A WESTERN TRAGEDY
“After all, we have not gained much by staying at the Mission over
night, for another storm is coming and we better hurry to some place
of shelter or we shall all be drenched to the skin,” remarked Henry
West, as he casually glanced over his shoulder toward the Southwestern
horizon, where an ominous looking rain-cloud was rapidly rising. As
he had predicted the day before, a heavy rain began just as they were
about to re-saddle the horses to return to _HW_ ranch. The morning
dawned soft and warm; fresh from the washed hillsides came the ozone;
the east was filled with fiery, red clouds, which warned them that the
rain was not yet all spilled upon the thirsty earth. How green the
stretch of grazing land looked; how verdant the distant pines and firs,
fresh from nature’s bath! The dust in the wagon road was all gone, and
now occasionally the horses splashed with delight through mud puddles.
“Mauchacho, if you spatter my go-to-meeting riding togs you’ll get your
ears pulled,” Bess said to her horse. She had not heard West’s remark
regarding the weather for she was in an abstracted mood.
“Hold on a moment, boys,” she cried after the two. They had given
their horses rein, thinking she was aware of the coming storm, and were
riding swiftly to where they might be kept dry, for a time at least.
Just then Bess noticed the light becoming dimmed. Hastily glancing back
she saw the hurrying rain and was greeted by a splash of heralding
drops.
“Oh, so that’s the hurry! Come, Mauchacho, it’s up to you to keep me
dry and save this green gown from making a blot on the already verdant
landscape,” she said whimsically, and the horse, as if he understood,
in haste to overtake his fleeing companions, sped like the bird he
really was and reached the sheltering, overhanging rock before the
others.
As the trio dismounted each drew the reins over his horse’s head, and
so left them, where they stood as quietly as if they were tied. Quickly
the saddles were taken off their steaming backs and placed under the
shelter of the rocks. Bess and James were already safely out of the
rain, and the girl was impatiently jumping up and down urging Henry
West to “hurry for pity’s sake” or else he would be drowned.
As West crouched under the ledge he took off his broad hat and shook
the rain from it, saying: “These things are nearly as good as an
umbrella; aren’t they, James?”
“Come under here closer, Henry; you are not out of the rain yet,” said
Bess. She took hold of his arm and pulled him close to her. So they
stood, the fresh, rosy, smiling girl, with wilful brown tresses over
her face, clinging to the dark, stalwart man on one side and to her
fair-skinned brother on the other. Silently they watched the rain,
which fell in gusty sheets.
The horses had shifted and stood dejectedly with their tails against
the increasing onslaughts.
“Poor old baby Mauchacho,” said Bess, tenderly; “I wish there was room
to crowd you in here, too.” The horse replied with a knowing wriggle of
his ear, as if to say he “wished so, too.”
“Here, here, James, cheer up,” said the sister, giving him a vigorous
shake. “Don’t you know that behind the clouds is still the blue sky?”
He was looking nearly as lowery as the rain-clouds, and even West came
from his reverie, asking what was the trouble.
“You see,” said James, “this will delay us nearly two days in rounding
up the beef for that shipment, and I doubt if the men can have them at
Selish in time.”
Young Fletcher had proved his mettle on the ranch.
“Oh, well, Jim! I’ll help, and I think we can manage all O. K.”
answered Henry West, optimistically. “Here, Bess, sit down awhile,” he
added, quickly drawing off his mackinaw and spreading it on the bed of
pine needles. The girl could offer no remonstrance, as he gently placed
her on the coat.
“Do you think I can be comfortable here while I know you will get
cold? You’ll surely be ill!” She started to rise, but as he placed her
on the seat again he assured her that when he grew cold he would ask
for the coat. So she sat with her hands clasped about her knees, and
her chin buried against them; her soft, liquid eyes gazing longingly
across the rain-dashed landscape.
The men, too, grew silent, and the time dragged. Bess gave a sigh and
made a tentative effort to rise, but a gentle, restraining hand on her
shoulder told her that though the man at her side was silent, he was
still solicitous. James, becoming weary of standing, seated himself
with his back pressed tight against that of his sister.
How the thoughts began chasing each other through the girl’s brain!
Little incidents of her girlhood days, or perhaps some memory of happy
companionship at school would cause her to smile. Then, again, a sigh
at some memory came unconsciously from her lips; and once, as she
recalled a humorous episode, a little ripple of laughter escaped her.
“Enjoying yourself, Bess?” asked James, irritably, at her jocular
outburst. “I wish this infernal rain would let up so we could get home
some time today,” he added.
“It seems to be letting up some now,” said West. “If you’ll let me take
the mackinaw, please, I’ll go out and take a look over the hills and
see how much longer we shall have to wait.”
When West had gone out into the rain, Bess asked her brother what time
of day it was. “We’ve been here two infernal hours,” he said, “and
it is nearly noon. I wish we had some lunch, for we’ll all be mighty
hungry before we reach the ranch.”
“Please, James, don’t be cross. That won’t drive the rain away, and
it only makes us feel more uncomfortable. Ah! Here comes the weather
man! I can tell by the looks of his face that there is soon to be a
rainbow!” cried the girl, joyfully, as West re-entered the shelter.
“Yes, the clouds are lifting, and it will soon be safe to start. I fear
you’ll suffer from the mud, Miss Bess.”
“It will be a shame to spoil this green,” she replied, “but I fear I
must bear it for my stomach’s sake. Since James mentioned being hungry
I have developed such an alarming craving for something to eat that it
seems as if I had not tasted food in days. Oh! I wish there were some
place where we could get our dinner!”
“There is,” answered West; “over at Joe Nedreau’s, about eight miles
further on.”
Soon the rain ceased, and the men hurried with the saddles. They picked
their way carefully through the water-soaked sod till they reached the
road, where the water was running like miniature rivers. At first Bess
tried to guard her skirt from the muddy onslaughts, but soon saw that
her efforts were of no avail and urged her horse into a faster gait.
The miles intervening between them and a prospective meal grew less
and less. West, riding ahead, scanned the grazing herds at either side
in a desultory manner. Suddenly he brought Eagle to a stop, raised
himself up in the stirrups, and, with his hand shading his eyes, gazed
intently across the range. Quickly he turned. “Jim, over there near the
stream is that scrub bull of Savaeau’s! Get your rope ready and come
with me! You keep Mauchacho here,” to the girl, who was now wide-eyed,
and wondered what was going to happen.
With difficulty she restrained her horse, who was bent on following the
fleeing companions. Bess released her feet from the stirrups and sprang
quickly to the ground to hold the animal by the bit; and by patting and
talking softly to him succeeded in quieting him.
Over the green expanse sped the two horsemen. West bent low over his
horse’s neck, riding madly. A rise in the ground for a moment concealed
them, when up they shot, like two huge birds.
The herd had already seen the oncoming men, and instinctively felt that
harm was approaching. With a loud snort and his tail in the air, the
leader galloped over the range, followed by all the other cattle. On
came the horses, now charged with excitement and knowledge of what was
coming. James swerved to the right and artfully separated the bull from
the rest of the herd. When the creature discovered he was divided from
the other cattle, he turned swiftly and unexpectedly, which nearly
resulted in throwing James from his horse. West had ridden across from
the herd, and with his rope already swinging in the air would have
captured the animal then and there had he not hesitated when he saw
that James was nearly unseated. The hesitancy gave the animal a fresh
start and on he ran and ran, ever evading his pursuers. Snorting horses
and relentless pursuers drove him from every shelter. Each man knew
that the only way to capture him would be to tire him out.
Bess was still standing at her horse’s head, engrossed in watching
the distant chase. They were so far away that at times she could not
distinguish the men. At first she was excited, but as she saw the
persistent pursuit and the vain attempt the animal made to reach a
place of safety, she felt a wave of indignation surge over her and fill
her with hot anger. Stamping her foot upon the ground, she cried out
in vain: “Oh, you two horrid men! Leave that poor creature alone! What
will you do when you do capture him? Murder him, of course! James, have
you lost all your sense, to follow that—that—Indian! Yes, that is all
you are now—an Indian thirsting for the blood of your victim!”
She burst into uncontrollable tears and hid her face against her
horse’s neck, to shut out the vision of the tragedy. Mauchacho bent his
head and touched his mistress with his nose, as if trying to console
her. Could he have spoken he would have explained that these things
were a part of Western life; how it was impossible to tolerate low-bred
stock; how this affair would seem all right when she became accustomed
to the ways and laws of the range.
So the girl stood, for ages it seemed to her, until she heard the
approach of the horses. She did not lift her head when they came up,
and West saw that she had been sorely affected by witnessing the
capture.
In a soft, low voice he said: “I’m very sorry, Miss Bess, that this
circumstance occurred just as it did. It was unavoidable.”
The girl wheeled, with a storm of reproof upon her lips; but as she saw
his seriousness, her parted lips closed slowly, and she left unsaid
what she thought to say. She shuddered at the remnant of blood stains
which she saw upon his hands and bespattered white silk shirt, and
springing into the saddle turned her horse away with an unreasoning
jerk.
James saw her displeasure and only aggravated it by saying that she
would grow accustomed to such things if she stayed in the cattle
country.
West followed Mauchacho in silence and only spoke when they reached the
Nedreau ranch. He hurried forward to help the girl dismount, but she
scorned his assistance and sprang lightly to the ground.
“Did you—did you kill him?” she demanded, pushing up her hair with an
angry gesture.
“Yes—I had to,” he replied, looking into her eyes with decisive
determination.
Just then an old Indian with his squaw came into view. West accosted
them, and by numerous gestures and gutteral sounds explained that down
under the willows, near the creek, they would find “heap muck-a-muck.”
Bess became deeply interested in the ambiguous and incoherent
conversation; saw their stoic faces assuming a happy and expectant
expression as their benefactor impressed upon them the fact that a
supply of fresh beef was at their command. Before West had fairly
finished explaining to them, they had started their old, wobbly cayuses
into their swiftest paces, to reach the treasure before some other
hungry “Injun” had discovered the prize.
When West again looked at Bess she could not resist a smile, and
remarked that at least some one would enjoy the spoils.
The man was greatly relieved at the restoration of her good humor, and
when they joined James he informed them that in a few minutes all could
have something to eat, even the horses.
“I hope it won’t be beef,” suggested Bess. “I should think that you two
would never dare to look a cow in the face again.”
While at dinner James told his companions a story which was positively
authentic. He remembered how, one day when he was about fifteen years
of age, several of the grades, where he was attending school, met for
the purpose of giving jointly a Longfellow programme. Everything went
along smoothly and beautifully, and presently he heard his teacher
announce that Miss Emma Lane would recite _The Wreck of the Hesperus_.
He laughed now as he recalled how his heart thumped when the idol of
his youthful dreams arose and walked nervously to the rostrum. In his
swift yet ardent gaze at the object of his adoration, all he remembered
seeing was a beautiful pink bow tucked snugly under a soft, generous
chin, and two hands, fingering franticly at either side of her freshly
laundered white dress. He did not dare look again for he felt himself
too sympathetically nervous. Then he heard a tentative, quavering voice
begin—“It was the schooner,”—a pause, a gulp, and again, “It was the
schooner,” etc., and this time the Hesperus was fairly and swiftly
launched with the skipper and his little daughter aboard. On sailed
the craft and on sailed Emmie (“as I called her,” James explained),
both rising and falling with the angry sea and rolling waves. With
her ever-increasing confidence he felt his own courage returning, and
presently he gazed with mouth wide open at the fair and fat girl on the
platform. Oh, the joy he felt that she was his. If he could meet her on
the way from school that afternoon he believed he would tell her how he
loved her and thus relieve his overburdened heart. She, so simple, so
fair, so plump (if a trifle too short), and withal so very modest! He
did not hear a word now of the recitation, so engrossed was he in the
living poem before him. But, as she made a frantic, sweeping gesture,
he came back to earth with a thud as he heard:
“The waves looked soft as carded wool;
But the cruel rocks, they gored her side,
Like the horns of an angry—cow.”
“Now, that settled me; that settled Emmie; for shame, Longfellow!”
concluded James, laughing as he brought to his mind’s eye the tragedy
of that day at school. When the three were able to resume their meal
after the merriment caused by his narrative, Bess remarked:
“And that fatal Hesperus wrecked all his faith in women. I have
scarcely even found him looking at one, if he could avoid it. Poor,
brokenhearted brother,” she mocked, teasingly.
A few days later one of West’s cowboys took a splendid Hereford bull
across the hills to old Savaeau, with instructions for him to “stick
his iron on the animal.”