THE NEW COMERS.
"Yes, colonel," briskly replied Clarence, "I am really going out to the frontier! I have not enlisted in the army, nor have I received any appointment as post trader or Indian agent from the government, nor missionary or schoolmaster from any Christian association. But, all the same, I am en route for the wilderness on my own responsibility, by my own conveyance, at my own expense, and with this outgoing trail—if there be no objection," added Clarence, with a sudden obscure doubt arising in his mind that there might exist some military regulation against the attachment of any outsider to the trail of army wagons going over the plains from fort to fort.
"'Objections!' What objections could there possibly be, my dear sir? I fancy there could be nothing worse than a warm welcome for you," replied the colonel.
At that moment Captain Neville, who had put his wife in their carryall, came up to see what had delayed his guest.
"My dear Mrs. Rothsay, we are ready to start," he said. Then seeing Mr. Clarence, whom he had met in Washington and liked very much, he seized his hand and exclaimed:
"Why, Rockharrt, my dear fellow! You here! This is a surprise, indeed! I am very glad to see you! How are you? When did you arrive?" and he shook the hand of the new comer as if he would have shaken it off.
"I am very well, thank you, captain, and have just landed from the boat. I hope you and your wife are quite well."
"Robust, sir! Robust! So glad to see you! But so sorry you did not arrive a few days sooner, so that we might have seen more of you. You have come, I suppose, all this distance to bid a last, supplementary farewell to your dear favorite niece?"
"I have come to go with her to the frontier, if I may have the privilege of traveling with your trail of wagons."
"Why, assuredly. We are always glad of good company on the way," heartily responded the captain.
"Oh, beg pardon, and thank you very much; but I did not intend to 'beat' my way. Look there!" exclaimed Clarence, with a brighter smile, as he pointed to the commodious carriage, drawn by a pair of fine draught horses, that stood waiting for him, and to the covered wagon, drawn by a pair of stout mules, that was coming up behind.
"Oh! Ah! Yes, I see! You are traveling with your retinue. But is not this a very sudden move on your part?" demanded the captain.
"So sudden in its impulse that it might be mistaken for the flight of a criminal, had it not been so deliberate in its execution. The fact is, sir, I am very much attached to my widowed niece, and not being able to dissuade her from her purpose of going out into the Indian country, and being her natural protector and an unincumbered bachelor, I decided to follow her. And now I feel very happy to have overtaken her in the nick of time."
"I see! I see!" said the captain with a laugh.
While this talk was still going on, Corona turned to take a better look at the great, strong carriage in which her uncle had driven up from the steamboat landing. There, to her surprise and delight, she saw young Mark, from Rockhold, seated on the box. He was staring at her, trying to catch her eye, and when he did so he grinned and bobbed, and bobbed and grinned, half a dozen times, in as many half seconds.
"Why, Mark! I am so surprised!" said Corona, as she went toward him. "I am so glad to see you!"
"Yes'm. Thanky'm. So is I. Yes'm, an'dar's mammy an' daddy an' Sister Phebe 'hind dar in de wagon," jerking his head toward the rear.
Corona looked, and her heart leaped with joy to see the dear, familiar faces of the colored servants who had been about her from her childhood. For there on the front seat of the wagon sat old John, from Rockhold, with the reins in his hands, drawing up the team of mules, while on one side of him sat his middle-aged wife, Martha, the housekeeper, and on the other his young daughter, Phebe, once lady's maid to Corona Rothsay.
Corona uttered a little cry of joy as she hastened toward the wagon. The three colored people saw her at once, and, with the unconventionally of their old servitude, shouted out in chorus:
"How do, Miss C'rona?"
"Sarvint, Miss C'rona!"
"Didn't 'spect to see we dem come trapesin' arter yer 'way out yere, did yer now?"
And they also grinned and bobbed, and bobbed and grinned, between every word, as they tumbled off their seats and ran to meet her.
Mr. Clarence hoisted the two women to their seats, one on each side of the driver, and then turned to Corona.
"Come, my dear. Let me put you into our carriage," he said, as he drew her arm within his own and led her on.
"Oh! I have not taken leave of Colonel —— yet.
"Where is he?" she inquired, looking around.
"Here I am, my dear Mrs. Rothsay. Waiting at the carriage door to put you in your seat and to wish you a pleasant journey. And certainly, if this initial day is any index, you will have a pleasant one, for I never saw finer weather at this season of the year," said the colonel, cheerily, as he received Corona from her uncle's hand, and, with the stately courtesy of the olden time, placed her in her seat.
"I thank you, colonel, for all the kindness I have received at your hands and at those of Mrs. ——. I shall never forget it. Good by," said Corona, giving him her hand.
He lifted the tips of her fingers to his lips, bowed, and stepped back.
Mr. Clarence entered the carriage and gave the order to the young coachman. Carriage and covered wagon then fell into the procession, which began to move on. A farewell gun was fired from the fort.
"Uncle Clarence," said Corona, after the party had been on the road some hours—"Uncle Clarence, how came you first to think of such a strange move as to leave the works and come out here? And when did you first make up your mind to do it?"
"I think, Cora, my dear, that the idea came vaguely into my mind, as a mere possibility, after my father's death. It occurred to me that there was no absolute necessity for my remaining longer at the works. You see, Cora, however much I might have wished for a change in my life, I never could have vexed my father by even expressing such a wish, while he lived. After his death I thought of it vaguely."
"Oh! why didn't you tell me?"
"My mind was not made up; therefore I spoke of the matter to no one. I only hinted something to you, when on bidding you good by at North End Junction I told you that you might possibly see me before you would expect to do so."
"Yes; I remember that well. I thought you only said that to comfort me. And you really meant that you might possibly follow me?"
"Yes, my dear; that is just what I meant. I could not speak more plainly because I was not sure of my own course. I had to think of Fabian."
"Yes. How, at last, came you to the conclusion of following your poor niece?"
"Fabian and myself could not agree upon a certain policy in conducting our business. There was no longer the father's controlling influence, you see, and Fabian is the head of the firm; and I could not do business on his principles," said Mr. Clarence, flushing up to his brow.
"No; I suppose you could not," said Cora, meditatively; and then she was sorry that she had said anything that might imply a reproach to the good-humored uncle she had left behind.
"Still, I said nothing about a dissolution of partnership until Fabian complained that I, or my policy, was a dead weight around his neck, dragging him down from the most magnificent flights to mere sordid drudgery. Then I proposed that we should dissolve partnership. And he said he was sorry. And I believe he was; but also glad, inconsistent as that seems. For he was sorry I could not come into his policy, and stay in the firm; but since I could not so agree with him, he was relieved when I proposed to withdraw from it. We disagreed, my dear Cora, but we did not fall out; we parted good friends and brothers with tears in our eyes. Poor little Violet cried a good deal. But you know she has such a tender heart, poor child!—Look at that herd of deer, Cora, standing on the top of that swell of the land to the right, and actually gazing at the trail without a motion or a panic. I hope nobody will shoot at them!" exclaimed Mr. Clarence, suddenly breaking off in his discourse to point to the denizens of the thicket and the prairie, until upon some sudden impulse the whole herd turned and bounded away.
So they fared on through that glorious autumn day—over the vast, rolling, solitary prairie—now rising to a smooth, gradual elevation that revealed the circle of the whole horizon where it met the sky; now descending into a wide, shallow hollow, where the rising ground around inclosed them as in an amphitheater; but everywhere along the trail, the prairie grass, dried and burnished by the autumn's suns and winds, burned like gold on the hills and bronze in the hollows, giving a singularly beautiful effect in light and shade of mingling metallic hues.
At noon the captain ordered a halt, and all the teams were drawn up in a line; and all the men got out to feed and water the horses and mules, and to prepare their own dinner.
They were now beside a clear, deep, narrow stream, a tributary of the Kansas River, running through a picturesque valley, carpeted with long grass, and bordered with low, well-wooded hills on either side. The burnished gold and bronze of the long dried grass on the river's brim, dotted here and there with a late scarlet prairie flower, the brilliant crimson and purple of the autumn foliage that clothed the trees, the bright blue of the sky and the soft white of the few downy clouds floating overhead, and all reflected and duplicated in the river below, made a beauty and glory of color that must have delighted the soul of an artist, and pleased the eye of even the most careless observer.
Mike O'Reilly, the captain's orderly, was busy spreading a table cloth on the grass, at the foot of a hill on the right, and old John, Mr. Clarence's man, was emulating Mike by spreading a four-yard square of white damask at a short distance behind him.
Our friends had nearly finished their lunch, when something—she never could tell what—caused Corona to look behind her. Then she shrieked! All looked to see the cause of her sudden fright.
There stood a group of Indians, with blankets around their forms, and gleaming tomahawks about their shoulders.
"Pawnees—friendly. Don't be afraid. Give them something to eat," said the captain, in a low tone, addressing the first part of his conversation to Corona and the last part to Mrs. Neville.
But Corona had never seen an Indian in her life, and could not at once get over her panic caused by the sight of those bare, keen-edged axes gleaming in the sun.
Captain Neville spoke to them in their native tongue, and they replied. The conversation that ensued was quite unintelligible to Clarence and Corona, but not to Mrs. Neville, who beckoned to two squaws who stood humbly in the rear of the braves. They were both clothed in short, rude, blue cotton skirts, with blankets over their shoulders. The elder squaw carried a pack on her back; the younger one carried a baby snugly in a hood made of the loop of her blanket at the back of her neck.
They both approached the ladies, chattering as they came; the elder one threw down her pack on the grass and began to open it, and display a number of dressed raccoon skins stretched upon sticks, and by gibbering and gesticulations expressed her wish to sell them.
Neither of the ladies wished to buy; but Mrs. Neville give her loaves of bread and junks of dried beef from the hampers on the grass, and Corona gave her money.
She put the money in a little fur pouch she carried at her belt, and she packed the bread and beef in the bundle with the highly flavored raccoon skins. She was not fastidious.
While Mrs. Neville and Corona were occupied with the squaw, Captain Neville and Mr. Clarence had been feasting the braves, and the attendants had been washing dishes, repacking hampers, and reloading wagons for a fresh start.
When all was ready the wayfarers took leave of the Indians and re-entered their conveyances and resumed their route, leaving the savages still feasting on the fragments that remained.
It was now two o'clock in the afternoon, as the long trail of carryalls and army wagons passed up from the beautiful valley and out upon the vast prairie that still rolled on before them in hills and hollows of gold and bronze, blazing under the bright autumnal sun.
Men and women, mules and horses, had all been rested and refreshed by their mid-day halt and repast.
The people, however, seemed less inclined to observe and converse than in the forenoon.
Even Clarence saw more than one flock of birds sail over their heads, and made no sign; saw a herd of deer stand and gaze, and said not a word.
At length Clarence took out his cigar and lit it, and as he smoked he watched the descending sun until it sank below the horizon and sent up the most singular after-glow that Clarence had ever seen—a shower of sparks and needle-like flames from the edge of the prairie immediately under the horizon.
"Looks like de worl' was ketchin on fire ober dere, Marse Clarence," said young Mark, speaking for the first time since they had resumed their march.
"It is only the light reflected by the prairie, my boy," kindly replied Mr. Clarence. And then he smoked on in silence, while the after-glow died out, the twilight faded, and one by one the stars came out. Corona seemed to be slumbering in her seat. Young Mark crooned low, as if to himself, a weird, old camp meeting hymn. It was so dark that he could not have seen to guide his horses, had not the captain's carryall been immediately in front of his own, and the long trail of wagons in front of the captain's, with lantern carried by the advance guard to show the way.
"What's the matter?" suddenly called out Mr. Clarence, who was aroused from his reverie by the halt of the whole procession.
"We 'pears to got sumwhurze," replied Mark, strongly pulling in his horses, which had nearly run into the back of the captain's stationary carryall in front.
"We are at Burley's," called out Captain Neville from his seat.
While he spoke Mike O'Reilly brought up a lantern to show their way to the house.
Clarence alighted and handed down his niece, took her arm, and followed Captain and Mrs. Neville past the wagons and mules and groups of men through a door that admitted them into a long, low-ceiled room, lighted by tallow candles in tin sconces along the log walls, and warmed by a large cooking stove in the middle of the floor. Rude, unpainted wooden chairs, benches and tables were the only furniture, if we except the rough shelves on which coarse crockery and tinware were arranged and under which iron cooking utensils were piled.
Captain Neville and Mr. Clarence returned to the wagons to see for themselves that their valuable personal effects were safely bestowed for the night, and that the horses and mules were well cared for. The proprietor of this place attended them.
While Mrs. Neville and Corona still walked up and down in the room, a small dark-haired woman came in and nodded to them, and asked if they would like to go upstairs and have some water to wash their faces.
Both ladies thankfully accepted this offer, and followed the landlady up a rude flight of steps that led up from the corner of the room to an open trap door, through which they entered the garret.
This was nothing better than a loft, whose rough plank floor formed the ceiling of the room below, and whose sloping roof rose from the floor front and back, and met overhead.
Here they rested through the night.
Let us hasten on. It was the thirteenth day out. The trail had crossed nearly the whole of the Indian Territory, and were within one day's march of Fort Farthermost, on the Texan frontier.
They had passed the previous night at Fort W., and at sunrise they had crossed the Rio Negro, and before noon they had made nearly a score of miles toward their destination. They halted beside a little stream that took its rise in a spring among the rocks on the right hand of the trail. Here the party meant to rest for two hours before resuming the march to Fort Farthermost, which they hoped to reach that same night.
As usual at the noon rest, mules and horses were unharnessed and led down to the stream to be watered and fed. Fires were built and rustic cranes improvised to hang the pots and kettles gypsy style. Since the first day out old Martha had been constituted cook and old John butler to our party.
In a short time Martha had prepared such a hot dinner as was practicable under the circumstances, and John had laid the cloth.
When all was ready the party of four sat down on the dry grass to partake of the meal, to every course of which they all did ample justice.
"This is our last al fresco feast," said Captain Neville, after dinner, as he filled the glasses of the two ladies and of Clarence Rockharrt and proposed the toast:
"Our lasting friendship and companionship."
It was honored warmly.
Next Clarence proposed:
"Mrs. Neville," which was also honored and responded to by the captain in a neat little speech, at the end of which he proposed:
"Mrs. Rothsay."
This was duly met by Clarence with a brief acknowledgment. Mr. Clarence was no speechmaker. But he proposed the health of—
"Our gallant captain," which was drank with enthusiasm.
The captain responded, and proposed—
"Mr. Clarence Rockharrt," which was cordially honored.
Then Mr. Clarence made his last little speech of personal thanks.
After this the company arose and separated, to wander about the camping ground, to stretch their cramped limbs before returning to their seats on their carryalls.
"Come, Clarence, let us follow this little stream up to its head. It cannot be far away," said Corona.
Mr. Clarence silently drew her arm within his, and they walked on up the little valley until it narrowed into a gorge, clothed with stunted trees in brilliant autumn hues, through which the gray rocks jutted. The tinkling of the spring which supplied the stream could be heard while it was yet out of sight.
"Did you bring your drinking cup with you, Clarence? I should like a draught from the spring," said Corona.
"Oh, yes," said her uncle, producing the silver cup. They clambered up the side of the gorge until they reached the spring—a great jet of water issuing from the rock. But there both stopped short, spellbound, in amazement. On a ledge of rock above the spring, and facing them, stood a majestic man, clothed in coat of buckskin, faced and bordered with fur, leggings of buckskin and sandals of buffalo hide. On his head he wore a fur cap that half concealed his tawny hair. The face was fine, but sunburnt and half covered with a long, tawny beard. Corona looked up, and recognized—Regulas Rothsay!
With a cry of terror, she struck her hands to her eyes, as if to dispel an optical illusion, and sank half fainting, to be caught in the arms of her uncle and laid against the side of the rocks, while he sprinkled her face with water from the spring.
She recovered her breath, opened her eyes, and looked anxiously, fearfully, all around her.
There was no one in sight anywhere. The apparition had vanished. Corona and her uncle were alone.