Chapter X: Part 10

Lige reached them first, in a rush that bore every one in the way before him, and caught his mother in his arms and held her to his breast. Joe was directly behind him, and grasped his father's hand. There was no need for words between them now. Both knew that the war and its issues had answered all arguments, and as they held each other's hands, gazed into each other's eyes, both knew that the past was passed and over, and that there existed no differences of opinion between them now.

Lige rushed from one to another, kissing and hugging them all, laughing, sobbing, half beside himself with joy. But Joe was more quiet in his demonstrations. After he had held his mother in a long, close embrace, shaken hands with Sam and Paul, kissed and hugged little David, and kissed and embraced Sara and Mary and Ruth, he turned to Nina, and shook her hand.

It was not until long afterward, when the first excitement was over, that he asked himself impatiently why he could not greet her as he had greeted his other sisters.

Every one was too excited to notice her pallor, or to see that Ruth's great brown eyes were wide and terror-filled, and her face white and drawn. She waited her opportunity, then clasping Joe's arm, said tremulously: "Herbert, Joe--where is Herbert?"

Joe started and looked down into her face. For the first time he realized that Ruth was no longer a little girl. For the first time he realized the thing that had been in Herbert's heart, that had drawn them so close together through the war.

With a quick, indrawn breath he bent and clasped his arm about her. "Oh, Ruth," he said in a low voice, "oh, little Ruth!"

Every vestige of color faded from her face.

"Was he killed?" she whispered huskily. "We have not heard anything from him in so long----"

"No, no," he hastened to assure her. "He was not killed. He was captured at Gettysburg, but I heard that he had escaped. I haven't seen or heard from him since, but I think he's all right. He will probably turn up soon. Perhaps he may come home as a casual. He never got back to our regiment."

The boys had been granted a furlough of a week, and the journey back over the prairies was a happy one, every one talking at once, so much to see, so much to hear, so much to tell, so glad and thankful to be together once more that words would not begin to express it.

In the general hubbub of voices no one noticed that Nina was very silent, that the color had faded from her cheeks, and the light that had shone so transcendantly in her eyes since the news of the home-coming of the boys had faded, leaving them dark and still.

Joe, stealing a glance at her, thought that she had never been so beautiful; and when he turned to talk to her her laugh was so gay, her chatter so light and merry that he thought he had fancied the shadow in her eyes.

When they reached the homestead Joe leaped down and patted Spotty, who came leaping and barking about the wagon, as if he too knew that the boys had come home and was wild with joy. Then he went to the team and put his arms about Kit's neck, laying his face against her smooth neck. Dear old Kit! Memories of all they had been through flooded over him and almost unmanned him.

Both the returned soldiers were amazed and delighted to see the changes about the place. It was a wilderness no longer. Vines grew up over the little sod house, shading its windows and throwing their green tendrils and shining new leaves over the door. Trees had been planted about the place, walks made, and the fertile fields were already green with winter-wheat.

Romeo and Juliet had departed for that bourn from which no piggy returns, but were succeeded by a large and thriving progeny, that were rapidly increasing in weight and value.

Cherry was the mother of a fine two-year-old calf, and Mother Feathertop and Dicky, the progenitors of the poultry yard, were no longer there to greet them, but had been succeeded by many fine broods of chickens, which had multiplied and accumulated wonderfully under Ruth's tender care.

It was almost evening before the transports of rapture subsided and the boys went to their old place in the sod house to wash up and get ready for supper.

When Joe entered he found Lige making a careful and fastidious toilet.

"I suppose you are looking forward to a happy evening with Nina," he said, trying manfully to keep the pain that was wringing his heart from sounding in his voice.

Lige was shining his shoes. He turned his head and looked up at his brother.

"Nina?" he said interrogatively, then going on with his shining with bent head. "Why--a--no, I--I thought I would go over to the Jameses--that is if I won't be in the way. I--a--I thought I'd like to ask if they had heard anything about Herb."

Joe stared at him.

"Go over to the Jameses? Your first evening at home! Why, Lige!"

Lige looked up with rather a red face.

"Well, why not? We've been with the family all day, and I haven't seen Beatrice, and----"

"But Nina--what will she think--how will she feel----"

"_Nina_? What the deuce----" Lige suddenly suspended operations on his boots and straightened up, holding the brush extended and staring at his brother.

"Good Lord!" he ejaculated suddenly.

For a moment he continued to stare, then dropped the shoe-brush and caught Joe's arm.

"What d'you mean--you don't mean--you don't think--that I--that Nina--that there is anything between _us_, do you?" he demanded.

Joe turned white to the lips.

"Why I--I----" he managed to stammer.

"_Great Jehoshaphat!_" ejaculated Lige. "That--_that's_ what's been eatin' you! I couldn't understand it. I thought it was Beatrice----"

"_Beatrice_? What the dickens do I care about Beatrice!" panted Joe. "I thought you loved Nina--and that she loved you. I saw you kiss her----"

"Well, Lord A'mighty, why shouldn't I kiss her? She's my sister, isn't she? I kiss Ruth and Mary and Sara; why shouldn't I kiss her?"

Joe's heart was pounding so he could hardly speak.

"Yes, but that's different. She _isn't_ our sister, you know. I saw you together the night before we went away, and her arms were around your neck and she was----"

"And she was talking about _you_ every minute of the time, you big booby, begging me to take care of you and bring you home safe and all that! Oh, gosh, this does beat all! Why here was me trying to do the noble brother act and forget all about little Beatrice because I thought you cared for her, while all the time you were hating me like the old Harry because you thought I'd cut you out with Princess! Why, Lord love you, boy, what's the matter with you? Are you blind as a bat? Can't you _see_ how she feels toward you? Why, there never was any one else in the whole world for Nina but just you, ever since that first day when she refused to ride anywhere else in the wagons but beside you!"

Joe's face was as white as chalk, his eyes fastened on his brother's face, and his breath coming quick and short.

"Is it--is it true, Lige?" he asked after a little interval, in a strained whisper.

"_True_? Well, you are a duffer if you haven't seen it yourself. Didn't you see her face when you gave her that cold little hand-shake to-day? She could hardly keep from crying all the way home. I thought you didn't care about her at all. I thought all the time you cared for Beatrice----"

"Beatrice! As if I could ever think of Beatrice when Nina was around! Do you really think she cares, Lige? That she doesn't care for me just as a brother----"

"Go along and ask her, you old gosling," cried Lige, busily adjusting a new tie. "As for me, I'm going over to the Jameses so fast you can't see me for the dust. I've been afraid to even write to little Bee for fear I'd be making trouble for you, but now that I know what a goose you are----" He clapped on his soldier-cap and shot through the door, leaving Joe standing motionless beside the window with wildly beating heart.

Twilight was coming before he found courage to wander down to the river. He found Nina sitting in the little arbor alone. She had been with Ruth for the past hour, trying to comfort her, and her eyes were red and her heart cold as she sat gazing down at the water.

Joe came so quietly that she did not hear him. For a long moment he stood gazing at her, his very heart in his eyes. She was more beautiful than ever, startlingly, exquisitely lovely, as she sat with bent head, the sunlight flickering through the golden waves of her hair, the pure oval of her cheek and chin a little sharpened in the years he had been away.

He entered the arbor noiselessly and sat down by her side.

"Joe!" she cried, and started violently.

Very tenderly he took the little hand that lay trembling in her lap.

"Nina," he said, bending his head close to hers, "are you really glad I have come home?"

"_Glad!_" The tears she had been trying to conceal rushed into her eyes. "Glad, Joe? There are no words that can tell how glad! Oh, we have all missed you so! Sometimes I have thought that Mother would die of grief and longing. And Father--oh, Joe, his patience, his gentleness, his suffering, his noble and generous admission of his mistake----"

"But you, Nina, you----"

She lowered her lashes and gently drew her hand away.

"I, Joe? Why, of course I am glad! Why shouldn't I be glad? Both my dear brothers back from war----"

"But I am not your brother, Princess. I don't want to be your brother." Then suddenly the denial that he had so long set on his heart burst its bonds and cried to her, "Oh, Nina, Nina, dearest, sweetest, loveliest girl in all the world, I don't want you for my sister. I love you, I love you! I want you for my love, my sweetheart, something nearer, dearer, sweeter than a sister--I want you for my wife!"

From Nina's parted lips came a little smothered cry, and she covered her face with her hands.

Joe drew them down gently.

"I have always loved you, Princess. Ever since the day that I first saw you out there on the desolate prairies, lying on the graves of your father and mother. I have always loved you----"

Nina looked up at him, tears flooding the purple splendor of her eyes.

"Oh, Joe, Joe, why didn't you tell me so before!" she cried. "You went away to the war--and I might never have known. I thought you cared for me only as a sister, and I have suffered--my God, how I have suffered--thinking that you did not care for me, while I--while I----"

He caught her in his arms and pressed her to his heart.

"While you--say it, darling, say it; my heart has been breaking for those words! I thought I should never hear them from your lips. I thought you loved Lige. I could not speak because I thought he loved you and you cared for him. The night before we went away I saw you in his arms, and I thought--I thought----"

She drew herself from his clasp and gazed into his eyes.

"You thought I cared for _Lige_?"

"Yes, dearest, yes, I truly, truly, did."

"And you went away without a word! You gave up your own chance of happiness because you thought you were adding to mine--and his! But what about me, Joe? I almost broke my heart trying to make myself love you like a sister. Oh, Joe, Joe, how like you! And you never suspected about Beatrice? Oh, Joe, you dear, darling old simpleton, how _could_ you think such a thing? Didn't you know that there never was--never could be--any one else in all the world but _you_?"

Darkness had quite come when they went back to the house together. As they entered the kitchen hand in hand Hannah Peniman looked up, and a little cry escaped her lips.

Nina ran to her and hid her head on her breast. Joe took her hand and slipped his arm about her.

"I've been a great fool, Mother," he said tenderly, "but I've come out of it better than I deserved. I thought that Lige cared for Nina, and I was going to just step aside and never let any one know how I felt. But I find I was mistaken, and that Princess cares for me. Are you glad, Mother? Tell us that you are glad she is really and truly going to be your daughter."

"She could never be more truly my daughter than she is now," said Mrs. Peniman, kissing the white brow that nestled against her shoulder. "But I am glad that she and you have found each other, for true love is the greatest thing in the world."

It was long after midnight when Lige came home, bursting into the room where Joe lay in the darkness with a tumult in his heart too great for sleep.

Lige rushed up to the bed and grasped his hand.

"Congratulate me, old boy," he cried; "by golly, I'm the happiest chap in all Christendom to-night. She loves me, Joe, she really loves me. I can hardly believe it even yet. And she's loved me all the time I've been away. I'm so happy----"

"I'll bet you're not any happier than I am," cried Joe, returning the grip of his hand.

"You are? Bully! Then you and Nina have fixed it up all right? Good! I'm mighty glad. Lord, Joe, I wish I'd suspected it sooner; it would have saved us both a lot of heartaches. But no matter, they're all over now, and perhaps we fought all the better for feeling that we hadn't so much to live for at home."

And while the boys lay in their old bed exchanging confidences and talking in whispers of the happiness that was to be theirs, and Nina, glowing with a happiness she had thought to never know, kept watch and ward through the silent night, little Ruth lay at the other side of the curtain and wept for the boy who did not come home.

*CHAPTER XXX*

*RUTH RECEIVES A SURPRISE*

With the return of the young men of the West from the war the settlement and development of the new country made rapid strides.

The Free Homestead Law, which had been signed by President Lincoln, took effect in 1863 and provided that any man or woman twenty-one years old or the head of a family could have 160 acres of land by living on it for five years and paying about eighteen dollars in fees.

Joe and Lige, who were now of age, immediately filed claims on the tracts of land that their father had staked out for them near his own eight years before, and proceeded joyfully to build upon them the houses necessary to hold the claims, which each fondly hoped would shelter a bride before another year had rolled away.

Ruth was not yet old enough to file a claim, but Nina, who had passed her twenty-first birthday, filed a claim on a beautiful tract of land next to Joe's, near the river. Sam, who was only twenty, had already taken out a timber-claim, and was planting trees upon it in his spare time, and both he and Paul had pieces of land located upon which they meant to preempt as soon as they were old enough.

In spite of the thankfulness she felt for the return of her brothers Ruth could not be happy. She tried to enter into all the joy of the household, but the sight of Joe and Nina walking hand-in-hand in the moonlight, of Lige and Beatrice scampering across the prairies on their ponies, caused an ache in her heart that kept her sleepless many nights and wet her pillow with tears.

She had kept her secret while Herbert was away, feeling that they were both too young to become formally engaged, but she knew that she loved him as she could never love any other man, and that if he never returned there would be a grave in her heart for all eternity.

Joe and Lige did their utmost to comfort her, but felt as the days crept by that there was little chance of Herbert's return.

Joe's ambition to become a lawyer had never faltered, and as soon as he had received his discharge from the army he immediately set to work to prepare himself for his examination for admission to the bar.

He studied hard, and the reading he had done during the long days while he plowed in the fields now stood him in good stead. A month after his return he went to Nebraska City and took his examination, which he passed with high honors and was admitted to practise law in the State.

He left the building with his certificate in his pocket and pride and exultation in his heart. He was a lawyer! The ambition of his boyhood was fulfilled. It now remained with him to make the rest of his dreams come true.

As he walked along jubilantly he saw a group of men coming toward him wearing the familiar blue uniform. He had returned to citizen's clothes, but the sight of the old uniform still thrilled him, and with the feeling of comradeship that it always inspired in him he stopped and waited for them to come up.

They walked very slowly, and as they came nearer he saw that they supported between them one of their comrades, who tottered like an old man.

"That fellow ought to be in an ambulance instead of on foot," he thought, and walked toward the group. As he reached them the man who was being supported raised his head.

"_Herbert_--my God, Herbert!" he cried, and clutched the yellow, skeleton-like hands.

The gaunt figure raised a haggard, ashen face, with hollow eyes and unshaven cheeks.

"_Joe!_" he whispered in a weak voice; "thank God!"

Joe had his arm about him by this time supporting him. Casting a swift glance up and down the street he saw a man coming toward them in a wagon.

"Here," he shouted, "take this soldier to a hotel, won't you? He's sick--wounded--he is not able to walk."

The war was too fresh in the minds of the people for any one to hesitate. Willing hands lifted the emaciated frame of the young soldier into the wagon, Joe sprang in beside him, and a few moments later Herbert James was in a hot bath, laid in a clean bed, with a doctor and nurse beside him.

When he could speak he told Joe that he had been captured and held in a Southern prison, where the conditions were so terrible that it was a miracle a single man came out of it alive. He had just been exchanged, he said, and he and the companions whom Joe had seen with him were on their way home when Joe met him.

Joe saw that there was something on his mind of which he hesitated to speak, and after a little time he asked for Ruth, so bashfully, and with an expression of such wistfulness in his hollow eyes that Joe's heart rejoiced. He told him that Ruth was well, but very unhappy at his failure to return, at which a faint color stained the boy's thin cheeks, and he turned his face to the wall and lay silent for many moments.

When he had fallen asleep Joe asked the doctor how soon he could be taken home, and was told that the sooner he reached home the better. "All he needs now is food and rest and care," he continued, "and it will take a lot of that, and considerable time before he is much better."

When the young soldier awakened it was to find a new suit of citizen's clothes laid out upon a chair, his filthy, tattered old uniform destroyed, and a barber waiting to shave him.

When he had eaten, was bathed and shaved and dressed he looked better.

"Now we're going home, old chap," Joe told him, whereat the poor broken youth began to cry.

Joe now had a side-bar buggy, to which he drove Kit, and with Herbert beside him made as comfortable as possible with rugs and pillows, they started for the Blue.

When they came in sight of the homestead Herbert gave a glad cry. "I never thought to see it again," he cried.

Joe lifted him out of the buggy and supported him into the house. Fortunately Ruth had gone for a walk with Nina. Mrs. Peniman received him almost as joyfully as if he had been one of her own sons. He seemed too exhausted to go farther, and a message was sent to his parents by David, who almost caused the death of Mrs. James by bursting into the house and yelling at the top of his voice that Herbert had come home.

The James family arrived at the homestead a few minutes later, and Mrs. Peniman went out and closed the door, leaving the young soldier to meet and greet his mother.

Half an hour later Ruth and Nina came home. It was evident that Ruth had been crying, and they walked slowly, with Nina's arm clasped about her waist.

Mrs. Peniman sent the children away and stood in the door awaiting them. As they came up to her she put her arms about Ruth and drew her to her side.

"Ruth," she said gently, "I have news for thee. A message has come----"

Ruth started forward, the color ebbing out of her face.

"From Herbert?" she whispered.

"Yes, there is a message from Herbert. Is thee strong enough to bear a shock----"

"A _shock_? Then he is dead?"

"No, no, I did not mean that. But we have news--some one has come----"

"Some one has come--_Herbert_?" and without waiting for the preparation that her mother had intended, she rushed into the house. For an instant she stood inside the door with white face and distended eyes. Then, hearing the low murmur of voices, she dashed aside the curtains, and saw Herbert lying on the bed.

The two young people uttered a simultaneous cry, and a moment later were locked in each other's arms. It was not for many minutes that Ruth could look at him, that she saw the wreck that war had made of the handsome boy she had loved. But when she did see it made no difference in her love. With the wealth of mother-love that had always overflowed her gentle heart she soothed and comforted him, told him that he would soon be well, and promised that she would nurse him back to life and health.

The next day she went quietly to her father and told him that she wanted him to marry them.

"It will take months to nurse him back to himself, Father," she told him, "and I am the one who can do it best. I can give him better care as his wife than I could as his sweetheart, and I want to marry him right now."

The family protested, but Ruth was never known to abandon an idea once she had set her mind upon it, and after some argument on the subject her family at last gave in.

"She might as well be nursing Herbert as a chicken with a broken wing or a dog with a sore foot," smiled her father, "for you know Ruthie will always be taking care of something. We all know and like Herbert, and have no objection to her marrying him sometime, and I know no reason why, if they both desire it, Ruth should not be given the privilege of nursing her husband back to health."

Mrs. Peniman finally agreed to this, and that evening as the sunset glow shone into the little soddy Herbert was propped up in his bed, and Ruth, in a simple little white dress, with the flush and glow of radiant happiness upon her face, stood with her hand in his while her father spoke the solemn words that made them man and wife.

*CHAPTER XXXI*

*JOE HEARS A STRANGE STORY*

Civilization was now moving westward with rapid strides.

The part of the Territory in which the Peniman family had cast their lot had been organized into a county, and a thriving little town had sprung up about five miles from their homestead which had been made the county seat.

It was here that Joe decided to open his law office and begin the serious business of his life.

Sam and Paul were now old enough to take his place at home, and he saw no reason why he should not begin his life-work, continuing to live at home, and doing what work he could mornings and evenings.

He had managed to save up a little money, and with it he rented a small one-story frame building containing two rooms, and after building his book-shelves with his own hands he disposed upon them his precious library, bought a table and two chairs, and hung out his shingle, "Joseph Peniman, Attorney at Law."

One of his first cases was that of an Indian, brought to him by Pashepaho, for whom he obtained justice against a white man for fraud. This case received wide notice in the Territory, and before long the young attorney had a large Indian clientage, whom he served with fairness and honesty, demanding for the red men the same justice that the law provided for white settlers.

By this time Joshua Peniman was considered one of the leading men of the county, and the family were all well and favorably known. Joe's anti-slavery speeches had made him many friends, and it was not long after his admission to the bar before he had a good practice.

In the fall of '65 the first election was held, and he was nominated for floating delegate to the legislature.

He had been too busy since his return from war to go to Omaha to call on his friend Judge North, but shortly after his nomination, while he was sitting in his office one day busily preparing a brief, the door opened and Judge North walked in.

Joe sprang up to meet him joyously.

"I heard that you had returned safely," said the Judge, warmly shaking his hand, "and I've been expecting that you would drop in to see me. But as you didn't, and as I had business here in the county, I thought I'd come to see you."

Joe expressed his pleasure in seeing him.

"Thought you were coming up to study law in my office?" smiled the Judge, casting a glance about the modestly furnished little office.

Joe colored, then smiled. "I took my examination a few weeks ago," he answered, "and as I got my certificate and felt that I couldn't lose time I thought I'd better not study any longer, but begin work on my own hook."

"You're right, my boy," and as he spoke the same strange, illusive resemblance that always tormented him when in the Judge's presence again flashed through Joe's mind.

They talked for a long time, Joe telling of the war and his experiences, Judge North informing him of many things that had taken place during his absence, and were soon to take place in the State.

As the sun declined Joe looked at his watch.

"Come home to dinner with me, Judge, and meet my family," he said. "I have often talked to Father and Mother about you and I would like you to meet them. It's only a short ride, and I have my buggy here."

The Judge, who had contemplated spending the night at the little cross-roads hotel, gladly accepted the invitation.

It was twilight as they drove across the prairies and approached the little soddy. The warm rosy afterglow was lingering in the sky, and silhouetted against it a figure moved toward them across the prairie, a light, graceful figure, the after-glow touching its crown of golden hair into gleaming splendor.

As they drew nearer Judge North fastened his eyes upon the girl who was coming to meet them, with a strange, intent expression.

When she raised her hand and waved to them he turned to Joe swiftly. "Who is that girl?" he asked.

"It is my--my--a--foster--sister," Joe answered, his face flushing a little.

"I asked"--explained Judge North,--"because as she came toward us in this light she bore such a strange, such a remarkable resemblance to some one I--some one I loved very dearly."

The girl had drawn nearer now, and seeing that there was a stranger in the buggy was about to turn back when Judge North leaned forward and stared at her, then leaped out and ran to her.

"_Marion!_" he cried, "_Marion!_"

The girl stopped, then turned to him inquiringly.

The lawyer was breathing quickly, and his face was pale, his eyes intent as he leaned forward staring at her.

"My God!" he breathed. "Her face--her voice--her hair! It must be--I can't be dreaming--Marion, Marion!"

Nina came toward him. For some reason she too appeared greatly moved.

"My name is not Marion," she said; "my name is Nina, but Marion was my mother's name."

"_Your--mother's name_? Then you are her daughter--you must be the child of Marion--Marion North!"

"No, of Marion Carroll."

"_Marion Carroll_! Oh, thank God, at last, at last!"

He sprang forward and clasped Nina's hand.

"Your mother was Marion Carroll--Marion North--my sister--my precious little sister--who was lost, and whom I have been searching for all these years! Where is she? Where is she? You are her living image. I thought when I first saw you that it was she. I had forgotten the lapse of years. I should have known you were her daughter anywhere!"

Nina had turned white, and Joe, who had thrown the lines to Paul, now came up to them.

"Come into the house," he said quickly, slipping his arm about her. "This is very strange. There must be much to tell and much to hear. Come, Nina, you are shaking so you can hardly stand."

He led the way swiftly to the house. Inside the door Mr. and Mrs. Peniman were waiting to receive them. After a hasty introduction Joe explained to them what had just taken place.

"I know now," he cried; "I have always seen a resemblance in Judge North to some one I had seen. Now I know that it was to Nina--to Mrs. Carroll--whom I have never forgotten. Don't you see it, Father? Isn't it so?"

Joshua Peniman had been gazing at the stranger with keen scrutiny.

"Yes," he said, "I see the resemblance to the unfortunate young mother very plainly. I also see a certain look that is like Nina, which is only natural, as Nina is the image of her mother." Then, turning to the stranger, "I was with Mr. and Mrs. Carroll in the last hour of their lives. I buried them on the prairies, and took their child with us in our wagons. Sit down, friend, this is a strange dispensation of Providence. Tell us what you know of this strange tale."

Judge North seemed unwilling to let go of Nina's hand. Drawing her close to his side he sat down at the table. Joshua Peniman in his clear, calm fashion told the story of the arrival of the Carrolls in their wagon at their camp on the prairies, of Lee Carroll's tragic death, of the subsequent death of Mrs. Carroll, and their taking charge of the child. Of the raid upon the wagons by the Indians, the taking of the dispatch-box, and the kidnapping of Nina by Red Snake.

The lawyer listened with intense interest.

"And this white man--this 'Red Snake'--what of him? Did you ever see him?" he asked eagerly.

"I saw him several times," said Joe.

"What was he like?"

"He was tall, powerfully but slenderly built, with red hair, a long, red, dissipated face, and a short, sandy mustache."

Judge North brought his hand down upon his knee with a sounding blow.

"A _red Carroll_!" he ejaculated. Then turning to Nina, who stood with blanched face and parted lips beside him, he led her with gentle, old-fashioned courtesy to a chair.

"Sit down, child," he said, "I have a strange story to tell, that touches you nearly."

The family had all gathered about him now, anxious to hear the solution of the mystery that had baffled them so long.

"I know who 'Red Snake' was," he began; "his name was Bernard Carroll. He was a brother of the Lee Carroll whom you buried on the prairies."

"A _brother_?" cried out Joe; "why, it was he that killed him!"

"I don't doubt it at all. He was a bad man; a degenerate, a scoundrel, from his very boyhood. The two brothers were descendants of a splendid old family, the Carrolls, of Virginia. But every few generations there appears in that family a _red Carroll_. The family are all of dark complexion, and whenever a red-haired Carroll appears among them there is sure to follow trouble and disaster. Before he was twenty years old Bernard Carroll had broken his mother's heart and caused her death. When he was twenty-three he fell wildly, madly, passionately in love with my sister Marion."

"Marion--_my mother_! That was why he stared at me so! That was why he called me 'Marion'!" panted Nina.

The Judge turned his eyes upon her. "Yes, no doubt it was. You are marvelously like her. Startlingly like what she was at your age. He wooed her with the same fiery zeal, with the same ardor and passion that he carried into every act of his life. For a time his good looks, his native charm, his passionate wooing attracted her. Then as she came to know him better she turned from him with loathing. It was just at this time that Lee came home from college. He too fell in love with Marion, and she returned his love. In a short time they became engaged."

He paused, as a short, broken sob escaped from Nina's lips. He laid his hand over hers affectionately, then resumed:

"Bernard never forgave either of them. For Lee he developed a hatred that was shown in every act of his life. He was drinking heavily at the time, and as his extravagance threatened to ruin the family his father put him on an allowance, which no amount of whining or bullying would induce him to increase. He laid all his father's sternness at Lee's door, and set deliberately to work to ruin him in his father's affections. With the cunning of the snake, for which he was so well named, he crawled and wormed himself into his father's confidence, and then with devilish malice began to poison his mind against his younger son. Lee and Marion had married by this time, and were starting out in life together. Bernard forged his brother's name to a check, and made his father believe him a criminal. The father denounced him and turned him out of the house. Lee, indignant, hurt, grieved to the heart that his father should doubt him, high-spirited and stubborn, as all of the Carrolls are, left home with his young wife and went to New York to earn his living. A short time afterward a child was born to them, and they went abroad. It was while Lee was abroad, and all communication between himself and his family had been cut off, that Bernard again began to go the pace. He forged another check, which was traced to him, he was arrested, and fled the country. His father was relentless. Bernard had prejudiced him against and separated him from his younger and dearer son, had caused the death of his mother, and the old man was determined to punish him to the full extent of the law. But Bernard was never found. Once he was heard from in Iowa; some one who knew him saw him on a wagon-train headed for the gold-fields of California. Then all trace of him was lost. I presume that growing more and more degenerate he took to using drugs as well as liquor, became a squaw-man and settled among the Indians."

When his voice ceased there was deep silence in the room. Nina, with her violet eyes fixed intently on the face of her uncle, had scarcely stirred during the narrative. The keen mind of Joshua Peniman was busy putting two and two together.

Suddenly he rose from his chair and going to a chest in a corner of the soddy brought out the two deeds that had been found in the dispatch-box.

"This would indicate that the father forgave Lee, and deeded this property to him," he said, handing the deeds to Judge North.

The lawyer examined them critically. Then he looked up with an eager light in his eyes.

"Have you ever done anything about these?" he asked.

"Yes," answered Mr. Peniman; "I have done all that I could with the limited knowledge and means I possessed. I have tried to set inquiries on foot regarding them, but as yet have had no results."

Judge North put the deeds in his pocket. "I will take this matter up at once," he said. "This should be valuable property. Bernard would never have allowed it to fall into the hands of Lee's child if he could have used it himself, but he knew that he dared not claim it."

Turning to Nina he laid his hand on her head.

"And so, after all the search of years I have found my niece at last! I had almost believed I never should do so. And then," breaking into a genial smile, "I accept an invitation to dinner with my young friend here, and find my beautiful young niece--the very image of the little sister I lost and for whom I had so grieved--awaiting me!----"

He put out his arms, and Nina, with a glad little cry, ran into them.

"Of course you must come and live with me now----" he began, but got no farther, for from the whole Peniman family there rose a cry of simultaneous protest.

Nina, blushing rosy red, turned a shy glance on Joe.

He at once came to the rescue. Crossing the room he laid his hand upon the Judge's shoulder.

"I--a--I hope you won't mind, judge," he said awkwardly, "but--but the truth is that Nina has just promised to--to live the rest of her life with me."

The Judge turned and looked at him, then burst into a roar of laughter.

"Well, well, well!" he cried, "to think that the young man I have liked so much would steal such a march as that on me! So you have promised to live the rest of your life with this young chap, have you, niece? And I suppose you'd much rather do that than come live with a lonely old man like me?"

Nina could not truthfully deny the statement, but softened the blow by putting her arms about his neck and kissing him softly on the forehead.

It was Judge North's wish to give the young couple a fine wedding in Omaha, but this they firmly declined.

Lige and Beatrice had decided to be married soon, and the two young couples had planned a double wedding, at which the gentle Quaker father, minister, justice, should officiate.

It was while the preparations for the double wedding were going briskly forward that Joe received a letter from Judge North one day, asking him to come to Omaha at once, and bring Nina with him.

When they arrived the Judge met them at the door and led them into his private office. They saw that he looked very grave, and they were no sooner seated than he turned to Nina and took her hand.

"My child," he said, in a tone that sent premonitory chills of trouble into the hearts of the two young people, "you must prepare yourself for a great blow."

"A blow?" Nina turned pale. "What kind of a blow?"

Joe too had whitened. "What is it, Judge?" he asked, wondering if some insurmountable barrier to his marriage with Nina had been discovered.

"I have been very busy tracing back these deeds and looking up the estate that I hoped your grandfather Carroll had left his son," the Judge went on, "and which you, as his only heir, should inherit. But to my deep regret and sorrow I found that the property, the deeds of which were found in the dispatch-box, had long ago passed into the hands of some distant cousins, and that the fortune which we supposed Colonel Carroll to possess was so wasted by his spendthrift son, and so dissipated by his long search for Lee and his own long illness, that there was nothing of it left when the will was probated."

"Is _that_ all?" Nina drew a deep breath and loosed the grip of her hands in her lap. "Great heavens, Uncle, you nearly frightened me out of my wits. I thought--I thought something terrible had happened."

"But--but it _is_ terrible, my dear," said her puzzled uncle. "You don't seem to understand. There is no money for you to inherit. I thought you would be a great heiress. I hoped you would get a large sum of money from that property----"

Nina burst into a ringing laugh.

"Nonsense, Uncle! Who cares! What would I want with a great lot of money? I don't care a button about the fortune. I've found you--and know all about my dear father and mother now--and I've got Joe, so what more could I ask?"

"But, my dear----" cried her distressed uncle, gazing at the shining eyes and smiling face with amazement.

Nina sprang across the room and threw her arms around his neck with another burst of laughter.

"Don't bother any more about it, dear," she cried. "Just let's forget all about the money part of it, and be happy. I'm sure it will never give me another thought--if Joe doesn't mind taking a penniless bride."

Joe's expression as he gazed at her would indicate that he did not mind in the least.

"As a matter of fact," he admitted, "I feel rather relieved. I don't know whether I should feel equal to living up to a rich wife or not." Then more seriously, "No, Judge, don't let's lose any sleep about that. Nina and I have grown up poor, and I guess we shall never be any happier than we were in the little soddy back home. I have my profession, the State is growing, new business is coming in, I have my homestead and the little house on it where we can begin, and I guess we'll manage to get along and be pretty happy with that."

Judge North, who had been exceedingly worried and unhappy since he had received the news in regard to the property, looked at the young couple with surprise, and his face cleared.

"Well," he ejaculated, "I think you're a great pair of young simpletons, but I'm glad you take it that way. I don't think, however, that you need feel much uneasiness about your future. The new West is opening up, there are going to be great adventures and opportunities for young men, and Joe has a good start and the prospect of a brilliant future."

"Of course he has," cried Nina; "why should we worry about a little old money! Joe is going to be one of the biggest men in the new State."

The Judge patted her head and sighed while he smiled. "He ought to be, with a love and belief like that behind him," he said, a little wistfully.

It was now fall, and Herbert was once more almost himself again, thanks to Ruth's good nursing. She entered into the preparations for the double wedding with all the interest and enthusiasm she had had no opportunity to expend on her own wedding.

It was a glorious autumn morning when the little party left the sod house and walked quietly across the fields that were just beginning to put on their robes of brown and russet and gold, splashed here and there with brilliant dashes of color made by the goldenrod and sumac, and starred with St. Michaelmas daisies, while the great yellow sunflowers lifted their proud heads to the kiss of the morning and the meadow-larks poured forth their thrilling melody through the golden, sunlit air.

Joe walked with his mother, his arm about her waist, his tall form bent to hers, as he talked in low and tender tones of all that he meant to do for her and his father and the children in the days that were to come.

Nina, radiant and lovely as the morning, dressed in the soft creamy white she loved, was with her uncle, leaning lightly on his arm, while she chatted with Ruth and Herbert, who walked beside them, and Sara and Mary, who as bridesmaids to the party were charming in their garlands of wild-flowers and their simple little dresses of virgin white.

Lige walked with Mrs. James, his handsome head thrown back, his face shining with happiness and his eyes turned continually upon Beatrice, who skipped gayly along by the side of her father, lovely as a picture in her bridal white.

Sam and Paul, who were to act as best men to the wedding party, felt just a bit out of it as they trudged along behind, and David, now a sturdy little chap of ten years, skipped in and out, now with one group, now with another, the pet of the family, welcomed and admired by all.

At the door of the little church on the prairie Joshua Peniman awaited them. His hair was grey, his face lined and pale, and in his eyes was the expression of one who had been communing with another world.

As the friends and relatives crowded into the pews and the two young couples approached the altar there was a little bustle and stir at the back of the church, and Joe looked back to see a sight that touched him deeply. About the door was crowded a large party of Indians, the friends whom he and Nina had made in their captivity among them, and those he had made in later days.

They were all there, squaws, bucks, papooses, grinning at him from the door, and among them was the tall form of Pashepaho and the stately Neowage, who had come many, many miles to witness the wedding of their friend.

Joe rushed to the back of the church to meet them, insisted that they must all come inside, and ushered them down the aisle to the front pews, as proudly as if they had been the mayor of the city and governor of the State and their staffs.

They wore no hats, their hair was braided with beads and feathers in honor of the occasion, and Pashepaho bore on his arm a magnificent otter skin as a wedding present, while Neowage carried a wonderful pair of elk-horns that adorned Joe's home for many years.

Slowly the gentle patriarch mounted the pulpit, quietly the two young couples took their places before him, and with solemn voice he read the ceremony that united their lives.

When the wedding was over they all returned to the homestead, where a wedding feast had been prepared, and the Indians were among the most honored guests. They refused to sit on chairs, never having become accustomed to that luxury, but squatted on the grass they enjoyed the feast as well as any of the guests.

When it was over Joe and Nina left for Omaha, where his legislative duties were soon to begin. Lige and Beatrice drove over to the county-seat, where Lige, now a cashier in the bank, had built a modest home for his gay little singing-bird. Ruth and Herbert left for the home that had been built on their homestead, and as the shadows of night came down Joshua and Hannah Peniman with their shrunken household were left alone.

"We have given much to the New West, Joshua," she said, gazing with moist eyes about the little soddy that looked so lonely and empty in the waning light.

"It was that for which we became pioneers," answered Joshua Peniman, laying his hand over hers.

THE END