LOU’S WEDDING
Such a cheer as went up, when, the suspense over, every one was aware
of the result of the drawing. Hannah Maria was the first to rush up
with congratulations to Ira. Never before had she been so closely
concerned in a romance, and that it had turned out so well was beyond
her dearest hopes. Alison and Christine were scarcely more pleased than
fat, good-natured, sentimental Hannah Maria. Since the annexation of
Texas to the United States the time had passed when the presence of
a _padre_ was necessary to legalize a marriage, and so it was hoped
that there would be no delay in the wedding, as Judge Jackson had
been notified by his friend Jabez Manypenny to be present, and was
promptly on hand to perform the ceremony for Ira and Louisa, to Jabez’
discomfiture and Pike’s rage.
Though matters had turned out very differently from what Cyrus had
expected he could say nothing, for there were too many witnesses to
the transaction for him to attempt to back out of his agreement, and,
moreover, he knew that a very determined set of men would permit
nothing less than the carrying out of the scheme he himself had
arranged. The fact that Ira held a number came as a surprise to him,
and he began to bluster about it to Bud, claiming that it was not fair,
and that the drawing should be done over again, but he was so fiercely
turned upon by half a dozen big fellows that he perceived the wisdom of
letting the matter rest. At first he hoped there would be some way of
deferring the marriage, and that he could evolve some plan by which Ira
could be sent out of the way. He knew Pike would hesitate at nothing,
and, for a moment, in the sharpness of his disappointment, he had a
wild notion of getting Pike’s help in abducting Louisa or Ira, but, to
his credit be it said, he was reluctant to allow his daughter to marry
such a scamp as he knew Pike to be, and when all insisted that there
should be no delay in the ceremony he acquiesced with as good a grace
as could be expected.
The old judge in long boots, flannel shirt, and with untrimmed beard,
elbowed his way through the crowd of giggling girls clustered together
in the middle of the room. Hannah Maria, in her element, whispered
suggestions to the bridal party. The company lined up leaving a
passageway for John and Christine, Alison and Blythe Van Dorn, acting
as bridesmaids and groomsmen and preceding Ira and Louisa, the latter
in gay calico gown. The old judge wasted no time, and in a remarkably
short space of time Louisa was Mrs. Ira Korner. Then the witnesses
pressed forward to offer congratulations. All but two had a hearty
word to say. Jabez Manypenny did not tarry, but sneaked out the door
before the ceremony was over and, mounting his horse, rode home,
meditating upon the uncertainty of human hopes. Pike Smith, gnashing
his teeth in rage, kept watch in the darkness of the pine woods near at
hand.
“When we started out this morning you didn’t expect to be a married man
before night, did you, Ira?” said John, giving his companion in arms a
hearty slap on the shoulder.
“I didn’t exactly count on it,” said Ira.
“You’d better come home with us,” continued John. “You know that place
of yours isn’t very handy to get to and it’s been shut up all these
months, and I will venture to say it isn’t any too well fixed up at its
best.”
Ira laughed. “Well, I reckon you’re right. It is pretty messy as I
remember.”
“Then you just come to our house till you can fix up,” urged John. “Lou
will feel at home there and the girls will be delighted to have her,
and you, too, for that matter.”
“I take it real kind of you,” said Ira. “If Lou’s willin’ I sholy am.”
“Indeed I’d like nothing better,” said Louisa. “You don’t think I ought
to stay here with dad for awhile, do you, Mr. John?”
“Not a bit of it,” was the reply. “He’s got along all these years
without you and I reckon he’ll be able to stand it awhile longer. Where
is he, anyhow, and where is Pike?” He looked around the room from which
both of the men were missing.
It was not very many minutes before Cyrus reentered, but he seemed
nervous and in no good humor. His schemes had gone awry and he was not
happy. Especially was this true after a conversation he had had outside
with Pike, for Pike was in his ugliest mood and Cyrus did not enjoy a
contemplation of what might result from the day’s doings.
But now Hannah Maria and some of the older women were busying
themselves in offering the refreshments which Louisa had carefully
prepared; great pans of biscuits, boiled hams, sweet cakes and such
dainties as her father would allow her to provide. “It’s your last
fling,” he had said ungraciously. “I reckon I’ll hev to let ye cook up
somethin’ to keep folks from talkin’, though I don’t much care what
they do say.” And so Louisa had done her best.
The majority of the company was in high spirits; even those who had
failed to secure such an admirable helpmeet as Louisa were pleased that
Ira should have been the successful rival, for he was a great favorite
and every one had a good word to say of him.
“I swow,” said Matt Cochran, “I’d rather see Iry git her than anybody
as long as I didn’t git her myself.”
“Iry’s a good feller; he desarves his luck,” piped up old Billy Jones.
“I had my eye on the gal, but Sally, my darter, told me I’d better be
keerful of a red-headed woman.”
“I wasn’t thinkin’ of her head,” said Lew Phelps. “I was thinkin’ what
a powerful handy cook I’d git. I ain’t never struck more wholesome
wittles than what these air,” he added, his mouth full of biscuits and
ham.
And so the talk went on till night suddenly fell and the company broke
up. Lanterns bobbed about the lot where men were untying their horses,
hoisting damsels to their places on tough little mustangs, assisting
stout dames to their seats in the family conveyance, or adjusting
some young woman to her saddle in front of the cavalier with whom she
had come. The shrill laughter of girls, the unrestrained guffaws of
the men, the sleepy wail of some little child, the stamping horses,
the creaking of wheels, all combined to show how large and popular an
entertainment this had proven to be.
Louisa was the last to leave the house. At the parting moment she had
gone to her father with tears in her eyes. “Good-bye, dad,” she said.
“I’ll come over to see you soon. I know ye ain’t sorry to part from me
or I’d feel worse about goin’. I wisht I could have married to suit
ye, but I’ve got the man I love, if that’s any consolation to ye. An’
if it does ye any good to hear it, why I tell ye there ain’t a cloud
upon my sky except that I ain’t pleased ye. Me an’ you ain’t been so
terrible happy; maybe it’s because we knowed each other too late, but
I’d like ye to kiss me good-bye, fer ye’re the only parent I got and
this is my weddin’ day. I ain’t got no mother, and I’d like to part
from ye without no hard feelin’s.”
Moved by her appeal, the man put his arm awkwardly around her and
gave her a swift kiss, then, as if ashamed even of this exhibition of
feeling, he pushed her from him. “I ain’t harborin’ no ill feelin’s
to you, Louisy,” he said. “You done yer best. I’d rather ye’d married
Jabez and bed that nice home, but what’s done’s done. I wish ye luck,
yes, I do.” He pushed her further away and went abruptly into the house
shutting the door after him.
His own horse being too used up for further travel without a day’s
rest, Ira had ridden over on Hero, John driving the wagon in which were
Christine, Alison, and Lolita, a slower way of proceeding, but one
which accommodated the whole family. It was proposed that Louisa should
occupy a place with the girls, but Ira, lover-like, insisted that she
should be mounted in front of him.
“Then, if that’s the way you must go, you’d better take my horse,” said
Blythe Van Dorn. “He’s heavier than yours, Ira, and will carry double
weight; besides my saddle is better adapted for two.” And so Blythe
mounted Hero and the bridal pair set off, escorted by their friends.
Over the miles of rough road they jogged along, making the night ring
with laugh and song, and a fusilade once in a while to give vent
to their feelings and to show in true Texan fashion that something
especial called forth a use of pistols. As they neared the various
ranches one after another dropped out of the procession and turned
toward his own home, till, by the time the Rosses left the main road,
there were not many to accompany them further. Blythe, who had stopped
to say a word to a departing comrade, was somewhat in the rear, and
singing softly to himself jogged along at a careless pace.
As the last clump of trees was passed, a man suddenly sprang out and
seized Hero by the bridle. Two or three pistol shots followed in quick
succession and Blythe fell to the ground, while the man sprang upon
Hero and dashed off down the road as if pursued by furies.
In an instant every man had wheeled around and shot after shot rang out
upon the still night air. “After him, boys,” shouted Bud.
“Down with ye, Lou,” said Ira shortly, and as, without a word, Louisa
obeyed, he stooped and gave her a quick kiss, then putting spurs to his
horse he dashed after those who were already giving chase.
“Here, girls, you’ll have to go on home alone,” said John as he jumped
from the wagon and ran back to where Blythe lay.
Ira, Bud and two or three others put spurs to their horses and dashed
after the men who had disappeared in the chaparral. This soon became
too dense for them to penetrate except on foot, but they fired in all
directions and before long, Ira, who was ahead, called out: “Here’s one
of them. It looks like we’d done for him.” With difficulty the others
made their way to where Ira bent over a prostrate figure. “He’s still
breathing,” he told them. “We’d better carry him out to the road away
from these thorns and briers.”
It was not easy to convey their burden through the thick underbrush,
but they managed to do it, and when, under the starlit sky, they bent
to discover the man’s features, Bud gave a sharp exclamation. “It’s old
Cy Sparks,” he said.
Hearing his name spoken, the wounded man opened his eyes and recognized
Bud. “Well, boys,” he said feebly, “I reckon I’m done for this time.
Where’s Pike?”
“Pike? If I’d known it was that low down rascal I’d a hunted him
further,” said Bud.
Cyrus closed his eyes and breathed heavily. After a moment he looked up
again with a dazed expression and recognized Ira. “You’ve come back,”
he said. “Where’s Lou? Is she safe?”
“She’s gone on with the Ross gals,” Bud told him. “What was ye up
to, anyhow, Cy?” He must settle this mystery if possible while the
opportunity was his.
“We were after the hoss,” said Cyrus with effort. “We got him once
before---- Mebbe you don’t know that. Pike was bound to hev him----
We’ve hed dealin’s together oncet or twicet and Pike--he knew--he
threatened to tell if I didn’t go with him to-night. I was to git the
hoss and he meant to kidnap Iry if he could, but I saw him aim--to kill
Iry, ridin’ that hoss of Steve’s.”
“I wasn’t ridin’ thet hoss; it was Blythe Van Dorn,” said Ira quickly.
“Pike said it was you,” Cyrus went on, “and that Lou was in the wagon.
We always meant to git that hoss some day but--when I saw--Pike aim to
kill Iry, I struck--up his arm and he--turned--on me and I--reckon he’s
finished me.”
“It was Pike then. You hear that, boys,” said Ira. “I’m sorry, Cy, I’m
sorry fer ye. Ye meant white by me if ye was on a bad business about
the hoss. I ast yer pardon fer any hard feelin’s.”
“I desarve ’em,” said Cy. “I ain’t been--a good man--left my wife--and
child--come here an’--done low down--tricks an’ was goin’ ter do--more
of ’em.” He grew weaker and lay breathing painfully with closed eyes.
After a time he whispered “Louisa.”
“Ole man,” said Ira, “I swar I’ll be good to yer gal, if that’s what
you mean.”
“Don’t--tell--Lou--I was stealin’ the--hoss.”
“No, sir, I’ll not. You understand, boys. This here’s my wife’s father
and I want to keep this here little transaction quiet.”
“We’ll not peep, Iry, not one of us,” his companions assured him.
Cyrus put out a feeble hand and Ira clasped it in his strong ones.
“Tell Lou I didn’t mean----” the breath came shorter, then presently
there was a new effort. “Pike knows--Steve----” And that was the last
word.
It was a subdued and serious group that carried Cyrus Sparks, now
dignified by death, to the nearest shelter. This happened to be Pedro’s
cabin where Blythe Van Dorn lay wounded badly, but not dangerously it
was hoped. Here John and his sisters, with Louisa, had attended to the
young man’s wounds and he was fairly comfortable. Ira and his friends
laid their lifeless burden outside on the grass and called John,
telling him of what had happened. Then Ira faced his next duty. “I’d
like to see Lou,” he said. “John, you send her out to me, and you boys
go off fer a while.” He waited with folded arms till the girl appeared.
“You wanted me, Ira?” she said, coming up and slipping her hand in his.
“Yes, my gal. I’ve got a hard somethin’ to tell ye.” He drew her close
to him. “It seems right mean that I’ve got such a thing to say on our
weddin’ night, but, my gal, that there’s yer dad.” He looked down at
the quiet figure, with face covered, lying there at their feet.
Louisa gave a startled scream and hid her head on his breast. Ira
stroked her hair gently. “He was tryin’ to save my life, Lou. He kep’
Pike from shootin’ what he thought was me on Hero, Steve’s hoss, an’
Pike turned on him in a rage at bein’ interfered with. Your dad had
time to say a few words to us. He thought about you an’ spoke your name
at the very last. He knowed he was a-goin’ an’ he died with his hand in
mine. Thar, gal, thar.” Louisa was shaking with sobs.
“Poor father, poor dad,” she murmured.
“Mebbe he wa’n’t a saint, Lou, but he died tryin’ to save another; I
reckon the Marster up in heaven’ll understan’ thet. Thar’s somethin’
in the good book about a feller layin’ down his life fer a fren’,
ain’t they? I reckin he’ll git leave to jine yer mother yit. Lou, my
gal, my pore little gal.” And Louisa, with a sudden sense of a new and
beautiful love enfolding and protecting her, received such comfort as
never before had been hers.
The next day Cyrus was buried by those who strove to hide his faults
from the world, and who turned from the lonely grave with reverence and
sincere pity, but who sternly vowed vengeance against his slayer.
Those last words of Cyrus’ brought a gleam of hope to Christine, but
there seemed little chance of there being more discovered, for, though
the men scoured the country, there was no sign of either Pike or Hero.
Blythe improved slowly, but it was felt that he must not be moved
for the present, therefore Mrs. Van Dorn was asked to take up her
residence, for the time being, at the Rosses, that she might be near
her boy. Louisa, too, at the urgent request of the girls remained till
Ira should make his home more habitable; therefore it was a large
household, and the days passed busily enough for all.
A certain question troubled Alison during these days, and at last she
took it to her brother John. “Do you think all promises ought to be
kept?” she asked. “If one makes a promise which seems right at the
time, but which if broken might help justice, ought one to keep it a
secret?”
“That’s a mighty tough problem,” returned John. “Can’t you give me a
little more of a clue?”
Alison pondered upon the question. “It concerns Pike Smith,” she said.
“I will tell you some things, John, for I half suspect you know about
them. You know poor old Cyrus Sparks and Pike were the ones who tried
to steal Hero that first time when you were away. Bud told me that
Cyrus had confessed that.”
“Yes, so he did, but he didn’t want Lou to know it.”
“Lou did know, for he was the man we shot at and brought in the house,
but he made her believe that he had bought Hero from Steve and that he
was only taking his own. I never half believed that myself, and I think
Louisa doubted it after she knew her father better. I think Cyrus was
bent on getting Hero; he knew he was a very valuable horse and if he
and Pike could get him they could sell him for a high figure. I think
he and Pike went shares on such deals, and I shouldn’t wonder if they
stole horses all the time. I don’t know that Cyrus was always with them
when they went on their expeditions, but I think Pike was an out and
out horse thief, and a very bad man.”
“No doubt of it,” said John.
“Do you think Pike’s only object was to get hold of Hero the night of
the wedding?”
“Not altogether. I think he was crazed by jealousy, for one thing, and
I think he wanted to get Ira out of the way and took that way to do it.
He had been watching and evidently thought Ira was riding Hero and that
Lou was in the wagon with us, as it was arranged that way at the first.
Pike’s idea was to get Ira out of the way, if he could, grab the horse,
and make way with it as he did. I have no doubt but that he thinks
he has killed Ira as well as Cyrus, and though it is not doing him
any good, he is satisfied that he has prevented Ira from winning Lou,
so he has gratified his revenge, as he supposes. We’ve long thought
that he has been working with a band of horse thieves, and he is no
doubt hidden somewhere in the mountains and will make his way over the
border. We have never been able to prove that he and Cyrus were doing
crooked work but we have thought so.”
“You remember that Cyrus said Pike could tell about Steve; that is what
makes it hard for me to keep my promise to him.”
“To Pike? You don’t mean to Pike?” John looked amazed.
“Yes, Pike. Oh, John, I must tell, for Tina’s sake. Pike followed me
one day when I was coming from Louisa’s. He thought I had a note or
something from her to Ira, and he wanted to get it away from me. I
did have that lock of hair, but he didn’t find it out. As I said, he
followed me and carried me off to a little old hut in the woods.”
John made a fierce exclamation.
“He didn’t hurt me,” said Alison. “There was an old woman there who
searched me, but you know what an evil temper Pike has, and I made him
angry so he did mean to keep me prisoner till I showed him I knew that
he had been one of those who tried to steal Hero, and I told him that
Bud and some of the boys were coming to meet me, and I knew they would
track me to the place, so then I promised not to tell of his having
carried me off and to say nothing of his being with Cyrus that night,
and he let me go. He knew perfectly well he didn’t dare to keep me, for
Bud would be hot on my tracks. I’ve never told any one anything except
that a man followed me and that I lost my way in consequence.”
“I’d have been fair wild if I had known it,” said John. “We have been
to that hut, but there was not a sign of any one there.”
“Oh, dear.” Alison was disappointed.
“However,” John went on, “this is worth following up. I’ll not say a
word of your share in the matter, and you were perfectly right to tell
no one but me. If we can find that old woman we may be able to get
something from her that will help us.”
“To find Steve?”
“I was thinking of finding Pike. Why do you say Steve?”
“I was wondering if Steve might not have been taken there at some time.
I suppose you will say that is a wild kind of guess, and that it is
like a silly girl to suggest such a thing, but it just came into my
head.”
“There might be a clue worth following there,” said John. “You women
folks often jump at a conclusion that turns out to be the right one,
while we men will beat around the bush and never guess the right
thing. Our best plan now is to hunt up that old woman. What did she
look like?”
“She was old, very old, and I remember her name; it was Brigida.”
“Good! That’s something gained. You’re a smart little coot, Alison, and
if you think of anything more you’d better come tell me.”
“I wonder if Pedro would know anything of the woman.”
“He might; that’s worth trying, too.”
“He’s perfectly devoted to us, and I know he would do all he could to
find her out if we wanted her. That old Sofia that we had here might be
looked up; she is pretty near as old.”
“I believe we’ll get hold of something yet by reason of your sharp
wits,” said John. “I’ll go and pump old Pedro. I’ve been thinking of
turning off the old fellow and getting two or three darkies on the
place, but I don’t know but I may as well keep him too.”
“You couldn’t turn him off while Blythe is there.”
“That’s so.”
“And I am sure Pedro is much more faithful than any one you could find
among the darkies.”
“There’s not much love shown for the greasers nowadays, you know.”
“Well, I don’t care. Pedro is not like a common greaser; he is a real
gentleman.”
“Especially in his table manners,” returned John laughing.
“He’s no worse than Bud Haley, and I am sure Lolita is far above dear
old Hannah Maria who looks down on her.”
“Lolita is something of an anomaly, I admit,” said John as he left the
gallery where the two had been talking.