Ellis Edward Sylvester
A Waif of the Mountains

CHAPTER XII
HOME AGAIN

The horseman coming up the trail had assumed definite form. Checking his animal he sat transfixed until the flying girl was beside him. Then he bent forward and in a choking voice, answered:

“Yes, Nellie, it is your father! God be thanked for permitting me to come to you again. And you are Nellie! But how grown!”

Captain Dawson leaned over the side of his horse and, passing his strong arm around the waist of his daughter, lifted her up in front of him. Then he pressed his lips to hers, and half-laughing and half-crying asked:

“Who’s the happier, you or I?”

“You can’t be any happier than I; but, father,” she added in amazement, “where is your other arm?”

“Buried in Southern Virginia as a memento of my work for the Union, but, my dear child, I am here; isn’t that enough?”

“Yes, bless your heart!” she exclaimed, nestling up to him; “it all seems like a dream, but it isn’t, for I can feel you. I am so sorry,” she added, noticing the sleeve pinned to his breast; “how you must have suffered.”

“Nonsense! it isn’t anything to lose an arm; it’s not half so bad as having your head blown off or both legs carried away. After going nearly through the war without a scratch, I caught it just before Appomattox, but thousands were less fortunate and I am thankful.”

“But why did you not write to me and tell me all this? Mr. Brush was sure you were dead, and I know the rest thought so, too, though they didn’t talk that way.”

“I did have a close call; I got the fever while in the hospital and didn’t know so much as my own name for several weeks. Then, when well enough to write, I concluded to come myself, believing I could keep up with any letter and you would be gladder to see me than to receive anything I might send.”

While these words were passing the steed remained motionless, but Nellie had observed from the first that her parent had a companion.

“Father,” she whispered, “you have some one with you.”

“Yes, my child, I had forgotten it in my delight at meeting you.”

A horseman was sitting as motionless as a statue in the trail behind them, the form of himself and animal clearly outlined in the obscurity. He had not spoken nor stirred since the coming of the girl. The head of the steed was high, but beyond and above it loomed the head and shoulders of the man sitting upright, like an officer of dragoons. The gloom prevented a fair view of his countenance, but Nellie fancied he was of pleasing appearance and wore a mustache.

Captain Dawson turned his head and looked over his shoulder, as if to locate the man.

“That is Lieutenant Russell; he served under me during the latter part of the war; he is my friend, Nellie, for he saved my life. Lieutenant,” added the captain, elevating his voice, “this is my daughter Nellie of whom you heard me speak so often.”

The young officer lifted his cap, the graceful gesture being plainly seen and replied with a pleasant laugh.

“Miss Dawson, I am glad to become acquainted with you and hope I shall soon be favored with a better view.”

“And I hope to see more of the one that was the means of saving my dear father,” she was quick to reply.

“Well, I guess that was equal on both sides, for I should never have reached this place but for him.”

“Father, what is that?” abruptly asked Nellie, shrinking closer to him; “have you a bear following you?”

That which caused the startled question was a huge animal, which came slowly forward from the gloom in which he had been enveloped. The horses showed no fear of him, and he sniffed at the skirts of the girl.

“Don’t be alarmed,” replied her father; “you may consider him a lion or tiger or both combined. He is Lieutenant Russell’s dog Timon, one of the biggest, fiercest, but most intelligent and affectionate of his kind. We three are comrades, so you must accept him, too, as your friend.”

The two now gave rein to their horses and within briefer time than would be supposed, every man in New Constantinople knew of the arrival of the couple and had given them right royal welcome. It was the most joyous incident in the history of the little mining settlement. Every one knew of the corroding grief of Nellie Dawson, and there was not a heart that did not go out in sympathy to her. All were gathered around and within the crowded quarters of the Heavenly Bower, where the two men and Nellie ate their happy evening meal. Then the pipes were lighted, and with the girl perched upon her father’s knee, the rest listened to his story, which he summarized, leaving the particulars for a more convenient occasion.

“I am sorry my long silence caused misgiving,” said he looking round in the faces of his friends, “but it could not be very well helped. You have noticed that whereas I left New Constantinople with two arms, I am now one short. As I told Nellie, that happened in the very last days of the war. It was quite a loss, but you have little idea of how soon a man can become accustomed to it. The fact is,” added the soldier, with a grim smile, “things are moving so well with me that I wouldn’t give much to have the old limb back again. I have no doubt General Howard feels the same way.”

“The pruned oak is the strongest,” observed Parson Brush.

“Provided it isn’t pruned too much. With my wound came an attack of fever, which brought me nearer death than I ever was in battle, but I came out of it all and here we are.”

“What route did you take, captain?” asked Wade Ruggles.

“By steamer to the Isthmus, then up the coast to San Francisco. There the lieutenant and I joined a party to Sacramento and each bought a good strong horse. He had brought his dog Timon all the way from Virginia, where he was given to him by an old friend who wore the gray. We were hopeful of meeting Vose Adams in Sacramento, but he had not been there for weeks. Instead of him, whom should we come across but Ike Hoe, who was also getting ready to start for this place. We three set out nearly ten days ago, but Ike is still in the mountains.”

This was said with so grave a face that all knew what it meant.

“I never heard of the Indians being so troublesome. For three days and nights it was little else than fighting. In the darkness we would steal off and hunt for some new way through the mountains, but it mattered not where we went, for we were sure to run against some of them.”

“How was it that Hoe met his death?” asked the parson.

“It was on the third night. We hadn’t seen a thing of the Indians since the noon halt and were hopeful they had given up the hunt for us. We hadn’t eaten a mouthful for twenty-four hours and were hungry enough to chew our boots. Ike found a place among the rocks, where a camp fire couldn’t be seen for more than a few rods and started a blaze. The lieutenant had brought down an antelope, and if we could get a chance to cook the steak, we were sure of the right kind of a meal. Well, we broiled enough to give each all he wanted. Ike leaned back with a pleasant smile on his face and remarked that it was worth all the risk to get such a feast, when I caught the flicker of something like the dart of a small bird between him and me. Before I could make out what it was, Ike gave a groan, and rolling over backward, never spoke or stirred. I saw the feathered end of an arrow sticking up above his breast. The head had gone clean through him and it must have split his heart in two.”

“But was neither you or the lieutenant harmed?”

“That is the remarkable part of it. The lieutenant saw the arrow before I did and warned me. We darted back in the darkness with our guns ready, but saw and heard nothing more of the Indians. What was remarkable about it was that only the single arrow should have been launched at Ike.”

“It looks as if there was but the single Injin,” suggested Bidwell.

“That is the way we interpreted it.”

“And that was the end of your troubles with the Indians?”

“Not quite, but they bothered us only once more and then they managed to get us into a corner, where it would have been the last of me had it not been for the lieutenant and Timon. I tell you–”

The captain stopped short and smiled. He had seen the protesting expression on the face of the young officer, and said:

“We’ll keep that story till some time when he isn’t present. But there is another fact which I observed. There are more white men in the mountains than ever before and the numbers will increase. The close of the war has released nearly a million soldiers, who must make a living somehow. Some will come westward. You have preserved this place as an exclusive residence for yourselves, but you won’t be able to do it much longer.”

All saw the truth of these words, and knew trouble would inevitably follow the mingling of uncongenial spirits, but they concluded it would be time enough to meet it when it came, without allowing the fear to disturb the pleasure of the present communion. Lieutenant Fred Russell could not fail to be an individual of keen interest to those who had never before seen him. While the captain was talking, he sat modestly in the background, smoking his brierwood, listening as intently as if everything said was new to him. It was noticed that like several of the rest, he did not drink at the bar, though he received numerous invitations. Truth to tell, he had been quite a drinker, but during that eventful journey through the mountains, when Captain Dawson was talking of his daughter, as he loved to do, he named those who had reformed as the result of Nellie’s influence. The young officer made no comment, but it struck him that if those rough, hardy men could abstain, it ought not to be difficult for him to do the same, and he did it.

Few men were more prepossessing than the lieutenant. He was educated, about twenty-four years of age, and undeniably handsome. His campaigns of exposure, hardship and fighting had hardened his frame into the mould of the trained athlete. The faded uniform which he still wore became him well. The ruddy cheeks had grown swarthy and browned, but when he removed his cap, the upper part of his forehead showed as white and fair as that of a woman.

His nose was slightly aquiline, just enough to give character to his countenance, the hair which was rather scant, was dark like the mustache and the small tuft on his chin. He wore fine, high cavalry boots, reaching above the knees, a sword and like the captain was armed with revolver and Winchester rifle.

Crouched at his feet was his massive dog Timon, an object of as much interest as his master; for, curious as it may seem, he was the only canine ever owned in New Constantinople. He was of mixed breed, huge, powerful and swift, seeming to combine the sagacity and intelligence of the Newfoundland, the courage of the bull dog, the persistency of the bloodhound and the best qualities of all of them. Seeming to understand that he was among friends, he rested his nose between his paws and lay as if asleep, but those who gazed admiringly at him, noted that at intervals he opened one of his eyes as if to say:

“Strangers, I guess it is all right, but I’m taking no chances.”

Coming with the credentials that no one else ever bore, Lieutenant Fred Russell was sure of a warm reception at New Constantinople. The depletion of the population had left more than one cabin vacant and the best of these was turned over to him. In it he found cooking utensils, rough but serviceable bedding and accommodations and much better comforts than he was accustomed to during his campaigning. Having no immediate relatives, he had followed the discreet course of Captain Dawson, who deposited nearly all of his accumulated pay in a savings institution in the East, reserving only enough to insure their arrival on the Pacific coast.

Russell, like so many turned from consumers into producers by the end of hostilities, was obliged to decide upon the means of earning a livelihood. He had begun the study of law, at the time he answered the call for volunteers, and would have had no difficulty in taking it up again; but, somehow or other, he did not feel drawn thitherward. He disliked the confinements of office work and the sedentary profession itself. He wanted something more stirring, and active, and calling for out door life. It was when he was in this mood, that Captain Dawson urged him to accompany him to the gold diggings in the Sierras.

“So far as I can learn,” explained the captain, “the mines haven’t panned out to any great extent, but there is no doubt that there are millions of dollars in gold in the mountains, and if it isn’t at New Constantinople, it is not far off.”

“I shall accept your invitation,” replied the junior officer, “with the understanding that if the prospect is not satisfactory, I shall feel at liberty to go somewhere else.”

“That’s the constitutional right of every American citizen.”

“I am not as far along in years as you, but I am old enough to feel that no person ought to fritter away the most valuable years of his life.”

And thus it was that the lieutenant went to New Constantinople and received the heartiest welcome from every one there. And yet among these citizens were two that had lately become partners and sharers of the same cabin, and who were oppressed with misgiving.

“I tell you,” said the parson late at night, when he and Wade Ruggles were smoking in their home, with no one near enough to overhear them; “Captain Dawson has made the mistake of his life.”

“How?”

“In bringing Lieutenant Russell to New Constantinople.”

“I don’t quite foller your meaning, parson.”

“Yes, you do; you understand it as well as myself.”

“I have a suspicion of it, but are you afraid to trust me?”

“You ought to know better than to ask that.”

“Go ahead then and give me the partic’lars.”

“In the first place then, the lieutenant is young and good looking.”

“Unfortinitly there can’t be any doubt of that.”

“Nellie Dawson has never seen a handsome young man–”

“Exceptin’ you and me, and we ain’t as young as we once was.”

“She is now a young woman and ready to fall in love, and just at the right hour, or rather the very worst hour, the captain brings the man here.”

“You have spoke the exact thoughts I had in mind all along; you’re right, parson.”

He would have been better pleased had Ruggles contradicted him. He did not wish to believe that which he could not help believing.

“We must treat him well because the captain brings him and he has saved the captain’s life, but, Wade, we must watch them both close.”

“I agree with you agin, but what shall we do if we find him making love to the little gal?”

The parson’s fierce reply showed how deeply his feelings were stirred.

“Warn him just once!”

“I feel as bad about it as you do, but, parson, I haven’t forgot that afore the war broke out, and we was afeard the captain meant to take the gal away to have her eddycated, you told us it was none of our bus’ness and he had the right to do as he thought best with his own child.”

“All that was true at the time, but the conditions have changed.”

“Now I can’t foller you. ’Spose the captain is agreeable?”

“He won’t be!” exclaimed Brush, who in the depth of his excitement added an exclamation which sounded perilously like profanity. But for the parson’s intense earnestness, Ruggles would have quizzed him, but he pitied the man and at the same time was distressed himself.

“I hope you’re right, but I doubt it. We’ve all felt for a good while that sooner or later, we must lose the little one. Now that she’s growed up, the captain may feel more than ever that she must be took off to some town where all the men ain’t savages, and she can see some of her own kind.”

“If he puts it that way, we shall have to submit. He can take her where he wills, for my position is the same as four or five years ago, but nobody else must take her from among us.”

Ruggles’s mood was now quite similar to that of his partner.

“If I see anything wrong in the doings of that pretty faced young officer, I’ll shoot him down like a mad dog.”

“So will I.”

The two were in the ugliest temper conceivable. They continued to smoke, but their meditations were tumultuous and revengeful. Each breast contained a strange disturbing secret that either would have died before confessing, but nevertheless, it was there and had taken ineradicable root within the past days and weeks.

Felix Brush, as the reader knows, had been the instructor of Nellie Dawson from infancy. He was the medium through which she had gained an excellent book education. He had held many long confidential talks with her. She, in her trusting innocence, had told him more of her inmost thoughts, her self communings, her dim, vague aspirations, than she imparted to anyone else.

And he could not but notice her wonderful budding beauty. Surely, he thought, such a winsome creature was never born. He had begun to ask himself in a whispered, startled way: “Why may I not possess this mountain flower? True, I am much her senior, but I will nourish, protect and defend her against the world, as no younger man could or would. She believes in my goodness, far more than I deserve. I will cultivate the affection within her of whose nature she has as yet no comprehension. By and by, when she is a few years older, perhaps I may claim her. More extraordinary things have happened and are happening every day. I have but to keep her uncontaminated from the world, of which I have told her so much, so that when she goes forth, she shall be under my guardianship–the most sacred guardianship of all for it shall be that of husband.”

“Aye,” he added, his heart throbbing with the new, strange hope, “all this, please heaven, shall come to pass if things go on as they are, and no younger man with better looks crosses my path.”

And now that younger and better looking man had crossed his path.

The knowledge seemed to rouse all the dormant resentment of his nature, and to undo the good that the girl herself had done in the years that were gone. He felt that if he lost her, if his cherished dream was to be rudely dissipated, he would go to perdition.

And somewhat similar in range and nature were the communings of Wade Ruggles, who until this eventful evening, had cherished a hope, so wild, so ecstatic, so strange and so soul-absorbing that he hardly dared to admit it to himself. At times, he shrank back, terrified at his presumption, as does the man who has striven to seize and hold that which is unattainable and which it would be sacrilege for him to lay hands upon.

“I’m three months younger than the parson,” he would reflect when the more hopeful mood was upon him; “neither of us is in danger of being hung for our good looks, but I’ve got the bulge on him dead sure. I had too much in the way of whiskers to suit the little one, when I came back from the war; she wanted to see me as I was when I left; why was that?”

After pausing for a reply, he continued:

“So accordin’ I trimmed ’em off and she says I’m better looking than ever, and what she says in Dead Man’s Gulch and New Constantinople, goes. She meant it, too, as I could see by the sparkle of her eyes.

“I went all through the war without swallerin’ a mouthful of strong drink, even when the doctor ordered it. I’ve contrived, sort of accerdental and off hand like, to let her know them circumstances and I’ve seen it pleased her immense. I’ve been layin’ out some of my money for clothes, too, since I got back. Vose bought me a coat in Sacramento, blue with brass buttons. I’ve had a necktie that has been laid away till the proper time comes to put it on. There are three or four yards of silk in it and it will knock a rainbow out of sight. I didn’t want to overwhelm her too sudden like, and have been layin’ back for the right occasion.

“It’s arriv! I must knock that leftenant out, and that necktie will do it! I’m mighty glad the parson hain’t got any foolish dreams ’bout the gal. The leftenant is the only galoot I’ve got to look out for, or rather,” added the miner grimly, “I’m the one he’s got to beware of. I’m in dead earnest this time.”