THE SOLITARY CABIN.
When they rose the next morning, all looked serious. Each felt that the
crisis had come. All eyes were turned upon poor old Dobbin, who,
unconscious of his danger, was browsing near the camp.
“Grant,” said Tom suddenly, “let us give Dobbin a small lease of life.”
“Will it do any good, Tom?”
“I don’t know; but this is what I propose: let us each take a rifle and
go in different directions. We may find a deer or antelope to serve as a
substitute for Dobbin, or something else may turn up.”
“Very well, Tom.”
So the two started out.
Chance directed Grant’s steps into a sheltered valley. Coarse grass
covered the ground, which seemed luxurious when compared with the white
alkali plains over which they had been travelling.
Grant kept on his way, taking pains not to lose his bearings, for he did
not care to stray from the party, and it was quite possible to get lost.
There was no evidence of human habitation. So far as appearances went,
this oasis might have come fresh from the creative hand, and never
fallen under the eye of man. But appearances are deceptive.
Turning a sharp corner, Grant was amazed to find before him a veritable
log cabin. It was small, only about twelve feet square, and had
evidently at some time been inhabited.
Curious to learn more of this solitary dwelling, Grant entered through
the open door. Again he was surprised to find it comfortably furnished.
On the rough floor was a Turkish rug. In one corner stood a bedstead,
covered with bedding. There were two chairs and a settee. In fact, it
was better furnished than Robinson Crusoe’s dwelling in his solitary
island.
Grant entered and sat down on a chair.
“What does it all mean, I wonder?” he asked himself. “Does anybody live
here, or when did the last tenant give up possession? Was it because he
could not pay his rent?” and he laughed at the idea.
As Grant leaned back in his chair and asked himself these questions, his
quick ear caught the sound of some one approaching. He looked up, and
directly the doorway was darkened by the entrance of a tall man, who in
turn gazed at Grant in surprise.
“Ah!” he said, after a brief pause, “I was not expecting a visitor this
morning. How long have you been here?”
“Not five minutes. Do you live here?”
“For the present. You, I take it, are crossing the plains?”
“Yes.”
“Not alone, surely?”
“No; my party are perhaps a mile away.”
“Then you are on an exploring expedition?”
“Yes, sir,” answered Grant gravely; “on a very serious exploring
expedition.”
“How is that?”
“We are all out of food. There isn’t a crumb left, and starvation stares
us in the face.”
“Ha! Did you expect to find food anywhere about here? Was this your
object?”
“I don’t know. It was a desperate step to take. I have a rifle with me.
I thought it possible I might come across a deer that would tide us over
for a few days.”
“How large is your party?”
“There are only four of us.”
“All males?”
“Except one. Mr. and Mrs. Cooper, and their son Tom, a young man, and
myself constitute the party.”
“Whence did you come?”
“From Iowa.”
“I venture to say you have found what you did not expect.”
“Yes; I never dreamed of finding a man or a human habitation in this
out-of-the-way spot.”
“And yet the time may come within twenty-five years when there may be a
village in this very spot.”
“I wish it were here now,” sighed Grant. “And if there was one, I wish
there might be a restaurant or a baker’s shop handy.”
“I can’t promise you that, but what is more important, I can supply you
with provisions.”
As he spoke, he walked to one corner of the dwelling and opened a door,
which had not thus far attracted Grant’s attention. There was revealed a
small closet. Inside was a cask, which, as Grant could see, was full of
crackers, another contained flour, and on a shelf was a large piece of
deer meat, which had been cooked, and appealed powerfully to Grant’s
appetite, which for four days had been growing, and now was clamoring to
be satisfied.
Grant sighed, and over his face came a look of longing.
“Shut the door, quick,” he said, “or I may be tempted to take what does
not belong to me.”
“My dear boy,” said the stranger, and over his rugged features came a
smile that lighted them up wonderfully; “it is yours. Help yourself.”
Grant took a cracker and ate it quickly. Then he took a knife that lay
beside the meat and cut off a slice, which he likewise disposed of. Then
he remembered himself.
“I am selfish,” he said. “I am satisfying my appetite, while my poor
friends are suffering from hunger.”
“Bring them with you. They shall breakfast with me. Or stay. I will go
with you and invite them myself.”
Grant left the cabin with his new friend. As he walked by his side he
surveyed him with curiosity and interest. He was a tall man—six feet
two, at the least, and he walked with a long stride, which he moderated
when he found Grant had trouble to keep up with him. He was dressed in a
gray mixed suit, and on his head he wore a soft hat. Despite his
appearance and surroundings, Grant was led to think that he had passed a
part of his life at least in a city.
“I see a question in your face,” said the unknown. “You wonder how it
happens that I am living alone in this wilderness. Is it not so?”
“Yes, sir; I could not help wondering.”
“I have been here but a month. I am one of an overland party that passed
here four weeks since. In wandering about I found this cabin, and I
asked myself how it would seem to live here alone—practically out of the
world. I always liked to try experiments, and notified the party of my
intention. Indeed, I did not care to remain with them, for they were not
at all congenial. They thought me crazy; but I insisted, and remained
here with a sufficient supply of provisions to last me three months.”
“And how have you enjoyed yourself, sir?”
“Well, I can’t say I have enjoyed myself; but I have had plenty of time
to meditate. There have been disappointments in my life,” he added
gravely, “that have embittered my existence and led to a life of
solitude.”
“Do you expect to remain the entire three months?” asked Grant.
“If I had been asked that question this morning I should have
unhesitatingly answered in the affirmative. Now—I don’t know why it
is—perhaps it is the unexpected sight of a fellow being—I begin to think
that I should enjoy returning to human companionship. You cannot
understand, till you have been wholly alone for a month, how pleasant it
seems to exchange speech with another.”
This remark gave Grant a hint.
“Why not join our party?” he said. “There are but four of us. You would
make the fifth. We are going to the mines, if we ever get through this
wilderness.”
“Tell me something of your companions.”
“Mr. Cooper is a blacksmith. He has lived all his life in Iowa, and is a
good man. His wife is with him, and his son Tom, who is a fine, manly
young fellow of twenty-one or two.”
“Very well. Now I have been introduced to _them_, tell me about
yourself. Are they relatives of yours?”
“No, they are not related to me.”
“But you have relatives, have you not?”
“I have a mother.”
“I see, and you wish to make money for her. Is she solely dependent on
you?”
“No; she is married again. I have a step-father.”
“Whom you do not like?”
“What makes you think so?”
“I read it in your face.”
“No, I don’t like Mr. Tarbox. He is a mean, penurious farmer, a good
deal older than mother. She married him for a home, but she made a
mistake. She is merely a house-keeper without wages. She would be better
off by herself, with me to work for her.”
“Has she any money at all?”
“About two hundred dollars. Mr. Tarbox has tried to get possession of
it, but without success.”
“You look well dressed.”
“I bought and paid for the suit myself. I saved a railroad train from
destruction, and the passengers made up a collection of over a hundred
and fifty dollars for me. I bought this suit, and with the balance of
the money I am paying for my trip to California.”
By this time they had come in sight of the camp. Tom had already
returned, evidently without luck, and was only waiting for Grant to
appear to sacrifice poor old Dobbin on the altar of hunger.