CHAPTER I.

Produced by Al Haines

[Illustration: Cover art]

[Frontispiece: 'THEN BEGAN A TERRIBLE FIGHT BETWEEN THE MAN AND THE

HORSE.' _Page_ 124.

LEFT ON THE PRAIRIE

BY

M. B. COX (NOEL WEST).

_ILLUSTRATED BY A. PEARCE_

LONDON:

WELLS GARDNER, BARTON & CO.,

3, PATERNOSTER BUILDINGS, & 44, VICTORIA STREET, S.W.

1899.

CONTENTS.

CHAPTER

I. AT LONGVIEW

II. JACK IN TROUBLE

III. JACK'S RESOLUTION

IV. JACK STARTS ON HIS JOURNEY

V. JACK GOES IN SEARCH OF NIGGER

VI. JACK IS DESERTED

VII. JACK IS RESCUED

VIII. WHAT JACK LEARNED FROM PEDRO

IX. JACK ARRIVES AT SWIFT CREEK RANCH

X. JACK'S VISIT AT SWIFT CREEK RANCH

XI. JACK CROSSES THE RANGE WITH CHAMPION JOE

XII. AT LAST!

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.

'THEN BEGAN A TERRIBLE FIGHT BETWEEN THE MAN AND THE HORSE' . . . . . .

. . . _Frontispiece_

'JACK COULD HELP HIS FATHER, TOO, WHEN HE ARRIVED HOME'

'HE RUSHED OFF TO THE WOODSHED, AND WEPT AS IF HIS HEART WOULD BREAK'

'HE GOT OUT OF HIS WINDOW'

'JACK STRUCK UP "FOR EVER WITH THE LORD"'

'"YOU'D BETTER NOT COME BACK WITHOUT THE HORSE"'

'JACK FOUGHT HARD, BUT THEY WERE TOO MANY FOR HIM'

'"HERE," SAID THE MEXICAN, "DRINK THIS"'

'PEDRO LET THE NOOSE FALL OVER SENOR'S NECK'

'JACK MADE HIMSELF USEFUL'

'CARRYING HIM INTO A NICE WARM ROOM'

'THROUGH A DENSE FOREST OF PINES'

'JACK RUSHED INTO THE MIDST OF THE HORSES TOWARDS A YELLOW-COATED

BRONCHO'

'"OH, MOTHER DARLING! I AIN'T DEAD, AND I'VE FOUND YOU AT LAST!"'

LEFT ON THE PRAIRIE.

CHAPTER I.

AT LONGVIEW.

Little Jack Wilson had been born in England; but when he was quite a

baby his parents had sailed across the sea, taking him with them, and

settled out on one of the distant prairies of America. Of course, Jack

was too small when he left to remember anything of England himself, but

as he grew older he liked to hear his father and mother talk about the

old country where he and they had been born, and to which they still

seemed to cling with great affection. Sometimes, as they looked

out-of-doors over the burnt-up prairie round their new home, his father

would tell him about the trim green fields they had left so far behind

them, and say with a sigh, 'Old England was like a _garden_, but this

place is nothing but a _wilderness_!'

Longview was the name of the lonely western village where George

Wilson, his wife, and Jack had lived for eight years, and although we

should not have thought it a particularly nice place, they were very

happy there. Longview was half-way between two large mining towns,

sixty miles apart, and as there was no railway in those parts, the

people going to and from the different mines were obliged to travel by

waggons, and often halted for a night at Longview to break the journey.

It was a very hot and dusty village in summer, as there were no nice

trees to give pleasant shade from the sun, and the staring rows of

wooden houses that formed the streets had no gardens in front to make

them look pretty. In winter it was almost worse, for the cold winds

came sweeping down from the distant mountains and rushed shrieking

across the plains towards the unprotected village. They whirled the

snow into clouds, making big drifts, and whistled round the frame

houses as if threatening to blow them right away.

Jack was used to it, however, and, in spite of the heat and cold, was a

happy little lad. His parents had come to America, in the first place,

because times were so bad in England, and secondly, because Mrs.

Wilson's only sister had emigrated many years before them to Longview,

and had been so anxious to have her relations near her.

Aunt Sue, as Jack called her, had married very young, and accompanied

her husband, Mat Byrne, to the West. He was a miner, and when he

worked got good wages; but he was an idle, thriftless fellow, who soon

got into disfavour with his employers, and a year or two after the

Wilsons came he took to drink, and made sad trouble for his wife and

his three boys. George Wilson had expostulated with him often, and

begged him to be more steady, but Mat was jealous of his honest

brother-in-law, who worked so hard and was fairly comfortable, and

therefore he resented the kind words of advice, and George was obliged

to leave him alone.

George Wilson made his living by freighting--that is, carrying goods

from place to place by waggons, as there was no rail by which to send

things. Sometimes, when he took extra long journeys, he would have to

leave his wife and boy for some weeks to keep each other company.

'Take care of your mother, Jack, my boy,' he would say, before

starting. 'She has no man to look after her or do things for her but

ye till I get home.' And right well did the little fellow obey orders.

He was a most helpful boy for his age, and was devoted to his mother,

who was far from strong. He got up early every morning, and did what

are called the _chores_ in America; these are all the small daily jobs

that have to be done in and around a house. First, he chopped wood and

lit a fire in the stove; after that he carried water in a bucket and

filled the kettle, and then leaving the water to boil, he laid the

breakfast-table and ground the coffee.

When breakfast was over, he ran off to school, and afterwards had many

a good romp with his cousins, Steve, Hal, and Larry Byrne, who lived

quite close to his home. Jack was very fond of his Aunt Sue; she was

so like his gentle mother. He often ran in to see her, but he always

fled when he heard his Uncle Mat coming, whose loud, rough voice

frightened him.

Jack was very sorry for his cousins, as they did not seem to care a bit

for their father; indeed, at times they were very much afraid of him,

and Steve, the eldest, who was a big fellow, nearly sixteen, told Jack

that if it wasn't for his mother, he would run away from home and go

off to be a cowboy, instead of working as a miner with his father. But

he knew what a sad trouble it would be to the poor woman if he went

away from her, and he was too good a son to give her pain.

When his father was away freighting, Jack, even while he was at play,

kept a good look-out across the prairie, watching every day for his

return. He could see for miles, and when he spied the white top of the

familiar waggon appearing in the distance, he would rush home shouting,

'Mother! Mother! Daddy's coming! I see the waggon ever such a long

way off.' And then the two would get to work and prepare a nice supper

for him.

Jack could help his father, too, when he arrived home, for there were

four tired horses to unharness, and water, and feed. Jack knew them

all well; Buck and Jerry in front as leaders, and Rufus and Billy

harnessed to the waggon. George Wilson was very proud of his horses,

and they certainly had a good master, for he always looked after them

first, and saw them comfortably into their stable before he began his

own supper.

[Illustration: 'JACK COULD HELP HIS FATHER, TOO, WHEN HE ARRIVED HOME.']

Trouble, however, was dawning over the happy household. The life in

the hot village had never suited Mrs. Wilson, and it told on her more

as time went on. She looked white and thin, and felt so tired and

weary if she did any work, that her husband got alarmed and brought in

a doctor to see her. The doctor frightened him still more. He said

the place was slowly killing her, as the air was so close and hot.

'You must take her away at once,' he said emphatically, 'if you want to

save her life. She has been here too long, I fear, as it is. Go away

to the mountains and try the bracing air up there; she may come back

quite strong after a year there if she avoids all unnecessary fatigue.

Take my advice and go as soon as you can. There's no time to lose!'

These words came as an awful shock to George Wilson, who had no idea

his wife was so ill, and had hoped a few bottles of tonic from the

doctor would restore her failing strength. But the medical warning

could not be disregarded, and he could see for himself now how fast she

was wasting away. They must go away from Longview as soon as possible.

It was a sad thing for the Wilsons to contemplate the breaking up of

their home, but there was no help for it. They talked matters well

over, and came at last to the conclusion that it would be better not to

take Jack with them. They would probably be moving on from place to

place, and in a year he would forget all he had learnt at school.

After a long consultation with Aunt Sue, it was arranged that Jack

should stay at the Byrnes' house and keep on at his lessons, his Uncle

Mat having given his consent after hearing the Wilsons would pay well

for his keep.

George Wilson and his wife felt keenly the idea of leaving Jack, and it

was agreed that if they decided to stay in the mountains altogether,

someone should be found who would take the boy to them.

It was terrible breaking the news to poor little Jack that his parents

were going away from him, and for a time he was quite inconsolable.

His father talked very kindly and quietly to him, and at last made him

see that the arrangement was really all for the best.

'Ye see, Jack,' he said, 'the doctor says your mother is seriously ill,

an' the only chance for her is to take her off to the mountains.'

'Can't I go too, Daddy?' pleaded Jack, with tears in his eyes. 'I'll

do such lots o' work.'

'No, my lad; it won't do for ye to miss yer schoolin', as ye'd be bound

to do if ye came wanderin' about with us. It's only fur a year, so ye

must try an' be a brave boy, an' stay with yer good Aunt Sue until we

come back agin or send fur ye. We know what's best fur ye, an',

laddie, won't it be fine if Mother gets strong and well agin?'

'Aye, dad! That would be grand!' said Jack, brightening up.

'Well, it's a sad partin' fur us all; but there's nothin' else to be

done, an' ye must try an' keep up a good heart fur yer mother's sake,

as I doubt she'll fret sadly o'er leavin' ye.'

Jack promised to be brave, but there was a troubled look on his usually

bright face as he watched the rapid preparations going on for the

departure. The things had to be sold out of the house, as they could

not take much with them. The sale at first excited Jack, as so many

people came to buy; but when he saw their furniture, beds, chairs and

tables all being carried oft by strangers, he realized fully what the

breaking up of his home meant, and it made him feel very sad.

There was a lot to be done. Jack went with his father to buy a stock

of provisions for their long journey, and then they tried to make the

clumsy waggon as comfortable as possible for the sick mother. Aunt Sue

packed up, as her sister was so weak, and the trial of leaving Jack was

proving almost too much for her slender stock of strength. All the

same, she bravely tried to hide the pain the parting gave her, and for

her boy's sake tried to be cheerful even to the last.

Alone with Aunt Sue, she opened her heart, and received true sympathy

in her trouble from that good woman, who knew well that the chief

sorrow to her sister was the fear she might never see her little lad

again.

'You mustn't get so down-hearted, Maggie,' said Mrs. Byrne kindly, 'but

hope for the best. I have heard the air in them mountains is just

wonderful to cure cases like yours, and perhaps ye'll get quite strong

afore long.'

'If it pleases God,' said her sister gently. 'And now, Sue, ye'll

promise me to look well after Jack. I know ye're fond o' him fur his

own sake as well as mine; but I'm feared if Mat gets one o' his mad

fits on he might treat him badly.'

'Don't you fear, Maggie,' returned Mrs. Byrne soothingly; 'I'll treat

him as one o' my boys, an' ye know I manage to keep them out o' their

father's way when he's too quarrelsome. Besides, Mat knows as ye're

payin' well for Jack, and that, if naught else, will keep him civil to

the lad.'

'I hope so,' murmured the mother sadly; 'an' if all goes well we'll

have our boy with us again in a year.'

'Aye, a year'll go quick enough, never fear!' concluded her sister

cheerfully; 'an' Jack'll get on finely at his schoolin' in that time.'

The night before they started came, and Jack, who had gone early to

bed, lay sobbing quietly to himself, quite unable to go to sleep.

Before long his mother came softly into the room and stood beside him.

She noticed the flushed, tear-stained face on the pillow, and exclaimed

in a grieved voice, 'Oh, Jack, darling, don't take on so! It'll break

my heart if I think o' ye frettin' all the time.'

'I can't help it, Mother!' cried Jack. 'What shall I do without Dad

an' ye?'

'Ye must think o' the meeting ahead, dearie. P'raps if Daddy does well

in this new part of the country, an' I can get strong again, we may

make our home up near the grand mountains as ye've never seen. It's so

different from this hot prairie, fur there are big trees to shade ye

from the sun, an' little brooks, called creeks, running down the sides

of the hills.'

'Aye, I'd like to go an' live up thar,' cried Jack. 'I hope ye'll send

fur me soon, an' I'll try an' be good. I do love Aunt Sue, but I'm

scared o' Uncle Mat at times.'

'Never fear, Jack,' said his mother, putting her arms round him; 'Aunt

Sue'll see as ye come to no harm. But, oh! dearie, how I wish I could

take ye with me!' And the poor woman broke down and mingled her tears

with Jack's.

But the boy suddenly remembered his promise to his father, and, knowing

how bad the excitement was for his mother, he made a great effort to

stop crying, and, rubbing his tears away, he said, 'Mother! this won't

do; I promised Dad I'd be brave!'

'You're right, Jack. We mustn't give way again. I ought to have kept

up better. I must be goin' now, dearie, an' before I say good-night,

will ye promise me not to forget to say yer prayers every day, an' ask

God to take care of us all till we meet again?'

'I promise,' said Jack gravely.

'An' ye'll sing the hymns I've taught ye sometimes, won't ye, laddie?'

asked his mother softly.

'I won't forget,' returned Jack, as he kissed her wet cheek; and then

she went away with a feeling of comfort in her heavy heart.

'A year isn't so _very_ long,' murmured the boy to himself, and before

long fell asleep.

Next morning his parents started, and Jack, after the terrible

good-byes had been said, stood watching the retreating waggon until it

became like a speck in the distance. At last it vanished altogether,

and then the boy's loss seemed to overwhelm him. In a frenzy of grief

he rushed off to the woodshed, and wept as if his heart would break.

[Illustration: 'HE RUSHED OFF TO THE WOODSHED, AND WEPT AS IF HIS HEART

WOULD BREAK.']

But Aunt Sue guessed the tumult of sorrow that was going on in the

young heart, and she soon came to find him and offer comfort. She was

so like his dear mother, with her sweet voice and gentle manner, that

she soothed him in his trouble; and when she proposed he should help

her to get the house brushed out and tidied up, he gladly threw himself

into the work.

He was helping his aunt to lay the things on the table when his uncle

came in. He had not seen the boy before, and even he felt a bit sorry

for the poor lad, so he said not ungraciously, 'That's right, Sue, make

him useful. There's nothin' so good fur sick hearts as work.'

Poor Jack flushed at this speech, as it touched him on a sore point;

but he saw his uncle did not intend to hurt his feelings by the words,

and he tried to swallow the lump that would rise in his throat. The

three boys came in for supper, and Hal and Larry looked curiously to

see how Jack was taking his trouble; but he was determined they should

see no sign of tears from him, and they did not suspect that the little

heart was nearly bursting.

Steve was a most good-natured lad, rough to look at, but with a large

slice of his mother's kind heart, and he now looked quietly after Jack,

seeing that he had a good supper. He was very fond of his small

cousin, who in return was devoted to him, and the big boy felt sorry

when he noticed the effort Jack was making to keep up a brave face

before Hal and Larry.

Very soon Aunt Sue suggested he should go to bed, which he was glad to

do, and once there, he was so tired out with his grief he fell fast

asleep.