The corner brick storehouse--in fact the only brick building in
Jimtown--was to be sold at auction; and, consequently, by ten o'clock in
the morning, a considerable body of men had collected near the somewhat
dilapidated house, directly in front of which the auctioneer, a fat man
from Indianapolis, mounted on an old goods box, began crying, partly
through his tobacco-filled mouth and partly through his very unmusical
nose, as follows:--
"Come up, gentlemen, and examine the new, beautiful and commodious
property I now offer for sale! Walk round the house, men, and view it
from every side. Go into it, if you like, up stairs and down, and then
give me a bid, somebody, to start with. It is a very desirable house,
indeed, gentlemen."
With this preliminary puff, the speaker paused and glanced slowly over
his audience with the air of a practiced physiognomist. The crowd
before him was, in many respects, an interesting one. Its most prominent
individual, and the hero of this sketch, was Dave Cook, sometimes called
Dr. Cook, but more commonly answering to the somewhat savage sounding
sobriquet of Big Medicine--a man some thirty-five years of age, standing
six feet six in his ponderous boots; broad, bony, muscular, a real
giant, with a strongly marked Roman face, and brown, shaggy hair. He was
dressed in a soiled and somewhat patched suit of butternut jeans, topped
off with a wide rimmed wool hat, wonderfully battered, and lopped in
every conceivable way. He wore a watch, the chain of which, depending
from the waistband of his pants, was of iron, and would have weighed
fully a pound avoirdupois. He stood quite still, near the auctioneer,
smoking a clay pipe, his herculean arms folded on his breast, his feet
far apart. As for the others of the crowd, they were, taken
collectively, about such as one used always to see in the "dark corners"
of Indiana, such as Boone county used to be before the building of any
railroads through it, such as the particular locality of Jimtown was
before the ditching law and the I. B. & W. Railway had lifted the fog
and enlightened the miasmatic swamps and densely timbered bog lands of
that region of elms, burr oaks, frogs and herons. Big Medicine seemed to
be the only utterly complacent man in the assembly. All the others
discovered evidences of much inward disturbance, muttering mysteriously
to each other, and casting curious, inquiring glances at an individual,
a stranger in the place, who, with a pair of queer green spectacles
astride his nose, and his arms crossed behind him, was slowly sauntering
about the building offered for sale, apparently examining it with some
care. His general appearance was that of a well dressed gentleman, which
of itself was enough to excite remark in Jimtown, especially when an
auction was on hand, and everybody felt jolly.
"Them specs sticks to that nose o' his'n like a squir'l to a knot!" said
one.
"His pantaloons is ruther inclined to be knock-kneed," put in an old,
grimy sinner leaning on a single barrelled shot gun.
"Got lard enough onto his hair to shorten a mess o' pie crust," added a
liver colored boy.
"Walks like he'd swallered a fence rail, too," chimed in a humpbacked
fellow split almost to his chin.
"Chaws mighty fine terbacker, you bet."
"Them there boots o' his'n set goin' an' comin' like a grubbin' hoe onto
a crooked han'le."
"Well, take'm up one side and down t'other, he's a mod'rately onery
lookin' feller."
These remarks were reckoned smart by those who perpetrated them, and
were by no means meant for real slurs on the individual at whom they
were pointed. Indeed they were delivered in guarded undertones, so that
he might not hear them; and he, meanwhile, utterly ignorant of affording
any sport, continued his examination of the house, the while some happy
frogs in a neighboring pond rolled out a rattling, jubilant chorus, and
the summer wind poured through the leafy tops of the tall elms and
athletic burr oaks with a swash and roar like a turbulent river.
"What am I now offered for this magnificent property? Come, give me a
bid! Speak up lively! What do I hear for the house?"
The auctioneer, as he spoke, let his eyes wander up the walls of the
old, dingy building, to where the blue birds and the peewees had built
in the cracks and along the warped cornice and broken window frames, and
just then it chanced that a woman's face appeared at one of those
staring holes, which, with broken lattice and shattered glass, still
might be called a window. The face was a plump, cheerful one, the more
radiant from contrast with the dull wall around it--a face one could
never forget, however, and would recall often, if for nothing but the
fine fall of yellow hair that framed it in. It was a sweet, winning,
intellectual face, full of the gentlest womanly charms.
"Forty dollars for the house, 'oman and all!" cried Big Medicine, gazing
up at the window in which, for the merest moment, the face appeared.
The man with the green spectacles darted a quick glance at the speaker.
"I am bid forty dollars, gentlemen, forty dollars, do all hear? Agoing
for forty dollars! Who says fifty?" bawled the auctioneer.
The crowd now swayed earnestly forward, closing in solid order around
the goods box. Many whiskered, uncouth, but not unkindly faces were
upturned to the window only in time to see the beautiful woman disappear
quite hastily.
"Hooray for the gal!" cried a lusty youth, whose pale blue eyes made no
show of contrast with his faded hair and aguish complexion. "Dad, can't
ye bid agin the doctor so as I kin claim 'er?"
"Fifty dollars!" shouted the sunburnt man addressed as Dad.
This made the crowd lively. Every man nudged his neighbor, and the
aguish, blue-eyed boy grinned in a ghastly, self-satisfied way.
"Agoing at fifty dollars! Fiddlesticks! The house is worth four
thousand. No fooling here now! Agoing at only fifty dollars--going--"
"Six hundred dollars," said he of the green glasses in a clear, pleasant
voice.
"Six hundred dollars!" echoed the auctioneer in a triumphant thunderous
tone. "That sounds like business. Who says the other hundred?"
"Hooray for hooray, and hooray for hooray's daddy!" shouted the
tallow-faced lad.
The frogs pitched their song an octave higher, the blue birds and
peewees wheeled through the falling floods of yellow sunlight, and lower
and sweeter rose the murmur of the tide of pulsating air as it lifted
and swayed the fresh sprays of the oaks and elms. The well dressed
stranger lighted a cigar, took off his green glasses and put them
carefully in his pocket, then took a cool straight look at Big Medicine.
The Roman face of the latter was just then a most interesting one. It
was expressive of more than words could rightly convey. Six hundred
dollars, cash down, was a big sum for the crazy old house, but he had
made up his mind to buy it, and now he seemed likely to have to let it
go or pay more than it was worth. The stem of his clay pipe settled back
full three inches into his firmly-set mouth, so that there seemed
imminent danger to the huge brown moustache that overhung the fiery
bowl. He returned the stare of the stranger with interest, and said--
"Six hundred an' ten dollars."
"Agoing, a----," began the auctioneer.
"Six twenty," said the stranger.
"Ago----."
"Six twenty-one!" growled Big Medicine.
"Six twenty-five!" quickly added his antagonist.
Big Medicine glanced heavenward, and for a moment allowed his eyes to
follow the flight of a great blue heron that slowly winged its way, high
up in the yellow summer reaches of splendor, toward the distant swamps
where the white sycamores spread their fanciful arms above the dark
green maples and dusky witch-hazel thickets. The auctioneer, a close
observer, saw an ashy hue, a barely discernible shade, ripple across
the great Roman face as Big Medicine said, in a jerking tone:
"Six twenty-five and a half!"
The stranger took his cigar from his mouth and smiled placidly. No more
imperturbable countenance could be imagined.
"Six twenty-six!" he said gently.
"Take the ole house an' be derned to you!" cried Big Medicine, looking
furiously at his antagonist. "Take the blamed ole shacke-merack an' all
the cussed blue-birds an' peer-weers to boot, for all I keer!"
Everybody laughed, and the auctioneer continued:
"Agoing for six twenty-six! Who says seven hundred? Bid up lively!
Agoing once, agoing twice--once, twice, three-e-e-e-e times! Sold to
Abner Golding for six hundred and twenty-six dollars, and as cheap as
dirt itself!"
"Hooray for the man who hed the most money!" shouted the tallow-faced
boy.
The sale was at an end. The auctioneer came down from his box and wiped
his face with a red handkerchief. The crowd, as if blown apart by a puff
of wind, scattered this way and that, drifting into small, grotesque
groups to converse together on whatever topic might happen to suggest
itself. Big Medicine seemed inclined to be alone, but the irrepressible
youth of the saffron skin ambled up to him and said, in a tone intended
for comic:
"Golly, doctor, but didn't that 'ere gal projuce a orful demand for the
ole house! Didn't she set the ole trap off when she peeked out'n the
winder!"
Big Medicine looked down at the strapping boy, much as a lion might look
at a field rat or a weasel, then he doubled his hand into an enormous
fist and held it under the youth's nose, saying in a sort of growl as he
did so:
"You see this 'ere bundle o' bones, don't ye?"
"Guess so," replied the youth.
"Well, would you like a small mess of it?"
"Not as anybody knows of."
"Well, then, keep yer derned mouth shet!"
Which, accordingly, the boy proceeded to do, ambling off as quickly as
possible.
About this time, the stranger, having put the green spectacles back upon
his nose, walked in the direction of 'Squire Tadmore's office,
accompanied by the young woman who had looked from the window. When Big
Medicine saw them he picked up a stick and began furiously to whittle it
with his jack-knife. His face wore a comically mingled look of chagrin,
wonder, and something like a new and thrilling delight. He puffed out
great volumes of smoke, making his pipe wheeze audibly under the vigor
of his draughts. He was certainly excited.
"Orful joke the boys 'll have on me arter this," he muttered to himself.
"Wonder if the 'oman's the feller's wife? Monstrous poorty, shore's yer
born!"
He soon whittled up one stick. He immediately dived for another, this
time getting hold of a walnut knot. A tough thing to whittle, but he
attacked it as if it had been a bit of white pine. Soon after this
'Squire Tadmore's little boy came running down from his father's office
to where Big Medicine stood.
"Mr. Big Medicine," cried he, all out of breath, "that 'ere man what
bought the ole house wants to see you partic'ler!"
"Mischief he does! Tell 'im to go to----; no, wait a bit. Guess I'll go
tell 'im myself."
And, so saying, he moved at a slashing pace down to the door of the
'Squire's office. He thrust his great hirsute head inside the room, and
glaring at the mild mannered stranger, said:
"D'ye want to see me?"
Mr. Golding got up from his seat and coming out took Big Medicine
familiarly by the arm, meanwhile smiling in the most friendly way.
"Come one side a little, I wish to speak with you privately,
confidentially."
Big Medicine went rather sulkily along. When they had gone some distance
from the house Mr. Golding lifted his spectacles from his nose, and
turning his calm, smiling eyes full upon those of Big Medicine, said,
with a shrug of his finely cut shoulders:
"I outbid you a little, my friend, but I'm blessed if I haven't got
myself into a ridiculous scrape on account of it."
"How so?" growled Big Medicine.
"Why, when I come to count my funds I'm short a half dollar."
"You're what?"
"I lack just a half dollar of having enough money to pay for the house,
and I thought I'd rather ask you to loan me the money than anybody else
here."
Big Medicine stood for a time in silence, whittling away, as if for dear
life, on the curly knot. Dreamy gusts of perfumed heat swept by from
adjacent clover and wheat fields, where the blooms hung thick; little
whirlwinds played in the dust at their feet as little whirlwinds always
do in summer; and far away, faint, and made tenderly musical by
distance, were heard the notes of a country dinner-horn. Big Medicine's
ample chest swelled, and swelled, and then he burst at the mouth with a
mighty bass laugh, that went battling and echoing round the place. Mr.
Golding laughed too, in his own quiet, gentlemanly way. They looked at
each other and laughed, then looked off toward the swamps and laughed.
Big Medicine put his hands in his pockets almost up to the elbows, and
leaned back and laughed out of one corner of his mouth while holding his
pipe in the other.
"I say, mister," said he at length, "a'n't you railly got but six
hundred and twenty-five an' a half?"
"Just that much to a cent, and no more," replied Mr. Golding, with a
comical smile and bow.
Big Medicine took his pipe from his mouth, gave the walnut knot he had
dropped a little kick and guffawed louder and longer than before. To
have been off at a little distance watching them would have convinced
any one that Mr. Golding was telling some rare anecdote, and that Big
Medicine was convulsed with mirth, listening.
"Well I'm derned if 'taint quare," cried the latter, wringing himself
into all sorts of grotesque attitudes in the ecstasy of his amusement.
"You outbid me half a dollar and then didn't have the half a dollar
neither! Wha, wha, wha-ee!" and his cachinnations sounded like rolling
of moderate thunder.
At the end of this he took out a greasy wallet and paid Mr. Golding the
required amount in silver coin. His chagrin had vanished before the
stranger's quiet way of making friends.
A week passed over Jimtown. A week of as rare June weather as ever
lingered about the cool places of the woods, or glimmered over the sweet
clover fields all red with a blush of bloom, where the field larks
twittered and the buntings chirped, and where the laden bees rose
heavily to seek their wild homes in the hollows of the forests. By this
time it was generally known in Jimtown that Mr. Golding would soon
receive a stock of goods with which to open a "store" in the old corner
brick; but Big Medicine knew more than any of his neighbors, for he and
Golding had formed a partnership to do business under the "name and
style" of Cook & Golding.
This Abner Golding had lately been a wealthy retail man in Cincinnati,
and had lost everything by the sudden suspension of a bank wherein the
bulk of his fortune was on deposit. His creditors had made a run on him
and he had been able to save just the merest remnant of his goods, and a
few hundred dollars in money. Thus he came to Jimtown to begin life and
business anew.
To Big Medicine the week had been a long one; why, it would not be easy
to tell. No doubt there had come a turning point in his life. In those
days, and in that particular region, to be a 'store keeper' was no small
honor. But Big Medicine acted strangely. He wandered about, with his
hands in his pockets, whistling plaintive tunes, and often he was seen
standing out before the old corner brick, gazing up at one of the vacant
windows where pieces of broken lattice were swaying in the wind. At such
times he muttered softly to himself:
"Ther's wher I fust seed the gal."
Four big road wagons (loaded with boxes), three of them containing the
merchandise and one the scanty household furniture of Mr. Golding and
his daughter Carrie, came rumbling into Jimtown. Big Medicine was on
hand, a perfect Hercules at unloading and unpacking. Mr. Golding was
sadly pleasant; Carrie was roguishly observant, but womanly and quiet.
The tallow-faced youth and two or three others stood by watching the
proceedings. The former occasionally made a remark at which the others
never failed to laugh.
"Ef ye'll notice, now," said he, "it's a fac 'at whenever Big Medicine
goes to make a big surge to lift a box, he fust takes a peep at the gal,
an' that 'ere seems to kinder make 'im 'wax strong an' multiply,' as the
preacher says, an' then over goes the box!"
"Has a awful effect on his narves," some one replied.
"I'm a thinkin'," added tallow-face, "'at ef Big Medicine happens to
look at the gal about the time he goes to make a trade, it'll have sich
a power on 'im 'at he'll sell a yard o' caliker for nigh onto forty
dollars!"
"Er a blanket overcoat for 'bout twelve an' a half cents!" put in
another.
"I'm kinder weakly," resumed tallow-face with a comical leer at Big
Medicine; "wonder if 't wouldn't be kinder strengthnin' on me ef I'd
kinder sidle up towards the gal myself?"
"I'll sidle up to you!" growled Big Medicine; and making two strides of
near ten feet each, he took the youth by his faded flaxen hair, and
holding him clear of the ground, administered a half dozen or so of
resounding kicks, then tossed him to one side, where he fell in a heap
on the ground. When he got on his feet again he began to bristle up and
show fight, but when Big Medicine reached for him he ambled off.
In due time the goods were all placed on the shelves and Mr. Golding's
household furniture arranged in the upper rooms where he purposed
living, Carrie acting as housekeeper.
On the first evening after all things had been put to rights, Mr.
Golding said to Big Medicine:
"I suppose we ought to advertise."
"Do how?"
"Advertise."
"Sartinly," said Big Medicine, having not the faintest idea of what his
partner meant.
"Who can we get to paint our fence advertisements?"
A gleam of intelligence shot from Big Medicine's eyes. He knew now what
was wanted. He remembered once, on a visit to Crawfordsville, seeing
these fence advertisements. He comprehended in a moment.
"O, I know what ye mean, now," he said, with a grin, as if communing
with himself on some novel suggestion. "I guess I kin 'tend to that my
own self. The moon shines to-night, don't it?"
"Yes; why?"
"I'll do the paintin' to-night. A good ijee has jist struck me. You jist
leave it all to me."
So the thing was settled, and Big Medicine was gone all night.
The next day was a sluice of rain. It poured incessantly from daylight
till dark. Big Medicine sat on the counter in the corner brick and
chuckled. His thoughts were evidently very pleasant ones. Mr. Golding
was busy marking goods and Carrie was helping him. The great grey eyes
of Big Medicine followed the winsome girl all the time. When night came,
and she went up stairs, he said to Golding:
"That gal o' your'n is a mighty smart little 'oman."
"Yes, and she's all I have left," replied Mr. Golding in a sad tone.
Big Medicine stroked his brown beard, whistled a few turns of a jig
tune, and, jumping down from the counter, went out into the drizzly
night. A few rods from the house he turned and looked up at the window.
A little form was just vanishing from it.
"Ther's wher I fust seed the gal," he murmured, then turned and went his
way, occupied with strange, sweet imaginings. As a matter of the merest
conjecture, it is interesting to dwell upon the probable turn taken by
his thoughts as he slowly stalked through the darkness and rain that
night; but I shall not trench on what, knowing all that I do, seems
sanctified and hallowed. It would be breaking a sacred confidence. Who
has stood and watched for a form at a window? Who has expressed, in
language more refined, to the inner fountain of human sympathy, the idea
conveyed in the rough fellow's remark? Who that has, let him recall the
time and the place holy in his memory.
"Ther's wher I fust seed the gal," said the man, and went away to his
lonely bed to dream the old new dream. All night the rain fell, making
rich music on the roof and pouring through his healthy slumber a sound
like the flowing of strange rivers in a land of new delights--a land
into which he had strayed hand in hand with some one, the merest touch
of whose hand was rapture, the simplest utterance of whose voice was
charming beyond expression. The old new dream. The dream of flesh that
is divine--the vision of blood that is love's wine--the apocalypse that
bewildered the eyes of the old singer when from a flower of foam in the
sweet green sea rose the Cytherean Venus. We have all dreamed the dream
and found it sweet.
It is quite probable that no fence advertisements ever paid as well, or
stirred up as big a "muss" as those painted by Big Medicine on the night
mentioned heretofore. As an artist our Hoosier was not a genius, but he
certainly understood how to manufacture a notoriety. If space permitted
I would copy all those rude notices for your inspection; but I must be
content with a few random specimens taken from memory, with an eye to
brevity. They are characteristic of the man and in somewhat an index of
the then state of society in and around Jimtown. On Deacon Jones's fence
was scrawled the following: "Dern yer ole sole, ef yer want good Koffy
go to Cook & Golding's nu stoar."
John Butler, a nice old quaker, had the following daubed on his gate:
"Yu thievin' duk-legged ya and na ole cuss, ef the sperit muves ye, go
git a broad-brimmed straw hat at Cook & Golding's great stand at
Jimtown." The side of William Smith's pig pen bore this: "Bill, ye
ornery sucker, come traid with Cook & Golding at the ole corner brick in
Jimtown." Old Peter Gurley found writing to the following effect on his
new wagon bed: "Ef yoor dri or anything, you'll find a virtoous Kag of
ri licker at Cook & Golding's." On a large plank nailed to a tree at
Canaan's Cross Roads all passers by saw the following: "Git up an
brindle! Here's yer ole and faithful mewl! Come in gals and git yer
dofunny tricks and fixens, hats, caps, bonnets, parrysols, silk
petty-coat-sleeves and other injucements too noomerous too menshen! Rip
in--we're on it! Call at Cook & Golding's great corner brick!"
These are fair specimens of what appeared everywhere. How one man could
have done so much in one night remains a mystery. Some people swore,
some threatened to prosecute, but finally everybody went to the corner
brick to trade. Jimtown became famous on account of Big Medicine and the
corner brick store.
The sun rose through the morning gate beyond the quagmires east of
Jimtown and set through the evening gate past the ponds and maple swamps
to the west. The winds blew and there were days of calm. The weather ran
through its mutations of heat and cold. The herons flew over, the blue
birds twittered and went away and came again, and the peewees
disappeared and returned. A whole year had rolled round and it was June
again, with the air full of rumors about the building of a railroad
through Jimtown.
During this flow of time Big Medicine had feasted his eyes on the bright
curls and brighter eyes of Carrie Golding, till his heart had become
tender and happy as a child's. They rarely conversed more than for him
to say, "Miss Carrie, look there," or for her to call out, "Please, Mr.
Cook, hand me down this bolt of muslin." But Big Medicine was content.
It was June the 8th, about ten o'clock in the morning, and Big Medicine
was slowly making his way from his comfortable bachelor's cabin to the
corner brick. A peculiar smile was on his face, his heart was fluttering
strangely, and all on account of a little circumstance of the preceding
day, now fresh in his memory. Great boy that he was, he was poring ever
a single sweet smile Carrie Golding had given him!
The mail hack stood at the post-office door, whence Mr. Golding was
coming with a letter in his hand. Big Medicine stopped and looked up at
the window. There stood Carrie. She was looking hopefully toward her
father. Big Medicine smiled and murmured:
"Ther's wher I fust seed the gal--bless her sweet soul!" There was a
whole world of sincere happiness in the tones of his voice.
Mr. Golding passed him hastily, his green spectacles on his nose, and a
great excitement flashing from his face. Big Medicine gazed wonderingly
after his partner till he saw him run up stairs to Carrie's room. Then
he thought he heard Carrie cry out joyfully, but it may have been the
wind.
When an hour had passed Mr. Golding and Carrie came down dressed for
travelling. How strangely, wondrously beautiful the girl now looked! Mr.
Golding was as nervous as an old woman. He rubbed his thin white hands
together rapidly and said:
"Mr. Cook, I have glorious news this morning!"
"And what mought it be?" asked Big Medicine, as a damp chilliness crept
over him, and his face grew pinched and almost as white as his shirt
bosom.
"Krofton & Kelly, the bankers, have resumed payment, and I'll get all my
money! It _is_ glorious news, is it not, my friend?"
Big Medicine was silent. He tried to speak, but his mouth was dry and
powerless. A mist drifted across his eyes. He hardly realized where he
was or what was said, but he knew all.
"I have concluded to give you this house and all my interest in this
store. You must not refuse. I haven't time to make the transfer now, but
I'll not neglect it. Carrie and I must hasten at once to Cincinnati. The
hack is waiting; so good bye, my dear friend, God bless you!" Mr.
Golding wrung his partner's cold, limp hand, without noticing how
fearfully haggard that Roman face had suddenly grown.
"Good bye, Mr. Cook," said Carrie in her sweet, sincere way. "I'm real
sorry to leave you and the dear old house--but--but--good bye, Mr. Cook.
Come to see us in Cincinnati. Good bye." She gave him her hand also.
He smiled a wan, flickering smile, like the last flare of a fire whose
fuel is exhausted. Carrie's woman's heart sank under that look, though
she knew not wherefore.
The hack passed round the curve of the road.
They were gone!
Big Medicine stood alone in the door of the corner brick. He looked back
over his shoulders at the well filled shelves and muttered:
"She ain't here, and what do I want of the derned old store?"
The wind rustled the elm leaves and tossed the brown locks of the man
over his great forehead; the blue birds sang on the roof; the dust rose
in little columns along the street; and, high over head, in the yellow
mist of the fine June weather, sailed a great blue heron, going to the
lakes. Big Medicine felt like one deserted in the wilderness. He stood
there a while, then closed and locked the door and went into the woods.
A month passed before he returned. Jimtown wondered and wondered. But
when he did return his neighbors could not get a word out of him. He was
silent, moody, listless. Where had he been? Only hunting for Mr. Golding
and Carrie. He found them, after a long search, in a splendid residence
on the heights just out of Cincinnati. Mr. Golding greeted him
cordially, but somehow Big Medicine felt as though he were shaking hands
with some one over an insurmountable barrier. That was not the Mr.
Golding he had known.
"Carrie is out in the garden. She will be glad to see you. Go along the
hall there. You will see the gate."
Mr. Golding waved his hand after the manner of a very rich man, and a
patronizing tone would creep into his voice. Somehow Big Medicine looked
terribly uncouth.
With a hesitating step and a heart full of unreal sensations, Big
Medicine opened the little gate and strode into the flower garden.
Suddenly a vision, such as his fancy had never pictured, burst on his
dazzled eyes. Flowers and vines and statues and fountains; on every hand
rich colors; perfumes so mixed and intensified that his senses almost
gave way; long winding walks; fairy-like bowers and music. He paused and
listened. A heavy voice, rich and manly, singing a ballad--some popular
love song--to the sweet accompaniment of a violin, and blended through
it all, like a silvery thread, the low sweet voice of Carrie Golding.
The poor fellow held his breath till the song was done.
Two steps forward and Big Medicine towered above the lovers.
Carrie sprang to her feet with a startled cry; then, recognizing the
intruder, she held out her little hand and welcomed him. Turning to her
lover she said:
"Henry, this is Mr. Cook, lately papa's partner in Indiana."
The lover was a true gentleman, so he took the big hard hand of the
visitor and said he was glad to see him.
Big Medicine stood for a few moments holding a hand of each of the
lovers. Presently a tremor took possession of his burly frame. He did
not speak a word. His breast swelled and his face grew awfully white.
He put Carrie's hand in that of her lover and turned away. As he did so
a tear, a great bitter drop, rolled down his haggard cheek. A few long
strides and Big Medicine was gone.
Shrilly piped the blue birds, plaintively sang the peewees, sweetly
through the elms and burr oaks by the corner brick blew the fresh summer
wind, as, just at sunset, Big Medicine once more stood in front of the
old building with his eyes fixed on the vacant, staring window.
It was scarcely a minute that he stood there, but long enough for a
tender outline of the circumstances of the past year to rise in his
memory.
A rustling at the broken lattice, a sudden thrill through the iron frame
of the watching man, a glimpse of a sweet face--no, it was only a fancy.
The house was still, and old and desolate. It stared at him like a
death's head.
Big Medicine raised his eyes toward heaven, which was now golden and
flashing resplendently with sunset glories. High up, as if almost
touching the calm sky, a great blue heron was toiling heavily westward.
Taking the course chosen by the lone bird, Big Medicine went away, and
the places that knew him once know him no more forever.