FIDGETTY LOU
It was several days after this that the little company started on
their journey, though they had not thought to be so detained. Fidgetty
Lou made no such delay, however, for after particular inquiries as to
where the Rosses were going she set about her own preparations. “I’ve a
chance to get started,” she told the girls. “You’ll see me again.”
Mrs. Brown refused approval of this sudden departure and was really so
disturbed by it that her nieces had not the heart to leave her until
another orphan could be found to take Louisa’s place. “I had counted on
you, Alison,” she said, aggrieved, “and now it seems I am to be bereft
of even Louisa.”
“But you know, Aunt Miranda, we came only for the summer holidays, or
till John should come for us,” Alison answered.
“You were to come for good and all if you so chose,” returned her aunt
who could not resist making this last appeal.
“You know that was all settled,” replied Alison, looking distressed.
And then came the compromise that there should be no talk of going till
Louisa’s place was filled. In consequence of all this delay it seemed
probable that Louisa was well on her way before the other travelers
started.
But they were off at last, one bright October morning. “Good luck to
you,” was Uncle Brown’s parting word as he opened the gate that they
might drive through.
“Good-bye,” Aunt Brown called her final farewell, as they leaned from
the carriage for a last look of the quiet white house, the orderly
whitewashed outbuildings, and the trim garden.
“Our last view of home,” said Alison, her eyes moist.
But Christine was looking straight ahead with a smile upon her face.
She leaned towards John. “We’re going home,” she said, “aren’t we,
John?”
John’s plan to make the journey by water, so far as it was possible,
seemed to involve less fatigue than any other way. Their household
furniture was thus readily transported, for though the flatboats,
familiarly known as broadhorns, were still in use by the poorer
emigrants, the speedier method of travel was by the steamboats which
could bear many a comfortable outfit to the settlements located on the
rivers of Texas. From these river landings the goods and chattels were
transported further inland in carts. The state was filling up rapidly,
and those who did not travel by water took the slower way across
country in the hooded emigrant wagons, which plodded over many a road
as the new settlers poured in.
The trip down the muddy waters of the Mississippi was one the two girls
never forgot. The steamboat was well patronized, and their fellow
passengers represented so many different classes that it was a source
of great entertainment to watch them. Here was a set of wild looking
men whose whole business in life seemed to be a game of cards, there a
group of traders, merchants or mechanics. Families of women and little
children, made way for some silken-gowned dame on her way to the city
of New Orleans; spruce young soldiers saluted portly politicians;
dapper Frenchmen gesticulated to some neighbor planter. In truth the
river boats were lively places, and the girls, who had not traveled
far beyond their own state, were entertained hour after hour. At last
came their final landing when the steamer stopped at a primitive wharf
at the foot of a bluff none too easy to climb. A crowd of negroes,
Mexicans, Texas rangers, and planters gathered curiously to watch
the passengers. At sight of John, one tall young fellow called out:
“Look there, boys, if it’s not John Ross, I’m jiggered.” Then, as the
gangplank was drawn in, several from the crowd rushed forward with
hearty greetings, but at sight of the two girls all but one or two
drew back, and these, standing their ground, were presented. The tall
young man who had first recognized John was introduced as Neal Jordan.
He gave the girls a joyous smile, bowed low, and with perfect ease
appropriated the hand luggage, seeming in no way abashed, and carrying
on a conversation which was a strange mixture of the local vernacular
and that of a man who was accustomed to greater refinements.
“You’ve had right smart of a journey, haven’t you?” he said.
“It did seem rather long,” Alison answered, “but it was interesting,
for there were so many queer people on the steamboat and we liked to
watch them.”
“They do give you rather a mix up,” returned the young man. “Some
pretty tough customers travel down this way, but then we have a better
class to offset them. John, going right on?”
“Yes, as soon as we can arrange to get conveyances for our goods. We
have about twenty miles further to go before we are really at home.”
“I reckon that’s about the distance. I suppose you’ll want to rest up
a little, though I don’t suppose you are as tuckered out as some of
the folks are that come down on the broadhorns or in wagons. They get
pretty sick of it sometimes. Going to Haller’s, John? It’s about the
only place that’s half decent, and none too good for ladies at that.”
“We shall have to go there, I suppose,” said John in reply. “Are you
putting up there, Neal?”
“Yes, while I am in town. I just got over yesterday, and am going right
back. I reckon I might as well hang on to your train. It won’t do any
harm to have two or three of us along.”
“No signs of Indians?” John spoke up quickly.
“No-o, not around here, but it’s always well to be sociable when you
have any distance to go with ladies. When a fellow has only his own
skin to take care of he doesn’t have to be so particular.”
“That’s so,” returned John, “and if any of the boys are going our way
I’d be glad to have them join us.”
“How soon do you start?”
“As soon as I can get the goods loaded. Those lazy little Mexicans will
be as long as they can loading the stuff; you may be sure of that. I’d
like to get off to-morrow, if it’s possible.”
“We’ll make it possible,” said Neal. “Us boys will tickle up those
Greasers so they’ll step lively.”
They had now reached the long low house which served as an inn, and as
Alison looked around upon the homely, dingy furnishings which were none
too clean, her heart sank within her. “Will it all look like this?” she
asked wistfully.
“Bless you, no,” said Neal. “Why, some of our people have as pretty
places as you want to see. To be sure the houses ain’t much on the
outside, but inside, there’s a power of fine things. More than one has
brought his piano and books and pictures along with him, and though you
may find some eating out of wooden trenchers and using horn spoons,
others will set you out fine china and silver. It’s about as much of a
mix up as you found on the steamboat, you’ll find. Our hotels ain’t to
say choice.”
“But where we are our own housekeepers,” said Christine brightly, “we
can have it as spick and span as we choose. Don’t get discouraged,
Allie, before we really get there.”
“No, it’s too early in the game to throw up your hand,” said Neal.
“I’m not homesick,” Alison protested; yet, just then, with the
remembrance of Aunt Brown’s neat orderly home and the familiar faces
she had left behind, there was mingled a slight feeling of regret at
having exchanged quiet ease for this wild place.
Christine, however, had no regrets. To her the end of the morrow’s long
ride meant the meeting towards which her thoughts had tended during
many months. She watched her brother and his friend depart and stood
long by the window seeing nothing but the new home in the prairie,
hearing nothing but Stephen’s voice again calling her name.
“You look as happy as a lark,” said Alison, turning her gaze from the
crude sights of the village to her sister.
“I am happy,” returned Christine. “We shall soon be all together in
our own home. Isn’t that enough to make any one happy?”
“There come John and Mr. Jordan,” said Alison, her eyes again wandering
to the street. “What a queer little place this is. The best house in it
isn’t as good as Aunt Miranda’s.”
“Did you expect it would be?”
“I expected the best here would be as good, though I knew ours would
not be.”
Christine smiled, and at this moment John and his friend entered the
little room which served as parlor and office.
“Neal tells me there is some one in town who has been looking for us,”
John told his sisters.
“Oh!” Christine’s first thought flew to Steve, but she immediately
realized that he would have been on hand to meet them, knowing when the
steamboat was expected. “Who can it be?” she said.
“I don’t know who it is,” Neal answered. “Lon Davis was asking where
you-alls was going. He said there was some one, a gal, a female woman,
I took it, that was out at his house waiting for you to get here.”
“I shouldn’t be surprised if it were Fidgetty Lou,” exclaimed Alison.
“When did she come? How did she get here?”
“Came on a broadhorn with the Simmonses. They went further up country,
and she said she was going to stick right here till John Ross and his
sisters come, if it was a year.”
“Did you see her? What did she look like?” questioned Alison.
“I sorter disremember,” said Neal, “but it strikes me, if she’s
the one I saw get off the boat, she’s got red hair. She might have
been a Simmons, but I noticed one of the gals didn’t look like the
rest, wa’n’t as tall and had a different build, but it runs that
way sometimes, even among cattle, and I never thought but she was a
Simmons. Of course the boys take right smart of notice of the new
arrivals, and I run ’em all over pretty sharp, though I didn’t fancy
any of the bunch very much.” He spoke quite honestly and as if it were
a matter of course that the subject should be discussed in this way.
Christine dimpled and looked at Alison who did not quite understand
this outspoken criticism. She had been away at school for two years and
had yet to learn the characteristic manner of Texans.
“If you-all think it’s the gal you know, and you want to see her,” Neal
continued, “I don’t mind ropin’ her in for you, but if she’s somebody
you don’t want to meet up with, why I’ll chase her out of your way.”
“Oh, we want to see her, surely,” said Alison.
“Do we?” said Christine thoughtfully. “We must talk it over, I think. I
did say something about her to you, John, but you said we’d probably
never see her again; yet here she is and it’s my opinion that if we
don’t take her with us she’ll hunt us up anyhow.”
“The question,” said John, “is whether or not you want her. So far as
her keep is concerned, I reckon there’ll be plenty for us all, and
if she’s going to be any help to you girls, we’d better let her come
along.”
“She certainly will be a help,” put in Alison.
Neal laughed. “Little sis is speaking two words for herself and one
for the gal, I reckon. I wouldn’t bother any too much about her, Miss
Christine; she’ll likely be taken off your hands by some of the boys
before long; there’s lots of ’em won’t mind the color of her hair.”
Every one laughed and the question of Fidgetty Lou’s future was settled.
She made her appearance the next morning under Neal’s escort, and was
in high glee at having stolen a march on the later arrivals. “I’ll earn
my keep, Mr. John,” she declared, “and I’ve clothes enough to last a
year or two, so if you’ll jest let me go along with you I’ll ask for
nothing. My father fit and died for Texas, and I always made up my mind
I’d go and do likewise, if I could get here by hook or by crook.”
“I didn’t know you remembered your father,” said Alison.
“Didn’t say I did. My mother told me about his going to Texas when I
was a baby, and that he got kilt by the Injuns. I was eight years old
when she died, so I reckon I was old enough to take in what she said. I
said then, and I say now, that I shan’t be satisfied till I get to the
place he went, and I mean to go. Where my dad died I mean to die.”
“Goodness!” exclaimed Alison, “don’t talk of dying first thing. For my
part what I want is to live here. Now tell us, Lou, how you managed to
get ahead of us.”
“I knew Jake Simmons’s folks. They are kind of kin of mine, and Lotty
Meekins told me that Sadie Simmons told her that Jake Simmons was
getting ready to up and go to Texas, and so one day when Joe, the
tinman came along, I knew he’d be traveling that way, so I got leave to
go along with him in his cart and see the Simmonses. They said I had
heard right, and that they was going down on a broadhorn to Texas. I
asked ’em where and when, and they told me, so I said I wanted to go
along, and Jake he said: ‘Louisa, I’ve heerd my father talk about your
father, and so long as we are blood kin I’ll see what I kin do. I know
you was never took up by none of the family when you was left an orphan
and I always thought they did kind of mean to bind you out, but ma said
you had a good home and honest work wasn’t going to hurt nobody, and we
might as well let well enough alone and leave you stay with Mis’ Brown
till your time was up. But now if you want to go to Texas with me and
the gals, go you shall.’ Well, he was as kind as could be, though he
ain’t more’n second cousin to my father, and I told him my time was up
and over, and I was just staying along till I could see my way clear
to get where I wanted to go, that I’d made up my mind to say to Miss
Christine, ‘whither thou goest I will go,’ and so then we hashed it
all up that I was to go over there and leave with his folks. I didn’t
say too much about it, for I was afraid Mis’ Brown would come talking
around and make them think I’d ought to stay. Well, we got off all
right and made good time, so here I am and here I stay. You won’t turn
me off, will you, Mr. John?” She turned pleadingly to the young man.
“Not I,” was the response. “If you choose to follow our fortunes you
shall do it, so get your traps, whatever they are, and come along.”
This, Louisa lost no time in doing. Her worldly belongings were packed
in two stout bundles standing outside, and with the rest of the goods
and chattels they were stowed away in the wagon which was to take them
all to their destination.
Many were the westward moving wagons following the roads, some having
come all the way from the eastern states, others from no further than
the coast, where their owners had landed, and, like the Ross family,
were conveying their goods over the last stage of their journey. At
the small towns which were come upon at infrequent intervals, the
wagoners would stop to help themselves to dipperfuls of tar from the
barrels hospitably set out for the newcomers, and many an agonizing
creak was thus brought to an end, to the relief of those who for hours
had endured the noise of a squeaking wagon.
It was a beautiful open country which the travelers passed through.
Even at this season flowers were in bloom, and bees still hummed above
them. Herds of deer and wild horses haunted the plains; wild turkeys in
great droves frequented the borders of the streams; thickets of prickly
pear harbored more dangerous creatures, and the bark of the coyote made
the presence of this ubiquitous little creature known even when he was
not seen. The wagon in which the girls sat was driven by John Ross,
while the others belonging to the party were guided by Mexicans. Neal
Jordan and two or three of his comrades accompanied the travelers. True
Texas rangers were these hardy fellows, and in buckskins and sombreros,
with clanking spurs and long rifles, they looked their character. It
gave the girls a sense of security to see these gallant out-riders,
for, though the state was at peace, it was necessary for all travelers
to be on their guard against the predatory Comanches and Wacos.
Especially was this true after the main road was left and the small
company turned off towards more isolated settlements.
Christine was as joyous as a maid could be. She and Alison took turns
in sitting with John on the front seat, Alison taking the first ten
miles by her brother’s side, and Christine the last ten. Louisa was
quite content to sit anywhere.
“I shouldn’t wonder if we met up with Steve somewhere hereabouts,” said
John, as the last five miles only lay before them.
Christine smiled and murmured: “Two years. Has he changed much, John?”
she asked.
“Changed? In what way?” John laughed. “He hasn’t turned gray; neither
has he grown decrepit and wrinkled. A man doesn’t alter noticeably
in two years. I reckon you’ll be able to recognize him without an
introduction. I expect he will have everything in good order for us.
I’ll guarantee no one within fifty miles has a better cabin than ours.
I don’t know that Steve can calculate to a day when we shall be along,
though I reckon he won’t be far out, and we can be looking out for him
when we reach Denton; that’s our nearest village and the one you’ll
soon be best acquainted with.”
But the village of Denton was reached and no Steve appeared. John
stopped to rest his horses, to ladle out a last dipperful of tar for
his wheels, and to inquire into the happenings of the little place.
A tall man with a long beard, came out from the building which served
as store, post-office and inn. He wore a blue flannel shirt and his
trousers were tucked into his boots. “’Light and come in, John,” he
said hospitably. “I declar’, yer a sight for sore eyes. How long ye
been gone? Come in, all of ye. Mandy ain’t cla’red away yet and we’ll
hand ye out somethin’. Got yer fambly in thar?” He peered curiously
into the wagon.
“Yes, we’re all here,” John told him. “We’ll not come in, Buck, for
the girls are anxious to see their new home. Seen anything of Steve? I
thought we’d likely meet him about now.”
The man pulled his long beard thoughtfully. “Now lemme see,” he said.
“Steve was here; I reckon it must hev been day before yesterday. He
came for some truck, coffee I believe it was. Said he was looking out
for you-alls to be gittin’ along. Maybe he thought you’d be as well
satisfied if he waited at your house for you and had it comfortable
when you got thar.”
“He was all right then?”
“Right as a trivet. Said you’d been gone long enough for him, ’peared
like it was three years instead of three months. Said he didn’t reckon
nobody’d be gladder than him to see you and your folks. Got some of the
boys to come along with ye, didn’t ye? Neal movin’ up this way?”
“Well no, he’s still down on the river, but he and the boys thought
they might as well ride along with us.”
“Where there’s women folks,” said Buck, “it’s just as well to pick up
as many as ye kin to travel with ye. Ain’t come acrost no Injuns, I
suppose?”
“Not one. Been any about?”
“I ain’t sure about that. Ben Phillips was tellin’ me he heard they’d
got a bunch of horses from the Carterses the other night.”
“Humph!” John glanced towards the wagon a trifle uneasily. Christine
was listening eagerly. Buck followed his glance. “Thar ain’t nothin’ to
be skeered of, miss,” he said coming forward. “We don’t hev no trouble
nowadays. They will steal horses every chanst they git, and I reckon
they’re bound to keep thet up till the cows come home, but they don’t
pester us much. White folks is gittin’ too thick fur ’em; settlemints
too clost together and Uncle Sam standin’ ready to lick ’em into shape
if they git troublesome. Well, you off? Bring the gals over when ye
kin.” He waved his hand in farewell and the company proceeded on its
way. Three miles beyond Denton lay the home to which they all looked
forward expectantly.
They were covering the distance rapidly, when suddenly a riderless
horse came dashing up to John’s team, and tossing its head stood still
for a moment, then ran alongside.
“It’s Hero, as I live,” exclaimed John, hastily handing the reins to
his sister and climbing down. He held out his hand to the pretty
creature, who pricked up his ears, lowered his head and looked at him
suspiciously, then dashed off a short distance to stand still again.
John cautiously followed with a bunch of grass and finally Hero allowed
himself to be caught, evidently first making sure that John was a
friend.
“I’d like to know what the mischief he’s doing here,” said John. “It’s
Steve’s horse, you know.”
Christine looked startled, and asked tremulously: “What do you think
can have happened?”
“He’s gotten loose somehow, or has slipped out of the corral, I
suppose,” said John carelessly. But he led the horse up to where Neal
was watching proceedings, and the two conferred together, Neal taking
the horse in charge and John returning to the wagon. Christine thought
he looked troubled, but to her questionings he only answered: “I
haven’t a doubt but that it’s all right. We’ll soon find out. Steve
certainly will be glad to see his horse again. It’s lucky he met us
instead of some other crowd, or Steve would likely never have got him
back.” But in spite of this off-hand way of disposing of the matter,
Christine was not satisfied.