Chapter XIX

THE WRONG CABIN.—THE COUPLE UNDER THE UMBRELLA.

"LITTLE HUNCHY" tracked Simmons, otherwise Grimes, to the town of L—, saw him enter the village store, come out from thence; pass northward along the main street, and, just over the village plat, disappear in a better-class log house—the home, he afterwards learned, of Rev. Mr. Parsons, the missionary.

The dwarf then went into the shop. On the counter, his shapely legs pendent therefrom, sat the proprietor. A number of men were grouped near by, smoking and discussing local politics. At the Hunchback's entrance, conversation gradually fell off, the loafers, with curious stare and rough humor, greeting the advent of the misshapen young stranger.

"Well, squatty, what will 'you' have?" asked the grocer.

"That is not my name," said the dwarf.

"Excuse me," replied the dealer; "I was not aware you owned any other."

"If that's not his 'name,' it's his 'natur,'" said a bysitter, with a wink at the company.

"I'd thank you to speak when you're spoken to," retorted the Hunchback, losing his temper.

"Ah," ejaculated the other, offended in turn, "you're sassy as you're homely. If you wern't so small, now, I'd tweak your nose—if you had one—but you hain't!"

"Gentlemen," remarked the grocer, "we have no legal or moral right to insult the little fellow because he was spoilt in the making. And for my part, I like his grit; if he don't look out for himself, everybody will tread on him."

"That's so," responded several.

"What 'll you have?" he again interrogated.

"Nothing," answered the dwarf. "I came in to rest a moment."

"Well, you look as if it wouldn't hurt you, to be sure. John, bring a chair from the other room for this crooked mortal!"

The Hunchback seated himself, and gazed around. The color rushed to his sallow-pale cheeks. On the wall at the end of the apartment was a conspicuous poster, ornamented with the figures of a fiery charger and a man holding him by the bridle. And at the top of the handbill was printed, in bold type,—

FIFTY DOLLARS REWARD!

The circular commenced with, "Stolen from the subscriber," the description that followed of the purloined horse corresponding precisely to the one Mr. Simmons had left in the care of Ferdie and Georgie.

"Fifty dollars!" mentally echoed the dwarf. "If I can only get that for mother to buy land with!"

With his excessive weariness, his confidence had ebbed somewhat. But the offered reward raised his spirits, and, embracing an opportunity, he warily questioned Mr. Cowles concerning Mr. Simmons. And finding that the shrewd trader sympathized in his idea of Mr. Simmons's character, he related all he knew of him.

Mr. Cowles was interested and excited.

"'Mind' is the measure of the man," said he, emphasizing the first word, "as Dr. Watts expressed it; and you're a thundering illustration of the truth of the remark. How you followed the serpent! And, my lad, don't you fret; I'll see Edmonds about that hay, and if anybody gets the money for it, it shall be you."

"You won't say anything so that it will get Simmons's ear?"

"When you catch a weasel asleep," replied the grocer. "You'll pocket the fifty dollars for the horse—that's my opinion. Can you be here Thursday? Simmons has a case at court then, and we are preparing to deal out to him, on that occasion, his deserts. Bring along your mother or aunt, and the beast. Till then, I'll keep mum. Simmons, as you call him, is living on the missionary. I'll see that the fellow don't visit your diggings till after the trial—then he won't care to."

Then, pushing the dwarf with warm-hearted familiarity before him into the housekeeping part of the establishment, he called out,—

"Here, wife, give this big-soul-and-little-body a bite to eat, and a bed to-night for head and back—he won't need any for his legs."

The dwarf turned his face towards home next day, lightened of a load of apprehension, care, and solicitude. Victory over the wiles of a heartless villain was assured. Instead of danger and pecuniary loss, he had secured protection from the threatening peril, and there was a strong probability that a nice sum would be realized for the family.

These considerations imparted a helpful impulse to his weak limbs as he walked. Yet he was more conscious of the toilsomeness of the journey, now that he was alone, and the urgency of the extremity no longer existed. How much are the best of us creatures of circumstances!

Lamed from yesterday's exertions, the hours dragged wofully, and he seemed to have made exceedingly poor progress, he thought, as certain "marked" spots did not appear. There, for example, was the creek crossing, where the two outlaws met,—surely he ought to have reached it,—yet it was not even discernible in the distance. He had no misgivings as to his ability to retrace the route. Had he not, coming, "studied" the face of the prairies for this very purpose? Moreover, he could guide his course by the wind and sun.

But, somehow, the monotonous meadows were increasingly unfamiliar. And the creek, did it mockingly retire as he advanced? By and by, he paused in suspense. Then he glanced to note the position of the sun. But the heavens were covered with clouds. How absent-minded he had been! What about the wind? Ah, by that he "must" be right in the main. Perhaps he had veered a trifle,—enough to miss that jutting angle of the creek,—and he would strike the stream farther along.

This conclusion settled his doubts; yet he urged his way with a nervous eagerness that betrayed anxiety to behold the proof of the correctness of his reasoning.

But the coveted creek did not cheer his strained sight. Travel as confidently and energetically as he might, the babbling brook broke not on his longing vision.

Soon, however, there was abundance of water. But it descended from above. Patter, patter, came the pioneer drops. Then the air was a liquid sea. How it poured—torrent joined to torrent! Had the upper ocean fallen through? Now heaven's artillery, discharged by electric fire, roared, and rumbled, and rolled, as if cannon balls of mountain weight were propelled around the aerial pavement. And how the chain-lightning flashes zigzagged!

Heroic dwarf, however, nursed a stubborn will. Panting, drenched, the water running in streams through his soaked cap over his face, into his bosom and back,—an animated mote of mortality on a watery waste,—he fought the elements, sure, soon, of shelter.

But the creek, where could it be? Perhaps he had waded some shallow ford unconsciously, the plains were so submerged. Ah, yes, it is even so. Joy! There's the cabin light! Thrice welcome, beaming taper, lighting the weary wanderer home! But how queerly the storm transfigures objects! Those trees do not resemble the straight growths of the Willard grove. And the dwelling, what is the matter with it?

"Ferdie! Georgie!" he piped, pressing towards the homely yet loved domicile. "Mother! Aunt Esther!"

No answer. But how could he hope his feeble tones would be heard in such a wild tumult?

"What a flash!" he exclaimed, stopping aghast. "And such a report?"

He fairly reeled with the shock. Simultaneously with the mighty crash, a giant tree burst into flame. The red bolt had smitten it. In the light of the lurid glare, he looked to see if the dear cabin was unharmed.

He started as if a second bolt had smitten him. A wretched loggery, unknown to him, stood there. He had lost his way. The demonstration almost paralyzed him, so unexpected and appalling.

"But," thought he, rallying, "how much better off I am than if I had found no dwelling, and been obliged to spend the night on the bare prairie! Besides, no doubt the occupants of the hovel will in the morning direct me how to find the right course."

And with rekindled hope, he knocked at the rude door. Hearing a reply within, the words of which he did not distinguish, taking it for granted to be an invitation to enter, he passed within.

It was one of the wretchedest of structures—low, half-roofed, every way uncomfortable and unsightly. The one confined room was furnished with two "wildcat" bedsteads, on which were ragged and dirty beds, a foreign-looking trunk, a box, and two stout stools. The shanty was inhabited by an old Norwegian couple, haggard, thriftless, and filthy—poor specimens of their people.

The dwarf addressed them a question, but they did not understand his tongue. He tried to inform them by words and signs that he had lost his way, but did not succeed. This was another unanticipated dilemma. Cold, cross, tired, hungry, and baffled, he grew irritated because they could not speak English—ignorant, unaccommodating pair! He attempted conversation once more, and failed. How dull they were! He saw the mote in their eye, just as you and I do in our neighbors', forgetful that the same splinter was in his own—that he couldn't talk in Norwegian, their mother language. Had he been able, the chasm would have been bridged by a syllable.

The wrinkled housewife, however, pointed to the bed opposite the door, to indicate that he could remain till morning. This instantly disarmed the dwarf's foolish resentment, and he was in pantomime endeavoring to express his thanks for her hospitality, when stentorian shouting outside was heard.

The Hunchback opened the door, and there sat a smiling-faced man on a restless, wide-awake horse. From the rider's broad-brimmed hat streams were falling, but his manner was anything but "under the weather."

"O, yes, I am wherry vet," said he, jollily, as the dwarf invited him in, informing him that he would have to fasten his horse to the house, as there was no shed.

The German did as suggested, then, entering the room, drew off his boots, emptied the water from them, wrung out his hose, and hung them on the bedstead to dry.

"Did not know the road," he explained; "but I ride on, and I vas bother, but I tink to myself, my horse has fine instink, and I let him go. Phrarie beautiful—wide—flower—fine grass; phrarie hens fly—so many birds sing, sing, sing, feel as if I could stay dere. I get down to let my horse eat dat fine grass. Vell, it 'muse me vherry mootch, and I forget dat it cloud up, till I feel de rain; and den I say to my horse, 'Now ve hurry,' and I ride, ride. But it get quite dark, an' it rain all de time; but de clouds vas so beautiful, vid de lightning, and de thunder roll so grand!

"Den I see de little house: 'Vhery nice people dere,' I say to my horse; but it 'muse me vherry mootch; so I go to sleep," nodding towards the bed, "till daylight, ven I shall have joy to see de sun rise. If de storm not come to make me vet, I vas not see de lightning!"

So the dwarf and the tempest-admiring traveller went to bed together, and, unheeding the uproar without, and the neighing of the hapless horse, quickly fell asleep.

"Vat ish dat?" inquired the German, starting up.

The dwarf was already aroused.

Water was washing down upon them with a "consistent" copiousness that promised to convert their couch into a mud-hole, for the roof was "shingled" with "sods."

By the tallow candle, which during their nap had been lighted and stuck in a potato, and placed on the box, the dwarf saw the aged Norwegians sitting side by side on the trunk, holding a huge umbrella over their heads.

Made wise by experience, they had in season forsaken their mud-and-water bed for their novel shelter—an expedient to which they were so accustomed, that their placid "of course" aspect set the Hunchback to laughing.

But the German lifted the door from its hinges, and tying it to the rafters lengthwise over the bed to keep off the rain, turned in again.

The repose of the travellers was, however, destined to another interruption. The waters collecting on the door began at last to drip from its sides, and as it was narrower than the couch beneath, a sudden splashing drove its occupants out, no more to return.

Next morning, as the German was departing, the dwarf begged the privilege of riding with him until they came to some cabin at which to inquire their course.

"It 'muse me vherry mootch, but that rascal horse jump up and kick up behind. No, you goes your vay, I goes mine; you valk. O, yes, phrarie looks better in fine weather!" And he was away.

The Hunchback was deserted, but through no unfriendliness. And not once had the German, by look or hint, conveyed any allusion to the dwarf's physical appearance. The latter could forgive him almost anything because of that.

The Hunchback sat on the wooden step, endeavoring to decide what to do.

"I will," he finally resolved, "go back as nearly as possible the way I came. Perhaps I can find the village from which I started, and then I shall be all right."

But the ancient woman had boiled her kettle and steeped tea in the open air, several rods from the dwelling. She now brought in the tea-pot, placed three cups and saucers, a plate of corn-bread and of butter, on the box, and beckoned the dwarf to partake.

As he concluded his meal, taking a large cake, he inquired by signs if he might have it, to which an affirmative answer was returned. And stowing it in his capacious pocket, he commenced to retrace his steps towards L—.