COMPANIONSHIP
If food and clothes and kindness were all that is needed in this old
world, Alta Morgan had all she needed. But there is one vital need that
these comforts, good as they are, cannot fill, and that is true
companionship. Her uncle gave her fatherly love and protection, but his
thoughts were forever with his fine stock and broad hayfields, or in the
memories of the stirring days gone by--the war and the wild West.
Aunt ‘Liza, the housekeeper, was a good-natured, bread-and-butter sort
of woman, who could stand up under a ton of such work as washing and
cooking. She could set hearty meals and keep the ranch house clean and
tidy; but her conversation was limited, for the most part, to “Land
sakes!” and “Law me!” Her thoughts seldom went beyond the “vittles.”
Alta’s heart hungered for higher things.
If she could have found a girl to chum with, one of like tastes with
her, she might have been satisfied; but she could not. Sally was jolly
enough, big-hearted and wholesome, but she lacked refinement. She could
work like a steam engine all day, singing her way through great stacks
of clothes to be washed, or big meals for hungry haymakers. She was a
helpful, hearty, romping ranch girl, just the kind that Aunt ‘Liza
liked. And she was also a great favorite with the fellows, with whom she
would dance till morning, but whose ears she would box as quick as
lightning if they grew too smart. She could joke with the whole crowd of
them and hold her own, but the girl was as pure as she was frank and
free. A stranger might have taken her seeming boldness for rudeness or
worse, but let him make the slightest step toward evil, he would be
checked like a flash and forfeit forever her heart’s hospitality.
Alta liked Sally, but they could never be chums. They both were playful
and pure, but there was one strikingly essential difference in their
natures that held them apart. Sally’s joys were found almost entirely in
sensuous pleasures, such as dancing and feasting and riding the range; a
good mince pie was more satisfying to her than a mountain sunset. She
cared little for books and music. Alta thought her over bold with the
boys. Their natures could never blend.
Mary was nearer to Alta’s inner nature, a gentle little lass, who clung
closely to her mother. She was too shy and dainty for the rugged ranch
life. Alta wanted someone who liked the out-of-doors. Mary preferred to
sit at home doing fancy work. They couldn’t find their fun together; and
after all, fun and friendship are largely one and the same thing.
Alta Morgan’s early life had cultivated in her a taste for something
better than picnics and dances and beaux. She enjoyed such pleasures,
but she found a richer enjoyment in books and in nature. The warblers
that twittered and trilled their morning lays out of the breezy willows,
the flush of crimson in the dawning sky, the mighty mountains in their
many mystic moods--all gave to her soul such feelings as often brought
tears. Her heart’s eyes were always open to the wonders of the world
about her. And she found them everywhere, from the tender pale-blue
flaxflower at her feet to the proud eagle, sailing with the winds in the
clear blue above her.
Life was joyous, full of riches, to this responsive, natural girl,
developing day by day into queenly womanhood. Every day brought her new
and interesting experiences that set her chattering with expressions of
delight and appreciation. In these moods she would run home at first to
Aunt ‘Liza; but she got only “Law me! child, that’s nuthin’,” so often
that she gradually grew discouraged and closed her inmost heart to the
practical-minded old lady.
Her uncle tried to respond to her delight over the beautiful flower, or
butterfly, or bird’s eggs she would bring to him; but somehow he
couldn’t make his old bachelor’s heart be a child’s again, and Alta
instinctively felt that he thought of it all as foolishness. Sally made
fun of her for “talking so silly about the sunsets.” She found no
comfort among these friends. Her heart grew lonely. She was longing for
true companionship, for some one who could understand and share her
delight in things really delightful, when Fred came into her life.
He loved the things she loved. That was their bond of sympathy. His
heart’s eyes were open, too, to the glories of the wonder-world; and he,
too, had found the “open sesame” to another world--the world ideal
hidden in the covers of great books.
Bashful, boyish, unused to the company of girls, he had found it hard to
meet Alta half way and enjoy life’s riches the more by sharing them. But
this innocence and native modesty was the very thing that made possible
the sweet companionship that gradually grew between them. Alta had no
serious thoughts of love at that time; no more had Fred; yet something
strangely sweet was in their friendship. They loved to be together. She
was so natural, so full of sweet surprises that she charmed and held
him. His eyes were bright with intelligence, his heart pure and warm.
She trusted him instinctively; she found in him a kindred spirit. She
looked through his eyes upon the world about her, and her heart leaped
to feel that there was some one else who enjoyed in like measure the
things that thrilled her.
So it happened that she often sought him. So it happened that they grew
to be as brother and sister romping hand in hand together over nature’s
playground, this wild western valley in its native glory, before
commercialism had stretched its barbed fences across the trails and laid
out its artificial roads for men to follow, driving with discordant
noises the wild life away forever.
“Law me!” exclaimed Aunt ‘Liza the next morning during breakfast, “I
wish I had some gooseberries or cherries to make a pie. I’m gettin’
tired of beef and taters and rice puddin’.”
“Will currants do?” asked Alta.
“Currants! Law, yes; any kind o’ fruit’ll do; but a body can’t git
nuthin’ like that in this country. It makes me homesick for old
Pottawattamie County back in Ioway, where there’s tons o’ fruit fer the
pickin’.”
“Yes, but there are plenty of wild currants here too,” Alta responded,
“up along the creek. I found a fine patch there the other day.”
“Land sakes! why didn’t you fetch some home?”
“I had no way to carry them; but if you like I’ll get some to-day.”
“Yes, and git out o’ helpin’ wash! But never mind, I’ll excuse you if
you’ll bring in somethin’ good to eat. Jest wash up these dishes while I
set the clothes to movin’ and you kin go.”
Her work quickly cleared, Alta was on Eagle a few moments later,
galloping briskly toward the creek. Up near the old ford the currant
bushes were thick; and this year they were bending with their juicy
brown fruit.
It was near where Fred grazed his herd. She came upon him this morning
chasing two unruly heifers out of the brush.
“Good morning,” he called cheerfully; “what brings you here to-day?”
“Oh, I’m fishing again,” she responded laughingly; “fishing for berries
this time.” She raised her pail as she spoke.
“Poor place to get berries. They are thicker across the creek. I found a
patch of the best wild strawberries there that I ever tasted.”
“Strawberries!” exclaimed Alta, “why, they don’t grow here, do they? I
said berries, but I meant currants.”
“Come along and I’ll prove it,” he replied, “it’s just a little way.”
They galloped across the creek, Fred leading till they came to a place
where the stream made a graceful bend among the aspens, and there in an
opening of the grove about ten rods square was the wild berry patch.
Leaping from his horse, he found some of the berries, small but sweet
and juicy, and handed them up to his companion, saying,
“There, will you believe it now?”
“Oh, this is fine!” she responded, jumping from Eagle’s back. “And Aunt
‘Liza said that this was a fruitless country. I’ll give her a big
surprise.”
“Good, let me help you!” And they worked away like happy children among
the berries. “There are other kinds of fruit in these mountains, too,”
he went on. “Uncle Dave showed me huckleberries and raspberries and
chokecherries the other day, but they’re not ready yet.”
“Uncle Dave? Who’s he?” asked Alta.
“The old mountaineer that I told you about the day you caught the fish.”
“Yes, and you did not keep your promise to take me up to see him.”
“Well, I’ll certainly keep it whenever you are ready. How would you like
to take a ride Saturday with me after chickens?”
“Let’s do it,” she responded, “next Saturday--Good! Where shall I come?”
“Meet me here about four o’clock.”
“All right. Now I must be getting home or Aunt ‘Liza will scold.”
“But you haven’t your currants,” suggested Fred.
“I declare I’d forgotten them! I should get a scolding for sure if I
didn’t get some for her pie. But I can soon fill the pail.”
“With me to help,” said Fred; “let’s go to the patch across the creek
where they’re thick.”
In a few moments they were among the currant brush, chatting merrily as
they worked away. The pail was soon filled with golden-brown currants.
Fred placed the lid on securely and helped Alta mount her pony.
“Oh, thank you ever so much,” she said, as she turned to ride away.
“It is fun to help you,” he responded; “come again.”
“Four o’clock next Saturday; I’ll remember,” she called back.
Another pair of eager ears caught her parting words, too. Dick,
returning from a fruitless quest after the work horses that morning, had
come upon the two unawares. Seeing that they had not noticed him, he
slipped back into the grove, where for the last few moments he had sat
on his horse, eyes and ears alive to catch what was going on. But
nothing significant came till he heard this good-by sentence.
It made him furiously jealous, but he held down his feelings until Alta
had disappeared; then, breaking from the brush, he rode up to Fred with
his usual bravado and said sneeringly,
“Hello, cow-baby! Tendin’ to business well to-day?”
With this cutting remark, he struck spurs to his horse and dashed away
over the flat, leaving Fred too astonished to reply. He hurried to
gather up his scattered herd, and found one of his fattest heifers
missing. All the afternoon he searched for her, but night came and the
animal was still gone. The boy was sorely worried.
After supper, he called Dan aside and told him about the loss, saying in
conclusion, “It was my fault. I shouldn’t have left the herd so long;
but if I don’t find the heifer, I’ll pay for it.”
“You must keep a sharper eye on them these days,” replied Dan. “The
flies drive ’em crazy. But don’t worry, boy, she’ll turn up all right
to-morrow.”
Dan’s hopeful prophecy, however, did not come true. The animal never did
turn up. Fred’s real troubles had begun.