WAITING
"Wade Ruggles, as I'm alive!" exclaimed the delighted landlord,
rushing forward and grasping his hand. Instantly the group closed in,
and there was such laughing and handshaking that for a time nothing
was clearly distinguished.
"I was suspicious," remarked the parson; "but, though you both had
beards when you went away, these have grown so much that they have
greatly altered your appearance."
He scanned the other man closely, but before the parson had identified
him, several others had done so.
"It's Al Bidwell!"
"Yes," replied the laughing Ruggles; "that's the fellow, but I'm sorry
to say that since they made a major-general of him, he's become a
reg'lar dude. He doesn't go out when it rains for fear of soiling his
uniform, and the noise of powder makes him sick, so be careful how you
handle the delicate fellow."
"Well, you do not need to be told," was the hearty response of the
parson, "that no one could be more welcome than you; let's shake hands
all around again."
It was some minutes before the flurry was over, for the delight on
both sides was unbounded and the joy of the reunion great.
One member of the group lingered in the background. Her face was
flushed with delighted expectancy, but with a coyness unknown in her
earlier years, she hesitated on the outer edge of the circle. She
could not mingle with the rush and waited until the flurry was over.
The men were scarcely less embarrassed than she, and while not
appearing to see her, both were watching her every movement. When the
time came that the meeting could no longer be delayed, Ruggles walked
to her and extended his hand.
"Well, Nellie, aren't you glad to see me?"
The crinkling of the whiskers at the side of the invisible mouth
showed that he was laughing, and indeed his white teeth gleamed
through his wealth of beard. Nellie promptly advanced and met him half
way.
"Mr. Ruggles, I can't tell you how glad I am to meet you again."
He had been asking himself whether it would do to kiss this vision of
loveliness. He wished to do so, but was afraid. However, the question
was settled by the girl, who, instead of taking the hand, flung her
arms about his neck and saluted him fervently, that is as well as she
could under the conditions.
Al Bidwell came forward and was received in the same manner. Then, as
the two men stepped back and looked admiringly at her, she said:
"I can see you are the same and yet those beards make you look
different; I love to think of you as you were when you bade us good-by
and rode off four years ago."
"We shall be glad to fix up our faces in the old style," said Ruggles,
while his companion nodded assent. If she had asked them to cut off
their heads they would have unhesitatingly agreed to do it.
"No doubt we've changed somewhat," said Bidwell, "but not one half so
much as you."
"As I!" she repeated in astonishment; "why, I am just the same," and
she looked down at her dress, as if seeking the explanation of his
remark; "I haven't changed a bit."
"Not in goodness and all that sort of thing, but we left a little girl
and now I'm blessed if we don't find a young woman, and yet it's the
same little girl after all."
The maidenly blush darkened her face and she laughed.
"You couldn't expect me to stand still all these years."
"No; though we would have been glad if you had done so."
The three were standing apart, the others with commendable delicacy
leaving them to themselves. Nellie laid her arm on the sleeve of
Ruggles, and looking up yearningly in his face she asked:
"Can you give me any news of father?"
"Being as him and me was on different sides, I haven't seen or heard a
thing of him since we parted in San Francisco, but I hope all has gone
well with him."
She turned to Bidwell, who said:
"Me and him was thrown together once or twice and I met him after
Gettysburg, where neither of us got a scratch, which is more than tens
of thousands of others can say. Then I seen him in front of
Petersburg, where we had the same good luck agin, but in the fighting
round there we lost track of each other. Are you worried about him,
little gal?"
"Very much," she mournfully replied; "never once did Vose Adams come
back from Sacramento without one or two letters from him, but he has
now done so twice, and I haven't heard a word. I fear father is dead;
if he is, my heart is broken and I shall die too."
What could they say to cheer her, for Vose Adams made still another
journey westward with the same dismal emptiness of the mail bag, so
far as she was concerned. Every one did his utmost to cheer her, but
none succeeded. The ground taken was that the parent had set out on
his return, but had been hindered by some cause which would be
explained when he finally arrived. When not one of the men himself
believed the story, how could he hope to make the mourning daughter
believe it?
Felix Brush took a different stand from the others. He early settled
into the belief that Captain Dawson was dead, and that it was wrong to
encourage hope on the part of the child when the disappointment must
be more bitter in the end.
"If you are never to see him again in this world," he said, at the
close of a sultry afternoon, as the two were seated on a rocky ledge
near the cabin in which she had made her home all alone during her
parent's long absence, "what a blessed memory he leaves behind him!
Died on the field of battle, or in camp or hospital, in the service of
his country,--what more glorious epitaph can patriot desire?"
"If he is dead then I shall die; I shall pray that I may do so, so
that I shall soon see him again."
"My dear child, you must show some of the courage of your parent and
prove that you are a soldier's daughter. Your blow is a severe one,
but it has fallen upon thousands of others, and they have bravely met
it. You are young; you have seen nothing of the great world around
you--"
"I do not care to see anything of it," she interrupted with a sigh.
"You will feel different when you have recovered from the blow. It is
an amazing world, my dear. The cities and towns; the great ocean; the
works of art; the ships and steamboats; the vast structures; the
railways; the multitudes of people; the lands beyond the seas, with
still more marvelous scenes,--all these will expand like fairy land
before you and make you wonder that you ever should have wished to
leave such a realm of beauty and miracles while in your youth."
Nellie sat for some time in silence, and then rose to her feet with a
weary sigh. Without speaking, she turned to walk away, but not in the
direction of her own home.
"Where are you going?" he asked.
"To look for him," was her sorrowful reply.
It was what he suspected and feared. He knew she had done the same
thing night after night for weeks past, even when the rains fell and
the chilling blasts made her shiver with discomfort. He could not
interpose, and with the reflection that perhaps it was as well, he
turned mournfully aside and walked slowly toward the cabins.
Meanwhile, Nellie Dawson passed beyond the limits of the settlement
until all the houses were behind her. She did not sit down, but
folding her arms, after gathering her shawl about her, bent her gaze
upon the trail, which wound in and out at the bottom of the canyon
below, for a fourth of a mile, when a mass of projecting rocks hid it
from sight.
Night was closing in. Already the grim walls, thousands of feet in
height, were wrapped in gloom, and few eyes beside hers could have
traced the devious mule path for more than a hundred yards from where
she stood. The clear sky was studded with stars, but the moon had not
yet climbed from behind the towering peaks, which would shut out its
light until near the zenith.
The soft murmur of the distant waterfall, the sound of voices behind
her, the faint, hollow roar, which always is present in a vast
solitude, filled the great space around her and made the stillness
grander and more impressive.
All this had been in her ears many a time before, and little heed did
she give to it now. Her musings were with that loved one, who had been
silent for so many weeks, and for whose coming she longed with an
unspeakable longing. She knew the course of the trail so well, though
she had never been far over it, that she was aware at what point he
must first appear, if he ever appeared, and upon that point she
centered her attention.
"Something tells me that when father comes it will be in the night
time," she said; "I know he has tried hard to reach me, and what
could it be that held him back? I will not believe he is dead
until--"
Her heart gave a quicker throb, for surely that was a faint sound in
the path, though too far off for her to perceive the cause. She could
not tell its precise nature, but fancied it was the footfall of some
animal. She took several quick steps forward on tiptoe, with head
extended, peering and listening, with all her senses at the highest
tension.
Hark! she heard it again. Surely it was the noise of hoofs, for it was
repeated and the sounds ran into each other as if the animal were
trotting or galloping, or mayhap there was more than one of them.
Yes; some one was drawing nigh on the back of horse or mule. There was
no mistaking the hoof beats, and in the gloom the figure of an animal
and his rider assumed vague form, growing more distinct each moment.
Nellie broke into a run, her arms outstretched and her hair flying.
"Father! father! I know it is you! It is I--Nellie, your own Nellie,
who has waited so long for you! You have come at last!"