebody.”</p> + +<p>“That is so,” exclaimed the old man. “What might +your name be, stranger?”</p> + +<p>The tall man in the shadow took a faltering step forward +and removed his hat.</p> + +<p>“Don’t you know me, father?”</p> + +<p>“Good God! Can it be possible that this is Joseph?”</p> + +<p>“Don’t let him deceive us, John!” pleaded the mother. +“I couldn’t live and bear it!”</p> + +<p>“Yes, mother dear, it is indeed your Joseph,—your +long-lost son,” cried the prodigal. “Don’t you recognize +me now?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_279"></a>[279]</span></p> + +<p>John, who had released his mother, stood by in +silence; while Joseph, secure in his welcome, gathered +his mother in his arms and exclaimed, “It is now my +turn to give you a bear hug. Take this, and this!” and +he clasped her with half-savage tenderness again and +again.</p> + +<p>“Yes, mother!” cried the father, who, overcome by +his emotions, dropped feebly into his chair. Then, controlling +his feelings by a strong effort of the will, he +added with a laugh, “Hadn’t we better kill the prodigal, +seeing the calf has come home?”</p> + +<p>At a late hour a frugal meal was spread, to which the +weary home-comers did enforced justice, the mother on +one side of the table weeping and laughing by turns, and +the father on the other side endeavoring with indifferent +success to be dignified and calm.</p> + +<p>The brothers eyed each other askance as the supper +proceeded, especially noticing the absence of the many +little luxuries for which the Ranger tables had formerly +been noted throughout the township.</p> + +<p>“Father and I don’t have much appetite, so we don’t +lay in many extras nowadays,” said the mother.</p> + +<p>“We’ve been having a hard time of it since you left +us, John,” broke in the father. “The fellow that bought +the sawmill didn’t understand the business, and he soon +swamped it. So Lije had to take it off his hands, and +it left us mighty hard up. Lije has a big family, and the +gals want clothes and schoolin’, and Mary is poorly and +needs medicines; so mother and I do without lots of +things we need. It was lucky for all hands, though, that +Annie sent back that deed to the Robinson old folks. +They’re independent now, in a small way. They have +their own garden and cow and fruit and poultry, and +they made enough off of their truck-patch last summer +to pay their taxes and buy groceries. They don’t need +many new clothes. They have bought a sleigh and a +horse, so they can go to meetin’ Sundays; and next<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_280"></a>[280]</span> +summer, Daddie Robinson says, he’ll be able to buy a +buggy.”</p> + +<p>“I meant to let you have that little place, father,” said +John, trying in vain to eat his food. “But Annie claimed +it as her own; and Mary and Jean insisted that she had +a right to deed it to her own parents. If you had such a +little home now, could you be contented?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, John,” cried his mother, “if we only had a place +as good! I never covet what is my neighbor’s, but I do +want to be independent.”</p> + +<p>“Can’t you pack your little effects and go with us to +Oregon?” asked Joseph, a great lump rising in his throat.</p> + +<p>The old man looked anxiously at his wife. The wife +looked inquiringly at her husband.</p> + +<p>“It will be just as father says,” said the wife, submissively.</p> + +<p>“An old man is like an old tree,” began the father, +bowing his head upon the table. “You can transplant +a man or a tree, but you can’t make ’em take root to do +much good in new soil after they get old. With the +young it’s different. It’s out o’ sight, out o’ mind, with +them. They can take root anywhere if the conditions +are favorable and they want to change.”</p> + +<p>“That’s right, father,” echoed the wife. “We’re too +old to make a new start in a new country. Besides, the +expense of transplanting us to so great a distance would +go a long way toward taking care of us nearer home. +I’d like it mighty well if we could live near all our children +in our old days; but if it is better for them,—and +I reckon it is,—the sacrifices we must make to bear the +separation mustn’t count. We ought to be used to privation +and poverty by this time.”</p> + +<p>“We have all heard of the Irishman’s way of feeding, +or not feeding, his horse!” exclaimed Joseph. “The plan +seemed successful for a few days, but just when the animal +was supposed to be used to the treatment, the ungrateful +creature died.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_281"></a>[281]</span></p> + +<p>“I could keep the wolf from the door a few years +longer if it wasn’t for my rheumatism,” said the father. +“The after-clap of old hardships gets the better of me +now and then. I’m only able, much of the time, to potter +round the place and help your mother at odd jobs. I +reckon she would miss me if I should be called away, +however.”</p> + +<p>“God grant that we may be called away together +when we are wanted in the land o’ the leal,” said the +good wife, fervently; and her husband responded with +a hearty “Amen.”</p> + +<p>“You are not to be allowed to worry any more!” +exclaimed Joseph, rising to his feet and straightening +himself to his full height. “I am not rich, but I am +amply able to place you above want; and, so help me +God, I’ll do it. I’ve been the stray sheep. I’ve wandered +far from the fold, and I’ve been a long time coming +to my senses. But I have put the past behind me, +and, come what will, my dear father and mother shall be +provided for during the remainder of their lives.”</p> + +<p>“But you have a family, my son. Don’t make any +promises that will interfere with your obligations to +your wife and children.”</p> + +<p>“I have some gold mines in Utah, mother dear, and +an interest in several trading-posts on the frontier. I will +never neglect you again.”</p> + +<p>“Jean went away under a promise to assist us as soon +as she could earn some money of her own,” said the +father; “but we can look for no help from that quarter +for some time to come. It isn’t right to expect it of her, +either. Oh, boys, if you could only know how it has stung +us to be treated as mendicants, after we have worn ourselves +out in the service of our children, you would appreciate +our joy over this cheering news!”</p> + +<p>“Who is treating you as mendicants, mother, I should +like to know?” exclaimed the elder son. “Didn’t I +leave you provided for when I started for Oregon?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_282"></a>[282]</span></p> + +<p>“You did your best to make provision for our needs, +my son. We are blaming nobody. Don’t allow yourself +to feel unhappy. We are not complaining of anything +but Fate.”</p> + +<p>“But you ought to blame me,” cried Joseph. “It was +I who brought all these calamities upon my nearest and +dearest. But God knows I do repent in sackcloth and +ashes.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, father, we can never be unhappy now! Our boy +that was lost is found. He that we mourned as dead is +with us, alive and well. There is no blood-guiltiness upon +his head, and no shadow of murder or hatred in his heart. +The Lord be praised for all His tender mercies to the children +of men!”</p> + +<p>“Yes, yes, the Lord be praised!” echoed the father, +fervently. “Surely, after all the blessings that have been +showered upon us this night, we can take all the balance +on trust.”</p> + +<p>“We have the promise, father: ‘Trust in the Lord and +do good, and verily thou shalt be fed.’”</p> + +<p class="tb">“I’d give the world, if I had it, for the simple, child-like +faith of our father and mother,” said John, as soon +as the brothers were alone.</p> + +<p>“And I’d give the world, if I had it, for a chance to +live my life over, that I might have an opportunity to +atone for the suffering I have caused you all.”</p> + +<p>“Dear Joe, you have suffered too.”</p> + +<p>He turned his face to the wall and relapsed into silence. +And as he secretly invoked the presence of his beloved +dead, he saw himself in an emigrant’s camp far away in +the Black Hills. Again the tethered Flossie lowed plaintively +at the wagon-wheel, bemoaning the death of her +calf; again the still, white-robed form of his Annie appeared +before his mental vision. And the sorrowing husband +fell asleep.</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_283"></a>[283]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="XXXIX">XXXIX<br> +<span class="smaller"><i>THE OLD HOMESTEAD</i></span></h2> + +</div> + +<p>The gray dawn of a bleak December morning +found the Ranger brothers alternately stamping +the snow from their feet on the front veranda of +the old homestead, and listening for the first sounds of +awakening within. The same denuded locust-boughs +swept the lattice as of yore; and it seemed but yesterday +to John Ranger as he recalled the time he had caught +his gentle Annie in his arms on that momentous and +well-remembered evening, and made the startling announcement, +“It’s all settled, mother. Brother Lije has +bought the farm, and we’ll be off in less than a month +for Oregon.”</p> + +<p>He turned to his brother, whose face was like marble +as he stood in the shadow of the wall, as silent as the +Sphinx.</p> + +<p>“Who in thunder is coming here to rout a fellow out +o’ bed at this time of a Sunday morning?” growled +Lije Robinson, as he opened the door an inch or so and +peeped out into the biting air.</p> + +<p>“It is I and another,” cried John Ranger, pushing the +door wide open. For a moment the brothers-in-law faced +each other in silence. One was dumb with many conflicting +emotions, the other with simple wonder.</p> + +<p>“Your conscience must have troubled you,” said Lije, +after an awkward pause, “or you wouldn’t have come +back. But come in! I’ll start up the fire. Who’s this?” +looking hard at Joseph, whose bronzed and bearded face +was more than half concealed by the upturned collar of +his fur-lined overcoat.</p> + +<p>“Don’t you know him, Lije?”</p> + +<p>“Naw, nor I don’t want to.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_284"></a>[284]</span></p> + +<p>Meanwhile Mrs. Robinson had emerged from her room +after a hurried toilet.</p> + +<p>“Sister Mollie!”</p> + +<p>“Brother John!”</p> + +<p>For half a minute not another word was spoken.</p> + +<p>“I never expected to set eyes on you again,” cried the +sister at last, as, half crying and half laughing, she held +him at arm’s length for a better view. “It seemed as if +you had left the world when you went to Oregon; and +now you are back again,—the same old John.”</p> + +<p>“This is an age of progress, Mollie. The planet +doesn’t seem so very big, if you know how to get +around it.”</p> + +<p>“Will you introduce the stranger, John?” asked his +sister, in a welcoming tone.</p> + +<p>“I’ve been waiting to see if he would be recognized. +There is another surprise in store for you, Mollie. Did +you ever see this man before?”</p> + +<p>“Can it be possible,” she asked, her face deathly pale, +“that this is my brother Joseph?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, Mollie,” he cried, as he caught her in his arms, +“I’m your long-lost brother.”</p> + +<p>“Then I hope you’ve come prepared to pay your +honest debts,” growled the brother-in-law. “I’ve +wrestled with that old mortgage till I’m demnition +tired!”</p> + +<p>“I hope you’ll permit me to atone as best I can, +Lije. That’s what I’m here for.”</p> + +<p>“Don’t be too hard on him, Lije!” pleaded the +sister, as she helped the prodigal to remove his overcoat. +“You’re all right now, brother, aren’t you?”</p> + +<p>“I will be as soon as I have settled some old scores +with your bear of a husband.”</p> + +<p>“Don’t mind Lije!” said his sister, aside. “His +losses and obligations have made him discouraged and +cross. It wasn’t natural that he should endure our +hardships resignedly, as we did. Blood is thicker than<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_285"></a>[285]</span> +water, you know. Oh, Joseph, if I only could buy for +our parents a nice little farm, such as Annie deeded to her +father and mother! There’s a ten-acre farm adjoining +theirs; I cannot sleep for thinking about it. But my +whole lifework has been devoted to Lije, and must count +for nothing, so far as father and mother are concerned. +Father gave me a cow and calf for a wedding present, as +you will remember. They would have made me comfortable +long ago if I could have kept them and one-half of +their increase as mine.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, Mollie; and I acted the brute beast over that +gift. I was a bumptious boy then; and I encouraged +Lije in the idea that he mustn’t allow his wife to own +property. I waxed eloquent, as I thought, over coverture, +and such other archaic injustice as merges the existence +of a wife into that of her husband. Men are more appreciative +of women on the Pacific coast than they are +here; but there are laws and usages out there yet that +call loudly for a change, the Lord knows.”</p> + +<p>“I am not complaining of Lije, Joe. He has never +offered me any bodily injury in his life, and I’ve learned +not to mind the explosions from his mouth. I have everything +I need for my own simple wants; but, no matter +how hard I struggle, I can never help my parents to a +penny unless I steal it”; and she laid her head on her +brother’s shoulder and sobbed aloud.</p> + +<p>“What’s the matter now?” growled her husband. +“Can’t you stop your bawling when you have company?”</p> + +<p>“Breakfast is ready,” said Annie Robinson, a tall +and handsome girl, who had been busy in the lean-to +kitchen.</p> + +<p>“Annie, this is Uncle Joseph,” said her mother, smiling +through her tears.</p> + +<p>“I don’t want to see him,” retorted the girl, rudely, +turning to Uncle John with extended hands and a smile +of welcome, and saying in a half-whisper, “What did +you bring him here for?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_286"></a>[286]</span></p> + +<p>“The hair of the dog is good for the bite sometimes, +my girl. Your Uncle Joseph is all right. He’ll atone +for everything if we’ll give him half a chance.”</p> + +<p>“You owe Joseph an apology for your rudeness, Annie; +I am surprised at you!” said her mother. Then, turning +to Joseph: “Don’t mind Annie. She is unhappy and +cross because she could not go to boarding-school this +winter.”</p> + +<p>“If I didn’t deserve what I’m getting I wouldn’t +stand it, sister; but I’ve come to atone, and I must take +my punishment.”</p> + +<p>The room was severely cold, and the hot breakfast +filled the air with a vapor that obscured the window-panes. +The lighted candles, in their tall receivers, reflected +translucent halos, and lit the lithe figure of +Annie Robinson, who flitted silently between the table +and the great black stove, serving the food, and looking +like a weird, uncanny shade.</p> + +<p>“The way of the transgressor is hard,” thought Joseph. +“We must be ready to take the back track to-morrow, +John,” he said, rising from his chair, and leaving his food +almost untasted. “Whatever business you and Lije may +have between you must be agreed upon to-day. Where +can I hire a horse and sleigh?”</p> + +<p>“I’ve a cutter in the barn,” said Lije, beginning to +relax a little as his breakfast stirred his heart and warmed +his spirits. “You’ll find half-a-dozen old sawmill horses +in the big shed back of the barn. They’re spavined and +ringboned, and one of ’em is knock-kneed; but you can +take your pick of the lot.”</p> + +<p>“Won’t you let me go along, Joe?” asked his brother, +as they left the house together. “Where are you going, +anyhow?”</p> + +<p>“Of course you can go along if you are not needed +here. I am going to see about buying that ten-acre tract +that Mollie told me about. If it is suitable for the +needs of our parents, I will see them installed in a home<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_287"></a>[287]</span> +of their own before another week passes. Why, John, +I’d rather murder our dear old father and mother in +cold blood than leave them under the heel of that +parsimonious—”</p> + +<p>“Don’t be too hard on Lije, Joe. He’s had a whole +lot to contend with since the sawmill, the debts, and other +double loads have been left on his hands.”</p> + +<p>“And no wonder,” was the significant rejoinder. “He +deserves his fate.”</p> + +<p>The sun arose in splendor, warming the air, and making +the drive of three or four miles keenly invigorating +and enjoyable. They found the little farm they had come +to inspect in fair condition, though in need of some +modern improvements, of which the brothers took note. +The land had originally belonged to the senior Ranger, +who had secured a title to the half-section of which it +was a part, directly from the government.</p> + +<p>“If father had been content with smaller land holdings, +it might have been better for him and all the rest of us,” +said John.</p> + +<p>“There is danger that we may make the same mistake +in Oregon,” replied Joseph.</p> + +<p>“What a wealthy man father might have been, though, +if he had held on to all the land he acquired in this country +in an early day!” added John.</p> + +<p>“But he’d be a happier man to-day on this ten-acre +plat, with prosperous small farmers all around him and +all the improvements and conveniences on the plat that +it can be made to carry, than he would be with a whole +township on his shoulders under the burdens of taxation +and a careless tenantry.”</p> + +<p>“I don’t know but you are right,” echoed John; “it +isn’t what we own, or imagine that we own, in this +world, but what we can utilize, that makes up our real +possessions. Oregon will surely suffer, in years to come, +as a result of the present system of land-grabbing. Most +of the unhappiness of the farmers’ wives results from<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_288"></a>[288]</span> +isolation, which small farms would remedy. This little +home is a perfect gem. Mother will be delighted.”</p> + +<p>“And the Robinson old folks will have congenial +neighbors. I can shut my eyes and see father now, hobbling +about the place with his cane, pulling a weed here +and a flower there, tending the horse and cow and +garden, planting his onions and potatoes in the dark of +the moon, as of old, and his cabbage and peas and beans +when it is full.”</p> + +<p>“And think how mother will enjoy her poultry and +posies! But we must do something to relieve Lije of +his burden of debt, or he’ll drive Mollie to suicide.”</p> + +<p>“I feel under no obligation to Lije, God knows! But +for Mollie’s sake, I’ll see about helping him out.”</p> + +<p>“Do you still intend to leave for the coast to-morrow?”</p> + +<p>“No,” said Joseph. “I spoke hastily. This is Sunday. +We can’t complete our business to-day. I will see the +agent and settle about this little farm in the morning. +After we get the old folks comfortable it will be time to +consider Lije. He must wait.”</p> + +<p>“I’ve been thinking all day,” said John, as they were +journeying homeward, “that the entire running machinery +of the home should be intrusted to women, who are +the real home-makers. My Annie planned for the support +of her parents, and made them modestly independent +by a stroke of her pen. But she could not have done it +if I had continued obstinate about signing the deed; and +I am very much afraid I could not have been prevailed +upon to do it if it hadn’t been for the persistence of Jean. +She gave me no peace till the conveyance was made. If +women possessed law-making power, these matters would +in time be adjusted, and both men and women would be +the gainers in the long run. But both men and women +are as short-sighted as they are selfish. Solomon was +right when he said: ‘There is that scattereth, and yet increaseth; +and there is that withholdeth more than is meet,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_289"></a>[289]</span> +but it tendeth to poverty.’ It is noticeable that men of +the frontier are more inclined to be just with their co-workers, +the mothers, than the men of the older States.”</p> + +<p>“It’s all settled, mother,” exclaimed Joseph, as he +alighted at the cottage doorstep and threw the reins to +John; “I’ve been to see that little farm adjoining Pap +Robinson’s, and I’ve made terms. The little place is +yours from now on, and I will not leave you till you are +settled in it.”</p> + +<p>“Your father will be so happy, son! He started to +meeting a little while ago. I stayed at home to have a +nice, warm supper ready. It isn’t many more meals I’ll +get a chance to cook for my boys.”</p> + +<p>“You did your share in that line long ago, mother +dear.”</p> + +<p>In the family reunion in the little cottage home that +night there were no intruders. John, Mary, and Joseph +held sweet communion with their parents alone.</p> + +<p>“Our Father in Heaven,” prayed the old man, before +retiring, “we thank Thee for all Thy tender mercies to +us-ward. We realize Thy hand in our chastening; and +we behold Thy love in our sorrows, since, but for them, +we could not appreciate our joys. We thank Thee for +John, for Mary, for Joseph, and for this night’s reunion. +We also thank Thee for our absent dear ones, and for +those whose bodies are under the snow, whose spirits are +with Thee.</p> + +<p>“Animate us all with the Christ spirit, O God; and +grant that in Thine own good time we all may meet +again.”</p> + +<p>And the brothers echoed aloud the good father’s +“Amen.”</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_290"></a>[290]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="XL">XL<br> +<span class="smaller"><i>THE UNEXPECTED HAPPENS</i></span></h2> + +</div> + +<p>A year has passed, and the autumn of 1853 has +arrived. It has been a most strenuous twelve +months on the Ranch of the Whispering Firs. +Rapid changes, unlooked-for vicissitudes, improvements +upon the virgin soil, annoying delays, and happy reunions +have made the seasons fly.</p> + +<p>The house was now surrounded by a cultivated field, +through the centre of which a broad, tree-lined avenue +wound upward from the grade below. The cattle whose +labor had saved the lives of the immigrants the previous +year were now sleek and fat.</p> + +<p>Behind the dwelling rose the foot-hills of the Cascade +Mountains, their sides and summits clothed with the +majestic forest of pointed firs from which the ranch had +derived its name. Still higher up, and yet up, above the +serrated steeps, loomed hoary old Mount Hood, spreading +his snowy robes over the misty lesser heights, the top of +his white turban hidden among the clouds, his flowing +beard resting upon the pointed crests of the most distant +trees.</p> + +<p>The music of machinery filled the air. The sawmill +was at its best, running day and night to supply the ever-increasing +demand for lumber. The original plant had +already been greatly increased.</p> + +<p>“It is a glorious thing to be alive!” said Jean, pausing +in the perusal of a letter. “The air is as balmy as springtime. +What a blessed change it will be for Ashton, who +has seen nothing but sagebrush, bald mountains, jack-rabbits, +sage-hens, Indians, immigrants, and cacti the +summer long! Oh, my darling, it is a whole year since +our first meeting!</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_291"></a>[291]</span></p> + +<p>“My last day in the schoolroom is over. I have enjoyed +my work. Many of the little tots are better for the +training I have given them. But best of all is the improvement +the experience has brought to me. Every good +deed reacts upon the doer. Ashton will hardly realize the +progress I have made in education, physical appearance, +and culture during the vanished year”; and she smiled +approvingly at her reflection in the little mirror. “And +to think that to-morrow is our wedding-day!” She resumed +the reading of her cherished missive.</p> + +<p>“It will interest you to know that the fellow Hankins, +whose villany came so near to wrecking our happiness, +my beloved, has been sent to the Pen. at Salt Lake for +forgery. What a splendid man he might have been if he +had improved his opportunities! He still has a penitentiary +term to serve in New York, which, added to his +twenty years in Utah, will take him into the sere and +yellow leaf.”</p> + +<p>“And I’d have allowed myself to marry that fellow, +I fear, if you had proved false to me, my Ashton,” exclaimed +Jean, as she turned from her musings to survey +her <i>trousseau</i>, upon which she and Mary had spent much +time and skill.</p> + +<p>“Are you at leisure, sister?” asked Mary.</p> + +<p>“Of course I am always at leisure to see you, Mary. +But what is the matter? You are as red as a rose and +bright as a diamond!” and she fondled the sparkling +gem upon her own finger lovingly.</p> + +<p>“Something sweet and momentous has happened, my +dear. Wish me joy! Mr. Buckingham and I are to make +the fourth couple to join the matrimonial combination at +the fateful hour to-morrow.”</p> + +<p>“Isn’t this rather sudden, Mame? Won’t you be leaving +Marjorie in the lurch at the cook-house? And, above +all, what will you do for a <i>trousseau</i>?”</p> + +<p>“No, dear, this change is not sudden. As you know, +we have been engaged for over six months. But my<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_292"></a>[292]</span> +<i>fiancé</i>, being under orders from the government, has not +been certain of a permanency before. We will take Marjorie +with us to Washington, and keep her in school. +And now as to <i>trousseau</i>. My white dimity dress is +fresh and new, and so is Marjorie’s. When we get to +Washington, where Mr. Buckingham must spend the +winter under orders from the Land Department, he says +we can patronize the <i>modiste</i> to our heart’s content. It +was a fortunate day for me when my husband that is to +be was sent out to Oregon to investigate alleged land +frauds; and more fortunate still that he discovered that +fellow Hankins.”</p> + +<p>“I wish we’d known this a week ago, Mame. You +might have had an ivory-white, all-wool delaine, with +lace and satin trimmings, just like mine.”</p> + +<p>“My little sister, notwithstanding her reputation for +strong-mindedness, is a charming bit of femininity, after +all,” laughed Mary, as she hurried away.</p> + +<p class="tb">The near approach of a creaking wagon caused the +sisters to approach the window.</p> + +<p>“As I live!” cried Jean, “it’s the Reverend Thomas +Rogers coming up the grade. And that is his little doll-faced +wife. Wonder where they came from, and what +in creation they’re coming here for.”</p> + +<p>“You must go out to meet them, Jean,” said Mary. +“I never want to see them again; but we mustn’t be +remiss in hospitality.”</p> + +<p>“He looks as if the world had gone hard with him, +poor fellow,” laughed Jean. “Don’t you wish you had +to pull in double harness with the like of him for the rest +of your life?”</p> + +<p>“I would never have fancied him in the first place if +I had had any sense,” said Mary. “Wonder who paid +their bills,” she cried with a hysterical little laugh, as she +watched the preacher’s wife while she alighted over the +wagon-wheel without any attention or assistance.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_293"></a>[293]</span></p> + +<p>“Yonder goes Mrs. O’Dowd to the rescue. Do you +know, Mame, I think it is a wise step for daddie to hitch +up with Sally O’Dowd? He might go farther and fare +a whole lot worse.”</p> + +<p>Although the greeting the Rogers family received from +the Ranger household was not exactly in keeping with +the open-hearted hospitality of the border, it seemed to +satisfy the preacher, who made himself as agreeable as +possible.</p> + +<p>“I went, Squire, to see your parents and Mrs. Ranger’s +a few days before I left the States,” said the preacher. +“The dear old people were well and prosperous and contented. +They have imbibed a new theory about time and +distance. They talk learnedly about vibrations, a fourth +dimension in space, and other such nonsense; and they +declare that there can be no real separation of souls that +are in perfect accord with one another. Their new belief +is making them as happy as birds. I would have no objection +to such speculations if they didn’t tend to undermine +the gospel. All such theories detract from the faith +of our fathers.”</p> + +<p>“Not necessarily,” said Jean. “I think that we ought +always to accept truth for authority; but you want everybody +to accept authority for truth.”</p> + +<p>“I see it is the same little ‘doubting Thomas’ we used +to have in the Pleasant Prairie schoolhouse,” said the +minister.</p> + +<p>“There is a whole lot of common-sense in Jean’s +religion,” cried Hal; “I mean to accept her manufacture +of the article as straight goods, full measure and a yard +wide.”</p> + +<p>“These discussions are not profitable,” said Captain +Ranger, dryly.</p> + +<p>“Your father and mother are certainly very happy in +their theories; I can say that much for them,” said Mrs. +Rogers, who, from her nook in the corner, had seldom +ventured a word. “Their cottage was as neat as a new<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_294"></a>[294]</span> +pin. It was the springtime, and climbing roses were clambering +over the little porch. The old people seemed to +lack for nothing but the companionship of their children.” +And the little woman, amazed at her own loquacity, +shrank back abashed.</p> + +<p>“God has been very kind and gracious to both of +the good old couples,” said the preacher, in a sonorous +voice.</p> + +<p>“Some people have an unlimited supply of gall,” said +Hal, aside to Mary, alluding to the preacher and his +wife.</p> + +<p>“I don’t see but they are all right,” was the smiling +reply of the rosy-cheeked maiden. “They have placed +me under everlasting obligations, I do assure you.” She +arose to greet a handsome visitor, whom she proudly introduced +to them as “my affianced husband.”</p> + +<p>The preacher’s joy was unbounded when Captain +Ranger invited him to perform a quadruple marriage +ceremony on the morrow,—an incident he hailed as an +augury of the further social and financial assistance of +which he felt so much in need that he began at once +to solicit aid for the erection of a church and parsonage.</p> + +<p>“For heaven’s sake, don’t begin to bother us about +this innovation for a week or two!” exclaimed the Captain. +“I’ll see that you are fed and housed for the +present. As Jean will be leaving us, we shall need a +school-teacher. My wife will not want an outsider to +use our house for the school; so we must make a schoolhouse +and meeting-house combined, and let it suffice for +the present.”</p> + +<p>The morning brought a scene of hurry, bustle, and +happiness. Long tables were spread upon the lawn, +under the wide-spread branches of the luxuriant fir-tree +the woodman had spared when the land was cleared. +Flowers and ferns from the wildwood added glow and +fragrance to the loaded tables. Mary and Jean, rosy +with expectation, flitted everywhere.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_295"></a>[295]</span></p> + +<p>“Did you ever in all your born days see such a wonderful +man as my daddie?” asked Jean, addressing Sally +O’Dowd; and the happy woman answered, “I never +did.”</p> + +<p>Mr. and Mrs. Joseph Ranger, the latter resplendent in +a satin gown of latest fashion, were conspicuous assistants; +and their children, all of whom were gotten up for +the occasion by their happy mother regardless of expense, +were the observed of all observers. These children, added +to the younger members of Captain Ranger’s brood, the +three children of Mrs. O’Dowd, and Susannah’s “coon,” +made a formidable array of young Americans.</p> + +<p>At the appointed hour, Mrs. McAlpin, who had arrived +early on horseback to assist in the preparations, +was joined by Mr. Burns, who brought to her a sealed +package, long overdue, concerning which they kept their +own counsel. But in anticipation of its arrival, they had +allowed a “personal” to appear in the local paper in +due season, as follows: “Mrs. Adele Benson, the handsome +widow who spent a few days in this city after crossing +the plains last year, and whose widowed daughter, +Mrs. Daphne McAlpin, is soon to be the bride of our +distinguished fellow-citizen, Mr. Rollin Burns, recently +astonished her friends in Oregon with the announcement +of her marriage in London to the Right Honorable +Donald McPherson, only son and heir of Lady Mary +McPherson, whose extensive estates are the pride and +envy of High-Head on the Thames.”</p> + +<p class="tb">The appointed hour had come, and the four brides +expectant were beaming and beautiful in their simple +and becoming array. Mr. Burns and Mr. Buckingham +awaited the signal to descend with their brides. But +where was Ashton Ashleigh?</p> + +<p>Ten, fifteen, twenty minutes passed, and he did not +come. The dinner was spoiling, and Susannah was +furious.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_296"></a>[296]</span></p> + +<p>“I allus ’lowed dah’d nothin’ come o’ dat co’tship!” +she said to Hal.</p> + +<p>“Go ahead and get the ceremonies over,” said Jean. +“Don’t allow this interruption to mar the enjoyment +of anybody.”</p> + +<p>And while her father was leading Mrs. O’Dowd to the +marriage altar, with Mr. Burns and Mrs. McAlpin following, +and Mary and her chosen one bringing up the +rear, she sank, white-faced and benumbed upon her bed, +and gave no sign of life except in the nervous fluttering +of her half-closed eyelids.</p> + +<p>For a long time she lay thus, mercifully bereft of the +power to suffer. “There is some unavoidable reason for +this delay,” she said over and over to herself. “I’ll understand +it all in time.”</p> + +<p>The afternoon waned, and darkness fell upon the Ranch +of the Whispering Firs.</p> + +<p>“Jean!”</p> + +<p>“Is that you, daddie dear?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, darling.”</p> + +<p>“What do you think has delayed Ashton?”</p> + +<p>“Try to forget him, Jean. His failure to be on hand +at his own marriage ought to prove to you that he is +faithless. You will live to thank God that the knowledge +of Ashton’s faithlessness did not come upon you after +marriage.”</p> + +<p>“Ashton is not faithless!” she cried, springing to her +feet. Then she fell quivering to the floor.</p> + +<p>“Run, quick, Hal! Saddle a horse and go for the +Little Doctor,” cried Mary.</p> + +<p class="tb">A heavy mist that had rolled up from the ocean in +the afternoon had settled now into a steady downpour. +There was no moon, and the dense darkness of the forest +through which Hal’s road lay was as black as Erebus. +“Jean loves you, Sukie,” he would say, patting the mare +on the shoulder. “We must get the Little Doctor at all<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_297"></a>[297]</span> +hazards”; and the mare, as if sensing the importance +of her mission, would leap forward with a sympathetic +whinny.</p> + +<p>The door was opened by Mr. Burns, revealing a scene +of domestic comfort.</p> + +<p>A little table, covered with a snowy cloth and spread +with light refreshments, stood before a blazing fire; and +at its head sat Mrs. Burns, daintily attired in a light blue +wrapper of exquisite workmanship.</p> + +<p>“Why, Harry Ranger!” she exclaimed, as the lad +stood inside the door, shaking his dripping garments. +“I hope Jean isn’t worse? I left her calm and seemingly +out of danger.”</p> + +<p>“She’s fallen in a fit! I’ve come for the Doctor!”</p> + +<p>The wind had lulled a little as the little party hurried +down the muddy highway toward the Ranch of the +Whispering Firs. The Little Doctor, nattily arrayed in +a rain suit, hood and all, sat her horse securely and +plunged headlong through the darkness, while Hal rode +by her side, followed at a distance by her husband, who +bumped up and down in Scotch-English fashion on a +heavy trotter, reminding himself of John Gilpin, as his +hat blew off and his stirrup slipped from his foot.</p> + +<p>“I’ve heard rumors of the ‘coming woman’ many a +time,” he thought, bracing himself by clinging to the horn +of his Spanish saddle. “But the deuce take me if I like +the article in practice, though I’ve long advocated her +cause in theory.”</p> + +<p>He said as much in an injured tone to his wife, as +they alighted at the Ranger home, and received for answer, +“We must always consider what is the greatest +good for the greatest number, dear. Won’t we be well +repaid for this night’s adventure if Jean is saved?”</p> + +<p>The Little Doctor found her patient in a rigid, +trance-like state, her eyelids fluttering and her breathing +stertorous.</p> + +<p>“The heart’s action is fairly good,” she said, after a<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_298"></a>[298]</span> +careful examination. “The most we can do is to keep +her quiet. I will administer an opiate, and I think nature +will do the rest. Meanwhile, somebody must go after +that recalcitrant bridegroom. She would soon recover +her tone if she could lose faith in him altogether. It is +suspense that kills.”</p> + +<p>“Brother Joseph started across the Cascade Mountains +after him early in the afternoon,” the Captain explained. +“He declared that nothing but foul play or some unavoidable +accident could have detained so ardent a suitor.”</p> + +<p>At the hour of midnight, when the Ranch of the Whispering +Firs was wrapped in silence, Jean awoke, dismissed +Susannah, and rose from her bed.</p> + +<p>“O my God,” she cried inwardly, “if it be possible, +let this cup pass from both of us! I know, O Spirit of +Good, that my own has not, of his own accord, deserted +his counterpart, his other self. Give me strength equal +to my day! Let me not fail him now, when I know he +needs me most.</p> + +<p>“I must have been in your presence, Ashton, while my +body was asleep,” she said half audibly. “For, in spite +of my seeming duty to be miserable, I cannot be unhappy +or hopeless. I seem to have been on a journey; but my +recollection of it is indistinct and disjointed.”</p> + +<p>She went to the window and looked out into the night. +The clouds had rolled away, the wind had ceased, and +the silent stars were looking down.</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_299"></a>[299]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="XLI">XLI<br> +<span class="smaller">“<i>IN PRISON AND YE VISITED ME</i>”</span></h2> + +</div> + +<p>Joseph Ranger left the scene of the triple wedding +early in the afternoon in quest of the missing +bridegroom, and was overtaken by the storm before +riding a dozen miles. But the hospitable welcome of the +pioneers awaited him at Foster’s; and a substantial breakfast +was ready for him before the dawn. The sun was +barely up before he left the valley and entered the mountain +pass. His faithful horse, who seemed to understand +that he was bound on no ordinary errand, carefully chose +his steps among the rocks and gullies, and bore him +onward with gratifying speed.</p> + +<p>Night overtook him long before he had descended the +last of the rugged steeps that crossed his path after passing +the summit of the range.</p> + +<p>Bands of elk and antelope crossed his track at intervals; +and at night, when he stopped to camp under a great +pine-tree, when his fire was built, and his faithful horse +and himself had feasted together upon the bag of roasted +wheat he had brought along for sustenance, a band of +deer, kindly eyed, graceful, and not afraid, came near +him, attracted by the blaze and smoke, and circled around +his bed at a respectful distance long after he had retired +among his blankets upon a couch of evergreen boughs.</p> + +<p>“That’s right! Come close, my beauties!” he exclaimed, +as a doe and her daughter came close enough +to breathe in his face. “I wouldn’t shoot one of you +for the world. Your confidence is not misplaced.” But +when he put out his hand to fondle them, they bounded +away as light as birds, only to approach again and paw +the blankets with their nimble hoofs, and awaken him +from his coveted sleep. Finally, to frighten them away,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_300"></a>[300]</span> +he fired his revolver into the air, and the entire herd +scampered away into the darkness.</p> + +<p>“The gun is the wild animal’s master,” he said as he +fell asleep, to be awakened again by the neighing of his +tethered horse.</p> + +<p>The fire of pitch-pine was still burning, and a pair of +eyes glowed near his face like coals.</p> + +<p>“This is no deer,” he thought, as he very cautiously +clasped his “pepper-box” repeater.</p> + +<p>A heavy paw was placed upon his breast, and the hot +breath of a bear came close enough to nauseate him. +There was no time to lose. As a mountaineer, he knew +the nature of his foe too well to await the inevitable embrace +of Bruin. Little by little he moved his repeater, +and, when the weight of the animal was wellnigh crushing +him, he sent a bullet through his eye. But the danger +was by no means past, as the beast, though wounded unto +death, was yet alive, and furious with rage and pain.</p> + +<p>Just how he extricated himself from the peril of +that eventful encounter, Joseph Ranger never knew, but +he lived to narrate the adventure to children and +grandchildren, and preserved to his dying day that +long-outdated “pepper-box” revolver with which his +great-grandchildren now delight to fire a volley in his +honor on Washington’s Birthday and the Fourth of +July.</p> + +<p>Once safely through the Cascade Mountains, Joseph +found little to impede his progress. Some friendly Indians +were encountered at the base of the Blue Mountains, +who gave him a hearty meal of bear-meat and +wapatoes, and supplied his weary horse with hay and +oats.</p> + +<p>“Mika closh cumtux Wahnetta. Heap good Injun +squaw! Ugh! Wake Mika potlatch chickimin! Hy-as +closh muck-a-muck! Heap good. Cultus potlatch!” was +the way in which his Indian host expressed his hospitality +and refused compensation. And Joseph Ranger,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_301"></a>[301]</span> +acquainted with the jargon of many native tribes, further +ingratiated himself in the Indian’s favor by presenting +his squaw with a few gaudy trinkets such as an experienced +borderer always carries when crossing an Indian +country.</p> + +<p>On and on he hurried toward the valley of Great Salt +Lake, impelled by an irresistible impulse he could not have +explained to any one. The weather was in his favor in +crossing the Blue Mountains, though the air was cold, +and the wind sometimes blew furiously. Water was low +in all the smaller streams, and the beds of many of them +were dry. Ice formed at night in swampy places and +thawed by day, making travelling slippery and tedious; +but on and on he hurried, knowing time was precious +and yet not clearly understanding why.</p> + +<p>At the Ogden Gateway he gained some information +that doubled his impatience and quickened his speed. A +man was being held on a charge of murder at Salt Lake +City who he instinctively felt was Ashleigh. His informant, +a Spanish half-breed, did not know his name, but +he said an Indian girl was the victim, and her name was +Le-Le.</p> + +<p>On and on he journeyed, till he reached the verge +of the little border city of Salt Lake. The Mormon +Temple was not yet built, but a tabernacle had already +arisen as its herald; and the Bee Hive House and Lion +House were filled with wives and children of the prophet, +who regularly toiled and spun. Joseph hastened to the +adobe jail, where, after a brief delay, which seemed to +him like an age, he was conducted to a dingy little cell, +reserved for criminals of the lowest type.</p> + +<p>A tall man, unshaven and in his shirt-sleeves, was +pacing back and forth in his narrow quarters like a caged +animal. He paused as the bolt flew back; and, as the +light fell upon the face of his astonished visitor, he exclaimed, +“Good God! Joseph Addicks! Can this be +you?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_302"></a>[302]</span></p> + +<p>“I am Joseph Ranger, my boy! And I have come +here all the way from the farthest West. But sit down +here on the edge of your bed, and tell me all about it.”</p> + +<p>“You remember the Indian maiden, Le-Le, whom I +purchased and ransomed?”</p> + +<p>“Yes.”</p> + +<p>“And you recall the fact that I left her with her +brother, Siwash, at my Green River cave at the time I +came to you?”</p> + +<p>“I remember that you said so.”</p> + +<p>“Can you recall the date of my visit to you at the +trading-post?”</p> + +<p>“No; but there must be memoranda somewhere that +will settle that. Why?”</p> + +<p>“Because nothing will save me, Joseph, from the hangman’s +rope unless I can prove an alibi. I forwarded a +letter to you at Oregon City—or tried to—after this +mishap befell me; but a courier can be bribed sometimes, +you know, and Henry Hankins, who failed to capture my +bride, is bent upon revenge. His incarceration doesn’t +keep him out of reach of pals. But how is my bonnie +Jean?”</p> + +<p>“I left home too hurriedly to get much information. +But her father said she was strangely calm, and full of +faith in you.”</p> + +<p>“Then my darling is not ill?”</p> + +<p>“I certainly did not leave her well, Ashleigh, but she +is in good hands. Do you know the particulars of Le-Le’s +death?”</p> + +<p>“I only know that her body was found in an eddy in +Green River about a fortnight after I last saw her. Just +as I was on the eve of starting to Oregon to claim my +bride, I was arrested, charged with murder, and brought +to this villanous den.”</p> + +<p>“Be of good cheer, Ashleigh; I will find Siwash. Say +nothing to any one. The darkest hour of the night is just +before the morning. Good-bye, and may God bless you!”</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_303"></a>[303]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="XLII">XLII<br> +<span class="smaller"><i>TOO BUSY TO BE MISERABLE</i></span></h2> + +</div> + +<p>Jean met her father and his wife at the breakfast-table +with a welcoming smile, though her head ached, +and on her countenance there was a deathly pallor.</p> + +<p>“The last night’s storm played havoc with the cherished +plans of Mr. and Mrs. Burns,” said Mary’s husband, +adroitly turning the conversation into a diverting +channel. “They were intending to spend their honeymoon +with their camping outfit in the open air among the +spicy odors of the October woods.”</p> + +<p>“They are old enough, and ought to be wise enough, +by this time, to spend their honeymoon at home. No +bridegroom ever dreamed of taking his bride away from +home during the honeymoon in my younger days; that +is, nobody did with whom my lot was cast,” said Captain +Ranger, beaming tenderly upon his wife, who, being a +sensible woman, was not displeased to note the far-away +look in his eyes which betrayed his straying thoughts.</p> + +<p>“You needn’t make any plans for a new teacher, for +the present at least, daddie,” said Jean; “I shall resume +my duties in the schoolroom next week. Will you post +the required notices for me at the Four Corners, and at +the sawmill, sometime during the day?”</p> + +<p>“I wouldn’t be in a hurry about teaching, daughter. +Your Uncle Joseph has gone by private pony express in +quest—”</p> + +<p>He paused, uncertain as to the propriety of speaking +the name that was uppermost in all their thoughts.</p> + +<p>“I know it, daddie. I knew all that was going on +when I lay yesterday in what seemed to you as a stupor. +I can’t explain it, but I seemed to have a double, or +second, self that told me everything. Ashton is in trouble,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_304"></a>[304]</span> +but he is not in bodily danger, and he will not die. I do +not understand it clearly, for I saw conditions only as +through a glass, darkly. I would have remained in that +state of seeming torpor for a whole month if it had been +possible, for my mind and body were in different places. +But in spite of myself I am again in a normal condition.”</p> + +<p>“I shall be able to devote two weeks’ work to the erection +of that combined schoolhouse and meeting-house,” +said Mary’s husband. “Can’t you wait, sister, to begin +your school till then?”</p> + +<p>“No, Mr. Buckingham. You are very kind, and I +thank you from the bottom of my heart, but I cannot +wait. There will be time enough for you to take the +reins when I am gone, Mr. Rogers.”</p> + +<p>During the remainder of the week she performed +prodigies of labor, but the work lagged at the mess-house. +The new cook was not a success, and there was much +dissatisfaction among the workingmen. But the Chinaman +learned his lessons rapidly under the guidance of +the Ranger sisters, and was soon able to load the long +tables with plain but savory food.</p> + +<p>The storm left the face of Nature fresh and green and +joyous, and Mr. Burns and the Little Doctor repaired to +the woods and foot-hills for their honeymoon, after all.</p> + +<p>Jean’s complexion grew more delicately beautiful, her +form more and more symmetrical, and her eyes sparkled +like stars. But her girlish exuberance of spirit was gone, +and in its place had come a womanly dignity, commanding, +gracious, and sweet. The departure of Mary and her +husband, with Marjorie, added heavily to Jean’s duties +as superintendent of the Sunday-school. But her spirit +craved work; so she opened a singing-school and a metrical +geography class.</p> + +<p>“Still no tidings!” she cried to herself, after an unusually +strenuous day. “But I will not despair, and I will +do my duty though the heavens fall. The whole of this +month’s salary goes to Grandpa and Grandma Ranger.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_305"></a>[305]</span> +And for this opportunity to show my appreciation of +their lives of self-denial in the service of others, I devoutly +thank God.”</p> + +<p>A shadow darkened the door of the deserted schoolroom.</p> + +<p>“Who is it? And what is wanted?” asked Jean, with +a start.</p> + +<p>“It is I,—the Reverend Thomas Rogers,” said a +voice, as, stepping out of the shadow, the preacher met +her face to face.</p> + +<p>“I have just completed my day’s work, and was about +to shut up shop,” she said, moving toward the door.</p> + +<p>“Very well. I will walk homeward with you, if I +may.”</p> + +<p>“No, you won’t!” piped a tremulous, complaining +voice; and Mrs. Rogers stepped between them and the +doorsill.</p> + +<p>“I came to see Miss Jean about a change in the +management of the Sunday-school,” said the preacher, +meekly.</p> + +<p>“And I’ve come to remind you that you must chop +some stove-wood and milk the cow.”</p> + +<p>The voice was not tremulous now, but commanding. +“I’ll teach you to be running after the schoolma’am at +unseemly hours!” she said with a vehemence that startled +Jean, who had thought her the personification of submission +and humility. “And I’ll teach you to be courting +my husband, Miss Jean!”</p> + +<p>“You can divest yourself of all anxiety on that score, +Mrs. Rogers. I never saw the time when I would have +dreamed of ‘courting’ the Reverend Thomas Rogers, +even before he was married; and I wouldn’t ‘court’ +any woman’s husband.”</p> + +<p>“To be explicit,” said the preacher, in a submissive +tone, “I think it is high time for the pastor of this church +to manage his Sunday-school. Miss Jean’s methods are +not strictly orthodox. I didn’t mean to speak of this to<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_306"></a>[306]</span> +her in the presence of any third person, but since you +have come upon the scene, Mrs. Rogers, we may as well +settle it here and now.”</p> + +<p>“What’s the trouble?” asked Jean, laughing irreverently.</p> + +<p>“The hymns she teaches the children are not solemn +enough. They are all about happy days and care-free +birds and joyous children, whose chief duty lies in obeying +their parents and loving one another. I’ve looked on +during the proceedings, carefully and anxiously, for four +consecutive Sundays now, and I haven’t heard one word +about eternal punishment, nor has she exhorted anybody +to flee from the wrath to come!”</p> + +<p>“Aren’t you ashamed of your fit of jealousy in the +light of this revelation, Mrs. Rogers?” asked Jean, laughing +aloud.</p> + +<p>“I know he was once in love with your sister Mary!” +was the evasive but crestfallen reply.</p> + +<p>“Well, Mr. Rogers,” said Jean, closing and locking +the door, “we may as well be ending this interview. I +founded the Sunday-school, and I will not abdicate till +I get ready to leave the country. I never could be made +to believe by your preaching or teaching that God wasn’t +as good as my daddie, or even yourself. I am teaching +the children to love and serve a beneficent God, and to +love their neighbors as themselves. If that is heresy, +make the most of it. Good-night! And, Mrs. Rogers, +the next time you feel the unseemly pangs of jealousy, +don’t make a fool of yourself before folks.”</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_307"></a>[307]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="XLIII">XLIII<br> +<span class="smaller"><i>JEAN IS HAPPY—AND ANOTHER PERSON</i></span></h2> + +</div> + +<p>December, gloomiest month in the year, had +settled over the Ranch of the Whispering Firs. +The steady mist of the rainy season was at its +best, or worst, according to the point of view, mental +and physical, of its beholder. The mighty colonnades +of trees, that reared their pointed crests in the mist-enwrapped +heavens, were busily engaged, at the foot of +the Cascade Mountains, in storing away the moisture +of the skies among the countless layers of vegetable +mould and moss from which to draw their supplies for +the next summer’s drouth.</p> + +<p>The sawmill, planing-mill, and shingle-loom were running +day and night. The skid roads, upon which the +leviathans of the forest were dragged to their final doom, +were sodden, slippery, and already badly worn. Relays +of oxen tugged at the creaking chains and complaining +logs. The mill-pond, a lake upon the mountain-side, very +much enlarged by a dam, lay half asleep under a soft +coating of ice; and higher up, at the snow line, lay the +ice-clad creek that fed it, sheathed in a coat of mail which +held in check the waters that were destined, when a thaw +should come, to overflow their banks and send a flood +into the valley below.</p> + +<p class="tb">“Are you an angel from heaven, or are you Ashton +Ashleigh?” cried Jean, as a tall man entered at the open +door and stood before her with outstretched arms. The +color faded from her cheeks, and her heart gave a violent +thump and then stood still.</p> + +<p>“Nothing angelic about me or near me this holy +minute, unless it is Jean, my bonnie Jean!” exclaimed<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_308"></a>[308]</span> +the intruder, as he clasped her tenderly in his arms. Jean +was speechless for the moment with surprise and joy.</p> + +<p>“Why don’t you ask for an explanation, little one?” +he asked after an interval. “An explanation is due you, +God knows!”</p> + +<p>“I knew you would come,” she whispered timidly. +“You have been forcibly detained, Ashton. Nothing else +would, or could, have kept you away from your own.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, darling; it was all the evil-doing of that man +Hankins, to whom I intrusted my letter and my ring. +Come in, Uncle Joseph. Tell the whole cruel story.”</p> + +<p>“He was on his way to his wedding when he was +arrested and thrown into prison!” exclaimed the uncle.</p> + +<p>“You remember the slave girl Le-Le, my bonnie Jean? +I was falsely accused of being her murderer; and they +would surely have convicted me of the crime if your +uncle had not appeared upon the scene, and after much +delay and difficulty proved an alibi. Do you wonder +that my hair has turned white?”</p> + +<p>“Why, so it has, Ashton! I had not noticed it before; +the light is dim. But you are all right. Your hair is +beautiful. I like it best as it is.”</p> + +<p>“I had a deuce of a time proving that alibi!” interrupted +the uncle. “Our only witness was Siwash, who +had left the scene of the tragedy and was nowhere to be +found, though I sent scouts out for him in every direction. +He had no idea that he was wanted, when he +finally appeared upon the scene, but he came just in the +nick of time.</p> + +<p>“‘I saw my sister make the fatal leap into Green +River,’” he deposed in excellent English. ‘She had +been very despondent after Mr. Ashleigh left us, and +I was often afraid she would take her life. But as the +weeks passed, she apparently grew more reconciled; and +I had ceased to worry about her, when one day, after +getting my luncheon, she refused to wait upon the table, +and left our cave in a manner that excited my alarm. So<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_309"></a>[309]</span> +I followed her. I saw the fatal leap. She plunged into +the rushing water through a hole in the ice, under which +her body was imprisoned till last summer, when it was +found three miles from the fatal scene. I never dreamed +of anybody being accused of killing her,—least of all +Mr. Ashleigh, our benefactor and friend.’</p> + +<p>“‘Do the citizens of the village near the scene of the +tragedy know of the suicide?’ asked the Court.</p> + +<p>“‘They do, your Honor, a dozen of them!’ said the +boy.</p> + +<p>“No argument was offered on either side. Hankins +was sent back to the penitentiary. Ashton was allowed +to go forth a free man; and here, after a hard journey, +are both of us to tell the tale!”</p> + +<p class="tb">Sunday morning at the Ranch of the Whispering Firs. +The skies, which have been humid and lowering for many +days, are once more on their good behavior. The clouds +have rolled away to the Northland, and the air and sunshine +are as balmy as in springtime.</p> + +<p>Once more there is a gathering,—this time at the +combined schoolhouse and meeting-house; and Jean +Ranger, handsomely attired in a well-made travelling +suit of gray, with hat to match,—the handiwork of +her stepmother and the Little Doctor,—is superintending +for the last time (at least the last till after her return +from abroad) her beloved Sunday-school. The +tidings of the bridegroom’s arrival had spread from +house to house, and everybody within a radius of a +dozen miles had appeared upon the scene. The children +of the district had decorated the room profusely +with wild flowers, ferns, and evergreens.</p> + +<p>Jean, in surrendering her school to the pastor, made a +felicitous speech, exhorting her pupils to continue in the +ways of well-doing. Then, bidding them a loving and +hopeful good-bye, she formally resigned her post, and the +Reverend Thomas Rogers assumed control.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_310"></a>[310]</span></p> + +<p>At a given signal from Captain Ranger, a tall and +handsome young Englishman, whose youthful face contrasted +strangely with his snowy hair, stepped proudly +down the aisle, where he was joined by his radiant bride, +leaning on the arm of her father; and the preacher pronounced +the words that legalized a union made in heaven. +The tears that rose unbidden to the eyes of bronzed and +bearded men and toilworn, plainly attired women were +tears of joy and peace, good-will and gladness.</p> + +<p>A bountiful basket-dinner, contributed, as by a common +impulse, from the home of almost every family in +the district, was served within the building.</p> + +<p>“We leave to-morrow, by steamer from Portland, +going by way of San Francisco, Acapulco, and the +Isthmus, up the Atlantic coast to New York,” said the +happy bridegroom, in his post-prandial speech, “whence +we shall sail for Liverpool. I shall take my wife to +London to visit my mother. Then, on our return to +Oregon (for we will make this neighborhood of the +Ranch of the Whispering Firs our permanent home), +we shall stop over at Washington to see her sisters,—Mrs. +Buckingham and Marjorie; and after that we can +visit the home of her childhood.”</p> + +<p>“But I prefer going first to the home of my grandparents, +dearest,” said the bride. “We can get there +easily by the way of the Gulf of Mexico and the Mississippi +River and the Illinois, if we’ll be on hand before +the rivers are frozen over. We can then go on to Washington, +and to England afterwards. Don’t you think this +will be the more economical, convenient, and reasonable +plan?”</p> + +<p>“As this journey is to be in your honor, it shall be as +you say, my bonnie Jean.”</p> + +<p>The bride blushed and beamed bewitchingly, while the +crowd laughed and applauded, and her husband bowed +and smiled in approval.</p> + +<p>All eyes then turned upon the father, who took the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_311"></a>[311]</span> +happy and exultant bridegroom by the hand and said +in a voice tremulous with emotion: “Ashton Ashleigh, +my son through marriage, you have taken to yourself +the priceless jewel that I once fondly thought was mine! +Value not lightly the radiant gem of womanhood you +guard!” Then to the bride he said, embracing her tenderly, +while the eyes of the multitude filled afresh with +tears: “Beloved daughter of thy sainted mother, go thy +way with the husband of thy choice. But do not forget +to hold thyself always as his equal before God and man. +Then shalt thou be his best counsellor, his real helpmate, +and his wisest friend.” To both he added, as he folded +their clasped hands between his own broad palms: “Keep +step together, my children; and, whether your way shall +lead you up the mountain-sides of difficulty, or through +the quagmires of sorrow, or into the glad valleys of happiness +and peace, always march side by side, in time and +tune to the eternal harmonies of religion, liberty, equality, +justice, and progression.”</p> + +<p>And here, patient reader, with Life before them, and +Love leading the way, these chronicles shall bid adieu to +the happy pair while they take temporary leave of the +remnant of the Ranger household and the Ranch of the +Whispering Firs.</p> + +<p class="titlepage">THE END</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="footnotes"> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="FOOTNOTES">FOOTNOTES</h2> + +</div> + +<div class="footnote"> + +<p><a id="Footnote_1" href="#FNanchor_1" class="label">[1]</a> The writer has not been able to trace the date or origin of these +stanzas. She learned them in her childhood of a Scotchwoman who +recited them on a winter evening in her chimney corner, and who has +long been dead. She herself has often recited the whole ballad at +weddings within the past fifty years.</p> + +</div> + +<div class="footnote"> + +<p><a id="Footnote_2" href="#FNanchor_2" class="label">[2]</a> Since called the Ogden Gateway.</p> + +</div> + +</div> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="adbox"> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="BOOKS_RELATING_TO">BOOKS RELATING TO<br> +THE NORTHWEST</h2> + +</div> + +<ul> +<li>THE JOURNALS OF LEWIS AND CLARK</li> +<li>GASS’S JOURNAL OF THE LEWIS AND CLARK EXPEDITION</li> +<li>THE CONQUEST</li> +<li>THE BRIDGE OF THE GODS</li> +<li>McLOUGHLIN AND OLD OREGON</li> +<li>LETTERS FROM AN OREGON RANCH</li> +<li>FROM THE WEST TO THE WEST</li> +<li>A SHORT HISTORY OF OREGON</li> +</ul> + +</div> + +<p class="right smaller">(OVER)</p> + +<p>These books are for sale by all booksellers, or will be +sent by the publishers on receipt of price. An extra +for postage will be made on “net” books.</p> + +<p class="center">A. C. McCLURG & CO., PUBLISHERS, CHICAGO</p> + +<div class="ads"> + +<h3>The Conquest</h3> + +<p class="author">By <span class="smcap">Eva Emery Dye</span>. Being the True Story of Lewis +and Clark. Third Edition, with frontispiece in full color +by Charlotte Weber. 12mo, gilt top, 504 pages. $1.50.</p> + +<p>No book published in recent years has more of tremendous import between +its covers, and certainly no recent novel has in it more of the +elements of a permanent success. A historical romance which tells with +accuracy and inspiring style of the bravery of the pioneers in winning +the western continent, should have a lasting place in the esteem of every +American.</p> + +<div class="reviews"> + +<p>“No one who wishes to know the true story of the conquest of the greater part of this +great nation can afford to pass by this book.”—<i>Cleveland Leader.</i></p> + +<p>“A vivid picture of the Indian wars preceding the Louisiana purchase, of the expedition +of Lewis and Clark, and of events following the occupation of Oregon.”—<i>The +Congregationalist.</i></p> + +<p>“It may not be the great American novel we have been waiting for so long, but it +certainly looks as though it would be very near it.”—<i>Rochester Times.</i></p> + +<p>“The characters that are assembled in ‘The Conquest’ belong to the history of the United +States, their story is a national epic.”—<i>Detroit Free Press.</i></p> + +</div> + +<h3>McLoughlin and Old Oregon</h3> + +<p class="author">By <span class="smcap">Eva Emery Dye</span>. A Chronicle. Fifth Edition. +12mo, 381 pages. $1.50.</p> + +<p>This is a most graphic and interesting chronicle of the movement which +added to the United States that vast territory, previously a British possession, +of which Oregon formed a part, and how Dr. John McLoughlin, then +chief factor of the Hudson’s Bay Company for the Northwest, by his fatherly +interest in the settlers, displeased the Hudson’s Bay Company and aided in +bringing this about. The author has gathered her facts at first hand, and as +a result the work is vivid and picturesque and reads like a romance.</p> + +<div class="reviews"> + +<p>“A spirited narrative of what life in the wilderness meant in the early days, a record of +heroism, self-sacrifice, and dogged persistence; a graphic page of the story of the American +pioneer.”—<i>New York Mail.</i></p> + +</div> + +<h3>The Bridge of the Gods</h3> + +<p class="author">By <span class="smcap">F. H. Balch</span>. A Romance of Indian Oregon. +New (seventh) Edition, enlarged size. With eight full-page +illustrations by Laurens Maynard Dixon. Cloth, +12mo, 280 pages, gilt top. $1.50. Paper edition, without +illustrations. 50 cents.</p> + +<p>Encouraged by the steady demand for this powerful story, since its +publication twelve years ago, the publishers felt justified in issuing this +attractive illustrated edition. The book has fairly earned its lasting popularity, +not only by the intense interest of the story, but by its faithful +delineation of Indian character. From the legends of the Columbia River +and the mystical “bridge of the gods,” the author has derived a truthful and +realistic picture of the powerful tribes that inhabited the Oregon country two +centuries ago.</p> + +<div class="reviews"> + +<p>The <i>Syracuse Herald</i> calls the author of “The Bridge of the Gods” “the best writer of +Indian romance since the days of Fenimore Cooper.”</p> + +</div> + +<h3>A Short History of Oregon</h3> + +<p class="author">By <span class="smcap">Sidona V. Johnson</span>. With seventeen illustrations +from photographs, and a map of the Lewis and Clark +route. 16mo, 320 pages, indexed. $1.00 <i>net</i>.</p> + +<div class="reviews"> + +<p><span class="smcap">From HENRY E. DOSCH</span>, <i>Director of Exhibits at Lewis and Clark Exposition at +Portland</i>.</p> + +<p>“Every home in Oregon might well welcome this condensed, readable ‘History of +Oregon,’ and, most important of all, the school children of the State are entitled to an opportunity +to study it, to the end that the history of the State and the great and memorable achievement +of Lewis and Clark may be intelligently understood and appreciated by every man, +woman, and child in Oregon before the opening of the Lewis and Clark Centennial +Exposition.”</p> + +</div> + +<h3>Letters from an Oregon Ranch</h3> + +<p class="author">By “<span class="smcap">Katharine</span>.” With twelve full-page illustrations +from photographs. Square 8vo. $1.25 <i>net</i>.</p> + +<p>The hours of delight, as well as those of trial, which fall to the lot of +“Katharine,” in creating a home out of the raw materials of nature, are +chronicled with naïve humor, and in a vein of hearty optimism which will +make a universal appeal. This year the eyes of the entire country are +on Oregon, and it is expected that a book of this kind, giving such an +illuminating idea of the country, will be of great interest. The photographs +which illustrate the volume are of remarkable beauty.</p> + +<h3>From the West to the West<br> +<span class="smaller">Across the Plains to Oregon</span></h3> + +<p class="author">By <span class="smcap">Abigail Scott Duniway</span>. With frontispiece in +color. 12mo. $1.50.</p> + +<p>A chronicle and remarkable picture of a group of pioneers in their +journeyings across the plains and their subsequent settling in Oregon. The +characters are of the distinctive class of Western emigrant of fifty years ago, +resourceful, independent, and progressive, and in their conversation and experiences +give a vivid account of a phase of American social life that has +passed, as well as foreshadowing the active and productive period that was +to follow. Though a faithful account of an actual journey, the book is in +the form of fiction, and brings the course of several romances to a successful +end.</p> + +<h3>The Journals of Captains Lewis and Clark, +1804-5-6 <span class="smaller">(McClurg Library Reprints of Americana)</span></h3> + +<p class="author">Reprinted from the Edition of 1814. With an Introduction +by <span class="smcap">James K. Hosmer</span>, LL.D., an analytical Index, +and photogravure portraits and maps. In two volumes, +boxed, 1,083 pages, gilt top. $5.00 <i>net</i>. Large-paper +edition, on Brown’s hand-made paper, illustrations on +Japan vellum, limited to 150 copies, boxed. $18.00 +<i>net</i>.</p> + +<div class="reviews"> + +<p>“The republication of the complete narrative is both timely and invaluable.... Dr. +Hosmer is well known as an authority on Western history; hence to see his name on the title-page +is to know that the work has been well done.”—<i>Portland Oregonian.</i></p> + +<p>“The celebrated story of the expedition of Lewis and Clark has now been put in an +easily accessible form.”—<i>N. Y. Times Saturday Review.</i></p> + +<p>“Of the several new editions of this valuable narrative, this is by far the best and most +complete.”—<i>Minneapolis Journal.</i></p> + +<p>“We have nothing but praise for this clear and handsome reprint.”—<i>The Nation.</i></p> + +</div> + +<h3>Gass’s Journal of the Lewis and Clark +Expedition <span class="smaller">(McClurg Library Reprints of Americana)</span></h3> + +<p class="author">Reprinted from the Edition of 1811. With an Introduction +by <span class="smcap">Dr. James K. Hosmer</span>, an analytical Index, +facsimiles of the original illustrations, and a rare portrait +of Patrick Gass. In one square octavo volume, boxed, +350 pages, gilt top. $3.50 <i>net</i>. Large-paper edition, +on Brown’s hand-made paper, illustrations on Japan +paper, limited to 75 copies, boxed. $9.00 <i>net</i>.</p> + +<p>The appearance of this volume in the period of Lewis and Clark celebrations +is especially pertinent, as no practical library edition has been available +of the “Journal of Patrick Gass.” His narrative was for seven years the +only source from which any authentic knowledge of the great enterprise +could be obtained. When at last the work based on the diaries of the +Captains was given to the world, the earlier book, so far from being set +aside, was found to be most important as confirming and supplementing +what had been set down by the leaders, and, in fact, has not ceased to be +held in high estimation up to the present moment.</p> + +<div class="reviews"> + +<p>“Several picturesque details Dr. Hosmer mentions (in the ‘Introduction’) which had +eluded the argus eyes of Coues through a lifetime of waiting and watching. Whatever he +learns he sets forth with a vivacity which keeps our attention expectant and appetite growing +by what it feeds on.”—<i>New York Evening Post.</i></p> + +<p>“It restores Gass’s Journal to a common use. The portrait of Gass, which serves as a +frontispiece, is a distinct addition.”—<i>American Historical Review.</i></p> + +<p>“No edition of Lewis and Clark is complete unless accompanied by the Journal of +Patrick Gass. The work has been well edited, and the mechanics are of a superior character.”—<i>Baltimore +Sun.</i></p> + +</div> + +</div> + +<div style='text-align:center'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 75131 ***</div> +</body> +</html> + diff --git a/75131-h/images/cover.jpg b/75131-h/images/cover.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..975c34d --- /dev/null +++ b/75131-h/images/cover.jpg diff --git a/75131-h/images/frontispiece.jpg b/75131-h/images/frontispiece.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..cd7fdbd --- /dev/null +++ b/75131-h/images/frontispiece.jpg diff --git a/75131-h/images/mcclurg.jpg b/75131-h/images/mcclurg.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..bcfa6e1 --- /dev/null +++ b/75131-h/images/mcclurg.jpg diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..9fe44be --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #75131 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/75131) |
