She came to him at once. "What is it? has baby wakened?"

He gently drew the door to behind her before he answered. Then taking

her in his arms, "Milly, love," he said tenderly, and she noticed that

his voice was unsteady, "can you bear very great joy?"

She gave him a startled look. "What is it? O Rupert? No, no, that

cannot be!"

"Yes, dearest, news has come that his--that the report of his death was

false--"

"Is he here?" she gasped. "O Charlie, don't keep me in suspense! take

me to him."

"I did not say he was here, love; only that he was still alive at last

reports."

But through the half-open door of the sitting-room she had caught

a glimpse of a tall form that wore a strangely familiar look, and

breaking from her husband's arms she ran to see who it was; ran into

the arms of her long lost and deeply mourned brother, outstretched to

receive her.

He held her close, she weeping hysterically on his breast. "Dear, dear

brother! where, where have you been so long, so very long! while we

wept and mourned for you as dead?"

"A captive among the Indians," he answered. "Tell me, has there been

any break in the dear circle since I went away?"

"No, we are all here."

"Thank God for that!" he said with reverent gratitude. "And now I must

see my mother; I can wait no longer."

"Just one moment: I will send father out and break the good news to

her as gently and cautiously as I can," Mildred said, and glided away

through the hall and into the parlor, her eyes full of glad tears, her

face radiant with joy.

"Some one in the sitting-room wishes to see you, father," she whispered

to him; then turning to the others, as he rose and went out, she was

opening her lips to speak when Annis exclaimed, "Why, Milly, you look

as if you had found a gold mine!"

"Better than that," cried Mildred, dropping on her knees by her

mother's side and putting her arms about her. "Mother, dear, can you

bear the best of good tidings?"

"What is it, child? tell me at once; nothing is so hard to bear as

suspense," said Mrs. Keith, turning pale. "Has Ada come home? Don't

keep me from her a moment," and she rose hastily, as if to hurry from

the room.

"No, mother, not that; but still better and stranger news," Mildred

said, gently forcing her back into her seat; "a gentleman just returned

from the far West brings the news that our Rupert was only taken

prisoner by the Indians, not killed."

Mrs. Keith seemed about to faint; a sudden, death-like pallor

overspread her face, and Don threw his arm round her.

"Mother, dear, it is good news; what could be better?" he said, his

voice quivering with excitement and joy.

"Yes," she responded, her color coming back; "oh, can it be possible

that my son yet lives? 'Oh that men would praise the Lord for his

goodness and for his wonderful works to the children of men!'"

Then starting to her feet, "Is the gentleman here? I must see him,

speak to him, hear all he can tell me of my dear boy."

"Oh, wait just a moment, mother, dear," Mildred said, springing up and

laying a detaining hand on her mother's arm; "father has gone out to

speak to him. Ah, here he is," as Mr. Keith re-entered the room, his

face shining with joy, every feature quivering with emotion.

He stepped hurriedly toward the little group. "Wife! wife!" he cried,

catching her in his arms, "our boy, our dear Rupert; we have not lost

him yet; he is restored to us as from the grave; he lives! he lives!

thank God for his unmerited goodness and mercy!"

Rupert had followed his father, and standing at the half-open parlor

door, thence catching a glimpse of his mother's loved face, he could

restrain himself no longer.

In another moment he had her in his arms, holding her close and

covering her face with kisses.

She did not faint, but lay on his breast weeping for joy as if she

would weep her very life away, the rest looking on and weeping with her.

At last she lifted her head for a long, searching gaze into his face;

the dear face she had not thought ever to see again on earth. "You are

changed," she said, the tears streaming down her cheeks; "you have

grown older, darker--there are lines of care and suffering my heart

aches to see--but it is my own boy still; and your mother's eyes would

have recognized you anywhere."

"And you, dearest mother, have grown so thin and pale, your hair so

white," he said, with emotion.

"Never mind, my son; I shall grow young again now," she answered with

a touch of her old time gayety; then gently withdrawing herself from

his arms, looked on with eyes full of glad tears while brothers and

sisters, each in turn, embraced and rejoiced over the lost and found

again.

Perhaps the most affecting part of the scene was the meeting of the two

brothers, each of whom had long believed the other slain.

But it was a moving spectacle throughout; Celestia Ann, peering in at

the door, cried heartily from very sympathy, and Flora Weston, feeling

like an intruder upon the sacred privacy of the family, stole quietly

away to Dr. Landreth's, leaving word with Celestia Ann that she had

gone "thinking it time for an invalid to be in bed."

But it was long before her absence was noticed.

Rupert did not attempt to tell his story that night; it was much too

long, he said; to-morrow he would gather them all about him, if they

liked, and go into the details. In the mean while there is something

which he must say at once.

"I shall greatly surprise you all, I know," he said, with a happy

smile. "Mother, dear," turning to her, "do not be shocked when I tell

you that I have brought a wife with me."

He read a look of astonishment, not unmixed with dismay, on every

face; but they waited in silence to hear what more he had to say.

"She is a Mexican," he went on, "of Spanish descent, and very

beautiful, I think; but, better still, she is a Protestant and a real

Christian, so far as man may judge. We were fellow-captives, and I

doubtless owe my life to her kind and skilful nursing."

"Then we will all welcome her!" exclaimed both his parents in a breath.

"Where is she now?"

"At the hotel; she feared to come upon you without previous

announcement; in fact, she is very much afraid of being unwelcome as it

is," Rupert answered, with a wistful glance from one to another of the

loved faces about him.

"Tell her she needn't," cried Mildred, with impulsive warmth. "Say that

we owe her a debt of gratitude it will be impossible ever to pay, if

she is a good and loving wife to the dear brother whose life she has

saved."

"Yes, tell her that," said his mother. "Go and bring her to us. She

shall have a daughter's welcome from me."

"May I go with you?" Don asked, as Rupert rose to go.

"And I?" added the father, rising also. "We will assure her of her

welcome before she has to face us all here."

"I feel inclined to go myself," said the mother, smiling affectionately

upon Rupert; "but no, on second thoughts I should rather have our first

interview here, with no prying eyes to look on."

"Yes," he said; "that will be best; but," and he glanced a little

wistfully at his sisters.

All three at once offered to accompany him.

"Thank you, you dear girls," he said heartily, "but some of you should

stay with mother."

After a little discussion it was agreed that Zillah should go, the

others to await the coming of the new sister where they were.

The hotel was at no great distance, and they had not long to wait.

The little party presently returned, and Rupert led proudly up to his

mother one of the most beautiful, graceful, and altogether bewitching

young creatures she had ever seen.

"Mother, this is your new daughter; Juanita, our mother," he said, and

they embraced with warmth of affection.

"I love you now for my dear son's sake; and all that he tells me you

have done for him, and I hope very soon to love you for your own," Mrs.

Keith said. "I, too, the same for my Rupert's sake," the girl-wife

answered in liquid tones, and pure English, only a slight and pretty

accent betraying the fact that it was not her native tongue. "I hope

you will be my dearest mamma, if so be that you can love a foreigner."

"We will not call or consider you that, dear child," responded Mrs.

Keith with feeling, and bestowing another kiss upon the rich red lips;

"Rupert tells me you are a Christian, and 'we are all one in Christ

Jesus;' no more strangers and foreigners, but fellow-citizens with the

saints and of the household of God ... Jesus Christ himself being the

chief corner-stone."

"Oh, thanks, then we will love one another very much," said the young

bride, tears of joy shining in her beautiful dark eyes. "Now I feel

that I shall be very happy in my husband's dear home that he has told

me of so many, many times."

"I hope you will," Mildred said, embracing her affectionately in her

turn; "I trust we shall become dear sisters to each other. We all want

you to feel at home among us."

Annis came next. "I am your youngest sister," she said, bestowing and

receiving a kiss; "at least the youngest here."

"I have none other," returned the bride in slightly saddened tones. "My

husband," and she turned a look of ineffable affection upon Rupert, "is

all I have; father, mother, brother, sister I have none."

"Ah, we must indeed be kind to you, poor lonely dear!" said Mrs. Keith.

But it was growing late, and the travellers were weary with the long

journey.

Mr. Keith read a short psalm of praise, every heart echoing the words;

they sung the doxology, "Praise God from whom all blessings flow,"

a short prayer of fervent thanksgiving followed, and they separated

for the night, Annis full of delight at the thought of how deeply

interested Elsie would be in the story she meant to write her of the

strange, the wonderful events of this day.

For very joy the parents could not sleep; they lay awake a long while

talking of their sons and the new daughter.

"She looks very young," Mr. Keith remarked.

"About eighteen, I should think," said his wife. "Poor lonely dear! we

must be very kind to her, especially for what she did for Rupert."

"Yes, as kind as we know how to be," assented Mr. Keith. "I cannot yet

quite overcome a feeling of repugnance at the thought of a foreigner

as a daughter-in-law; but I trust I shall be able to in time; and in

the mean while I certainly intend to treat her as well as if I were

delighted with the match."

"She is very beautiful," remarked his wife; "what lovely, expressive

eyes she has!"

"Very, and they gaze at Rupert as if he were a sort of demigod in her

opinion," laughed the father. A happy, gleeful laugh it was.

"Our boy's return is making you young again, Stuart," said his wife.

"Both of us, I hope, my dear," he responded. "But now we must try to

sleep, or I fear we shall feel old in the morning."

The whole family were disposed to think well of the new member and

make her quite one of themselves, especially for Rupert's sake. Don

expressed himself as delighted with her looks and manners, and "How

beautiful she is!" "Yes, perfectly lovely," were the sentences

exchanged between Mildred and Zillah as they left their father's door

that night to go to their own homes; and Flora received quite an

enthusiastic description of her charms from the doctor when they met at

the breakfast-table the next morning.

"Did you see our new sister last night, Celestia Ann?" asked Annis,

busy adorning the breakfast-table in her home with flowers.

"Yes, I reckon I did, Annis. Wasn't I in to the readin', prayin', and

singin'? Yes, I see her, and I think she's about the purtiest creeter

that I ever sot eyes on. I on'y hope she'll turn out as good as she's

purty. I wish't she wasn't a furriner, though; for somehow I can't seem

to like 'em quite so well as our own folks."

[Illustration]

[Illustration]

Chapter Fifteenth.

"Calamity is man's true touchstone."

In their retreat after the attack upon the emigrant train to which

Rupert and Don belonged, the Indians passed again over the ground where

they had shot down the latter.

He still lay motionless and insensible, just as he had fallen from his

horse. Several of the savages dismounted and stooped over him, one

drawing a scalping-knife from his belt, and with the other hand seizing

Rupert by the hair.

At that instant consciousness returned. Rupert opened his eyes, and

seeing the gleaming knife lifted high in the air, sent up a swift but

silent cry to God for help.

The Indian's hold upon his hair suddenly relaxed, and the knife

was returned to his belt. He had changed his mind, as he gave his

companions to understand in a few words quite unintelligible to Rupert,

who was indeed again fast losing consciousness; an answering sentence

or two came indistinctly to his ear as sounds from the far distance;

then he knew nothing more for a time, how long he could not tell; but

on recovering consciousness he found himself strapped to the back of an

Indian pony which was slowly toiling up a steep ascent; a narrow path

winding round a mountain; on the right a rocky wall, on the other a

sheer descent of many hundred feet.

Rupert turned dizzy, sick, and faint as he caught a glimpse of the

frightful precipice, the foaming stream and jagged rocks at its base;

and but for the thongs that bound him firmly to the back of his steed,

he must inevitably have fallen and been dashed to pieces upon them.

He could not in that first moment remember what had befallen him, and

called in a faint voice upon his brother, "Don, where are we?"

No reply, and he called again, more faintly than before, for he was

very weak from pain and loss of blood, "Don, Don!"

An Indian's "Ugh!" and a few words in an unknown tongue answered him

from the rear.

The sounds were guttural and harsh, and seemed to him to command

silence.

Instantly he comprehended that he was a prisoner and in whose hands;

sorely wounded too, for every movement of his pony gave him exquisite

pain; and now memory recalled the events of the afternoon--the chase,

the stinging shot, the fall from his horse, then the waking as from a

dream, to feel the grasp upon his hair and see the scalping-knife held

aloft in the air and just ready to descend upon his devoted head.

Question upon question crowded upon his mind. Where were his late

companions, Morton and Smith? were they killed? were they prisoners

like himself? or had they escaped? Had the train been attacked; and

if so, what was the result? Oh, above all, where was Don, the younger

brother, over whom he was to have watched with paternal care? He would

have defended Don's life and liberty with his own; but, alas, the

opportunity was denied him.

He thought of his own probable fate: what was there to expect but

torture and death? He remembered to have read that the Indians

sometimes carried a prisoner a long distance that the rest of their

tribe might share the delight of witnessing his dying torments. Rupert

shuddered at the thought that this was the fate reserved for him, and

feeling very weak, half hoped he might die on the way to meet it.

Silently he lifted up his heart in prayer to God for help and succor in

this his sore extremity, and that the consolations of God might not be

small to the dear ones at home--especially the tender mother--when the

news of his sad fate should reach them.

The last gleams of the setting sun lighted up the lofty pathway they

were pursuing, but down in that deep valley at the foot of the mountain

it was already growing dark; he could see into its depths as he lay

with his cheek resting on the neck of the pony; turning his head, the

wall of rock towering on the other side came into view.

He was bound hand and foot and could lift only his head; he seemed to

have hardly strength for that; but, anxious to learn the number of

his captors and whether he were the only prisoner, he made an effort,

feebly lifted it, and glanced before and behind him.

He could only see that there were several mounted Indians ahead, and

one or more in his rear, all hideous in war-paint and feathers; there

might be many more at each end of the line--for they were travelling

single file, along the narrow, winding path, but a small portion of

which came within the line of his vision. And there might be other

prisoners, though he saw none.

Even that slight exertion had exhausted him; his head dropped, and

again pain of body and distress of mind were forgotten in a long and

death-like swoon.

It was night, lighted only by the stars, and the path winding downward,

when again he revived for a few moments shivering and benumbed with

cold, weak and faint with hunger and loss of blood, and suffering

greatly from the pain of his wounds.

He heard no sound but the rush of a mountain torrent and the clatter of

the horses' hoofs over the stony way; he had scarcely more than noted

these things when again his senses forsook him.

When next he revived, two of his captors were busy in undoing the rope

that made him fast to the pony, which was standing stock still on level

ground only a few feet from a fire of brushwood, that sent up flame and

smoke and blazed and crackled with a cheery sound which spoke of warmth

for benumbed limbs, while some venison and trout broiling on the coals

gave out a savory smell.

Several warriors were grouped about the fire, one giving particular

attention to the cooking, the others lounging in picturesque and

restful attitudes on the grass.

Rupert was quickly lifted from the pony and laid on the grass beside

them, with his feet to the fire. Then the cord was taken from his

wrists and a bit of the smoking venison put into his hand. He devoured

it ravenously, and, his hunger appeased, presently fell into a deep

sleep; having first committed himself and dear ones to the care and

protection of that God who is everywhere present and almighty to defend

and save.

His wounds had been rudely bound up in a way to stanch the flow of

blood, it being the desire of his captors to keep him alive, at least

for a time. More mercifully disposed than they oftentimes are, and

knowing that he was too weak for flight, they left him unbound through

the night, merely fastening a cord round each arm and securing the

other end to the arm of a stout warrior, one of whom lay on each side

of the prisoner.

Rupert had noted as they laid him down that no other white man was in

sight; this gave him hope that the rest had escaped; yet he could not

know that it was not by death, so that the discovery brought small

relief to his anxiety of mind on their account.

Morning found him feverish and ill, his wounds very painful; but at

an early hour the Indians resumed their line of march with him in the

midst, strapped to the pony as before.

It was a terrible journey, climbing steep ascents, creeping along

narrow ledges of rock, where a single false step would have sent them

down hundreds of feet, to be dashed in pieces upon the sharp points

of the rocks below; now descending by paths as steep, narrow, and

dangerous as those by which they had ascended, and anon fording streams

so deep and swift that the helpless, hapless prisoner was in imminent

danger of drowning.

He, poor fellow, was too ill to note the direction in which they

were travelling, though he had a vague idea that it was in the main

south-westerly.

Beside the difficulties and dangers of the way, he suffered intensely

from the pain of his wounds, and often from intolerable thirst.

One day he woke as from a troubled sleep to find himself lying on

a bearskin in an Indian wigwam, a young girl sitting beside him

embroidering a moccasin.

Their eyes met, and hers, large, soft, and dark as those of a gazelle,

lighted up with pleased surprise.

"You are better, señor," she said, in low musical tones, and in the

Spanish tongue.

Rupert understood her; he was fond of languages, and had gained a good

knowledge of Spanish from Dr. Landreth, who had learned to speak it

fluently during his long sojourn in South America.

"Yes," he said faintly in that tongue, "and you have been my kind

nurse?"

"It has been happiness to care for the weak and wounded stranger," she

said in her liquid tones, "though I little thought he could speak to me

in my own language; for you are not my countryman, señor; your face is

too fair."

"I am from the United States," he replied. "And you, fair lady?"

"I am a Mexican, a captive among the Indians like yourself," was the

mournful reply, tears gathering in the beautiful eyes.

His heart was touched with sympathy, and he was opening his lips to

express it; but with playful authority she bade him be quiet and not

waste his feeble strength in talk.

Then she brought him food and drink prepared by her own fair hands,

and fed him too--for he had scarce strength to feed himself--and

directly his hunger was satisfied he fell asleep again.

When again he woke it was night; the stars were shining in the sky, as

he could see through the opening in the top of the wigwam left for the

escape of smoke, and by their glimmer he could faintly perceive the

outlines of dusky forms lying on all sides of him; their quietude and

the sound of their breathing telling that they slept.

The impulse came strongly upon him to rise and flee--captivity was so

dreadful, liberty so sweet--and it might be that, though so strangely

spared up to this time, torture and death were yet to be his portion if

he remained.

He started up, but only to fall back again in utter exhaustion. He

could do nothing to save himself, and there was no earthly helper near;

but sweetly to his mind came the opening verses of the forty-sixth

psalm, "God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble.

Therefore will we not fear, though the earth be removed, and though

the mountains be carried into the midst of the sea," and silently

committing himself and loved ones--all, alas, so far distant--to the

care of that almighty Friend, he fell asleep again.

He was quite alone when next he woke, and it was broad daylight, for a

bright sunbeam had found its way through the opening in the roof, and

laid bare to his view the whole interior of the wigwam, with all its

filth and lack of the comforts of civilized life.

All was silence within, but from without came the merry shouts and

laughter of the Indian children at play. Presently one pushed aside

the curtain of skins answering for a door, and a pair of wild black

eyes stared Rupert in the face for a moment; then the curtain fell, and

soft, swift-retreating footfalls came faintly to his ear.

Not many minutes had passed when it was again drawn aside, and Juanita,

the Mexican girl he had seen the day before, stepped within, dropping

it behind her.

Her sweet though melancholy smile seemed to light up the forlorn hut

as she bade Rupert good-morning in her liquid tones, using the Spanish

tongue as before, and asked if he could eat the morsel she had brought.

Alas, not such a breakfast as would have been served him in his own

far-away home.

It was a broiled fish, hot from the coals, laid upon a bit of bark

covered with green oak-leaves in lieu of a napkin. He thanked her

gratefully, and asked if she could give him some water with which to

wash his face and hands before eating.

Setting his breakfast on the ground beside him, she went out, and

presently returned with a gourd filled with cold, clear water from a

little stream that ran sparkling and dancing down the mountain-side but

a few yards away.

He first took a long deep draught, for he was suffering with

feverish thirst, then laved face and hands, she handing him his own

pocket-handkerchief, which had been washed in the stream and dried in

the sun, to use in place of a towel.

He recognized it; then glancing down at his person, saw that he was

attired in the clothes he had on when taken, and that, as they were

free from blood-stains, they too must have been washed by some kindly

hand and replaced upon him after their cleansing.

"How much I owe you!" he said, looking gratefully at her.

"No, not much," she answered, with shy modesty. "Now eat, señor, or

your breakfast will be cold."

"I must first rest a little," he returned, with a sigh of weariness,

as he fell back exhausted upon his rude couch.

She caught up several deer and bear skins that lay scattered about,

rolled them together and placed them as a pillow under his head; then

drawing two small objects from beneath that one on which he had been

lying, she held them up to his gaze, asking, "Do you value these,

señor?"

"Indeed do I," he cried, stretching out an eager hand; "my precious

little Bible and my medicine case! I am thankful beyond expression that

they have been preserved to me. How did it happen, señora?"

She explained that she had seen them in the possession of his captor,

had begged that they might be given to her, and the Indian, thinking

them of little worth, had readily complied with her request.

He poured out renewed thanks as he took up his Bible and turned over

the leaves, gazing upon it the while with loving, delighted eyes.

"An English book, is it not?" she asked, watching him with mingled

surprise and curiosity.

"Yes," he said, "the Book of books; God's own holy Word. You have read

it in Spanish, señora?"

"The Bible? We are not allowed to touch it; our Church forbids; I never

saw one before," and she gazed upon it with a kind of awed curiosity

and interest.

"A Papist," he thought, pityingly; "peradventure it was for her sake

I was sent here--that I may lead her from that darkness into the true

light. If life be spared me, I will, with God's help, do my best."

She broke in upon his thoughts. "Come, señor, eat, your fish will be

quite cold."

When Juanita left him, carrying away with her the remains of his

repast, an old squaw paid him a short visit, looking curiously at him,

and grunting out several questions which were utterly unintelligible to

him; he could only shake his head and feebly sign to her that he did

not understand.

She left him, and he took up his book, but found the light was not

sufficient to enable him to read, for it was a very small edition which

he had been accustomed to carry in his pocket.

He was heartily glad when Juanita again appeared, this time with the

moccasin she was embroidering in her hand, and seated herself at his

side.

"I am stronger to-day, señora," he said, "and can listen and talk;

tell me of yourself."

To that she answered briefly that she was an orphan, both parents

having died while she was yet a mere infant; that she had lived in

the family of an uncle, where she was made to feel her poverty and

dependence, and her life rendered far from happy; that some months ago

the Indians had made a raid upon her uncle's ranch, killed him and all

his family, and carried her off a prisoner to this mountain fastness;

that she had been adopted by one of their chiefs, Thunder-Cloud, and

had no hope of any better fate than a life spent among the savages.

"Too sad a fate for one so beautiful, señora," Rupert said; "but do not

despair; God, who rescued Daniel from the lions' den, and Jonah from

the belly of the whale, can save us also even from this stronghold of

our savage foe."

"I know nothing of the occurrences you speak of," she said, "and I dare

not venture to address any petition directly to the great God; but

I pray daily to the Blessed Virgin and the saints to have pity upon

a poor friendless girl and restore me to my country and my people,

though, alas! I know not of one in whose veins flows a single drop of

my blood."

"Ah, señora," replied Rupert, "you need not fear to approach the great

God in the name of His dear Son, our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ.

He bids us do so, and tells us that He is the hearer and answerer of

prayers."

He paused, closed his eyes, and lifted up his heart in silent

supplication for her and for himself.

She thought he slept, and sat very quietly, busy with her embroidery

and waiting for him to wake again.

At length he opened his eyes, and asked her if she knew what fate the

Indians had reserved for him.

She told him a council had been held while he lay unconscious from his

wounds; that there was a heated discussion, some of the braves being

set upon putting him to a torturing death, while others would have held

him for ransom; but finally Thunder-Cloud, whose shot had brought him

to the ground, had claimed him as his peculiar property, and declared

his intention to adopt him as his son. "So," she concluded, "you,

señor, need have no fear of being slain by any of the tribe, unless

caught in an attempt to escape."

"God be praised!" he ejaculated, with clasped hands and uplifted

eyes, "for life is sweet so long as there is a possibility of future

restoration to home and loved ones."

"You will attempt to escape?" she asked, with a look of apprehension;

"it will be very dangerous, señor, for they are terribly fierce--these

Apaches."

He looked at her with a faint smile. "I am far too weak to think of it

now, but one day, when I have recovered my health and strength, I may

find an opportunity."

"And I shall be left alone with the savages as before," she said, with

a touchingly mournful cadence in her exquisite voice.

"You must fly also, señora," he answered. "I think it is to you I owe

my life, for have you not been my faithful nurse through I know not how

long a sickness? Then how could I be so ungrateful as to leave you here

in captivity while I seek home and freedom for myself?"

"You have home and kindred, father and mother perhaps, señor?" she said

inquiringly, the soft eyes she fixed upon his face wistful and dim with

unshed tears.

"Ah," he answered with emotion, "the thought of their anguish when they

shall learn my fate doubles my distress."

"Then," she sighed, "better to be alone in the world, like me, with

none to care whether you live or die."

"Nay, sweet lady, there is one who cares very much, though he has known

you so short a time," he said with a grateful look; "one who would feel

doubly desolate were you to leave him here alone with his captors."

[Illustration]

[Illustration]

Chapter Sixteenth.

"Calamity is man's true touchstone."

"You have talked too much, señor," Juanita said with concern, noting

the look of utter exhaustion that came over his face with the last

words; "I am but a poor nurse to have allowed it. Your lips are parched

too," she added, dropping her work and gliding from the tent to return

a moment later with a gourd full of the cold, sparkling water of the

mountain stream.

She raised his head and held the cup to his lips.

He drank with feverish eagerness.

As he lay back upon his couch again Juanita remarked that his

wounds must be painful and in need of dressing, adding that

Light-of-the-Morning, Thunder-Cloud's wife, who had great knowledge of

the virtues of many plants and roots growing in that region, would soon

come in and dress them with a certain kind of leaf that was famed among

the Indians for its healing qualities, and had already worked wonders

for him.

"And she has been dressing my hurts all these days?" asked Rupert.

"Yes."

"Ah, how long have I lain here, señora?"

"Three weeks, señor," she answered, and at that moment the old squaw he

had seen before came in bearing a bark basket filled with the healing

leaves.

Juanita withdrew to the farther side of the wigwam, and seated herself

with her back toward them while Light-of-the-Morning did her work.

The task was performed a trifle roughly, but with dexterity and skill,

and the applications proved very cooling and soothing to Rupert's

wounds, which before had tortured him with a sensation of dryness and

burning heat.

He returned warm thanks, Juanita acting as interpreter.

The squaw nodded, her grim features relaxing in a slight smile, as of

pleasure, that her labors were appreciated; then pointing to Rupert's

medicine case, lying by his side, asked what it was.

Juanita repeated the query in Spanish, and translated Rupert's answer

into Apache, which she had learned to speak with tolerable fluency.

The squaw then asked for some medicine for a sick child in the camp,

whose ailment baffled her skill.

Rupert was a good druggist, and had sufficient knowledge of medicine

to prescribe for the child when he had heard what were the symptoms;

also the proper remedy was in his case, and he gave it. The result was

satisfactory, and raised him in the esteem of the whole village.

Squaws, pappooses, a few lads and young girls, and a sprinkling of old

men were all that were in it at this time, the braves having gone again

upon the war-path. This Rupert learned from Juanita.

In a few days he was able to crawl out from the wigwam and lie on a

bearskin, which she laid for him underneath a spreading tree. He found

the pure mountain air very delightful and invigorating, and from that

time his recovery was rapid.

He was soon able to sit up a part of the day and amuse himself with

whittling bits of soft wood, making whistles for the little Indian

boys and a variety of toys for the girls--tiny chairs, tables, spoons,

knives and forks--which greatly delighted them.

Thus he made friends of the children, and also of their mothers, while

to his generous nature it was a great satisfaction to be able to give

such pleasure even to these rude children of the desert.

Also, as he picked up their language, he tried to tell them the old,

old story so dear to every Christian heart. To Juanita he was able

to tell it at once, and often as she sat by his side during his

convalescence, he read to her passages from his Bible, stopping now and

then to give an explanation or answer a question; for she listened with

interest and a desire to fully comprehend.

That his Bible had been spared to him was a source of deep joy and

thankfulness, such comfort did he find in its many great and precious

promises.

His heart was often oppressed with sadness as he thought of Don, and

longed to know his fate, or of the dear ones at home and the distress

they would undoubtedly feel on account of his disappearance. He

supposed the report would be that he had been killed by the Indians,

and pictured to himself his mother's anguish on hearing the terrible

tidings; his father's also, for he knew that to both their children

were very near and dear.

When overwhelmed by these sorrowful reflections, his only comfort was

in prayer to Him who is mighty to save, and who, he doubted not, was

able both to give consolation to his loved ones and to deliver him from

the hands of his foes.

His situation was not an enviable one at the first, but it became less

so upon the return of the braves, most of whom regarded him with scowls

and looks of hate.

He gave them back pleasant looks, was on the watch to do them any

little service in his power, but avoided them when he could without

offence. As time went on he found opportunities to win their good-will.

From a boy he had made a practice of learning all that he could on

every subject, and about every kind of work that came in his way; and

now he found use for some kinds of knowledge that most lads would think

it beneath them to acquire; and he was not only an expert whittler, but

equally accomplished as a cook, and he taught the squaws to make savory

dishes that the braves, their husbands and sons, loved, thus winning

favor for himself.

Yet it seemed not altogether good policy; for finding him so useful

they were the more determined never to part with him; and while

treating him well in other respects, kept him a close prisoner in that

little mountain fastness, watching with vigilance his every movement,

and never suffering him to go out of sight of the village.

Still, Rupert never for a moment faltered in his determination

to effect his escape; but while constantly on the alert for an

opportunity, was extremely careful to do nothing to excite suspicion

that such was his purpose.

It was, however, no secret from Juanita, who was to share the attempt

whenever made; and frequently when alone, plans for flight, the

direction it should take, and what provision could be made for it,

formed the principal theme of their conversation.

Neither knew exactly where they were, but Rupert had an idea that

their nearest route toward civilization would lie in a south-easterly

direction and take them into Texas.

He had no means of determining the matter, nor could he for a long time

do anything more than think and plan.

In the mean while he tried to be useful in every possible way to those

about him, more especially Juanita.

He taught her to speak and read English, using his Bible as his

text-book; it was the only one at hand, but it proved sufficient. He

found her deplorably ignorant of almost everything but embroidery and

music--for which she possessed remarkable talent--but managed, in the

course of the three years they spent in the wilds together, to give

her a great amount of general information--teaching her many things

orally--drawing maps in the sand for her instruction in geography and

history, using the heavens at night to assist in giving her a knowledge

of astronomy, the plants and flowers to which they had access to teach

her the rudiments of botany.

Juanita proved an apt pupil, bright and interesting, readily catching

an idea and retaining it in her memory; all the more easily, doubtless,

that she dearly loved her teacher.

She was very young, had seen nothing of the world, and in her artless

simplicity made her affection quite apparent to its object; but he had

no difficulty in returning it, and before they had been six months

together they had come to a full understanding, and were plighted

lovers.

Then Rupert drew bright pictures of his home--the home to which he

hoped one day to take her--and of his father and mother, brothers and

sisters, all of whom he said would welcome and love her as one of

themselves.

But one year and then another rolled slowly away, while deliverance

seemed no nearer than at first, and oftentimes their hearts were sick

with hope deferred.

It was harder for Rupert than for Juanita; for he whom she had with her

was all she had to love, while he, though fondly attached to the lovely

girl sharing his captivity, was separated from many who were also very

dear to his heart, and who must, he knew, be suffering much distress of

mind on his account.

Then, too, the enforced inactivity in business matters was very trying

to him, while she knew nothing of it.

He was her world, and she had him there; yet she did not enjoy savage

life; longed to return to civilization for her own sake, and still more

for his.

Besides, they were at times in great danger when the Indians were

excited by drink or preparations to go upon the war-path, or upon the

return of the braves from such an expedition, either exultant from

victory or depressed and angered by defeat.

At length, in the third year of Rupert's captivity, the vigilance of

the Indians began to relax somewhat; they thought their prisoners had

become enamored of their wild life, and would hardly care to risk an

attempt to escape, knowing, as they undoubtedly did, that if recaptured

torture and death would be almost sure to follow; so Rupert and Juanita

would occasionally find themselves free to ramble through the extent of

the valley, and even to climb some of the nearer hills and mountains.

Hope now revived in their breasts, and was quickened erelong by a

fortunate discovery: they one day came upon some small nuggets of gold,

which they carefully secreted about their persons, with the joyful

thought that it would help them on their contemplated journey.

Then, some weeks later, Rupert picked up a stone which he felt

confident was a diamond. This too he secreted with the greatest care,

sewing it securely upon the inner side of the deerskin hunting-shirt

which he now wore day and night, and letting no one but Juanita know of

its existence. From her he had no concealments, for their interests

were one and the same.

They now watched more eagerly than ever for the longed-for opportunity;

but weeks and months dragged on their weary way, and it came not.

Another winter, with its suffering from cold and storms, from which

they were but poorly protected in the rude huts of the savages, passed

slowly by, spring opened, and once more the braves went forth upon the

war-path.

Seated together upon a ledge of rock on the side of a mountain

overlooking the Indian village, and forming part of the barrier

shutting in the little valley from the outer world, Rupert and Juanita

watched the departure of the Apache chiefs and braves, hideous in their

war-paint and feathers; and as the last of them disappeared in the

defile that formed the sole entrance to this natural mountain fastness,

Rupert, turning to his companion, said, in tones of half-tremulous

eagerness and excitement, "Juanita, love, this is our opportunity; I

doubt if we shall ever have a better."

"What mean you, Rupert?" she asked in some surprise; "what will prevent

Light-of-the-Morning from watching our every moment as vigilantly as

ever? and does not old Crouching Wildcat keep guard day and night at

the only entrance to the valley? and is he not constantly armed and

ready to shoot us down if we so much as approach the spot where he

stands sentinel?"

"All quite true," returned Rupert; "yet I have a plan; listen,

maiden mine, while I unfold it. It is that to-day and to-morrow

we make, quietly and unobserved, every preparation in our power;

then that you make a quantity of that savory venison stew that both

Light-of-the-Morning and Crouching Wildcat delight in, adding a little

white powder which I shall give you; let them both sup upon it, and

they will sleep soundly for some hours--so soundly that we may steal

from our wigwams, join each other at the old warrior's side, and pass

out of the valley unmolested and unnoticed by him."

"And they will wake again and suffer no harm from the powder?" she

asked.

"Yes," he said. "You know, Juanita, I would not murder them even to

gain liberty for myself and you. The powder will cause them to sleep

heavily for a time, and perhaps make them sick for some hours after,

but will do them no permanent injury."

The girl's face grew radiant. "Oh," she cried, clasping her hands in

ecstasy, "how sweet, how delightful to be free! But why not to-night?

why should we wait another day?"

"That when our flight is discovered the braves may be too far away for

a messenger to reach them with the news in time for them to overtake

us."

"Ah, yes; you are much wiser than I; you think of everything."

The braves were quite gone; the last faint echo of their horses' hoofs

had died away far down the pass, and the squaws and children, who had

been watching their departure, scattered to their work or play.

Juanita sighed; then, with a shudder, "How many bloody scalps shall we

see dangling aloft from their spears when they come back!" she said.

"Please God, we shall not be here to behold the horrible, sickening

sight," said Rupert. Then taking her hand in his, "Juanita, you should

be my wife before we start upon our journey."

She glanced up into his face half shyly, flushing rosy red. "But how

can it be?" she asked timidly; "there is no priest here to unite us."

"We will marry ourselves by Friends' ceremony," he said; then explained

it to her, for she had never heard of it before.

"I fear I shall not feel married," she remarked, in a tone of doubt and

hesitation.

"I have the same feeling," he said, "particularly because we have no

witnesses. But it is the best we can do now, and as soon as we can we

will be remarried by a minister.

"Juanita," tightening his clasp of her hand, "I take you to be my wife,

and promise to be to you a true, faithful, and loving husband till

death do us part."

The beautiful eyes filled with glad tears. "And I," she said, in low,

musical tones, "take you, Rupert, to be my lawful and wedded husband,

and promise to be to you a true, loving, faithful, and obedient wife."

He put his arm about her, and drew her into a close, tender embrace,

imprinting a long and ardent kiss upon the rich red lips. "We are one,

love," he whispered, "and what God hath joined together shall no man

put asunder."

After some further discussion of their plans they separated, and by

mutual consent were seen together less than usual during that day and

the next, so fearful were they of arousing suspicion of their design

to attempt an escape.

But late in the afternoon of the second day Rupert contrived to give

Juanita the little morphine powder which she was to administer to

Light-of-the-Morning and Crouching Wildcat, and to do it unperceived by

any of the Indians.

Juanita hastily concealed it, fastening it into the folds of her tunic

with a pin.

There were but few cooking utensils in the Indian village, but

Light-of-the-Morning was the proud possessor of a little iron pot

carried off by the braves in one of their raids upon their white

neighbors, and of this Juanita was allowed to make use in preparing the

savory stew of which Rupert had spoken.

When she proposed doing so to-night, the old squaw nodded consent with

a smile of approval.

The newly made bride went cheerily to work, moving about with her

accustomed grace, and softly humming a snatch of song, yet with a

quaking heart as she thought of the risk she and Rupert were now to run.

As he and she were to partake of the meal, she also broiled venison

and fish over the coals, and baked bread, making her dough into long,

slender rolls, which she then twisted round and round a stick; that she

stuck into the ground close to the fire, and so baked the bread, now

and then pulling up the stick and replanting it with another side to

the fire.

Light-of-the-Morning sat watching her with a look of great

satisfaction, evidently enjoying the feast in anticipation.

At length all was ready, and Juanita began to despair of an opportunity

to carry out her design, when the squaw supplied it by seizing a gourd

and going for water for the meal.

She had scarcely dropped the curtain of the wigwam behind her ere

Juanita had snatched the powder from its hiding-place and poured it

into the stew, trembling and turning pale as she did it; for oh, how

much depended upon the success of the measure!

And it was an anxious moment to both herself and Rupert when

Light-of-the-Morning first tasted of the medicated dish. She paused,

tasted again, and remarked that it was not quite so good as usual, had

a slightly bitter taste; Juanita must have been careless and let it

scorch; but to their great relief she went on to make a hearty meal of

it, not seeming to notice that neither of them touched it.

There was a good deal left, and Rupert surreptitiously carried it off

to Crouching Wildcat, who received the attention with satisfaction,

and devoured the food with great gusto, apparently never noticing the

unusual taste of which the squaw had complained.

Although but little past sunset, the village was already quiet,

scarcely any one, old or young, to be seen moving; for as a rule they

kept early hours there.

Juanita had purposely delayed the evening meal in Thunder-Cloud's

wigwam, rather to the displeasure of its mistress, whose appetite had

grown very keen while waiting; a good thing for the success of the

young people's plans, for she ate very heartily, and almost immediately

threw herself down on her couch of skins and fell into a deep sleep.

It was thus Rupert found her on bringing back the vessel in which he

had carried Crouching Wildcat his portion.

Juanita sat beside the couch, gazing upon the sleeper with bated

breath, her hands folded in her lap, her whole frame trembling with

excitement.

As Rupert pushed aside the curtain and entered, she looked up at him,

and laid her finger upon her lips.

He smiled and nodded, then stooped and whispered in her ear, "All is

already quiet; I think we may set out as soon as it is dark enough to

gain the entrance of the pass unperceived. Come then, love; you will

find me there."

Her speaking eyes gave the promise he sought, and with a parting,

half-regretful glance at the old squaw, who had always been kind to him

and Juanita also, he left the wigwam.

Withdrawing to a short distance, he knelt in the shadow of a tree and

poured out his soul in fervent prayer for guidance and help in this

perilous undertaking.

The shades of evening were falling fast as he rose from his knees. He

sent one swift glance around to make sure that no human eye was near

enough to watch his movements, and, satisfied of that, walked with

rapid yet noiseless step toward the foot of the mountain that shut in

the valley on the nearest side.

Ascending a little way, he came to a ledge of rock; here stooping

down and thrusting aside the overhanging branches of a wild vine that

concealed a little hollow, he took from thence a bundle of jerked

buffalo meat and venison, which he had collected in preparation for

the flight, and with it in his hand rapidly retraced his steps.

He paused beneath the tree he had but just left, to take another

reconnoitring glance, and was startled to find some one leaning against

it, the faint outline of whose figure was barely perceptible in the

gathering darkness; but only for an instant; the next he knew it was

Juanita, and his arm stole round her waist.

"My love, my darling," he whispered, "does your heart fail you?"

"No, beloved, not while you are with me and lead the way," she answered

softly.

"Come, then; I think they are all asleep, and it is quite dark; now is

our time," he said, taking her hand and leading her onward.

Both had learned to walk with the Indian's noiseless tread; they wore

moccasins, and there was no sound of footsteps as they pursued their

silent way to the mouth of the pass.

Before they reached it the loud snoring of the sentinel told them there

was no danger of molestation from him. He lay prone upon the ground, so

soundly asleep that Rupert was able to divest him of his arms without

waking him.

The gun, powder-horn, and shot-bag were Rupert's own, which had been

taken from him at the time of his capture, so that the most scrupulous

conscience could have seen no wrong in his taking possession; though,

indeed, had they not been his own he would have thought it no robbery

under the circumstances.

He was exceedingly glad to find both bag and horn well filled, for

on that largely depended his ability to supply food for himself and

Juanita on the long journey that lay before them ere they could reach

the confines of civilization.

Attaching those two articles to the belt that confined his

hunting-shirt about the waist, and putting the gun over his shoulder,

with the bag of dried meat hung upon it, he took Juanita's hand in his

again, and led her up the pass, away from the scene of their captivity.

It was very dark in that narrow defile, with the mountains towering

far above them on each side, and the way was narrow, rough, and stony;

again and again they stumbled and were near falling, yet held each

other up; but they pressed patiently, determinately onward, without

pause or exchange of word or syllable, till they reached the end, and

came out upon a wide open plain.

The newly-risen moon, flooding it with silver light, showed them

something of its nature and extent; it was treeless and, except along

the margin of a stream that crossed it, a sandy waste. It did not look

inviting, but across it lay the path to freedom, home, and friends.

They paused but a moment to recover breath and take in the view by one

sweeping glance from side to side, then pressed forward more rapidly

than had been possible in the darkness of the defile from which they

had just emerged.

"Thank God, there is no foe in sight!" ejaculated Rupert, "but we must

make all haste across this plain; for if pursued we can be seen from a

great distance. Also let us gain yonder stream as quickly as possible,

and walk in the water to destroy the scent of our footsteps, and leave

no mark of a trail, by which we can be tracked."

"Yes, yes," panted Juanita; "oh, let us hasten."

"My poor darling, you are already almost spent," Rupert said tenderly.

"Lean on me. If I were but free of the gun and bag of meat, I would

take you in my arms."

"No, no," she returned, with a little pleased laugh. "I should not

allow it. I am but a trifle out of breath; that is all, my best of

husbands."

"I am happy to hear it," he said, "for I fear your strength will be

sorely tried before we can reach a place of safety. Draw your blanket

more closely about you, for the night wind has full sweep across this

open plain, and its cold is piercing."

They had both been forced to adopt the Indian style of dress; Juanita

had neither cloak nor shawl, but wore a blanket wrapped about her

shoulders, after the manner of the squaws.

She drew it closer, took Rupert's arm, and they sped swiftly over the

plain, the sense of impending danger lending them unnatural strength

and speed.

They reached the stream, and followed its course for some miles,

keeping just within the water's edge, then left it for a more direct

route, which brought them, about daylight, to a dense forest.

Being now utterly spent with fatigue, they were obliged to stop and

take some rest. Rupert spread his blanket at the foot of a tree, made

Juanita lie down upon it, and carefully covered her with his own. "My

poor child, how very weary you are!" he sighed in tender accents.

"Ah, if I could but provide a cup of hot coffee and a good warm

breakfast for your refreshment! But I have nothing to offer you but

this dried venison, and dare not even kindle a fire to dry your wet

feet, lest the smoke should attract the attention of our savage foes."

"Ah," she said, with a determined effort to be cheerful, and giving him

a sweet, bright smile, "we will not mind such trifles, if only we may

escape being recaptured. Give me a bit of the venison; I can eat it

with appetite."

They rested and slept where they were for some hours; then, late in

the afternoon, started on again through the forest, trying to keep a

south-easterly direction, and guided by the sun, of which they caught

occasional glimpses between the tall tree-tops.

About the time of his setting they came out upon a little opening in

the forest; and here they halted, made another meal upon the dried

meat, then lay down and slept until the moon rose, when they pressed

on again, guided by her light.

So for many weeks they journeyed on, the sun guiding them by day, the

moon and stars at night, sometimes, when clouds covered these from

view, obliged to lie by for hours or days; often compelled to do so

from utter weakness and weariness, drinking water from the streams,

and satisfying their hunger upon fish caught in them, or such game as

Rupert was able to bring down with his gun or catch in snares laid for

them when he and Juanita stopped for a night's rest.

He kept an account of the days of the week, and was careful to observe

the rest of the Sabbath. He had brought his Bible with him, and the

greater part of the day would be passed in the study of its pages and

prayer to that God who is everywhere present and able to deliver from

all dangers and fears. Rupert and Juanita were in a situation to feel

very sensibly the need of His protecting care; for danger from wild

beasts and roving bands of Indians threatened them on every side;

venomous reptiles, too, often lay in their path, and they were not

seldom assailed by both hunger and thirst, sometimes travelling many,

many miles without finding either food or water.

[Illustration]

Chapter Seventeenth.

"Sir, you are very welcome to our house:

It must appear in other ways than words,

Therefore I scant this breathing courtesy."

SHAKESPEARE.

It was late in the afternoon of a sultry August day that our poor

travellers, footsore and weary, reached a great cattle ranch in Texas,

owned and occupied by a family of the name of Baird, who had emigrated

from Ohio years before.

Their large, comfortable house, separated from the road by a wide,

grassy yard and flower-garden, was the first civilized dwelling Rupert

and Juanita had seen since their capture by the Indians, and their

pulses quickened with joy at the sight.

Mrs. Baird was getting supper for her husband and sons, all of whom

were in the field with the cattle. Turning from the fire where she was

broiling chickens, baking biscuit, and frying potatoes, she caught

sight of two forlorn figures coming up the garden path.

"Injuns!" she cried aloud, as, pale and breathless with fright, she

looked this way and that for some weapon of defence, "and me here

alone!"

But a second glance reassured her. They were nearing the open door,

and she could see not only that they were whites, but that there was

nothing sinister or fierce in the expression of the man's face, while

that of the young girl, though pale and travel-stained, was winsome and

even beautiful.

She stepped forward with a cordial "How d'ye do? Walk in, and sit down,

and rest, for you are dreadfully tired, I know," setting out some

chairs as she spoke.

"Thank you, madam; indeed we are," Rupert replied, lifting his hat with

a courtly bow.

But as they crossed the threshold Juanita staggered, and would have

fallen had not he caught her in his arms.

"Oh, my darling, my darling!" he cried in tones of acute distress,

"have food and rest come too late for you?"

"Food and rest?" repeated Mrs. Baird, greatly shocked, "is she starved?

Here, lay her down quick on the lounge in the sitting-room, and I'll

bring her a glass of milk at once; 'twont take me a minute to get it."

With a word of thanks Rupert followed the good woman's directions, and

had scarcely done so ere she was at his side with the milk.

He raised Juanita's head. Mrs. Baird held the glass to her lips, and

noted, with tears of mingled joy and compassion, the eagerness with

which it was swallowed.

Then a sudden thought sent her flying from the room to return

immediately with a pitcher, from which she filled the glasses again and

again, first for Juanita, then for Rupert.

"Now," she said, when her pitcher was empty, "you shall both have a

good hearty supper in about ten minutes. If you'd like to wash off the

dust first, you'll find soap, water, and towels handy out there on the

porch. Now I must leave you, or my supper will be all spoiled."

"O Rupert, how good and kind she is!" whispered Juanita, with tears in

her eyes, as their hostess left them alone together, "and she could

never suppose from our appearance that we have anything to pay with."

"No; she must be a truly benevolent woman, and a Christian one also, I

think; and truly we have great reason to thank our heavenly Father for

bringing us to such an one in our sore need," said Rupert, adding, as

Juanita made a movement as if to rise, "Lie still, love; I will bring a

basin of water to you."

"Please do," she answered, lying down again; "a wash will be very

refreshing. Ah, if one only had some clean clothes to put on!"

"That desire also shall be granted before long, my darling," Rupert

answered between a tear and a smile, glancing down rather ruefully at

the worn and soiled garments of his pretty young wife.

He had shielded her as far as possible from the hardnesses of their

terrible journey, yet he knew that her sufferings had been great--so

great that his kind, loving heart bled at the very thought of them.

She had beautiful hair, very fine, soft, glossy and black as the

raven's wing; very long and luxuriant too; when unconfined falling in a

great mass of ringlets below her waist.

Rupert was very proud of it, as well as of her regular and delicate

features, her starry eyes, sylphlike form, and graceful movements.

At present she wore her hair in a great coil at the back of her shapely

head, held in place by a wooden pin that he had made for her.

"May I take this down and comb it out for you?" he asked, laying his

hand caressingly upon it. "But perhaps it would tire you too much."

"Oh no, it would rather be a refreshment," she answered, smiling up at

him, "and I shall be much obliged."

So he did, then brought her the water to lave her hands and face.

Meanwhile Mrs. Baird, busy with her preparations for the evening meal,

was full of curiosity in regard to her unexpected guests. "Who can they

be?" she questioned with herself, "and where in the world did they come

from? It's as plain as day that he's a gentleman and she a lady; they

look it in spite of their odd, shabby dress; and they speak good, pure

English in refined tones, though she has a little foreign accent. She

looks Spanish, but he's an American; I'm sure of that. Shouldn't wonder

if he's from my own State--from that section anyway, for he's neither

a New Englander nor a Southerner. But their dress--why, it's nearer

Injun than anything else; well, now I wonder--" and hurrying to the

sitting-room door she addressed Rupert:

"If you please, sir, I'd like to ask a question. Have you been among

the Injuns?"

"Yes," he said; "we escaped about three months ago from an Apache

village, where we had been prisoners for three years."

"Dear me! how dreadful! And that must have been a long way off; how did

you ever get here?"

"Yes, it must be hundreds of miles, and we have walked all the way."

"Oh you poor things!" she cried, the tears coursing down her cheeks;

"no wonder you're completely worn out. Your sufferings must have been

dreadful."

"They have not been small," Rupert said, with emotion, his glance

resting pityingly for an instant upon Juanita's wan features; "but as

our days, our strength has been, for God is faithful to His promises.

And now," he added, with a brightening countenance, "the worst is all

over, I trust."

"Yes, indeed; you must stay here till you're quite rested," she said,

with cordial hospitality. "And as soon as there's a good chance I'd

like to hear your whole story. It can't fail to be interesting."

Turning hastily away with the last word, she seized a tin horn, and

going to the back door blew a vigorous blast.

Her husband, three stalwart sons grown to man's estate, and a slender

lad of twelve, the youngest and therefore the family pet, came hurrying

from the field in answer to the summons.

The wife and mother met them at the threshold, her still fresh and

comely face full of excitement. "We have guests," she said.

"Who on earth, mother?" ejaculated Joe, the eldest son, while his

father remarked, "They're welcome, whoever they are, if they're honest,

decent folks."

"That I'll engage they are!" she answered, "though their clothes are

shabby enough; but they're escaped captives from the Apaches; have been

travelling through the wilderness for months on foot, and of course are

in a very bad plight."

Her announcement was met by various exclamations of surprise and

commiseration, according to the characters and dispositions of the

speakers.

"Yes," she said, "and of course, father, we'll keep them here till

they're rested, poor things, and then help them on their way to their

friends, if they have any."

"Of course, of course, wife," answered the man of the house, cheerily.

"But where are they?"

"In the sitting-room. Go in and speak to them, won't you? and ask them

out to supper; it's just ready."

"I'll do that!" he said, hanging up the towel he had been using.

In another minute he was shaking hands cordially with Rupert, while

congratulating him on his escape from the Indians, and assuring him

and Juanita of their welcome to the hospitalities of the ranch as

long as they might be pleased to accept them. "No obligations, young

man," he said, interrupting Rupert's expression of thanks; "you'd do

the same for me if our situations were reversed; and besides, any

decent stranger is a godsend in these lonely parts; and the cost of

entertaining, where you have everything on your place and no market for

it, is just about nothing. Come, walk out to supper," he added; "it's

on the table, and best while it's hot."

He led the way, and they followed right willingly, for the smell of

the viands was extremely appetizing, and the milk had by no means

appeased their hunger.

Mrs. Baird greeted them with a smile, pointed out their seats, and with

an inclination of the head toward the younger members of the family,

said, "My sons, Mr----"

"Keith," supplied Rupert, as she paused with an inquiring look at him;

"Rupert Keith is my name, and this young lady," glancing at Juanita,

"is--"

There was an instant's hesitation, then he added, "my wife," coloring

slightly as he spoke.

He was conscious of a furtive exchange of wondering, inquiring glances

among his entertainers, but no remark was made.

They all sat down to the table, the father asked a blessing upon the

food, and the meal began.

Presently Rupert said, with a frank look into the face of his host, "I

must ask to be permitted to explain my hesitation of a moment ago.

"Juanita and I have been fellow-captives among the Apaches. They

carried her off in a raid into Mexico--her native land. Me they

captured on my way from Indiana to California, and we made our

acquaintance in the Indian village.

"It was not long before we became lovers, but there was no one there

to unite us in marriage. Just previous to making our escape we married

ourselves by Friends' ceremony, as the best we could do; but having had

no witnesses, we do not feel quite satisfied that the knot has been

tied as tightly as it ought to be (the reason of my hesitation to claim

her as fully mine)," he put in parenthetically and with a look and

smile of ardent affection directed to his bride, "and as soon as we can

come across a minister we will get him to tighten it," he concluded,

with a half-sportive look and tone. Then, more gravely, "Is there one

in this neighborhood?" he inquired.

All present had listened with evident interest to his explanation;

the father of the family now answered, "None very near, but there's

a Methodist minister of the name of Clark, who passes here every

other Sunday on his way to a school-house six miles beyond, where he

preaches. He generally takes his dinner here, and that will be a good

chance for you, if you can wait for it."

"'Twon't be so long, father," remarked his wife, cheerily; "this is

Friday, and next Sunday is Mr. Clark's day."

"Why, to be sure, so it is!" ejaculated her spouse, turning a beaming

face upon Rupert and Juanita.

"We can wait," Juanita said in her liquid tones, speaking for the first

time since she had sat down to the table. "I am but poorly prepared so

far as regards my dress," she added, with blushing cheek and a shy,

downward glance at her forlorn attire.

Rupert gave her a tenderly sympathizing look, then turning to their

host asked, "Is there any place within reach where clothing may be

procured? I have means to pay for it, and we are both, as you see,

sorely in need of it."

"The nearest place is twenty miles away, and it's none of the best,"

was the discouraging reply. "However, we'll see what can be done; Joe

can drive you over to-morrow, if you feel like taking the trip; but I

should think you'd better rest a few days first."

"Yes, indeed, I should think so," chimed in Mrs. Baird; "and Joe can

lend him a suit to be married in (they look to be pretty near of a

size), and I'll find something for the young lady."

"Certainly, certainly!" assented Joe with ready cordiality and a kindly

look at Rupert, who was beaming with joy and gratitude.

"You are all exceedingly kind," he said with emotion.

And truly he and Juanita looked in need of such kindly offices.

They were dressed almost exactly alike--in full suits of deerskin,

moccasins, leggings, and a long loose shirt belted in at the waist;

all much worn and soiled with months of constant wear and the dust of

travel. On their arrival each had worn a broad-brimmed hat woven by

Juanita's deft fingers.

Their entertainers, though eager to hear the story of their captivity

and subsequent wanderings, kindly refrained from questioning them till

their appetites had been fully satisfied.

At the conclusion of the meal Juanita was made to lie down again, Mrs.

Baird insisting that she must be altogether too tired to sit up; Rupert

was given an arm-chair, and all the family gathered round him to listen

to a lengthened narrative of his experiences from the time of his

capture to the present.

Some passages were so moving that there was not a dry eye in the room,

and tender-hearted Mrs. Baird sobbed aloud.

When the story seemed to have come to an end she started up, saying,

"Dear me! I've left my dishes standing all this while!" and hastily

left the room.

Her husband and sons remained, and plied Rupert with questions.

"What have you done with your gun?" asked Ralph, the youngest. "You

said you had one that you stole back from that old Wildcat, but I

haven't noticed it anywhere round."

"No," Rupert said; "when we came in sight of this house I felt safe

in getting rid of the burden of carrying it for a while. Our blankets

too; we were so tired and the sun so hot, that they seemed an almost

intolerable load, so I hid them in a clump of bushes a little off the

roadside, where I knew I could easily find them again."

"That was wise," remarked his host; "we will go for them in the

morning."

"Did that old Wildcat and the rest chase after you?" queried Ralph.

"Indeed, my little man, I do not know," replied Rupert. "If so, it was

when it was too late for them to overtake us."

"I think you managed splendidly," remarked Tom, the second son.

"I think God helped and took care of us," Rupert said, with reverent

gratitude.

"And there you are right," said his host. "'Except the Lord build the

house, they labor in vain that build it: except the Lord keep the city,

the watchman waketh but in vain.'"

"Words of inspiration," Rupert said, recognizing them with a smile

of glad content. "I perceive that we are fellow-servants of the same

divine Master, and much I thank Him for bringing me to the house of one

of His followers for a short season of rest."

"And most welcome you are, sir, especially as belonging to Him,"

returned Mr. Baird, heartily; "'Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one

of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me.' Those

words of His make it a double delight to do any kindness to one of His

disciples."

All this time Juanita had been soundly sleeping; her head had scarcely

touched the pillow ere she was lost to all that was going on about her.

Mrs. Baird, coming in again, noticed that Rupert seemed very weary.

"You are making Mr. Keith talk too much," she said to the others. "He's

fairly tired out, and ought to be sleeping this minute. I'll make up a

bed directly for you, and one for her," she added, addressing Rupert,

and glancing toward Juanita with the last words.

"Oh no, do not give yourself the trouble," he hastened to say; "I

doubt if either of us could sleep in a bed after being so long used to

nothing softer than a bear or buffalo skin spread upon the ground."

Mrs. Baird gave him a puzzled look. "What can I do for you then?" she

asked.

"Give me an old quilt or something of the kind, if you have one

conveniently at hand, and I will lie on the floor here."

"Yes; I'll get you a quilt and a couple of buffalo robes," she said,

"though I'd rather give you a good bed. I may make up one for her,

mayn't I?"

Rupert smiled, and with a loving glance at Juanita said, "I really

think she would prefer to stay where she is till to-morrow morning. She

will probably sleep on till then without moving or so much as opening

an eye, she is so very weary, poor thing!"

"And," with a little doubtful hesitation, "you wouldn't rather have

separate rooms? I have plenty of them."

"No; she is my wife, and we have been together night and day ever since

our escape from captivity; and she has slept close at my side or in my

arms. How could I have it otherwise, with the growl of the bear, the

savage howl of the wolf, or the scream of the wildcat in our ears, to

say nothing of constant danger from roving bands of Indians?"

"Sure enough, sir; and she is your wife! Well, it shall be just as you

wish, though it does seem like treating you both very inhospitably."

"Not at all, my dear madam. In fact, neither of us would be willing

to get into one of your nice clean beds without a bath and change of

raiment, which we cannot have at present."

"Why, yes you can, of course," put in Joe; "we have a bath-room, and

I'll supply you with a change of clothes, without waiting for the Rev.

Mr. Clark's coming," he added, with a good-humored laugh.

"And I'll do the same by your wife to-morrow morning," said the mother,

as she hurried away in search of the quilt.

She kept her word, and Juanita appeared at the breakfast-table very

agreeably metamorphosed by civilized garments, though the calico dress

was a little faded, and had to be belted in about the waist because it

was several sizes too large.

But no attire, however uncouth, could hide the gracefulness of her form

and movements, or mar the beauty of her face.

"They won't come anywhere near fitting, you are so much more slender

than I am," Mrs. Baird had remarked when offering them, "but at least

they are sweet and clean as soap and water can make them."

"The best possible recommendation, dear lady," Juanita answered, with a

joyous smile. "Oh, you do not know how glad I shall be to be clean once

more! You could only learn by living in a wigwam for three years and

then travelling through the woods and over the mountains and prairies

in the one suit, wearing it day and night."

"A great deal more than I should be willing to pay for the knowledge,"

returned her hostess between a smile and a tear. "You poor young thing!

What a fearful time you must have had!"

Rupert's appearance had undergone quite as great an improvement as

Juanita's, and they exchanged many admiring glances during the meal.

Afterward, when they found themselves alone together for a moment, "How

lovely you are this morning, my darling!" exclaimed Rupert, catching

Juanita in his arms and giving her a rapturous embrace.

"You too," she said, laying one small hand on each of his broad

shoulders and gazing fondly up into his face.

"It's the clothes--altogether the clothes in my case, I fear," he

returned, half laughingly; "savage attire is none too becoming to me."

"Nor to me," she responded; "it's the change of dress with me as

well as with you. But oh, my Rupert, I have always thought you the

handsomest of men, even in savage attire!"

"Little flatterer!" he said, laughing and pinching her cheek, yet

evidently not ill pleased with the compliment. "That dress is extremely

becoming; really you are positively bewitching in it."

"Ah, who is the flatterer now?" she cried, clapping her hands and

laughing gleefully.

Ralph looked in at the door. "Mr. Keith, father says would you like to

come and look at some of our fine cattle, if you are not too tired?"

"Yes, indeed I should, thank you," Rupert answered, letting go of

Juanita to follow the boy, but turning back again to kiss her good-by

and bid her take all the rest she could.

"Thanks, señor," she returned gayly, "but I feel quite fresh this

morning, and I must see if I cannot give a little help to our kind

hostess. She seems to have no servant, and our presence here must add

to her labors."

"Quite right," he said, with an approving smile, "but do not overtax

your strength."

Mrs. Baird was not in the kitchen, where Juanita expected to find her,

but hearing the light step of the latter, called to her from an inner

room.

"Come here, my dear," she said, "and tell me what you think of this."

It was a white dress of fine cambric muslin, its skirt, waist, and

sleeves elaborately trimmed with tiny tucks, embroidery, and lace. Mrs.

Baird held it up to view, repeating her query, "What do you think of

this?"

"That it is very pretty," Juanita answered, examining it closely. "What

beautifully fine needlework."

"Yes; it's a dress I had when I was married," remarked Mrs. Baird. "I

was a bit of a slender girl then, as you are now. I never wore it much,

and after a while I grew too stout for it. I thought of it last night

when considering what could be found for you to wear to-morrow, so I've

just been rummaging through these bureau drawers in search of it.

"Of course it must be very old-fashioned, and it's very yellow with

lying by so long; but there won't be anybody here that knows about the

fashions, or will mind that it isn't as white as it should be. So if

you are willing to wear it just try it on to see if it comes anywhere

near fitting, and if it does I'll have it in the washtub in a trice;

and I really think it won't look so badly when I'm done with it."

"How very kind you are, dear lady!" exclaimed Juanita, catching Mrs.

Baird's hand and kissing it, her face all aglow with delight and

gratitude. "It is lovely! and I shall not care at all for the fashion

or for a little yellowness, which will make the lace look all the

richer."

"Then put it on, my dear," Mrs. Baird said, smilingly; "and you need

not feel over-burdened with gratitude for so small a favor."

It proved not a bad fit, and both thought would do extremely well

without alteration.

"Now if you only had a decent pair of shoes," remarked Mrs. Baird

reflectively; "but those I'm afraid I can't supply, for any of mine

would be a mile too large for that pretty little foot of yours."

"Ah! which would you advise, dear lady, bare feet or these?" Juanita

asked, with a rueful laugh and a downward glance at her worn and soiled

moccasins.

"Moccasins!" exclaimed Mrs. Baird, struck by a sudden thought. "You've

been so long among the Injuns, have you learned to make them, and could

you make yourself a pair if you had the materials?"

"Yes, indeed!" was the eager rejoinder, "for myself and Rupert too."

"Then you shall have them," said the good woman, beginning to rummage

again among her stores. "I have a nice soft doeskin that will be just

the thing. Ah, here it is!" pulling it down from a high closet shelf;

"and I have some colored silks you can have for embroidering with if

you like."

"Thank you, oh a thousand thanks!" Juanita said, "but the skin is all

I want; I prefer the moccasins plain for this occasion, especially as

I can make them up so much more quickly. But may I not first help you

with your work? I can wash dishes, and sweep, and dust, and make beds."

"No, no, my dear!" Mrs. Baird said, in her bright, cheery way; "you

shall do nothing of the kind. It is very kind and thoughtful--your

offering to do it--but I really don't need help, and you must sit right

down to those moccasins. If you like to sit in the kitchen while I'm

busy there, I'll be very glad of your company."

Before sunset Juanita's bridal attire was quite ready, and she

exhibited it to Rupert's admiring eyes with perhaps as much pride and

satisfaction as a city belle might have taken in her silks and satins.

"Mrs. Baird says the dress is old-fashioned and not a good color--"

began Juanita.

"But what difference does that make, my sweet?" interrupted Rupert;

"who of us will know the difference? And I am sure you will look very

lovely, at least in the bridegroom's eyes, and in fact will be better

dressed than he," he added gayly. "I hope you won't be ashamed of him."

"Never, never! but proud, very proud!" she cried, throwing an arm

about his neck and laying her head on his breast.

"Not prouder than I of my bride," he said softly, caressing her

tenderly.

They were interrupted by the call to supper, and scarcely had the meal

begun when a horseman rode up to the gate, dismounted, fastened his

horse as if quite at home, then came hurrying up the path toward the

open door.

There was a simultaneous exclamation from several voices, "Why, there's

Mr. Clark," and the whole family rose to greet him with a hearty

handshake and words of welcome.

Then Rupert and Juanita were introduced, another plate was added to the

table, a chair set up for the new arrival, and he warmly invited to

share their meal.

He was not slow to accept the invitation, and did ample justice to the

viands, praising them without stint as he ate.

"You're the best cook in the county, by all odds, Mrs. Baird; but the

Ohio ladies are very apt to understand the business; I don't believe

there's a State in the Union can beat Ohio at that."

"I agree with you there, sir," remarked Rupert. "But I have observed

that a man is very apt to think nobody else's cooking quite equal to

that of his own mother--a fact partly to be accounted for by the other,

that children's appetites are usually keen and their digestion good.

There is a great deal of truth in the old saying that hunger is the

best sauce."

"Was your mother a native of Ohio, Mr. Keith?" asked Mrs. Baird, with a

look of interest.

"Yes, madam, my father also; all their children were born there too, so

that we are a family of Buckeyes," he concluded, with sportive look and

tone.

"I thought so!" she exclaimed emphatically; "the first hour you were in

the house I said to myself, I shouldn't wonder if he were from my own

State of Ohio."

"But I thought I heard you say you came from Indiana, Mr. Keith," spoke

up Ralph.

"So I did," returned Rupert, pleasantly; "we removed to that State some

years ago."

"Fine States both," remarked Mr. Clark. "I've lived in both, and ought

to know. Now confess, Mrs. Baird, that you are wondering what brought

me here to-day."

"To be ready for preaching to-morrow, I presume," she answered dryly;

"but why should I be wondering more than the rest?"

"Oh, woman's curiosity, you know, if you'll excuse the jest; for I

really don't believe you're one bit more curious about it than anybody

else here. Well, I had a funeral to attend this morning some six or

seven miles from this, and then two or three sick folks to visit a

little nearer here, and I thought it wouldn't be worth while to go back

home before Monday. You see, I always feel sure of a welcome at Baird's

Ranch."

"That's right; you need never have the least doubt of it," said his

host. "And we are particularly glad to see you this time, because

there's a job waiting for you here."

"Indeed!" cried the minister, elevating his eyebrows in surprise; "and

what may it be? Has one of these fine boys of yours selected a wife,

and is he wanting me to tie the knot?"

"Ah, your guess is not very wide of the mark," laughed Mr. Baird,

"though the wedding will not be exactly in the family."

"There, father, that will do for the present," remarked his wife,

perceiving that Juanita was blushing in a slightly embarrassed way; "we

have the whole evening before us, and it won't take long to make all

the necessary arrangements."

"You have not been long in this part of the country I presume, sir?"

Mr. Clark said, inquiringly, addressing Rupert.

"I arrived only yesterday, sir," was the reply.

"Direct from Indiana?"

"No, sir, direct from the Apache country, where I have been a prisoner

for three years."

"Is it possible, sir! You must have had a dreadful experience."

And then questions and answers followed in rapid succession, Mr. Clark

almost forgetting to eat in the intense interest he felt in the story

Rupert and Juanita had to tell; for learning from something said by one

of the family that she had shared Rupert's captivity, he catechised her

also quite closely.

He was captivated by her beauty and her modest, sensible replies, and

being presently able to make a shrewd conjecture as to who were to

claim his services that evening, thought Rupert a very fortunate man.

[Illustration]

[Illustration]

Chapter Eighteenth.

"I bless thee for the noble heart,

The tender and the true,

Where mine hath found the happiest rest

That e'er fond woman's knew."

MRS. HEMANS.

Mrs. Baird made short work of clearing away the remains of the supper

and setting everything to rights. Then taking two of her sons with her,

she repaired to the garden.

All three presently returned laden with flowers, with which they

proceeded to ornament the parlor, after setting aside some of the

fairest and most fragrant for the adornment of the bride.

"What next, mother?" asked Tom. "You are hardly thinking of having a

wedding in the house without refreshments, I suppose?"

"No; I've plenty of cake baked: three kinds--bride, pound, and sponge

cakes. Now you boys go to the garden and gather all the finest fruits

you can find, while I help the bride to dress."

"Dress?" laughed Tom; "what has she to dress in? Will she put on her

Indian toggery again?"

"You'll see when the time comes," said his mother. "Now off with you,

and show how well you can do your part."

Mr. Baird had repaired to the front porch with his guests, and an

animated conversation was going on there, Mr. Clark and Rupert being

the chief speakers, when the good lady of the house appeared among them

with the announcement that it was time for every one of them to be

dressing for the wedding.

"You know your room, Mr. Clark. I've had your saddlebags carried

there, and you'll find everything necessary for making your toilet.

Mr. Baird, will you please to attend to Mr. Keith? I shall take care

of the bride." And linking Juanita's arm in hers she led her into the

house and to a large, airy bedroom that, with its white draped windows,

toilet-table, and bed, looked very suitable for a bridal chamber.

The white dress, the new moccasins, and a profusion of loveliest

flowers were there.

Juanita sent a swift glance about the room, taking in all these details

and more (the room seemed pervaded by a simple air of elegance, and

its atmosphere was redolent of the sweet breath of the flowers); then

turning to her kind hostess, threw her arms round her neck, and with

quivering lips and eyes full of tears said, "Oh, how good, how good you

are to a poor wayfarer, dear lady!"

"It's very little I'm doing, dear child," said Mrs. Baird, returning

the embrace. "I'm afraid it must seem but a forlorn kind of wedding to

you; and yet I think you should be a happy bride, for sure I am that if

you are not a happy wife it will not be the fault of the man you are

marrying."

"No," cried Juanita, smiles chasing away the tears, "there cannot be

another in all the world like my Rupert."

"I must own that I have taken a great fancy to him," Mrs. Baird said,

smiling and stroking Juanita's hair caressingly. "Now, dear, let me

help you to dress. I want the pleasure of arranging this beautiful hair

and trimming it with flowers. They are the most suitable ornament for a

bride, and fortunately we have an abundant supply."

"Yes, I prefer them to jewels," said Juanita.

"My dear, you look lovely!" was the delighted exclamation of the good

lady when her labors were completed. "Simple and old-fashioned as

the dress is, it becomes you wonderfully. I never saw a bride in the

richest white silk or satin look half so beautiful as you do in it."

"Ah, you flatter me, my kind friend!" Juanita said, with a blush that

enhanced her charms.

"Now sit down for a few minutes while I trim the room with the rest

of these roses, lilies, and orange blossoms," said her hostess, "and

then I'll go and send Mr. Keith to stay with you till I call you to the

parlor."

"Ah, may I not help? I would rather," Juanita said, half imploringly.

"Dear lady, you must be quite exhausted with the many labors of the

day."

"No, no, not at all," laughed Mrs. Baird gayly; "as my husband often

says, I have a wonderful capacity for work. I really do believe it was

what I was made for."

"You are never ill?"

"No, never; and what a cause for thankfulness! What earthly blessing

greater than good health?"

A little later Rupert came in to find Juanita alone, seated before the

window, gazing out upon a beautiful landscape of prairie and forest,

with richly wooded hills in the distance.

He stepped lightly across the floor, but her quick ear caught the sound

of his footfalls. She turned, rose hastily, and threw herself into his

outstretched arms.

"My beautiful! my beautiful!" he said, softly, holding her close with

tenderest caresses.

"Ah, my love, my love, I would I were ten times more beautiful for your

dear sake," she responded, gazing into his face with eyes full of happy

tears.

"That would be quite impossible," he said, holding her off a little,

the better to view her charms, then drawing her close again to repeat

his caresses.

So happy in each other were they that the time did not seem long till

they were summoned to the parlor, where the whole Baird family and the

minister were in waiting.

It was a short, simple, yet impressive ceremony, and the spectators,

though few in number, were very hearty and sincere in their

congratulations at its close. Rupert felt that all he needed to

complete his happiness was the presence of his parents, brothers, and

sisters--all, alas, so far away.

He was very eager to reach home, but so weary were both he and Juanita

that he had already decided to accept the kind invitation of these

new-found friends to stay some weeks with them. Also it was absolutely

necessary they should make some preparation, in the matter of dress,

for a decent appearance in civilized society.

The table spread by Mrs. Baird and her sons with the simple wedding

feast of cake and fruits, garnished with a profusion of beautiful,

fragrant flowers, presented a most attractive appearance; nor were its

delicacies found less agreeable to the palate than satisfying to the

eye.

There was no revel, no intoxicating drink, though a great abundance of

delicious lemonade, nor was the feasting prolonged to excess; there was

in fact more talk than eating and drinking, and at a primitively early

hour all had retired, each to his own room.

"At last, love, we know beyond a question that we are truly husband

and wife," Rupert said, holding Juanita to his heart with tenderest

caresses. "Does the certainty add to your happiness, as it does to

mine?"

"Yes," she murmured, softly; "oh, I am happier than ever before in all

my life!"

"Ah, it makes my heart glad to hear it! How proud I shall be to show my

little wife to the dear ones at home. I hope to have an opportunity on

Monday to send them a few lines to tell that I am yet alive and hope to

be with them in a few weeks."

He availed himself of that opportunity, writing to Dr. Landreth to

break the news to his parents, but the letter never reached its

destination. Hence the intense surprise of his relatives when he

arrived among them.

The remainder of the journey was performed in comparative comfort.

Rupert bought a pair of stout mules and a roomy wagon, which he and the

hospitable Bairds stocked with everything necessary for a journey of

several hundred miles through a sparsely settled country.

In this the young couple travelled to New Orleans, stopping at night

at some village, farmhouse, or ranch, when any such shelter was near,

at other times unharnessing and tethering their mules and sleeping in

their wagon.

The parting with the Bairds was a sorrowful one on both sides, for they

had become sincerely attached during the weeks spent together, and it

was very unlikely they would ever meet again on earth. Their only

consolation was in the strong hope and expectation of a final reunion

in another and better world.

Rupert and Juanita set out upon this stage of their long journey very

decently attired in garments suitable for the exigencies of that kind

of travel, and carrying some changes with them.

In New Orleans they replenished their wardrobes, so that they presented

a decidedly fashionable and stylish appearance; sold the wagon and

mules, and took passage on a Mississippi steamer bound for St. Louis.

The trip up the river seemed really restful after the far more toilsome

mode of travel they had practised for so long. They made some pleasant

acquaintances too, and altogether greatly enjoyed the voyage, with its

return to the usages of civilized life.

They stayed but a few hours in St. Louis, then hurried on to Pleasant

Plains by the nearest and most rapid route, for Rupert was in a fever

of impatience to reach home and the dear ones from whom he had been so

long and sadly parted.

Such was the story told to the assembled family on the morning after

their arrival, and of course it was listened to with absorbing and

often painful interest, and followed up by many questions, now from one

and now from another.