Chapter XLIII: Jean Is Happy—and Another Person 307 (10)

“Mary is a year younger than John; and Joseph came to us two years later than Mary,” said the patriarch, his finger still pointing to the cherished page.

“Oh, father!” cried the wife, “do you think I shall ever hold my Joseph in my arms again?”

“God knows best,” was the sad reply.

A cat purred contentedly at the woman’s feet, and crickets sang upon the hearth. Outside, the wind sighed dolefully.

“Wonder what’s the matter with Rover?” said the old man, rising to his feet, after repeated efforts, and hobbling toward the door. “He’s acting strangely to-night.”

“Don’t open the door, father,” pleaded the wife. “The whole country is infested with tramps and robbers. We’d better be cautious. I’m sure I saw faces at the window a while ago.”

“Rover knows what he’s about, wife. He never speaks like that to an enemy. I will open the door.”

It seemed to the men outside that the door was long in opening. “My fingers are all thumbs!” they heard the old man exclaim, after a fruitless effort to withdraw the bolt.

“Good-evening!” exclaimed Joseph, in a husky voice. “We are a pair of belated travellers, and seek a night’s lodging. Can we be accommodated?”

“We’re not used to keeping travellers,” said the patriarch, “but it is late, and another storm is brewing. Come right in. Wife can fix you a shake-down somewhere, I reckon; and we always have a bite on hand to eat.”

“We have two sons of our own out in the world somewhere, father,” said the wife. “I will trust the Lord to do by them as we will do by these strangers.”

John Ranger threw back his heavy coat and hat and stood before the pair erect and motionless.

“Mother!” he exclaimed, after a moment’s waiting, as he caught her in his arms, “don’t you know your boy?”

“Why, bless my soul, it’s our John,—my firstborn baby boy!” faltered the mother, as she resigned herself to his realistic “bear hug.” “I thought you was in Oregon.”

“So I was a few weeks ago; but I am here now! How are you, mother dear? And you, father? I am so glad to see you again! How goes the world with both of you?”

“All right, son, considering. That is, it’s all right now you are here. We can bear poverty and hardship now. Eh, wife?”

“Yes, father. If the Lord sees fit to afflict us, we can now bear it without complaining. Blessed be His holy name! But how did it happen, John dear? I was thinking about you to-night as being far away on this, your forty-third birthday.”

“We do things in a hurry on the Pacific coast, mother mine. This is an unexpected visit. But you are neglecting somebody.”

“That is so,” exclaimed the old man. “What might your name be, stranger?”

The tall man in the shadow took a faltering step forward and removed his hat.

“Don’t you know me, father?”

“Good God! Can it be possible that this is Joseph?”

“Don’t let him deceive us, John!” pleaded the mother. “I couldn’t live and bear it!”

“Yes, mother dear, it is indeed your Joseph,—your long-lost son,” cried the prodigal. “Don’t you recognize me now?”

John, who had released his mother, stood by in silence; while Joseph, secure in his welcome, gathered his mother in his arms and exclaimed, “It is now my turn to give you a bear hug. Take this, and this!” and he clasped her with half-savage tenderness again and again.

“Yes, mother!” cried the father, who, overcome by his emotions, dropped feebly into his chair. Then, controlling his feelings by a strong effort of the will, he added with a laugh, “Hadn’t we better kill the prodigal, seeing the calf has come home?”

At a late hour a frugal meal was spread, to which the weary home-comers did enforced justice, the mother on one side of the table weeping and laughing by turns, and the father on the other side endeavoring with indifferent success to be dignified and calm.

The brothers eyed each other askance as the supper proceeded, especially noticing the absence of the many little luxuries for which the Ranger tables had formerly been noted throughout the township.

“Father and I don’t have much appetite, so we don’t lay in many extras nowadays,” said the mother.

“We’ve been having a hard time of it since you left us, John,” broke in the father. “The fellow that bought the sawmill didn’t understand the business, and he soon swamped it. So Lije had to take it off his hands, and it left us mighty hard up. Lije has a big family, and the gals want clothes and schoolin’, and Mary is poorly and needs medicines; so mother and I do without lots of things we need. It was lucky for all hands, though, that Annie sent back that deed to the Robinson old folks. They’re independent now, in a small way. They have their own garden and cow and fruit and poultry, and they made enough off of their truck-patch last summer to pay their taxes and buy groceries. They don’t need many new clothes. They have bought a sleigh and a horse, so they can go to meetin’ Sundays; and next summer, Daddie Robinson says, he’ll be able to buy a buggy.”

“I meant to let you have that little place, father,” said John, trying in vain to eat his food. “But Annie claimed it as her own; and Mary and Jean insisted that she had a right to deed it to her own parents. If you had such a little home now, could you be contented?”

“Oh, John,” cried his mother, “if we only had a place as good! I never covet what is my neighbor’s, but I do want to be independent.”

“Can’t you pack your little effects and go with us to Oregon?” asked Joseph, a great lump rising in his throat.

The old man looked anxiously at his wife. The wife looked inquiringly at her husband.

“It will be just as father says,” said the wife, submissively.

“An old man is like an old tree,” began the father, bowing his head upon the table. “You can transplant a man or a tree, but you can’t make ’em take root to do much good in new soil after they get old. With the young it’s different. It’s out o’ sight, out o’ mind, with them. They can take root anywhere if the conditions are favorable and they want to change.”

“That’s right, father,” echoed the wife. “We’re too old to make a new start in a new country. Besides, the expense of transplanting us to so great a distance would go a long way toward taking care of us nearer home. I’d like it mighty well if we could live near all our children in our old days; but if it is better for them,—and I reckon it is,—the sacrifices we must make to bear the separation mustn’t count. We ought to be used to privation and poverty by this time.”

“We have all heard of the Irishman’s way of feeding, or not feeding, his horse!” exclaimed Joseph. “The plan seemed successful for a few days, but just when the animal was supposed to be used to the treatment, the ungrateful creature died.”

“I could keep the wolf from the door a few years longer if it wasn’t for my rheumatism,” said the father. “The after-clap of old hardships gets the better of me now and then. I’m only able, much of the time, to potter round the place and help your mother at odd jobs. I reckon she would miss me if I should be called away, however.”

“God grant that we may be called away together when we are wanted in the land o’ the leal,” said the good wife, fervently; and her husband responded with a hearty “Amen.”

“You are not to be allowed to worry any more!” exclaimed Joseph, rising to his feet and straightening himself to his full height. “I am not rich, but I am amply able to place you above want; and, so help me God, I’ll do it. I’ve been the stray sheep. I’ve wandered far from the fold, and I’ve been a long time coming to my senses. But I have put the past behind me, and, come what will, my dear father and mother shall be provided for during the remainder of their lives.”

“But you have a family, my son. Don’t make any promises that will interfere with your obligations to your wife and children.”

“I have some gold mines in Utah, mother dear, and an interest in several trading-posts on the frontier. I will never neglect you again.”

“Jean went away under a promise to assist us as soon as she could earn some money of her own,” said the father; “but we can look for no help from that quarter for some time to come. It isn’t right to expect it of her, either. Oh, boys, if you could only know how it has stung us to be treated as mendicants, after we have worn ourselves out in the service of our children, you would appreciate our joy over this cheering news!”

“Who is treating you as mendicants, mother, I should like to know?” exclaimed the elder son. “Didn’t I leave you provided for when I started for Oregon?”

“You did your best to make provision for our needs, my son. We are blaming nobody. Don’t allow yourself to feel unhappy. We are not complaining of anything but Fate.”

“But you ought to blame me,” cried Joseph. “It was I who brought all these calamities upon my nearest and dearest. But God knows I do repent in sackcloth and ashes.”

“Oh, father, we can never be unhappy now! Our boy that was lost is found. He that we mourned as dead is with us, alive and well. There is no blood-guiltiness upon his head, and no shadow of murder or hatred in his heart. The Lord be praised for all His tender mercies to the children of men!”

“Yes, yes, the Lord be praised!” echoed the father, fervently. “Surely, after all the blessings that have been showered upon us this night, we can take all the balance on trust.”

“We have the promise, father: ‘Trust in the Lord and do good, and verily thou shalt be fed.’”

* * * * *

“I’d give the world, if I had it, for the simple, child-like faith of our father and mother,” said John, as soon as the brothers were alone.

“And I’d give the world, if I had it, for a chance to live my life over, that I might have an opportunity to atone for the suffering I have caused you all.”

“Dear Joe, you have suffered too.”

He turned his face to the wall and relapsed into silence. And as he secretly invoked the presence of his beloved dead, he saw himself in an emigrant’s camp far away in the Black Hills. Again the tethered Flossie lowed plaintively at the wagon-wheel, bemoaning the death of her calf; again the still, white-robed form of his Annie appeared before his mental vision. And the sorrowing husband fell asleep.

XXXIX

_THE OLD HOMESTEAD_

The gray dawn of a bleak December morning found the Ranger brothers alternately stamping the snow from their feet on the front veranda of the old homestead, and listening for the first sounds of awakening within. The same denuded locust-boughs swept the lattice as of yore; and it seemed but yesterday to John Ranger as he recalled the time he had caught his gentle Annie in his arms on that momentous and well-remembered evening, and made the startling announcement, “It’s all settled, mother. Brother Lije has bought the farm, and we’ll be off in less than a month for Oregon.”

He turned to his brother, whose face was like marble as he stood in the shadow of the wall, as silent as the Sphinx.

“Who in thunder is coming here to rout a fellow out o’ bed at this time of a Sunday morning?” growled Lije Robinson, as he opened the door an inch or so and peeped out into the biting air.

“It is I and another,” cried John Ranger, pushing the door wide open. For a moment the brothers-in-law faced each other in silence. One was dumb with many conflicting emotions, the other with simple wonder.

“Your conscience must have troubled you,” said Lije, after an awkward pause, “or you wouldn’t have come back. But come in! I’ll start up the fire. Who’s this?” looking hard at Joseph, whose bronzed and bearded face was more than half concealed by the upturned collar of his fur-lined overcoat.

“Don’t you know him, Lije?”

“Naw, nor I don’t want to.”

Meanwhile Mrs. Robinson had emerged from her room after a hurried toilet.

“Sister Mollie!”

“Brother John!”

For half a minute not another word was spoken.

“I never expected to set eyes on you again,” cried the sister at last, as, half crying and half laughing, she held him at arm’s length for a better view. “It seemed as if you had left the world when you went to Oregon; and now you are back again,—the same old John.”

“This is an age of progress, Mollie. The planet doesn’t seem so very big, if you know how to get around it.”

“Will you introduce the stranger, John?” asked his sister, in a welcoming tone.

“I’ve been waiting to see if he would be recognized. There is another surprise in store for you, Mollie. Did you ever see this man before?”

“Can it be possible,” she asked, her face deathly pale, “that this is my brother Joseph?”

“Yes, Mollie,” he cried, as he caught her in his arms, “I’m your long-lost brother.”

“Then I hope you’ve come prepared to pay your honest debts,” growled the brother-in-law. “I’ve wrestled with that old mortgage till I’m demnition tired!”

“I hope you’ll permit me to atone as best I can, Lije. That’s what I’m here for.”

“Don’t be too hard on him, Lije!” pleaded the sister, as she helped the prodigal to remove his overcoat. “You’re all right now, brother, aren’t you?”

“I will be as soon as I have settled some old scores with your bear of a husband.”

“Don’t mind Lije!” said his sister, aside. “His losses and obligations have made him discouraged and cross. It wasn’t natural that he should endure our hardships resignedly, as we did. Blood is thicker than water, you know. Oh, Joseph, if I only could buy for our parents a nice little farm, such as Annie deeded to her father and mother! There’s a ten-acre farm adjoining theirs; I cannot sleep for thinking about it. But my whole lifework has been devoted to Lije, and must count for nothing, so far as father and mother are concerned. Father gave me a cow and calf for a wedding present, as you will remember. They would have made me comfortable long ago if I could have kept them and one-half of their increase as mine.”

“Yes, Mollie; and I acted the brute beast over that gift. I was a bumptious boy then; and I encouraged Lije in the idea that he mustn’t allow his wife to own property. I waxed eloquent, as I thought, over coverture, and such other archaic injustice as merges the existence of a wife into that of her husband. Men are more appreciative of women on the Pacific coast than they are here; but there are laws and usages out there yet that call loudly for a change, the Lord knows.”

“I am not complaining of Lije, Joe. He has never offered me any bodily injury in his life, and I’ve learned not to mind the explosions from his mouth. I have everything I need for my own simple wants; but, no matter how hard I struggle, I can never help my parents to a penny unless I steal it”; and she laid her head on her brother’s shoulder and sobbed aloud.

“What’s the matter now?” growled her husband. “Can’t you stop your bawling when you have company?”

“Breakfast is ready,” said Annie Robinson, a tall and handsome girl, who had been busy in the lean-to kitchen.

“Annie, this is Uncle Joseph,” said her mother, smiling through her tears.

“I don’t want to see him,” retorted the girl, rudely, turning to Uncle John with extended hands and a smile of welcome, and saying in a half-whisper, “What did you bring him here for?”

“The hair of the dog is good for the bite sometimes, my girl. Your Uncle Joseph is all right. He’ll atone for everything if we’ll give him half a chance.”

“You owe Joseph an apology for your rudeness, Annie; I am surprised at you!” said her mother. Then, turning to Joseph: “Don’t mind Annie. She is unhappy and cross because she could not go to boarding-school this winter.”

“If I didn’t deserve what I’m getting I wouldn’t stand it, sister; but I’ve come to atone, and I must take my punishment.”

The room was severely cold, and the hot breakfast filled the air with a vapor that obscured the window-panes. The lighted candles, in their tall receivers, reflected translucent halos, and lit the lithe figure of Annie Robinson, who flitted silently between the table and the great black stove, serving the food, and looking like a weird, uncanny shade.

“The way of the transgressor is hard,” thought Joseph. “We must be ready to take the back track to-morrow, John,” he said, rising from his chair, and leaving his food almost untasted. “Whatever business you and Lije may have between you must be agreed upon to-day. Where can I hire a horse and sleigh?”

“I’ve a cutter in the barn,” said Lije, beginning to relax a little as his breakfast stirred his heart and warmed his spirits. “You’ll find half-a-dozen old sawmill horses in the big shed back of the barn. They’re spavined and ringboned, and one of ’em is knock-kneed; but you can take your pick of the lot.”

“Won’t you let me go along, Joe?” asked his brother, as they left the house together. “Where are you going, anyhow?”

“Of course you can go along if you are not needed here. I am going to see about buying that ten-acre tract that Mollie told me about. If it is suitable for the needs of our parents, I will see them installed in a home of their own before another week passes. Why, John, I’d rather murder our dear old father and mother in cold blood than leave them under the heel of that parsimonious—”

“Don’t be too hard on Lije, Joe. He’s had a whole lot to contend with since the sawmill, the debts, and other double loads have been left on his hands.”

“And no wonder,” was the significant rejoinder. “He deserves his fate.”

The sun arose in splendor, warming the air, and making the drive of three or four miles keenly invigorating and enjoyable. They found the little farm they had come to inspect in fair condition, though in need of some modern improvements, of which the brothers took note. The land had originally belonged to the senior Ranger, who had secured a title to the half-section of which it was a part, directly from the government.

“If father had been content with smaller land holdings, it might have been better for him and all the rest of us,” said John.

“There is danger that we may make the same mistake in Oregon,” replied Joseph.

“What a wealthy man father might have been, though, if he had held on to all the land he acquired in this country in an early day!” added John.

“But he’d be a happier man to-day on this ten-acre plat, with prosperous small farmers all around him and all the improvements and conveniences on the plat that it can be made to carry, than he would be with a whole township on his shoulders under the burdens of taxation and a careless tenantry.”

“I don’t know but you are right,” echoed John; “it isn’t what we own, or imagine that we own, in this world, but what we can utilize, that makes up our real possessions. Oregon will surely suffer, in years to come, as a result of the present system of land-grabbing. Most of the unhappiness of the farmers’ wives results from isolation, which small farms would remedy. This little home is a perfect gem. Mother will be delighted.”

“And the Robinson old folks will have congenial neighbors. I can shut my eyes and see father now, hobbling about the place with his cane, pulling a weed here and a flower there, tending the horse and cow and garden, planting his onions and potatoes in the dark of the moon, as of old, and his cabbage and peas and beans when it is full.”

“And think how mother will enjoy her poultry and posies! But we must do something to relieve Lije of his burden of debt, or he’ll drive Mollie to suicide.”

“I feel under no obligation to Lije, God knows! But for Mollie’s sake, I’ll see about helping him out.”

“Do you still intend to leave for the coast to-morrow?”

“No,” said Joseph. “I spoke hastily. This is Sunday. We can’t complete our business to-day. I will see the agent and settle about this little farm in the morning. After we get the old folks comfortable it will be time to consider Lije. He must wait.”

“I’ve been thinking all day,” said John, as they were journeying homeward, “that the entire running machinery of the home should be intrusted to women, who are the real home-makers. My Annie planned for the support of her parents, and made them modestly independent by a stroke of her pen. But she could not have done it if I had continued obstinate about signing the deed; and I am very much afraid I could not have been prevailed upon to do it if it hadn’t been for the persistence of Jean. She gave me no peace till the conveyance was made. If women possessed law-making power, these matters would in time be adjusted, and both men and women would be the gainers in the long run. But both men and women are as short-sighted as they are selfish. Solomon was right when he said: ‘There is that scattereth, and yet increaseth; and there is that withholdeth more than is meet, but it tendeth to poverty.’ It is noticeable that men of the frontier are more inclined to be just with their co-workers, the mothers, than the men of the older States.”

“It’s all settled, mother,” exclaimed Joseph, as he alighted at the cottage doorstep and threw the reins to John; “I’ve been to see that little farm adjoining Pap Robinson’s, and I’ve made terms. The little place is yours from now on, and I will not leave you till you are settled in it.”

“Your father will be so happy, son! He started to meeting a little while ago. I stayed at home to have a nice, warm supper ready. It isn’t many more meals I’ll get a chance to cook for my boys.”

“You did your share in that line long ago, mother dear.”

In the family reunion in the little cottage home that night there were no intruders. John, Mary, and Joseph held sweet communion with their parents alone.

“Our Father in Heaven,” prayed the old man, before retiring, “we thank Thee for all Thy tender mercies to us-ward. We realize Thy hand in our chastening; and we behold Thy love in our sorrows, since, but for them, we could not appreciate our joys. We thank Thee for John, for Mary, for Joseph, and for this night’s reunion. We also thank Thee for our absent dear ones, and for those whose bodies are under the snow, whose spirits are with Thee.

“Animate us all with the Christ spirit, O God; and grant that in Thine own good time we all may meet again.”

And the brothers echoed aloud the good father’s “Amen.”

XL

_THE UNEXPECTED HAPPENS_

A year has passed, and the autumn of 1853 has arrived. It has been a most strenuous twelve months on the Ranch of the Whispering Firs. Rapid changes, unlooked-for vicissitudes, improvements upon the virgin soil, annoying delays, and happy reunions have made the seasons fly.

The house was now surrounded by a cultivated field, through the centre of which a broad, tree-lined avenue wound upward from the grade below. The cattle whose labor had saved the lives of the immigrants the previous year were now sleek and fat.

Behind the dwelling rose the foot-hills of the Cascade Mountains, their sides and summits clothed with the majestic forest of pointed firs from which the ranch had derived its name. Still higher up, and yet up, above the serrated steeps, loomed hoary old Mount Hood, spreading his snowy robes over the misty lesser heights, the top of his white turban hidden among the clouds, his flowing beard resting upon the pointed crests of the most distant trees.

The music of machinery filled the air. The sawmill was at its best, running day and night to supply the ever-increasing demand for lumber. The original plant had already been greatly increased.

“It is a glorious thing to be alive!” said Jean, pausing in the perusal of a letter. “The air is as balmy as springtime. What a blessed change it will be for Ashton, who has seen nothing but sagebrush, bald mountains, jack-rabbits, sage-hens, Indians, immigrants, and cacti the summer long! Oh, my darling, it is a whole year since our first meeting!

“My last day in the schoolroom is over. I have enjoyed my work. Many of the little tots are better for the training I have given them. But best of all is the improvement the experience has brought to me. Every good deed reacts upon the doer. Ashton will hardly realize the progress I have made in education, physical appearance, and culture during the vanished year”; and she smiled approvingly at her reflection in the little mirror. “And to think that to-morrow is our wedding-day!” She resumed the reading of her cherished missive.

“It will interest you to know that the fellow Hankins, whose villany came so near to wrecking our happiness, my beloved, has been sent to the Pen. at Salt Lake for forgery. What a splendid man he might have been if he had improved his opportunities! He still has a penitentiary term to serve in New York, which, added to his twenty years in Utah, will take him into the sere and yellow leaf.”

“And I’d have allowed myself to marry that fellow, I fear, if you had proved false to me, my Ashton,” exclaimed Jean, as she turned from her musings to survey her _trousseau_, upon which she and Mary had spent much time and skill.

“Are you at leisure, sister?” asked Mary.

“Of course I am always at leisure to see you, Mary. But what is the matter? You are as red as a rose and bright as a diamond!” and she fondled the sparkling gem upon her own finger lovingly.

“Something sweet and momentous has happened, my dear. Wish me joy! Mr. Buckingham and I are to make the fourth couple to join the matrimonial combination at the fateful hour to-morrow.”

“Isn’t this rather sudden, Mame? Won’t you be leaving Marjorie in the lurch at the cook-house? And, above all, what will you do for a _trousseau_?”

“No, dear, this change is not sudden. As you know, we have been engaged for over six months. But my _fiancé_, being under orders from the government, has not been certain of a permanency before. We will take Marjorie with us to Washington, and keep her in school. And now as to _trousseau_. My white dimity dress is fresh and new, and so is Marjorie’s. When we get to Washington, where Mr. Buckingham must spend the winter under orders from the Land Department, he says we can patronize the _modiste_ to our heart’s content. It was a fortunate day for me when my husband that is to be was sent out to Oregon to investigate alleged land frauds; and more fortunate still that he discovered that fellow Hankins.”

“I wish we’d known this a week ago, Mame. You might have had an ivory-white, all-wool delaine, with lace and satin trimmings, just like mine.”

“My little sister, notwithstanding her reputation for strong-mindedness, is a charming bit of femininity, after all,” laughed Mary, as she hurried away.

* * * * *

The near approach of a creaking wagon caused the sisters to approach the window.

“As I live!” cried Jean, “it’s the Reverend Thomas Rogers coming up the grade. And that is his little doll-faced wife. Wonder where they came from, and what in creation they’re coming here for.”

“You must go out to meet them, Jean,” said Mary. “I never want to see them again; but we mustn’t be remiss in hospitality.”

“He looks as if the world had gone hard with him, poor fellow,” laughed Jean. “Don’t you wish you had to pull in double harness with the like of him for the rest of your life?”

“I would never have fancied him in the first place if I had had any sense,” said Mary. “Wonder who paid their bills,” she cried with a hysterical little laugh, as she watched the preacher’s wife while she alighted over the wagon-wheel without any attention or assistance.

“Yonder goes Mrs. O’Dowd to the rescue. Do you know, Mame, I think it is a wise step for daddie to hitch up with Sally O’Dowd? He might go farther and fare a whole lot worse.”

Although the greeting the Rogers family received from the Ranger household was not exactly in keeping with the open-hearted hospitality of the border, it seemed to satisfy the preacher, who made himself as agreeable as possible.

“I went, Squire, to see your parents and Mrs. Ranger’s a few days before I left the States,” said the preacher. “The dear old people were well and prosperous and contented. They have imbibed a new theory about time and distance. They talk learnedly about vibrations, a fourth dimension in space, and other such nonsense; and they declare that there can be no real separation of souls that are in perfect accord with one another. Their new belief is making them as happy as birds. I would have no objection to such speculations if they didn’t tend to undermine the gospel. All such theories detract from the faith of our fathers.”

“Not necessarily,” said Jean. “I think that we ought always to accept truth for authority; but you want everybody to accept authority for truth.”

“I see it is the same little ‘doubting Thomas’ we used to have in the Pleasant Prairie schoolhouse,” said the minister.

“There is a whole lot of common-sense in Jean’s religion,” cried Hal; “I mean to accept her manufacture of the article as straight goods, full measure and a yard wide.”

“These discussions are not profitable,” said Captain Ranger, dryly.

“Your father and mother are certainly very happy in their theories; I can say that much for them,” said Mrs. Rogers, who, from her nook in the corner, had seldom ventured a word. “Their cottage was as neat as a new pin. It was the springtime, and climbing roses were clambering over the little porch. The old people seemed to lack for nothing but the companionship of their children.” And the little woman, amazed at her own loquacity, shrank back abashed.

“God has been very kind and gracious to both of the good old couples,” said the preacher, in a sonorous voice.

“Some people have an unlimited supply of gall,” said Hal, aside to Mary, alluding to the preacher and his wife.

“I don’t see but they are all right,” was the smiling reply of the rosy-cheeked maiden. “They have placed me under everlasting obligations, I do assure you.” She arose to greet a handsome visitor, whom she proudly introduced to them as “my affianced husband.”

The preacher’s joy was unbounded when Captain Ranger invited him to perform a quadruple marriage ceremony on the morrow,—an incident he hailed as an augury of the further social and financial assistance of which he felt so much in need that he began at once to solicit aid for the erection of a church and parsonage.

“For heaven’s sake, don’t begin to bother us about this innovation for a week or two!” exclaimed the Captain. “I’ll see that you are fed and housed for the present. As Jean will be leaving us, we shall need a school-teacher. My wife will not want an outsider to use our house for the school; so we must make a schoolhouse and meeting-house combined, and let it suffice for the present.”

The morning brought a scene of hurry, bustle, and happiness. Long tables were spread upon the lawn, under the wide-spread branches of the luxuriant fir-tree the woodman had spared when the land was cleared. Flowers and ferns from the wildwood added glow and fragrance to the loaded tables. Mary and Jean, rosy with expectation, flitted everywhere.

“Did you ever in all your born days see such a wonderful man as my daddie?” asked Jean, addressing Sally O’Dowd; and the happy woman answered, “I never did.”

Mr. and Mrs. Joseph Ranger, the latter resplendent in a satin gown of latest fashion, were conspicuous assistants; and their children, all of whom were gotten up for the occasion by their happy mother regardless of expense, were the observed of all observers. These children, added to the younger members of Captain Ranger’s brood, the three children of Mrs. O’Dowd, and Susannah’s “coon,” made a formidable array of young Americans.

At the appointed hour, Mrs. McAlpin, who had arrived early on horseback to assist in the preparations, was joined by Mr. Burns, who brought to her a sealed package, long overdue, concerning which they kept their own counsel. But in anticipation of its arrival, they had allowed a “personal” to appear in the local paper in due season, as follows: “Mrs. Adele Benson, the handsome widow who spent a few days in this city after crossing the plains last year, and whose widowed daughter, Mrs. Daphne McAlpin, is soon to be the bride of our distinguished fellow-citizen, Mr. Rollin Burns, recently astonished her friends in Oregon with the announcement of her marriage in London to the Right Honorable Donald McPherson, only son and heir of Lady Mary McPherson, whose extensive estates are the pride and envy of High-Head on the Thames.”

* * * * *

The appointed hour had come, and the four brides expectant were beaming and beautiful in their simple and becoming array. Mr. Burns and Mr. Buckingham awaited the signal to descend with their brides. But where was Ashton Ashleigh?

Ten, fifteen, twenty minutes passed, and he did not come. The dinner was spoiling, and Susannah was furious.

“I allus ’lowed dah’d nothin’ come o’ dat co’tship!” she said to Hal.

“Go ahead and get the ceremonies over,” said Jean. “Don’t allow this interruption to mar the enjoyment of anybody.”

And while her father was leading Mrs. O’Dowd to the marriage altar, with Mr. Burns and Mrs. McAlpin following, and Mary and her chosen one bringing up the rear, she sank, white-faced and benumbed upon her bed, and gave no sign of life except in the nervous fluttering of her half-closed eyelids.

For a long time she lay thus, mercifully bereft of the power to suffer. “There is some unavoidable reason for this delay,” she said over and over to herself. “I’ll understand it all in time.”

The afternoon waned, and darkness fell upon the Ranch of the Whispering Firs.

“Jean!”

“Is that you, daddie dear?”

“Yes, darling.”

“What do you think has delayed Ashton?”

“Try to forget him, Jean. His failure to be on hand at his own marriage ought to prove to you that he is faithless. You will live to thank God that the knowledge of Ashton’s faithlessness did not come upon you after marriage.”

“Ashton is not faithless!” she cried, springing to her feet. Then she fell quivering to the floor.

“Run, quick, Hal! Saddle a horse and go for the Little Doctor,” cried Mary.

* * * * *

A heavy mist that had rolled up from the ocean in the afternoon had settled now into a steady downpour. There was no moon, and the dense darkness of the forest through which Hal’s road lay was as black as Erebus. “Jean loves you, Sukie,” he would say, patting the mare on the shoulder. “We must get the Little Doctor at all hazards”; and the mare, as if sensing the importance of her mission, would leap forward with a sympathetic whinny.

The door was opened by Mr. Burns, revealing a scene of domestic comfort.

A little table, covered with a snowy cloth and spread with light refreshments, stood before a blazing fire; and at its head sat Mrs. Burns, daintily attired in a light blue wrapper of exquisite workmanship.

“Why, Harry Ranger!” she exclaimed, as the lad stood inside the door, shaking his dripping garments. “I hope Jean isn’t worse? I left her calm and seemingly out of danger.”

“She’s fallen in a fit! I’ve come for the Doctor!”

The wind had lulled a little as the little party hurried down the muddy highway toward the Ranch of the Whispering Firs. The Little Doctor, nattily arrayed in a rain suit, hood and all, sat her horse securely and plunged headlong through the darkness, while Hal rode by her side, followed at a distance by her husband, who bumped up and down in Scotch-English fashion on a heavy trotter, reminding himself of John Gilpin, as his hat blew off and his stirrup slipped from his foot.

“I’ve heard rumors of the ‘coming woman’ many a time,” he thought, bracing himself by clinging to the horn of his Spanish saddle. “But the deuce take me if I like the article in practice, though I’ve long advocated her cause in theory.”

He said as much in an injured tone to his wife, as they alighted at the Ranger home, and received for answer, “We must always consider what is the greatest good for the greatest number, dear. Won’t we be well repaid for this night’s adventure if Jean is saved?”

The Little Doctor found her patient in a rigid, trance-like state, her eyelids fluttering and her breathing stertorous.

“The heart’s action is fairly good,” she said, after a careful examination. “The most we can do is to keep her quiet. I will administer an opiate, and I think nature will do the rest. Meanwhile, somebody must go after that recalcitrant bridegroom. She would soon recover her tone if she could lose faith in him altogether. It is suspense that kills.”

“Brother Joseph started across the Cascade Mountains after him early in the afternoon,” the Captain explained. “He declared that nothing but foul play or some unavoidable accident could have detained so ardent a suitor.”

At the hour of midnight, when the Ranch of the Whispering Firs was wrapped in silence, Jean awoke, dismissed Susannah, and rose from her bed.

“O my God,” she cried inwardly, “if it be possible, let this cup pass from both of us! I know, O Spirit of Good, that my own has not, of his own accord, deserted his counterpart, his other self. Give me strength equal to my day! Let me not fail him now, when I know he needs me most.

“I must have been in your presence, Ashton, while my body was asleep,” she said half audibly. “For, in spite of my seeming duty to be miserable, I cannot be unhappy or hopeless. I seem to have been on a journey; but my recollection of it is indistinct and disjointed.”

She went to the window and looked out into the night. The clouds had rolled away, the wind had ceased, and the silent stars were looking down.

XLI

“_IN PRISON AND YE VISITED ME_”

Joseph Ranger left the scene of the triple wedding early in the afternoon in quest of the missing bridegroom, and was overtaken by the storm before riding a dozen miles. But the hospitable welcome of the pioneers awaited him at Foster’s; and a substantial breakfast was ready for him before the dawn. The sun was barely up before he left the valley and entered the mountain pass. His faithful horse, who seemed to understand that he was bound on no ordinary errand, carefully chose his steps among the rocks and gullies, and bore him onward with gratifying speed.

Night overtook him long before he had descended the last of the rugged steeps that crossed his path after passing the summit of the range.

Bands of elk and antelope crossed his track at intervals; and at night, when he stopped to camp under a great pine-tree, when his fire was built, and his faithful horse and himself had feasted together upon the bag of roasted wheat he had brought along for sustenance, a band of deer, kindly eyed, graceful, and not afraid, came near him, attracted by the blaze and smoke, and circled around his bed at a respectful distance long after he had retired among his blankets upon a couch of evergreen boughs.

“That’s right! Come close, my beauties!” he exclaimed, as a doe and her daughter came close enough to breathe in his face. “I wouldn’t shoot one of you for the world. Your confidence is not misplaced.” But when he put out his hand to fondle them, they bounded away as light as birds, only to approach again and paw the blankets with their nimble hoofs, and awaken him from his coveted sleep. Finally, to frighten them away, he fired his revolver into the air, and the entire herd scampered away into the darkness.

“The gun is the wild animal’s master,” he said as he fell asleep, to be awakened again by the neighing of his tethered horse.

The fire of pitch-pine was still burning, and a pair of eyes glowed near his face like coals.

“This is no deer,” he thought, as he very cautiously clasped his “pepper-box” repeater.

A heavy paw was placed upon his breast, and the hot breath of a bear came close enough to nauseate him. There was no time to lose. As a mountaineer, he knew the nature of his foe too well to await the inevitable embrace of Bruin. Little by little he moved his repeater, and, when the weight of the animal was wellnigh crushing him, he sent a bullet through his eye. But the danger was by no means past, as the beast, though wounded unto death, was yet alive, and furious with rage and pain.

Just how he extricated himself from the peril of that eventful encounter, Joseph Ranger never knew, but he lived to narrate the adventure to children and grandchildren, and preserved to his dying day that long-outdated “pepper-box” revolver with which his great-grandchildren now delight to fire a volley in his honor on Washington’s Birthday and the Fourth of July.

Once safely through the Cascade Mountains, Joseph found little to impede his progress. Some friendly Indians were encountered at the base of the Blue Mountains, who gave him a hearty meal of bear-meat and wapatoes, and supplied his weary horse with hay and oats.

“Mika closh cumtux Wahnetta. Heap good Injun squaw! Ugh! Wake Mika potlatch chickimin! Hy-as closh muck-a-muck! Heap good. Cultus potlatch!” was the way in which his Indian host expressed his hospitality and refused compensation. And Joseph Ranger, acquainted with the jargon of many native tribes, further ingratiated himself in the Indian’s favor by presenting his squaw with a few gaudy trinkets such as an experienced borderer always carries when crossing an Indian country.

On and on he hurried toward the valley of Great Salt Lake, impelled by an irresistible impulse he could not have explained to any one. The weather was in his favor in crossing the Blue Mountains, though the air was cold, and the wind sometimes blew furiously. Water was low in all the smaller streams, and the beds of many of them were dry. Ice formed at night in swampy places and thawed by day, making travelling slippery and tedious; but on and on he hurried, knowing time was precious and yet not clearly understanding why.

At the Ogden Gateway he gained some information that doubled his impatience and quickened his speed. A man was being held on a charge of murder at Salt Lake City who he instinctively felt was Ashleigh. His informant, a Spanish half-breed, did not know his name, but he said an Indian girl was the victim, and her name was Le-Le.

On and on he journeyed, till he reached the verge of the little border city of Salt Lake. The Mormon Temple was not yet built, but a tabernacle had already arisen as its herald; and the Bee Hive House and Lion House were filled with wives and children of the prophet, who regularly toiled and spun. Joseph hastened to the adobe jail, where, after a brief delay, which seemed to him like an age, he was conducted to a dingy little cell, reserved for criminals of the lowest type.

A tall man, unshaven and in his shirt-sleeves, was pacing back and forth in his narrow quarters like a caged animal. He paused as the bolt flew back; and, as the light fell upon the face of his astonished visitor, he exclaimed, “Good God! Joseph Addicks! Can this be you?”

“I am Joseph Ranger, my boy! And I have come here all the way from the farthest West. But sit down here on the edge of your bed, and tell me all about it.”

“You remember the Indian maiden, Le-Le, whom I purchased and ransomed?”

“Yes.”

“And you recall the fact that I left her with her brother, Siwash, at my Green River cave at the time I came to you?”

“I remember that you said so.”

“Can you recall the date of my visit to you at the trading-post?”

“No; but there must be memoranda somewhere that will settle that. Why?”

“Because nothing will save me, Joseph, from the hangman’s rope unless I can prove an alibi. I forwarded a letter to you at Oregon City—or tried to—after this mishap befell me; but a courier can be bribed sometimes, you know, and Henry Hankins, who failed to capture my bride, is bent upon revenge. His incarceration doesn’t keep him out of reach of pals. But how is my bonnie Jean?”

“I left home too hurriedly to get much information. But her father said she was strangely calm, and full of faith in you.”

“Then my darling is not ill?”

“I certainly did not leave her well, Ashleigh, but she is in good hands. Do you know the particulars of Le-Le’s death?”

“I only know that her body was found in an eddy in Green River about a fortnight after I last saw her. Just as I was on the eve of starting to Oregon to claim my bride, I was arrested, charged with murder, and brought to this villanous den.”

“Be of good cheer, Ashleigh; I will find Siwash. Say nothing to any one. The darkest hour of the night is just before the morning. Good-bye, and may God bless you!”

XLII

_TOO BUSY TO BE MISERABLE_

Jean met her father and his wife at the breakfast-table with a welcoming smile, though her head ached, and on her countenance there was a deathly pallor.

“The last night’s storm played havoc with the cherished plans of Mr. and Mrs. Burns,” said Mary’s husband, adroitly turning the conversation into a diverting channel. “They were intending to spend their honeymoon with their camping outfit in the open air among the spicy odors of the October woods.”

“They are old enough, and ought to be wise enough, by this time, to spend their honeymoon at home. No bridegroom ever dreamed of taking his bride away from home during the honeymoon in my younger days; that is, nobody did with whom my lot was cast,” said Captain Ranger, beaming tenderly upon his wife, who, being a sensible woman, was not displeased to note the far-away look in his eyes which betrayed his straying thoughts.

“You needn’t make any plans for a new teacher, for the present at least, daddie,” said Jean; “I shall resume my duties in the schoolroom next week. Will you post the required notices for me at the Four Corners, and at the sawmill, sometime during the day?”

“I wouldn’t be in a hurry about teaching, daughter. Your Uncle Joseph has gone by private pony express in quest—”

He paused, uncertain as to the propriety of speaking the name that was uppermost in all their thoughts.

“I know it, daddie. I knew all that was going on when I lay yesterday in what seemed to you as a stupor. I can’t explain it, but I seemed to have a double, or second, self that told me everything. Ashton is in trouble, but he is not in bodily danger, and he will not die. I do not understand it clearly, for I saw conditions only as through a glass, darkly. I would have remained in that state of seeming torpor for a whole month if it had been possible, for my mind and body were in different places. But in spite of myself I am again in a normal condition.”

“I shall be able to devote two weeks’ work to the erection of that combined schoolhouse and meeting-house,” said Mary’s husband. “Can’t you wait, sister, to begin your school till then?”

“No, Mr. Buckingham. You are very kind, and I thank you from the bottom of my heart, but I cannot wait. There will be time enough for you to take the reins when I am gone, Mr. Rogers.”

During the remainder of the week she performed prodigies of labor, but the work lagged at the mess-house. The new cook was not a success, and there was much dissatisfaction among the workingmen. But the Chinaman learned his lessons rapidly under the guidance of the Ranger sisters, and was soon able to load the long tables with plain but savory food.

The storm left the face of Nature fresh and green and joyous, and Mr. Burns and the Little Doctor repaired to the woods and foot-hills for their honeymoon, after all.

Jean’s complexion grew more delicately beautiful, her form more and more symmetrical, and her eyes sparkled like stars. But her girlish exuberance of spirit was gone, and in its place had come a womanly dignity, commanding, gracious, and sweet. The departure of Mary and her husband, with Marjorie, added heavily to Jean’s duties as superintendent of the Sunday-school. But her spirit craved work; so she opened a singing-school and a metrical geography class.

“Still no tidings!” she cried to herself, after an unusually strenuous day. “But I will not despair, and I will do my duty though the heavens fall. The whole of this month’s salary goes to Grandpa and Grandma Ranger. And for this opportunity to show my appreciation of their lives of self-denial in the service of others, I devoutly thank God.”

A shadow darkened the door of the deserted schoolroom.

“Who is it? And what is wanted?” asked Jean, with a start.

“It is I,—the Reverend Thomas Rogers,” said a voice, as, stepping out of the shadow, the preacher met her face to face.

“I have just completed my day’s work, and was about to shut up shop,” she said, moving toward the door.

“Very well. I will walk homeward with you, if I may.”

“No, you won’t!” piped a tremulous, complaining voice; and Mrs. Rogers stepped between them and the doorsill.

“I came to see Miss Jean about a change in the management of the Sunday-school,” said the preacher, meekly.

“And I’ve come to remind you that you must chop some stove-wood and milk the cow.”

The voice was not tremulous now, but commanding. “I’ll teach you to be running after the schoolma’am at unseemly hours!” she said with a vehemence that startled Jean, who had thought her the personification of submission and humility. “And I’ll teach you to be courting my husband, Miss Jean!”

“You can divest yourself of all anxiety on that score, Mrs. Rogers. I never saw the time when I would have dreamed of ‘courting’ the Reverend Thomas Rogers, even before he was married; and I wouldn’t ‘court’ any woman’s husband.”

“To be explicit,” said the preacher, in a submissive tone, “I think it is high time for the pastor of this church to manage his Sunday-school. Miss Jean’s methods are not strictly orthodox. I didn’t mean to speak of this to her in the presence of any third person, but since you have come upon the scene, Mrs. Rogers, we may as well settle it here and now.”

“What’s the trouble?” asked Jean, laughing irreverently.

“The hymns she teaches the children are not solemn enough. They are all about happy days and care-free birds and joyous children, whose chief duty lies in obeying their parents and loving one another. I’ve looked on during the proceedings, carefully and anxiously, for four consecutive Sundays now, and I haven’t heard one word about eternal punishment, nor has she exhorted anybody to flee from the wrath to come!”

“Aren’t you ashamed of your fit of jealousy in the light of this revelation, Mrs. Rogers?” asked Jean, laughing aloud.