THE NEW COMERS.
"Yes, colonel," briskly replied Clarence, "I am really going out to the
frontier! I have not enlisted in the army, nor have I received any
appointment as post trader or Indian agent from the government, nor
missionary or schoolmaster from any Christian association. But, all the
same, I am en route for the wilderness on my own responsibility, by my
own conveyance, at my own expense, and with this outgoing trail--if
there be no objection," added Clarence, with a sudden obscure doubt
arising in his mind that there might exist some military regulation
against the attachment of any outsider to the trail of army wagons going
over the plains from fort to fort.
"'Objections!' What objections could there possibly be, my dear sir? I
fancy there could be nothing worse than a warm welcome for you," replied
the colonel.
At that moment Captain Neville, who had put his wife in their carryall,
came up to see what had delayed his guest.
"My dear Mrs. Rothsay, we are ready to start," he said. Then seeing Mr.
Clarence, whom he had met in Washington and liked very much, he seized
his hand and exclaimed:
"Why, Rockharrt, my dear fellow! You here! This is a surprise, indeed! I
am very glad to see you! How are you? When did you arrive?" and he shook
the hand of the new comer as if he would have shaken it off.
"I am very well, thank you, captain, and have just landed from the boat.
I hope you and your wife are quite well."
"Robust, sir! Robust! So glad to see you! But so sorry you did not
arrive a few days sooner, so that we might have seen more of you. You
have come, I suppose, all this distance to bid a last, supplementary
farewell to your dear favorite niece?"
"I have come to go with her to the frontier, if I may have the privilege
of traveling with your trail of wagons."
"Why, assuredly. We are always glad of good company on the way,"
heartily responded the captain.
"Oh, beg pardon, and thank you very much; but I did not intend to 'beat'
my way. Look there!" exclaimed Clarence, with a brighter smile, as he
pointed to the commodious carriage, drawn by a pair of fine draught
horses, that stood waiting for him, and to the covered wagon, drawn by a
pair of stout mules, that was coming up behind.
"Oh! Ah! Yes, I see! You are traveling with your retinue. But is not
this a very sudden move on your part?" demanded the captain.
"So sudden in its impulse that it might be mistaken for the flight of a
criminal, had it not been so deliberate in its execution. The fact is,
sir, I am very much attached to my widowed niece, and not being able to
dissuade her from her purpose of going out into the Indian country, and
being her natural protector and an unincumbered bachelor, I decided to
follow her. And now I feel very happy to have overtaken her in the nick
of time."
"I see! I see!" said the captain with a laugh.
While this talk was still going on, Corona turned to take a better look
at the great, strong carriage in which her uncle had driven up from the
steamboat landing. There, to her surprise and delight, she saw young
Mark, from Rockhold, seated on the box. He was staring at her, trying to
catch her eye, and when he did so he grinned and bobbed, and bobbed and
grinned, half a dozen times, in as many half seconds.
"Why, Mark! I am so surprised!" said Corona, as she went toward him. "I
am so glad to see you!"
"Yes'm. Thanky'm. So is I. Yes'm, an'dar's mammy an' daddy an' Sister
Phebe 'hind dar in de wagon," jerking his head toward the rear.
Corona looked, and her heart leaped with joy to see the dear, familiar
faces of the colored servants who had been about her from her childhood.
For there on the front seat of the wagon sat old John, from Rockhold,
with the reins in his hands, drawing up the team of mules, while on one
side of him sat his middle-aged wife, Martha, the housekeeper, and on
the other his young daughter, Phebe, once lady's maid to Corona Rothsay.
Corona uttered a little cry of joy as she hastened toward the wagon. The
three colored people saw her at once, and, with the unconventionally of
their old servitude, shouted out in chorus:
"How do, Miss C'rona?"
"Sarvint, Miss C'rona!"
"Didn't 'spect to see we dem come trapesin' arter yer 'way out yere,
did yer now?"
And they also grinned and bobbed, and bobbed and grinned, between every
word, as they tumbled off their seats and ran to meet her.
Mr. Clarence hoisted the two women to their seats, one on each side of
the driver, and then turned to Corona.
"Come, my dear. Let me put you into our carriage," he said, as he drew
her arm within his own and led her on.
"Oh! I have not taken leave of Colonel ---- yet.
"Where is he?" she inquired, looking around.
"Here I am, my dear Mrs. Rothsay. Waiting at the carriage door to put
you in your seat and to wish you a pleasant journey. And certainly, if
this initial day is any index, you will have a pleasant one, for I never
saw finer weather at this season of the year," said the colonel,
cheerily, as he received Corona from her uncle's hand, and, with the
stately courtesy of the olden time, placed her in her seat.
"I thank you, colonel, for all the kindness I have received at your
hands and at those of Mrs. ----. I shall never forget it. Good by," said
Corona, giving him her hand.
He lifted the tips of her fingers to his lips, bowed, and stepped back.
Mr. Clarence entered the carriage and gave the order to the young
coachman. Carriage and covered wagon then fell into the procession,
which began to move on. A farewell gun was fired from the fort.
"Uncle Clarence," said Corona, after the party had been on the road some
hours--"Uncle Clarence, how came you first to think of such a strange
move as to leave the works and come out here? And when did you first
make up your mind to do it?"
"I think, Cora, my dear, that the idea came vaguely into my mind, as a
mere possibility, after my father's death. It occurred to me that there
was no absolute necessity for my remaining longer at the works. You see,
Cora, however much I might have wished for a change in my life, I never
could have vexed my father by even expressing such a wish, while he
lived. After his death I thought of it vaguely."
"Oh! why didn't you tell me?"
"My mind was not made up; therefore I spoke of the matter to no one. I
only hinted something to you, when on bidding you good by at North End
Junction I told you that you might possibly see me before you would
expect to do so."
"Yes; I remember that well. I thought you only said that to comfort me.
And you really meant that you might possibly follow me?"
"Yes, my dear; that is just what I meant. I could not speak more plainly
because I was not sure of my own course. I had to think of Fabian."
"Yes. How, at last, came you to the conclusion of following your poor
niece?"
"Fabian and myself could not agree upon a certain policy in conducting
our business. There was no longer the father's controlling influence,
you see, and Fabian is the head of the firm; and I could not do business
on his principles," said Mr. Clarence, flushing up to his brow.
"No; I suppose you could not," said Cora, meditatively; and then she was
sorry that she had said anything that might imply a reproach to the
good-humored uncle she had left behind.
"Still, I said nothing about a dissolution of partnership until Fabian
complained that I, or my policy, was a dead weight around his neck,
dragging him down from the most magnificent flights to mere sordid
drudgery. Then I proposed that we should dissolve partnership. And he
said he was sorry. And I believe he was; but also glad, inconsistent as
that seems. For he was sorry I could not come into his policy, and stay
in the firm; but since I could not so agree with him, he was relieved
when I proposed to withdraw from it. We disagreed, my dear Cora, but we
did not fall out; we parted good friends and brothers with tears in our
eyes. Poor little Violet cried a good deal. But you know she has such a
tender heart, poor child!--Look at that herd of deer, Cora, standing on
the top of that swell of the land to the right, and actually gazing at
the trail without a motion or a panic. I hope nobody will shoot at
them!" exclaimed Mr. Clarence, suddenly breaking off in his discourse to
point to the denizens of the thicket and the prairie, until upon some
sudden impulse the whole herd turned and bounded away.
So they fared on through that glorious autumn day--over the vast,
rolling, solitary prairie--now rising to a smooth, gradual elevation
that revealed the circle of the whole horizon where it met the sky; now
descending into a wide, shallow hollow, where the rising ground around
inclosed them as in an amphitheater; but everywhere along the trail, the
prairie grass, dried and burnished by the autumn's suns and winds,
burned like gold on the hills and bronze in the hollows, giving a
singularly beautiful effect in light and shade of mingling metallic
hues.
At noon the captain ordered a halt, and all the teams were drawn up in a
line; and all the men got out to feed and water the horses and mules,
and to prepare their own dinner.
They were now beside a clear, deep, narrow stream, a tributary of the
Kansas River, running through a picturesque valley, carpeted with long
grass, and bordered with low, well-wooded hills on either side. The
burnished gold and bronze of the long dried grass on the river's brim,
dotted here and there with a late scarlet prairie flower, the brilliant
crimson and purple of the autumn foliage that clothed the trees, the
bright blue of the sky and the soft white of the few downy clouds
floating overhead, and all reflected and duplicated in the river below,
made a beauty and glory of color that must have delighted the soul of an
artist, and pleased the eye of even the most careless observer.
Mike O'Reilly, the captain's orderly, was busy spreading a table cloth
on the grass, at the foot of a hill on the right, and old John, Mr.
Clarence's man, was emulating Mike by spreading a four-yard square of
white damask at a short distance behind him.
Our friends had nearly finished their lunch, when something--she never
could tell what--caused Corona to look behind her. Then she shrieked!
All looked to see the cause of her sudden fright.
There stood a group of Indians, with blankets around their forms, and
gleaming tomahawks about their shoulders.
"Pawnees--friendly. Don't be afraid. Give them something to eat," said
the captain, in a low tone, addressing the first part of his
conversation to Corona and the last part to Mrs. Neville.
But Corona had never seen an Indian in her life, and could not at once
get over her panic caused by the sight of those bare, keen-edged axes
gleaming in the sun.
Captain Neville spoke to them in their native tongue, and they replied.
The conversation that ensued was quite unintelligible to Clarence and
Corona, but not to Mrs. Neville, who beckoned to two squaws who stood
humbly in the rear of the braves. They were both clothed in short,
rude, blue cotton skirts, with blankets over their shoulders. The elder
squaw carried a pack on her back; the younger one carried a baby snugly
in a hood made of the loop of her blanket at the back of her neck.
They both approached the ladies, chattering as they came; the elder one
threw down her pack on the grass and began to open it, and display a
number of dressed raccoon skins stretched upon sticks, and by gibbering
and gesticulations expressed her wish to sell them.
Neither of the ladies wished to buy; but Mrs. Neville give her loaves of
bread and junks of dried beef from the hampers on the grass, and Corona
gave her money.
She put the money in a little fur pouch she carried at her belt, and she
packed the bread and beef in the bundle with the highly flavored raccoon
skins. She was not fastidious.
While Mrs. Neville and Corona were occupied with the squaw, Captain
Neville and Mr. Clarence had been feasting the braves, and the
attendants had been washing dishes, repacking hampers, and reloading
wagons for a fresh start.
When all was ready the wayfarers took leave of the Indians and
re-entered their conveyances and resumed their route, leaving the
savages still feasting on the fragments that remained.
It was now two o'clock in the afternoon, as the long trail of carryalls
and army wagons passed up from the beautiful valley and out upon the
vast prairie that still rolled on before them in hills and hollows of
gold and bronze, blazing under the bright autumnal sun.
Men and women, mules and horses, had all been rested and refreshed by
their mid-day halt and repast.
The people, however, seemed less inclined to observe and converse than
in the forenoon.
Even Clarence saw more than one flock of birds sail over their heads,
and made no sign; saw a herd of deer stand and gaze, and said not a
word.
At length Clarence took out his cigar and lit it, and as he smoked he
watched the descending sun until it sank below the horizon and sent up
the most singular after-glow that Clarence had ever seen--a shower of
sparks and needle-like flames from the edge of the prairie immediately
under the horizon.
"Looks like de worl' was ketchin on fire ober dere, Marse Clarence,"
said young Mark, speaking for the first time since they had resumed
their march.
"It is only the light reflected by the prairie, my boy," kindly replied
Mr. Clarence. And then he smoked on in silence, while the after-glow
died out, the twilight faded, and one by one the stars came out. Corona
seemed to be slumbering in her seat. Young Mark crooned low, as if to
himself, a weird, old camp meeting hymn. It was so dark that he could
not have seen to guide his horses, had not the captain's carryall been
immediately in front of his own, and the long trail of wagons in front
of the captain's, with lantern carried by the advance guard to show the
way.
"What's the matter?" suddenly called out Mr. Clarence, who was aroused
from his reverie by the halt of the whole procession.
"We 'pears to got sumwhurze," replied Mark, strongly pulling in his
horses, which had nearly run into the back of the captain's stationary
carryall in front.
"We are at Burley's," called out Captain Neville from his seat.
While he spoke Mike O'Reilly brought up a lantern to show their way to
the house.
Clarence alighted and handed down his niece, took her arm, and followed
Captain and Mrs. Neville past the wagons and mules and groups of men
through a door that admitted them into a long, low-ceiled room, lighted
by tallow candles in tin sconces along the log walls, and warmed by a
large cooking stove in the middle of the floor. Rude, unpainted wooden
chairs, benches and tables were the only furniture, if we except the
rough shelves on which coarse crockery and tinware were arranged and
under which iron cooking utensils were piled.
Captain Neville and Mr. Clarence returned to the wagons to see for
themselves that their valuable personal effects were safely bestowed for
the night, and that the horses and mules were well cared for. The
proprietor of this place attended them.
While Mrs. Neville and Corona still walked up and down in the room, a
small dark-haired woman came in and nodded to them, and asked if they
would like to go upstairs and have some water to wash their faces.
Both ladies thankfully accepted this offer, and followed the landlady up
a rude flight of steps that led up from the corner of the room to an
open trap door, through which they entered the garret.
This was nothing better than a loft, whose rough plank floor formed the
ceiling of the room below, and whose sloping roof rose from the floor
front and back, and met overhead.
Here they rested through the night.
Let us hasten on. It was the thirteenth day out. The trail had crossed
nearly the whole of the Indian Territory, and were within one day's
march of Fort Farthermost, on the Texan frontier.
They had passed the previous night at Fort W., and at sunrise they had
crossed the Rio Negro, and before noon they had made nearly a score of
miles toward their destination. They halted beside a little stream that
took its rise in a spring among the rocks on the right hand of the
trail. Here the party meant to rest for two hours before resuming the
march to Fort Farthermost, which they hoped to reach that same night.
As usual at the noon rest, mules and horses were unharnessed and led
down to the stream to be watered and fed. Fires were built and rustic
cranes improvised to hang the pots and kettles gypsy style. Since the
first day out old Martha had been constituted cook and old John butler
to our party.
In a short time Martha had prepared such a hot dinner as was practicable
under the circumstances, and John had laid the cloth.
When all was ready the party of four sat down on the dry grass to
partake of the meal, to every course of which they all did ample
justice.
"This is our last _al fresco_ feast," said Captain Neville, after
dinner, as he filled the glasses of the two ladies and of Clarence
Rockharrt and proposed the toast:
"Our lasting friendship and companionship."
It was honored warmly.
Next Clarence proposed:
"Mrs. Neville," which was also honored and responded to by the captain
in a neat little speech, at the end of which he proposed:
"Mrs. Rothsay."
This was duly met by Clarence with a brief acknowledgment. Mr. Clarence
was no speechmaker. But he proposed the health of--
"Our gallant captain," which was drank with enthusiasm.
The captain responded, and proposed--
"Mr. Clarence Rockharrt," which was cordially honored.
Then Mr. Clarence made his last little speech of personal thanks.
After this the company arose and separated, to wander about the camping
ground, to stretch their cramped limbs before returning to their seats
on their carryalls.
"Come, Clarence, let us follow this little stream up to its head. It
cannot be far away," said Corona.
Mr. Clarence silently drew her arm within his, and they walked on up the
little valley until it narrowed into a gorge, clothed with stunted trees
in brilliant autumn hues, through which the gray rocks jutted. The
tinkling of the spring which supplied the stream could be heard while it
was yet out of sight.
"Did you bring your drinking cup with you, Clarence? I should like a
draught from the spring," said Corona.
"Oh, yes," said her uncle, producing the silver cup. They clambered up
the side of the gorge until they reached the spring--a great jet of
water issuing from the rock. But there both stopped short, spellbound,
in amazement. On a ledge of rock above the spring, and facing them,
stood a majestic man, clothed in coat of buckskin, faced and bordered
with fur, leggings of buckskin and sandals of buffalo hide. On his head
he wore a fur cap that half concealed his tawny hair. The face was fine,
but sunburnt and half covered with a long, tawny beard. Corona looked
up, and recognized--Regulas Rothsay!
With a cry of terror, she struck her hands to her eyes, as if to dispel
an optical illusion, and sank half fainting, to be caught in the arms of
her uncle and laid against the side of the rocks, while he sprinkled her
face with water from the spring.
She recovered her breath, opened her eyes, and looked anxiously,
fearfully, all around her.
There was no one in sight anywhere. The apparition had vanished. Corona
and her uncle were alone.