A REMINISCENT NIGHT
On the ninth morning we made our second start from the Indian Lakes.
An amusing incident occurred during the last night of our camp at
these water holes. Coyotes had been hanging around our camp for
several days, and during the quiet hours of the night these scavengers
of the plain had often ventured in near the wagon in search of scraps
of meat or anything edible. Rod Wheat and Ash Borrowstone had made
their beds down some distance from the wagon; the coyotes as they
circled round the camp came near their bed, and in sniffing about
awoke Borrowstone. There was no more danger of attack from these
cowards than from field mice, but their presence annoyed Ash, and as
he dared not shoot, he threw his boots at the varmints. Imagine his
chagrin the next morning to find that one boot had landed among the
banked embers of the camp-fire, and was burned to a crisp. It was
looked upon as a capital joke by the outfit, as there was no telling
when we would reach a store where he could secure another pair.
The new trail, after bearing to the westward for several days, turned
northward, paralleling the old one, and a week later we came into the
old trail over a hundred miles north of the Indian Lakes. With the
exception of one thirty-mile drive without water, no fault could be
found with the new trail. A few days after coming into the old trail,
we passed Mason, a point where trail herds usually put in for
supplies. As we passed during the middle of the afternoon, the wagon
and a number of the boys went into the burg. Quince Forrest and Billy
Honeyman were the only two in the outfit for whom there were any
letters, with the exception of a letter from Lovell, which was common
property. Never having been over the trail before, and not even
knowing that it was possible to hear from home, I wasn’t expecting any
letter; but I felt a little twinge of homesickness that night when
Honeyman read us certain portions of his letter, which was from his
sister. Forrest’s letter was from a sweetheart, and after reading it a
few times, he burnt it, and that was all we ever knew of its contents,
for he was too foxy to say anything, even if it had not been
unfavorable. Borrowstone swaggered around camp that evening in a new
pair of boots, which had the Lone Star set in filigree-work in their
red tops.
At our last camp at the lakes, The Rebel and I, as partners, had been
shamefully beaten in a game of seven-up by Bull Durham and John
Officer, and had demanded satisfaction in another trial around the
fire that night. We borrowed McCann’s lantern, and by the aid of it
and the camp-fire had an abundance of light for our game. In the
absence of a table, we unrolled a bed and sat down Indian fashion over
a game of cards in which all friendship ceased.
The outfit, with the exception of myself, had come from the same
neighborhood, and an item in Honeyman’s letter causing considerable
comment was a wedding which had occurred since the outfit had left. It
seemed that a number of the boys had sparked the bride in times past,
and now that she was married, their minds naturally became reminiscent
over old sweethearts.
“The way I make it out,” said Honeyman, in commenting on the news, “is
that the girl had met this fellow over in the next county while
visiting her cousins the year before. My sister gives it as a
horseback opinion that she’d been engaged to this fellow nearly eight
months; girls, you know, sabe each other that way. Well, it won’t
affect my appetite any if all the girls I know get married while I’m
gone.”
“You certainly have never experienced the tender passion,” said Fox
Quarternight to our horse wrangler, as he lighted his pipe with a
brand from the fire. “Now I have. That’s the reason why I sympathize
with these old beaus of the bride. Of course I was too old to stand
any show on her string, and I reckon the fellow who got her ain’t so
powerful much, except his veneering and being a stranger, which was a
big advantage. To be sure, if she took a smile to this stranger, no
other fellow could check her with a three-quarter rope and a snubbing
post. I’ve seen girls walk right by a dozen good fellows and fawn over
some scrub. My experience teaches me that when there’s a woman in it,
it’s haphazard pot luck with no telling which way the cat will hop.
You can’t play any system, and merit cuts little figure in general
results.”
“Fox,” said Durham, while Officer was shuffling the cards, “your auger
seems well oiled and working keen to-night. Suppose you give us that
little experience of yours in love affairs. It will be a treat to
those of us who have never been in love, and won’t interrupt the game
a particle. Cut loose, won’t you?”
“It’s a long time back,” said Quarternight, meditatively, “and the
scars have all healed, so I don’t mind telling it. I was born and
raised on the border of the Blue Grass Region in Kentucky. I had the
misfortune to be born of poor but honest parents, as they do in
stories; no hero ever had the advantage of me in that respect. In love
affairs, however, it’s a high card in your hand to be born rich. The
country around my old home had good schools, so we had the advantage
of a good education. When I was about nineteen, I went away from home
one winter to teach school--a little country school about fifteen
miles from home. But in the old States fifteen miles from home makes
you a dead rank stranger. The trustee of the township was shucking
corn when I went to apply for the school. I simply whipped out my peg
and helped him shuck out a shock or two while we talked over school
matters. The dinner bell rang, and he insisted on my staying for
dinner with him. Well, he gave me a better school than I had asked
for--better neighborhood, he said--and told me to board with a certain
family who had no children; he gave his reasons, but that’s
immaterial. They were friends of his, so I learned afterwards. They
proved to be fine people. The woman was one of those kindly souls who
never know where to stop. She planned and schemed to marry me off in
spite of myself. The first month that I was with them she told me all
about the girls in that immediate neighborhood. In fact, she rather
got me unduly excited, being a youth and somewhat verdant. She dwelt
powerful heavy on a girl who lived in a big brick house which stood
back of the road some distance. This girl had gone to school at a
seminary for young ladies near Lexington,--studied music and painting
and was ’way up on everything. She described her to me as black-eyed
with raven tresses, just like you read about in novels.
“Things were rocking along nicely, when a few days before Christmas a
little girl who belonged to the family who lived in the brick house
brought me a note one morning. It was an invitation to take supper
with them the following evening. The note was written in a pretty
hand, and the name signed to it--I’m satisfied now it was a forgery.
My landlady agreed with me on that point; in fact, she may have
mentioned it first. I never ought to have taken her into my confidence
like I did. But I wanted to consult her, showed her the invitation,
and asked her advice. She was in the seventh heaven of delight; had me
answer it at once, accept the invitation with pleasure and a lot of
stuff that I never used before--she had been young once herself. I
used up five or six sheets of paper in writing the answer, spoilt one
after another, and the one I did send was a flat failure compared to
the one I received. Well, the next evening when it was time to start,
I was nervous and uneasy. It was nearly dark when I reached the house,
but I wanted it that way. Say, but when I knocked on the front door of
that house it was with fear and trembling. ‘Is this Mr. Quarternight?’
inquired a very affable lady who received me. I knew I was one of old
man Quarternight’s seven boys, and admitted that that was my name,
though it was the first time any one had ever called me _mister_. I
was welcomed, ushered in, and introduced all around. There were a few
small children whom I knew, so I managed to talk to them. The girl
whom I was being braced against was not a particle overrated, but
sustained the Kentucky reputation for beauty. She made herself so
pleasant and agreeable that my fears soon subsided. When the man of
the house came in I was cured entirely. He was gruff and hearty,
opened his mouth and laughed deep. I built right up to him. We talked
about cattle and horses until supper was announced. He was really
sorry I hadn’t come earlier, so as to look at a three year old colt
that he set a heap of store by. He showed him to me after supper with
a lantern. Fine colt, too. I don’t remember much about the supper,
except that it was fine and I came near spilling my coffee several
times, my hands were so large and my coat sleeves so short. When we
returned from looking at the colt, we went into the parlor. Say,
fellows, it was a little the nicest thing that ever I went against.
Carpet that made you think you were going to bog down every step,
springy like marsh land, and I was glad I came. Then the younger
children were ordered to retire, and shortly afterward the man and his
wife followed suit.
“When I heard the old man throw his heavy boots on the floor in the
next room, I realized that I was left all alone with their charming
daughter. All my fears of the early part of the evening tried to crowd
on me again, but were calmed by the girl, who sang and played on the
piano with no audience but me. Then she interested me by telling her
school experiences, and how glad she was that they were over. Finally
she lugged out a great big family album, and sat down aside of me on
one of these horsehair sofas. That album had a clasp on it, a buckle
of pure silver, same as these eighteen dollar bridles. While we were
looking at the pictures--some of the old varmints had fought in the
Revolutionary war, so she said--I noticed how close we were sitting
together. Then we sat farther apart after we had gone through the
album, one on each end of the sofa, and talked about the neighborhood,
until I suddenly remembered that I had to go. While she was getting my
hat and I was getting away, somehow she had me promise to take dinner
with them on Christmas.
“For the next two or three months it was hard to tell if I lived at my
boarding house or at the brick. If I failed to go, my landlady would
hatch up some errand and send me over. If she hadn’t been such a good
woman, I’d never forgive her for leading me to the sacrifice like she
did. Well, about two weeks before school was out, I went home over
Saturday and Sunday. Those were fatal days in my life. When I returned
on Monday morning, there was a letter waiting for me. It was from the
girl’s mamma. There had been a quilting in the neighborhood on
Saturday, and at this meet of the local gossips, some one had hinted
that there was liable to be a wedding as soon as school was out. Mamma
was present, and neither admitted nor denied the charge. But there was
a woman at this quilting who had once lived over in our neighborhood
and felt it her duty to enlighten the company as to who I was. I got
all this later from my landlady. ‘Law me,’ said this woman, ‘folks
round here in this section think our teacher is the son of that big
farmer who raises so many cattle and horses. Why, I’ve known both
families of those Quarternights for nigh on to thirty year. Our
teacher is one of old John Fox’s boys, the Irish Quarternights, who
live up near the salt licks on Doe Run. They were always so poor that
the children never had enough to eat and hardly half enough to wear.’
“This plain statement of facts fell like a bombshell on mamma. She
started a private investigation of her own, and her verdict was in
that letter. It was a centre shot. That evening when I locked the
schoolhouse door it was for the last time, for I never unlocked it
again. My landlady, dear old womanly soul, tried hard to have me teach
the school out at least, but I didn’t see it that way. The cause of
education in Kentucky might have gone straight to eternal hell, before
I’d have stayed another day in that neighborhood. I had money enough
to get to Texas with, and here I am. When a fellow gets it burnt into
him like a brand that way once, it lasts him quite a while. He’ll
feel his way next time.”
“That was rather a raw deal to give a fellow,” said Officer, who had
been listening while playing cards. “Didn’t you never see the girl
again?”
“No, nor you wouldn’t want to either if that letter had been written
to you. And some folks claim that seven is a lucky number; there were
seven boys in our family and nary one ever married.”
“That experience of Fox’s,” remarked Honeyman, after a short silence,
“is almost similar to one I had. Before Lovell and Flood adopted me, I
worked for a horse man down on the Nueces. Every year he drove up the
trail a large herd of horse stock. We drove to the same point on the
trail each year, and I happened to get acquainted up there with a
family that had several girls in it. The youngest girl in the family
and I seemed to understand each other fairly well. I had to stay at
the horse camp most of the time, and in one way and another did not
get to see her as much as I would have liked. When we sold out the
herd, I hung around for a week or so, and spent a month’s wages
showing her the cloud with the silver lining. She stood it all easy,
too. When the outfit went home, of course I went with them. I was
banking plenty strong, however, that next year, if there was a good
market in horses, I’d take her home with me. I had saved my wages and
rustled around, and when we started up the trail next year, I had
forty horses of my own in the herd. I had figured they would bring me
a thousand dollars, and there was my wages besides.
“When we reached this place, we held the herd out twenty miles, so it
was some time before I got into town to see the girl. But the first
time I did get to see her I learned that an older sister of hers, who
had run away with some renegade from Texas a year or so before, had
drifted back home lately with tears in her eyes and a big fat baby boy
in her arms. She warned me to keep away from the house, for men from
Texas were at a slight discount right then in that family. The girl
seemed to regret it and talked reasonable, and I thought I could see
encouragement. I didn’t crowd matters, nor did her folks forget me
when they heard that Byler had come in with a horse herd from the
Nueces. I met the girl away from home several times during the summer,
and learned that they kept hot water on tap to scald me if I ever
dared to show up. One son-in-law from Texas had simply surfeited that
family--there was no other vacancy. About the time we closed out and
were again ready to go home, there was a cattleman’s ball given in
this little trail town. We stayed over several days to take in this
ball, as I had some plans of my own. My girl was at the ball all easy
enough, but she warned me that her brother was watching me. I paid no
attention to him, and danced with her right along, begging her to run
away with me. It was obviously the only play to make. But the more I’d
’suade her the more she’d ’fuse. The family was on the prod bigger
than a wolf, and there was no use reasoning with them. After I had had
every dance with her for an hour or so, her brother coolly stepped in
and took her home. The next morning he felt it his duty, as his
sister’s protector, to hunt me up and inform me that if I even spoke
to his sister again, he’d shoot me like a dog.
“‘Is that a bluff, or do you mean it for a real play?’ I inquired,
politely.
“‘You’ll find that it will be real enough,’ he answered, angrily.
“‘Well, now, that’s too bad,’ I answered; ‘I’m really sorry that I
can’t promise to respect your request. But this much I can assure you:
any time that you have the leisure and want to shoot me, just cut
loose your dog. But remember this one thing--that it will be my second
shot.’”
“Are you sure you wasn’t running a blazer yourself, or is the wind
merely rising?” inquired Durham, while I was shuffling the cards for
the next deal.
“Well, if I was, I hung up my gentle honk before his eyes and ears and
gave him free license to call it. The truth is, I didn’t pay any more
attention to him than I would to an empty bottle. I reckon the girl
was all right, but the family were these razor-backed, barnyard
savages. It makes me hot under the collar yet when I think of it.
They’d have lawed me if I had, but I ought to have shot him and
checked the breed.”
“Why didn’t you run off with her?” inquired Fox, dryly.
“Well, of course a man of your nerve is always capable of advising
others. But you see, I’m strong on the breed. Now a girl can’t show
her true colors like the girl’s brother did, but get her in the
harness once, and then she’ll show you the white of her eye, balk, and
possibly kick over the wagon tongue. No, I believe in the
breed--blood’ll tell.”
“I worked for a cowman once,” said Bull, irrelevantly, “and they told
it on him that he lost twenty thousand dollars the night he was
married.”
“How, gambling?” I inquired.
“No. The woman he married claimed to be worth twenty thousand dollars
and she never had a cent. Spades trump?”
“No; hearts,” replied The Rebel. “I used to know a foreman up in
DeWitt County,--‘Honest’ John Glen they called him. He claimed the
only chance he ever had to marry was a widow, and the reason he didn’t
marry her was, he was too honest to take advantage of a dead man.”
While we paid little attention to wind or weather, this was an ideal
night, and we were laggard in seeking our blankets. Yarn followed
yarn; for nearly every one of us, either from observation or from
practical experience, had a slight acquaintance with the great
mastering passion. But the poetical had not been developed in us to an
appreciative degree, so we discussed the topic under consideration
much as we would have done horses or cattle.
Finally the game ended. A general yawn went the round of the loungers
about the fire. The second guard had gone on, and when the first rode
in, Joe Stallings, halting his horse in passing the fire, called out
sociably, “That muley steer, the white four year old, didn’t like to
bed down amongst the others, so I let him come out and lay down by
himself. You’ll find him over on the far side of the herd. You all
remember how wild he was when we first started? Well, you can ride
within three feet of him to-night, and he’ll grunt and act sociable
and never offer to get up. I promised him that he might sleep alone as
long as he was good; I just love a good steer. Make down our bed,
pardner; I’ll be back as soon as I picket my horse.”