THE VISIT AT MURPHY RANCH
The hour hand of the clock was on three. Twenty pairs of restless eyes
watched the minute hand as it drew close, very close to twelve. The
books had been placed in the desks; there was a hush of attention. The
children sang "America," saluted the flag, and marched out of the
room. As Wathemah returned to visit with his teacher, she asked him
what he had learned that day.
"Country love!" answered the child. As he spoke, he stepped to the
flag, that hung from the staff in graceful folds, and caressed it.
"Oh, Miss Bright, Miss Bright!" shouted James Burns. "Brigham's come
fur yer! He's brung his horse fur yer ter ride! Golly! But he looks
fine! Come see!"
And James led the way to Brigham and the horse. Sure enough! There
they were. The little lad, radiant with pride, the huge bay horse,
lean and gaunt and hairy, bedight as never was horse before. He seemed
conscious that this was a gala day, and that it behooved him to deport
himself as became a respectable family horse.
Numerous small bouquets, tied to white muslin strings, adorned his
bridle. The animal was guiltless of saddle, but there was an
improvised cinch of white cotton cloth around him. This, likewise, was
adorned with butterfly-like bouquets.
"Ain't he some?" said one lad, admiringly.
"Gee! but I'd like ter ride him!" shouted another.
"Brigham dressed old Jim up just 'cause yer wuz goin' ter ride him,
Miss Bright," said Donald.
To the last remark, the teacher replied:
"Ride him? I never rode bareback in my life. I am afraid to try it. I
might slip off."
"Oh, no, yer won't," said Brigham, who stood holding the horse's
bridle. The teacher pretended to be greatly scared. The company grew
hilarious.
"Brigham," she said, "I am sure I can't stick on. I might go sliding
over the horse's head and land in a heap. Then what would you do?"
"Pick yer up."
This reply increased the hilarity.
Donald seemed to think it would be great sport to see the teacher's
maiden effort at riding bareback.
"Jest git on, Miss Bright, an' see how easy 'tis," he urged.
"I don't know how to mount," she hastened to say. "I haven't learned
even that much."
"Oh, that's easy enough," said a muscular little chap. "I'll show
yer."
And he leaped like a squirrel to the horse's back.
"Oh, I could never do that," said Esther, joining in the laughter of
the children.
"I'll tell yer what," said a large Scotch boy, "ye wait a bit, Miss
Bright, an' I'll bring ye y'r chair, an' then 'twill be easy enough."
So the chair was brought, and the teacher seated herself on the
horse's back, sideways.
"Oh, ye must ride straddles," insisted Donald, "or ye'll sure fall
off."
"Yes, straddles," echoed another; but Esther shook her head
dubiously, and pointed to her full blue flannel walking skirt.
"Oh, that's all right," said the tallest boy, "everybody rides
straddles here."
"Try it," urged Brigham.
So she tried it. But she was not the only passenger who rode astride.
Michael and Patrick, the little Murphy twins, were helped to a place
behind her. Wathemah then climbed up in front of her.
"Is this all?" she asked, laughingly.
"I should think it was enough," said Kenneth Hastings, who at that
moment joined the company.
As he caught Esther's eye, both laughed, and the children joined from
pure sympathy.
When she recovered her composure, Esther said to Kenneth, "Nothing
lacking but some white muslin harness and posies on me."
At last, amid shouts and cheers, the much-bedecked horse and his human
load started up the mountain road.
By three o'clock, the pulse of the Murphy household beat faster. The
temperature rose to fever heat. Three-fifteen, three-thirty; still no
visitors; and what is more, no signs of visitors. Every five minutes,
one of the children would run down the mountain road, and return
disappointed.
"Do yer s'pose they ain't comin'?" queried Kate, who had been kept at
home that day to assist in the preparations.
"Oh, yes, they're comin', I think likely," answered the hostess; "but
I don't see where they're keepin' theirselves."
She frequently straightened the chairs; once more she dusted the
furniture with her clean apron; she straightened the pictures on the
walls; she brought out an old and much-prized album, sacred to Mormon
prophets and elders. The broken mirror, that adorned the wall, had
been cleaned and decorated with tissue paper. Mrs. Murphy stood and
looked in it. She saw reflected a sharp, severe face shining like the
mirror.
"I wisht I had a collar," she said. "I uster wear a collar back in
York State."
Suddenly, she heard a shout from the road.
"They're comin'! They're comin'! Schoolma'am's with 'em! Quick, Maw,
quick!"
There was a rush down the path, Joseph Smith leading the line.
All was expectation. The approaching horse started into a jolting
trot. As he neared the barn he began to buck. The inevitable followed.
Over the horse's head went the passengers in a heap. The twins quickly
extricated themselves, and sprang up uninjured; but the two visitors
lay unconscious.
"Quick, Samuel, bring water!" directed Mrs. Murphy.
In a few minutes, she dashed water in the unconscious faces, and
watched anxiously. The water soon restored Esther, who had been
stunned by the fall. At last Wathemah opened his eyes, and saw his
teacher kneeling by his side. He tried to rise, but fell back with a
cry of pain. One arm lay limp by his side. It was evident that his arm
was broken.
"Is there a surgeon anywhere near Gila?" she asked anxiously.
"There's one about fifteen miles away," responded Joseph.
"Then I'll try to set Wathemah's arm myself. Several times I have
helped my uncle set broken bones. Could you bring me some flat
splints about this size?" she asked, showing Joseph what she wanted.
"Yes, mum," answered the boy, starting on his errand.
"And some strips of muslin, and some pins, Mrs. Murphy?" she
continued.
In a few moments the articles were ready. By this time Wathemah had
recovered consciousness.
"You have broken your arm, dear," she said. "I am going to set it.
It'll hurt you, but I want you to be brave and keep very still."
The child smiled faintly. But as she lifted his arm, he again fainted.
They lifted him, and carried him into the house. Then firmly, deftly,
as though experienced in such work, Esther pulled and pressed the
broken bone into place. The child roused with the pain, but did not
cry out again. At last the arm was bandaged, and placed on a cushion.
"You must be very careful of your arm, Wathemah," she said, patting
his cheek, "until the broken bone grows together."
Before the child could speak, there was a knock at the door. The
children rushed to open it, and there stood Kenneth Hastings.
"I came to see if the cavalcade reached here safely," he said,
smiling. "I followed a short distance behind you, until--"
Here his comprehending glance grasped the situation.
"Wathemah hurt?" he asked in quick sympathy, striding to the child's
side. "I feared something might happen."
"Old Jim threw 'em," explained three or four eager voices.
Kenneth looked inquiringly at Esther.
"Were you hurt, too?" he asked in a low voice.
"I think not," she said, looking intently at Wathemah.
"I believe you _were_. Was she?" he asked, turning to Mrs. Murphy.
"She were stunned like from the fall, but was so busy settin' the
boy's arm, she didn't think of herself."
"Ah." Then turning to Esther again, he questioned her.
The family observed every tone in the questions and answers.
During the setting of the arm, they had watched Esther with
open-mouthed astonishment.
"I tell yer, schoolma'am," remarked Joseph, "I bet yer life yer'll hev
all yer kin do in Gila, now."
"I should think she already had enough to do," suggested Kenneth.
Here Mrs. Murphy, suddenly realizing that certain amenities had been
omitted, blurted out:
"This is my son, Joseph Young; my daughter, Mandy Young you've knowed
already; my son Samuel Young, my son Jacob Black, yer've knowed at
school, 'n' my daughter Kate Black, 'n' Brigham Murphy, aged six, 'n'
Kathleen, aged four, 'n' Nora, aged two."
Mrs. Murphy paused. Samuel at once took the floor.
"We've knowed _you_ ever sence you come. They call you the angel o'
the Gila." He seemed to swell with importance.
"A queer name, isn't it?" said Esther.
Samuel had combed his hair, and wore a clean shirt in honor of the
occasion.
"Miss Bright," said Kenneth, "I am fearful lest you _have_ been
injured by the fall. Let me take you home."
This she would not listen to.
"Then let me call for you later in the evening and take you back with
me. There may be something Mrs. Clayton can do for you." But there was
a chorus of protests.
Mrs. Murphy gave it as her opinion that the schoolma'am knew her own
feelin's best; and it wasn't often they had comp'ny, goodness knows,
especially comp'ny from back East. And Mr. Hastings should leave her
be.
Esther poured oil on the troubled waters; and Mrs. Murphy became so
mollified she pressed Kenneth to stay to supper.
At this juncture Patrick Senior's step was heard.
"Good avenin'," he said, heartily, making a queer little bow. "It's
proud I am ter welcome yez ter me home."
He did not take off his hat nor remove the pipe from his mouth. Esther
rose.
"Kape y'r sate, Miss, kape y'r sate," he said, making a sweeping
gesture. Then he gripped her hand.
"An' Mr. Hastings! It's honored Oi am ter have yez enter me humble
home."
"He's goin' to stay to supper, Pop," said one of the little boys.
Kenneth hastened to excuse himself, but Patrick would have none of it.
Mr. Hastings must stay, and share the fatted calf.
Kenneth laughed.
"Which is the prodigal?" asked he, smiling towards Esther.
"The prodigal? the prodigal?" repeated Mrs. Murphy mystified, and half
resentful at Kenneth's smiles.
"Oh, that's a Bible story, Mrs. Murphy," explained Esther. "A rich man
had two sons. One son spent all he had in riotous living. When he
finally repented and came back home to his father's house, they were
very happy to see him and made a great feast for him. For this purpose
they killed their fatted calf."
"I see," said Mrs. Murphy with great dignity. "An' sence we are happy
to see yer and have killed our fatted hens fur yer, we'll just call
yer the Prodigal."
"I always knew you were prodigal of your strength and talent," Kenneth
said merrily. "Prodigal. That's a good name for you. That was a happy
thought of yours, Mrs. Murphy."
Mrs. Murphy still looked mystified.
"Oi see me little girrls are plazed ter see yez," said Patrick,
beaming proudly upon the little ones. Kathleen held up for his
inspection some paper dolls Esther had brought her. Then the smile on
his face broadened. He laid his pipe on the shelf and examined the
dolls critically.
"Did yez iver see the loike on it, now? Shure, an' did yez say 'Thank
yez' ter the lady?"
"Yep," answered Kathleen, and "Yep," echoed Nora.
"An' phwat is the matther wid Wathemah?" asked Patrick, as he
approached the little Indian.
"Got hurted."
"Broked his arm."
"Fell off old Jim."
"Miss Bright mended his arm," came in quick succession.
"Poor little lad. Oi'm sorry yez got hurted."
And the kind-hearted man patted the child on the head. He liked
Wathemah. But the little visitor was intent on the two little girls
and their gay paper dolls.
Esther now expressed a wish to hear some of her host's stories of
pioneer life in Arizona.
Patrick drew himself up. He felt his self-respect rising.
"Them wuz awful toimes," he said, puffing away at his pipe again; "but
Oi wuz young an' sthrong. The Apaches wuz on the warpath most av the
toime, an' we fellers didn't know but we'd be kilt ony minute. We
slipt wid wan oi open, an' our guns by our soides."
"It must have been very exciting," said Esther, with marked interest.
"It certain wuz exciting. It wuz bad, too, ter come back ter y'r shack
an' foind y'r rations gone, or no shack at all."
"What would you do then?" she asked.
"Oh, we wint hungry till we caught fish, or shot deer."
Here he lighted his pipe again, and drew long whiffs.
"What were you doing in those days?" questioned Kenneth.
"Me business wuz always wid cattle. Sometoimes the Apaches would go
off wid some o' me cattle."
"Did you ever get them back?" asked Esther.
"Sometoimes." He smoked in silence a few minutes.
"I understand the Apaches are still treacherous," she said.
Just then she felt Wathemah's hand on her arm.
"Wathemah Apache," he said. "He no bad. He good."
"Yes," she acknowledged, smiling, "you _are_ getting to be a pretty
good boy, dear." Her smile did more for the child than did the words.
"Pop," said Samuel, "them air Apaches we seen up canyon t'other day's
ben skulkin' aroun'. Yer'd better carry a gun, schoolma'am."
Supper was now announced, and discussion of the Indians ceased. The
younger children, joyfully anticipating the feast before them, had
forgotten all their mother's preliminary instructions on etiquette at
table, and there was a tumultuous scramble.
"Murphy!" called Mrs. Murphy in stentorian tones as she stood with
arms akimbo, "seat schoolma'am at y'r right!"
With a smile that would have done credit to the proudest son of Erin,
Patrick waved his hand toward the place of honor. Patrick Junior and
his twin Michael insisted upon sitting in the same seat by their
visitor. What is more, Michael dealt his brother a severe blow in the
mouth to settle his superior claims. To add to the clamor, Kathleen
pressed her right to the same seat. She screamed lustily.
Mrs. Murphy, family representative of law, started towards the
disturbers of the peace. They dodged. The teacher hereupon made a
suggestion that seemed to satisfy everyone, and so the matter was
settled.
"Set right down, Mr. Hastings, set right down," urged Mrs. Murphy. He
seated himself at Patrick Senior's left. They were scarcely seated
before Michael exclaimed, "Ain't we got a good supper!"
He sprawled on the table, looking longingly at the huge dish of
chicken potpie.
"One'd think yer never had nothin' ter eat," observed Samuel. He
seemed to think it devolved upon him to preserve the decorum of the
family.
While the children were waiting impatiently for their turns, a nudge
started at Mrs. Murphy's right and left. Nine pairs of elbows were
resting upon the table. Nine pairs of eyes were fixed longingly upon
the platter of chicken. Suddenly, as the parental nudge passed along,
nine pairs of elbows moved off the table, and nine figures sat erect.
The family had been instructed to observe the teacher's manners at
table, "fur," observed Mrs. Murphy, "there is no better way fur yer to
learn eatin' manners than to notice how folks does. Ef she sets up
straight-like, yer kin do the same. Jest watch her. Ef she takes her
chicken bone in her hand, y' kin; but ef she cuts her chicken off,
why, y' cut yourn off."
Finally, all were served. In the preparation for the reception of the
teacher, the offspring of Mrs. Murphy had been duly instructed by her
to hold each little finger out stiff and straight while manipulating
the knife and fork. To the dismay of all, Esther did not take her
chicken bone in her hand, nor did she hold her knife and fork
perpendicular, nor did she hold her little fingers out at a right
angle.
The children struggled with their refractory chicken bones, as they
watched the teacher. Patrick Murphy's eyes were twinkling. But at this
juncture, a nudge from Mrs. Murphy again passed around the table. Nine
pairs of eyes were upon the knife and fork of the guest. Amanda was
filled with admiration as she observed Esther Bright.
In talking this over afterwards, Samuel said to his sister:
"Schoolma'am wuz brung up better nor we be. Yer kin see it by the way
she eats. Did yer see how dainty-like she held her knife and fork?"
"Yer don't know nuthin' about it, Sam," said Mandy. "I guess I seen
her myself."
Just as the last nudge passed around, Patrick laughed outright.
"Begorra childthren," he said, "is it Frinch stoile ter eat wid y'r
fingers sthuck out? Phwat ails yez?"
"Pat Murphy," said his wife, "yer never seen good eatin' manners in
y'r life. I hev. Back in York State where I wuz riz, the very best
people in the country come to them barn raisin's."
Her sharp chin tilted upward; her black eyes grew brighter.
"Where I growed up, folks set great store by p'liteness. They allus
had clean plates fur pie when they wuz comp'ny. Yes, Pat Murphy, I wuz
well trained, ef I do say it."
The visitors remained silent. Patrick grinned.
When the teacher's cup was again filled with tea, she stirred it
longer than usual, thinking, possibly, how she could pour oil on
troubled waters. Instantly, around the table nine other spoons were
describing circles in the bottom of each cup. Again Patrick's eyes
laughed. Mrs. Murphy glowered.
The supper over, and all housewife duties of the day performed, Mrs.
Murphy turned to her offspring, standing in line,--at her
suggestion,--on one side of the room.
"Schoolma'am," she said with an air of conscious superiority, "the
childern told me yer wanted 'em to go to Bible school. Now me an' my
childern has all the 'ligion as we wants. I'll show yer."
"Childern, what is y'r 'ligion?"
"Latter Day Saints," answered Joseph.
"An' who is the prophet o' the Lord?"
"Joseph Smith," piped Kate.
"An' what wuz his relevations?"
"That men should marry lots o' wives, an raise lots o' childern,"
answered Jacob.
"Shure, an' did he have rivelations that women should be marryin'
lots o' husbands?" asked Mr. Murphy with a chuckle.
This was an interruption Mrs. Murphy could ill brook. She was on the
warpath; but Patrick, the good-natured, now took matters in his own
hands, and spoke with firmness.
"We'll have no more Mormon talk ter-night. Childthren, set down."
They sat down. Mrs. Murphy's mouth shut like a spring trap. She was
humiliated; she, a connection, so to speak, of the Commonses of
"Lexity Street, York City!"
"Whin me woman there," said Patrick, "was lift wid two babies, Jacob
an' Kate, twelve year ago, lift 'way off in a lonesome place in Utah
by her Mormon husband, Oi felt as though Oi would loike ter go wid
some dacint man, an' give this Mormon who lift his wife an' babies fur
the sake of goin' off wid another woman,--Oi repate it,--Oi'd 'a ben
glad ter have give 'im sich a batin' as he'd remimber ter his dyin'
day. He wuz kilt by the Indians. Whin Oi heerd he wuz kilt, an' knowed
fur shure he wuz dead, Oi persuaded me woman here ter marry me, an'
ter come let me give her an' all her childthren a dacint home in
Arizony.
"Oi don't want ter hear no more about Mormons. Oi know 'em root an'
branch. Oi am a Catholic. Oi belave in the Holy Mither. Oi belave in
good women. Oi belave as a man should have wan wife, a wife wan
husband. Oi wants me childthren an' me woman's childthren too, ter
come ter y'r Bible school. What's more, they shall come. Oi wants 'em
ter learn about God an' the Blissed Virgin. Y're a good woman; that Oi
know. An' yez are as good a Catholic as Oi want ter see. Yer kin jist
count on me fur support in all the good yez are thryin' ter do in
Gila."
Mrs. Murphy's face was suppressed fury.
The teacher spoke in a low, gentle voice:
"So you are a Catholic, Mr. Murphy. Do you know, I have always admired
the reverent way Catholics speak of the mother of Jesus."
Then she turned to Mrs. Murphy, saying:
"I know but little about the belief of the Mormons. Some day I wish
you would tell me about it."
"Mormons are a good sight better'n Catholics," snapped Mrs. Murphy.
"Intelligent people should know about 'em, and what they've done fur
the world. They are honest, they don't smoke, nor chew, nor drink.
They are good moral people, they are."
"Yes," said Esther, "I have heard some admirable things about them."
Kenneth rose to go.
"So you'll not return to Clayton Ranch with me, Miss Bright."
He knew by the expression of her face that she preferred to go rather
than to stay. But she spoke graciously:
"I have not finished my visit yet."
In a moment more Kenneth was gone.
Then a new difficulty arose. Who was to sleep with the teacher? Kate,
the twins, and Kathleen, all pressed their claims. After listening to
the altercation, Esther suggested that it would be necessary for her
to occupy the rocking chair by Wathemah, to see that he did not injure
his broken arm, and asked that she be given the privilege of watching
by him throughout the night.
Then the family withdrew. Soon Esther pretended to be asleep.
Occasionally the child reached out and touched her arm to make sure
his Beloved was there. Then he fell asleep.
But Esther was wakeful. Why had Kenneth come for her? Was she coming
to care too much for him? How would it all end? When she at last fell
asleep, her dreams were troubled.