THE NEW WORLD
Franklin crossed the Missouri River, that dividing stream known to a
generation of Western men simply as "the River," and acknowledged as the
boundary between the old and the new, the known and the untried. He
passed on through well-settled farming regions, dotted with prosperous
towns. He moved still with the rolling wheels over a country which
showed only here and there the smoke of a rancher's home. Not even yet
did the daring flight of the railway cease. It came into a land wide,
unbounded, apparently untracked by man, and seemingly set beyond the
limit of man's wanderings. Far out in the heart of this great gray
wilderness lay the track-end of this railroad pushing across the
continent. When Franklin descended from the rude train he needed no one
to tell him he had come to Ellisville. He was at the limit, the edge,
the boundary! "Well, friend," said the fireman, who was oiling the
engine as he passed, and who grinned amiably as he spoke, "you're sure at
the front now."
Franklin had not advised his friend Battersleigh of his intended arrival,
but as he looked about him he saw that he had little need for any guide.
Ellisville as an actual town did not yet exist. A rude shanty or two and
a line of tents indicated the course of a coming street. The two hotels
mentioned by Battersleigh were easily recognised, and indeed not to be
evaded. Out of the middle of this vast, treeless plain the great stone
hotel arose, with no visible excuse or palliation, a deliberate affront
to the solitude which lay far and wide about. Even less within the
bounds of reason appeared the wooden building which Franklin learned was
the Cottage. "Surely," thought he, "if the railroad company had been mad
in building the stone hotel, much worse must have been the man who
erected this rambling wooden structure, hoping for customers who must
come a thousand miles." Yet was this latter mad act justified before his
very eyes. The customers had come. More than forty cow ponies stood in
the Cottage corral or in the street near by. Afar there swelled the
sound of morning revelries.
Franklin wanted breakfast, and instinctively turned toward the stone
hotel at the depot, where he learned were quartered the engineers and
contractors on the railroad work. He seated himself at one of the many
tables in the vast, barren dining room. Half the attendants were haughty
young women, and half rather slovenly young men.
Franklin fell under the care of one of the latter, who greeted him with
something of the affection of an old acquaintance. Coming to the side of
his chair, and throwing an arm carelessly across Franklin's shoulder, the
waiter asked in a confidential tone of voice, "Well, Cap, which'll you
have, hump or tongue?" Whereby Franklin discovered that he was now upon
the buffalo range, and also at the verge of a new etiquette.
After breakfast Franklin paused for a moment at the hotel office, almost
as large and empty as the dining room. Different men now and then came
and passed him by, each seeming to have some business of his own. The
clerk at the hotel asked him if he wanted to locate some land. Still
another stranger, a florid and loosely clad young man with a mild blue
eye, approached him and held some converse.
"Mornin', friend," said the young man.
"Good-morning," said Franklin.
"I allow you're just in on the front," said the other.
"Yes," said Franklin, "I came on the last train."
"Stay long?"
"Well, as to that," said Franklin, "I hardly know, but I shall look
around a bit."
"I didn't know but maybe you'd like to go south o' here, to Plum Centre.
I run the stage line down there, about forty-six miles, twict a week.
That's my livery barn over there--second wooden building in the town.
Sam's my name; Sam Poston."
"I never heard of Plum Centre," said Franklin, with some amusement. "Is
it as large a place as this?"
"Oh, no," said Sam hurriedly, "not nigh as large as this, but it's a good
town, all right. Lots on the main street there sold for three hundred
dollars last week. You see, old man Plum has got it figgered out that
his town is right in the middle of the United States, ary way you measure
it. We claim the same thing for Ellisville, and there you are. We've
got the railroad, and they've got my stage line. There can't no one tell
yet which is goin' to get the bulge on the other. If you want to go down
there, come over and I'll fix you up."
Franklin replied that he would be glad to do so in case he had the need,
and was about to turn away. He was interrupted by the other, who stopped
him with an explosive "Say!"
"Yes," said Franklin.
"Did you notice that girl in the dining room, pony-built like, slick,
black-haired, dark eyes--wears glasses? Say, that's the smoothest girl
west of the river. She's waitin', in the hotel here, but say"
(confidentially), "she taught school onct--yes, sir. You know, I'm gone
on that girl the worst way. If you get a chanct to put in a word for me,
you do it, won't you?"
Franklin was somewhat impressed with the swiftness of acquaintanceships
and of general affairs in this new land, but he retained his own
tactfulness and made polite assurances of aid should it become possible.
"I'd be mightily obliged," said his new-found friend. "Seems like I lose
my nerve every time I try to say a word to that girl. Now, I plum forgot
to ast you which way you was goin'. Do you want a team?"
"Thank you," said Franklin, "but I hardly think so. I want to find my
friend Colonel Battersleigh, and I understand he lives not very far away."
"Oh, you mean old Batty. Yes, he lives just out south a little
ways--Section No. 9, southeast quarter. I suppose you could walk."
"I believe I will walk, if you don't mind," said Franklin. "It seems
very pleasant, and I am tired of riding."
"All right, so long," said Sam. "Don't you forgit what I told you about
that Nora girl."
Franklin passed on in the direction which had been pointed out to him,
looking about him at the strange, new country, in which he felt the
proprietorship of early discovery. He drew in deep breaths of an air
delightfully fresh, squaring his shoulders and throwing up his head
instinctively as he strode forward. The sky was faultlessly clear. The
prospect all about him, devoid as it was of variety, was none the less
abundantly filling to the eye. Far as the eye could reach rolled an
illimitable, tawny sea. The short, harsh grass near at hand he
discovered to be dotted here and there with small, gay flowers. Back of
him, as he turned his head, he saw a square of vivid green, which water
had created as a garden spot of grass and flowers at the stone hotel. He
did not find this green of civilization more consoling or inspiring than
the natural colour of the wild land that lay before him. For the first
time in his life he looked upon the great Plains, and for the first time
felt their fascination. There came to him a subtle, strange
exhilaration. A sensation of confidence, of certainty, arose in his
heart. He trod as a conqueror upon a land new taken. All the earth
seemed happy and care-free. A meadow lark was singing shrilly high up in
the air; another lark answered, clanking contentedly from the grass,
whence in the bright air its yellow breast showed brilliantly.
As Franklin was walking on, busy with the impressions of his new world,
he became conscious of rapid hoof-beats coming up behind him, and turned
to see a horseman careering across the open in his direction, with no
apparent object in view beyond that of making all the noise possible to
be made by a freckled-faced cowboy who had been up all night, but still
had some vitality which needed vent.
"Eeeeee-yow-heeeeee!" yelled the cowboy, both spurring and reining his
supple, cringing steed. "Eeeeeee-yip-yeeeee!" Thus vociferating, he
rode straight at the footman, with apparently the deliberate wish to ride
him down. He wist not that the latter had seen cavalry in his day, and
was not easily to be disconcerted, and, finding that he failed to create
a panic, he pulled up with the pony's nose almost over Franklin's
shoulder.
"Hello, stranger," cried the rider, cheerfully; "where are you goin',
this bright an' happy mornin'?"
Franklin was none too pleased at the method of introduction selected by
this youth, but a look at his open and guileless face forbade the thought
of offence. The cowboy sat his horse as though he was cognizant of no
such creature beneath him. His hand was held high and wabbling as he bit
off a chew from a large tobacco plug the while he jogged alongside.
Franklin made no immediate reply, and the cowboy resumed.
"Have a chaw?" he said affably, and looked surprised when Franklin
thanked him but did not accept.
"Where's yore hoss, man?" asked the new-comer with concern. "Where you
goin', headin' plum south, an' 'thout no hoss?"
"Oh," said Franklin, smiling, "I'm not going far; only over south a mile
or so. I want to find a friend. Colonel Battersleigh. I think his
place is only a mile or so from here."
"Sure," said the cowboy. "Old Batty--I know him. He taken up a quarter
below here. Ain't got his shack up yet. But say, that's a full mile
from yer. You ain't goin' to walk a mile, are you?"
"I've walked a good many thousand miles," said Franklin, "and I shouldn't
wonder if I could get over this one."
"They's all kind of fools in the world," said the rider sagely, and with
such calm conviction in his tone that again Franklin could not take
offence. They progressed a time in silence.
"Say," said the cowboy, after a time--"say, I reckon I kin lick you."
"Do you think so?" said Franklin calmly, pulling up his shoulders and
feeling no alarm.
"Shorely I do," said the other; "I reckon I kin lick you, er beat you
shootin', er throw you down."
"Friend," said Franklin judicially, "I have a good many doubts about your
being able to do all that. But before we take it up any further I would
like to ask you something."
"Well, whut?"
"I'd just like to ask you what makes you tell me that, when I'm a perfect
stranger to you, and when perhaps you may never see me again?"
"Well, now," said the cowboy, pushing back his hat and scratching his
head thoughtfully, "blame if I know why, but I just 'lowed I could,
sorter. An' I _kin_!"
"But why?"
"Say, you're the d----dest feller I ever did see. You got to have a
reason fer everything on earth?" His tone became more truculent. "First
place, 'f I didn't have no other reason, I kin lick ary man on earth that
walks."
"Friend," said Franklin, "get down off that horse, and I'll give you a
little wrestle to see who rides. What's your name, anyhow?"
"Whoa!" said the other. "Name's Curly." He was on the ground as he said
this last, and throwing the bridle over the horse's head. The animal
stood as though anchored. Curly cast his hat upon the ground and trod
upon it in a sort of ecstasy of combat. He rushed at Franklin without
argument or premeditation.
The latter had not attended country school for nothing. Stepping lightly
aside, he caught his ready opponent as he passed, and, with one arm about
his neck, gave him a specimen of the "hip-lock" which sent him in the air
over his own shoulder. The cowboy came down much in a heap, but
presently sat up, his hair somewhat rumpled and sandy. He rubbed his
head and made sundry exclamations of surprise. "Huh!" said he. "Well,
I'm d----d! Now, how you s'pose that happened? You kain't do that
again," he said to Franklin, finally.
"Shouldn't wonder if I could," said Franklin, laughing.
"Look out fer me--I'm a-comin'!" cried Curly.
They met more fairly this time, and Franklin found that he had an
antagonist of little skill in the game of wrestling, but of a surprising
wiry, bodily strength. Time and again the cowboy writhed away from the
hold, and came back again with the light of battle in his eye. It was
only after several moments that he succumbed, this time to the insidious
"grapevine." He fell so sharply that Franklin had difficulty in breaking
free in order not to fall upon him. The cowboy lay prone for a moment,
then got up and dusted off his hat.
"Mount, friend," said he, throwing the bridle back over the horse's neck
without other word. "You done it fair!"
"I'll tell you what we'll do," said Franklin, extending his hand. "We'll
just both walk along together a way, if you don't mind. I'll get me a
horse pretty soon. You see, I'm a new man here--just got in this
morning, and I haven't had time to look around much yet. I thought I'd
go out and meet my friend, and perhaps then we could talk over such
things together."
"Shore," said Curly. "Why didn't you tell me? Say, ole Batty, he's
crazy to ketch a whole lot o' hosses out'n a band o' wild hosses down to
the Beaver Creek. He always a-wantin' me to help him ketch them hosses.
Say, he's got a lot o' sassafiddity, somethin' like that, an' he says
he's goin' to soak some corn in that stuff an' set it out fer hosses.
Says it'll make 'em _loco_, so'st you kin go right up an' rope 'em. Now,
ain't that the d----dest fool thing yet? Say, some o' these pilgrims
that comes out here ain't got sense enough to last over night."
"Battersleigh is fond of horses," said Franklin, "and he's a rider, too."
"That's so," admitted Curly. "He kin ride. You orter see him when he
gits his full outfit on, sword _an_' pistol by his side, uh-huh!"
"He has a horse, then?"
"Has a boss? Has a hoss--has--what? Why, o' course he has a boss. Is
there anybody that ain't got a hoss?"
"Well, I haven't," said Franklin.
"You got this one," said Curly.
"How?" said Frank, puzzled.
"Why, you won him."
"Oh, pshaw!" said Franklin. "Nonsense! I wasn't wrestling for your
horse, only for a ride. Besides, I didn't have any horse put up against
yours. I couldn't lose anything."
"That's so," said Curly. "I hadn't thought of that. Say, you seem like
a white sort o' feller. Tell you what I'll just do with you. O' course,
I was thinkin' you'd win the whole outfit, saddle an' all. I think a
heap o' my saddle, an' long's you ain't got no saddle yet that you have
got used to, like, it don't make much difference to you if you get
another saddle. But you just take this here hoss along. No, that's all
right. I kin git me another back to the corral, just as good as this
one. Jim Parsons, feller on the big bunch o' cows that come up from the
San Marcos this spring, why, he got killed night before last. I'll just
take one o' his hosses, I reckon. I kin fix it so'st you kin git his
saddle, if you take a notion to it."
Franklin looked twice to see if there was affectation in this calm
statement, but was forced, with a certain horror, to believe that his new
acquaintance spoke of this as a matter of fact, and as nothing startling.
He had made no comment, when he was prevented from doing so by the
exclamation of the cowboy, who pointed out ahead.
"There's Batty's place," said he, "an' there's Batty himself. Git up,
quick; git up, an' ride in like a gentleman. It's bad luck to walk."
Franklin laughed, and, taking the reins, swung himself into the saddle
with the ease of the cavalry mount, though with the old-fashioned grasp
at the cantle, with the ends of the reins in his right hand.
"Well, that's a d----d funny way gittin' on top of a hoss," said Curly.
"Are you 'fraid the saddle's goin' to git away from you? Better be
'fraid 'bout the hoss.--Git up, Bronch!"
He slapped the horse on the hip with his hat, and gave the latter a whirl
in the air with a shrill "Whoooop-eee!" which was all that remained
needful to set the horse off on a series of wild, stiff-legged
plunges--the "bucking" of which Franklin had heard so much; a manoeuvre
peculiar to the half-wild Western horses, and one which is at the first
experience a desperately difficult one for even a skilful horseman to
overcome. It perhaps did not occur to Curly that he was inflicting any
hardship upon the newcomer, and perhaps he did not really anticipate what
followed on the part either of the horse or its rider. Had Franklin not
been a good rider, and accustomed to keeping his head while sitting
half-broken mounts, he must have suffered almost instantaneous defeat in
this sudden encounter. The horse threw his head down far between his
fore legs at the start, and then went angling and zigzagging away over
the hard ground in a wild career of humpbacked antics, which jarred
Franklin to the marrow of his bones. The air became scintillant and
luminously red. His head seemed filled with loose liquid, his spine
turned into a column of mere gelatine. The thudding of the hoofs was so
rapid and so punishing to his senses that for a moment he did not realize
where he actually was. Yet with the sheer instinct of horsemanship he
clung to the saddle in some fashion, until finally he was fairly forced
to relax the muscular strain, and so by accident fell into the secret of
the seat--loose, yielding, not tense and strung.
"Go it, go it--whooop-e-e-e!" cried Curly, somewhere out in a dark world.
"Ee-eikee-hooo! Set him fair, pardner! Set him fair, now! Let go that
leather! Ride him straight up! That's right!"
Franklin had small notion of Curly's locality, but he heard his voice,
half taunting and half encouraging, and calling on all his pluck as he
saw some hope of a successful issue, he resolved to ride it out if it lay
within him so to do. He was well on with his resolution when he heard
another voice, which he recognised clearly.
"Good boy, Ned," cried out this voice heartily, though likewise from some
locality yet vague. "R-ride the divil to a finish, me boy! Git up his
head, Ned! Git up his head! The murdering haythin' brute! Kill him!
Ride him out!"
And ride him out Franklin did, perhaps as much by good fortune as by
skill, though none but a shrewd horseman would have hoped to do this
feat. Hurt and jarred, he yet kept upright, and at last he did get the
horse's head up and saw the wild performance close as quickly as it had
begun. The pony ceased his grunting and fell into a stiff trot, with
little to indicate his hidden pyrotechnic quality. Franklin whirled him
around and rode up to where Battersleigh and Curly had now joined. He
was a bit pale, but he pulled himself together well before he reached
them and dismounted with a good front of unconcern. Battersleigh grasped
his hand in both his own and greeted him with a shower of welcomes and of
compliments. Curly slapped him heartily upon the shoulders.
"You're all right, pardner," said he. "You're the d----dest best pilgrim
that ever struck this place, an' I kin lick ary man that says differ'nt.
He's yore horse now, shore."
"And how do ye do, Ned? God bless ye!" said Battersleigh a moment later,
after things had become more tranquil, the horse now falling to cropping
at the grass with a meekness of demeanour which suggested innocence or
penitence, whichever the observer chose. "I'm glad to see ye; glad as
ivver I was in all me life to see a livin' soul! Why didn't ye tell ye
was coming and not come ridin' like a murderin' Cintaur--but ay, boy,
ye're a rider--worthy the ould Forty-siventh--yis, more, I'll say ye
might be a officer in the guards, or in the Rile Irish itself, b'gad,
yes, sir!--Curly, ye divvil, what do ye mean by puttin' me friend on such
a brute, him the first day in the land? And, Ned, how are ye goin' to
like it here, me boy?"
Franklin wiped his forehead as he replied to Battersleigh's running fire
of salutations.
"Well, Battersleigh," he said, "I must say I've been pretty busy ever
since I got here, and so far as I can tell at this date, I'm much
disposed to think this is a strange and rather rapid sort of country
you've got out here."
"Best d----n pilgrim ever hit this rodeo!" repeated Curly, with
conviction.
"Shut up, Curly, ye divvil!" said Battersleigh. "Come into the house,
the both of you. It's but a poor house, but ye're welcome.--An' welcome
ye are, too, Ned, me boy, to the New World."