CHAPTER TWENTY SIX.
TREATS OF VARIOUS INTERESTING MATTERS, AND TELLS OF NEWS FROM HOME.
Dick Darvall now learned that, owing to the disturbed state of thecountry, Captain Wilmot had left a small body of men to occupy Bull'sranch for a time; hence their presence at the critical moment whenJackson and his daughter stood so much in need of their assistance. Healso found that there were two letters awaiting the party at Traitor'sTrap--one for Charles Brooke, Esquire, and one for Mr S. Leather. Theybore the postmarks of the old country.
"You'd better not start back wi' them for three or four days, Dick,"said Jackson, when they were seated that evening in the hall of theranch, enjoying a cup of coffee made by the fair hands of Mary.
Dick shook his head. "I'm acting post-boy just now" said he, "an' itwould ill become me to hang off an' on here waitin' for a fair wind whenI can beat into port with a foul one."
"But if the Redskins is up all round, as some o' the boys have reported,it's not merely a foul wind but a regular gale that's blowin', an' itwould puzzle you to beat into port in the teeth o' that."
"I think," remarked Mary, with an arch smile, "that Mr Darvall hadbetter `lay to' until the troops return to-night and report on the stateof the weather."
To this the gallant seaman declared that he would be only too happy tocast anchor altogether where he was for the rest of his life, but thatduty was duty, and that, blow high or blow low, fair weather or foul,duty had to be attended to.
"That's true, O high-principled seaman!" returned Jackson; "and whatd'ye consider your duty at the present time?"
"To deliver my letters, O Roarin' Bull!" replied Dick.
"Just so, but if you go slick off when Redskins are rampagin' around,you'll be sure to get nabbed an' roasted alive, an' so you'll _never_deliver your letters."
"It's my duty to try," said Dick. "Hows'ever," he added, turning toMary with a benignant smile, "I'll take your advice, Miss Mary, an' waitfor the report o' the soldiers."
When the troopers returned, their report was, that the Redskins, afterbeing pretty severely handled, had managed to reach the woods, where itwould have been useless to follow them so close upon night; but it wastheir opinion that the band, which had so nearly captured the boss ofthe ranch and his daughter, was merely a marauding band, from the south,of the same Indians who had previously attacked the ranch, and that, asfor the Indians of the district, they believed them to be quitepeaceably disposed.
"Which says a good deal for them," remarked the officer in command ofthe troops, "when we consider the provocation they receive from BuckTom, Jake the Flint, and such-like ruffians."
"The moon rises at ten to-night, Dick," said Jackson, as they wenttogether to the stables to see that the horses were all right.
"That's so," said the sailor, who noticed something peculiar in theman's tone; "what may be the reason o' your reference to that bit ofastronomy?"
"Why, you see," returned the other, "post-boys in these diggin's areused to travellin' night an' day. An' the troopers' report o' theweather might be worse. You was sayin' somethin' about duty, wasn'tyou?"
"Right, Jackson," returned Dick, "but Black Polly is not used totravellin' night an' day. If she was, I'd take her back to-night, formoonlight is good enough for a man that has twice taken soundin's alongthe road, an' who's well up in all the buoys, beacons, an' landmarks,but it would be cruelty to the good mare."
"Duty first, Dick, the mare second. You don't need to trouble abouther. I'll lend ye one o' my best horses an' take good care o' BlackPolly till Hunky Ben claims her."
"Thank 'ee, Jackson, but I'll not part wi' Black Polly till I'vedelivered her to her owner. I won't accept your invite to stop herethree or four days, but neither will I start off to-night. I've toomuch regard for the good mare to do that."
"Ho! ho!" thought his host, with an inward chuckle, "it's not so muchthe mare as Mary that you've a regard for, my young sailor!"
But in spite of his name the man was much too polite to express thisopinion aloud. He merely said, "Well, Dick, you know that you'rewelcome to squat here as long or as short a time as you like, an' usethe best o' my horses, if so disposed, or do the postboy business onBlack Polly. Do as ye like wi' me an' mine, boy, for it's only fair tosay that but for your help this day my Mary an' me would have bin donefor."
They reached the stable as he was speaking, and Jackson at once turnedthe conversation on the horses, thus preventing a reply from Dick--inregard to which the latter was not sorry.
In the stall the form of Black Polly looked grander than ever, for herhead nearly touched the roof as she raised it and turned a gleaming eyeon the visitors, at the same time uttering a slight whinny ofexpectation.
"Why, I do believe she has transferred her affections to you, Dick,"said Jackson. "I never heard her do that before except to Hunky Ben,and she's bin many a time in that stall."
"More likely that she expected Ben had come to bid her good-night,"returned the sailor.
But the way in which the beautiful creature received Dick's caressesinduced Jackson to hold to his opinion. It is more probable, however,that some similarity of disposition between Dick Darvall and Hunky Benhad commended itself to the mare, which was, as much as many a humanbeing, of an amiable, loving disposition. She thoroughly appreciatedthe tenderness and forbearance of her master, and, more recently, ofDick. No doubt the somewhat rough way in which she had been thrown tothe ground that day may have astonished her, but it evidently had notsoured her temper.
That night Dick did not see much of Mary. She was far too busyattending to, and providing for, the numerous guests at the ranch to beable to give individual attention to any one in particular--even had shebeen so disposed.
Buttercup of course lent able assistance to her mistress in thesedomestic duties, and, despite her own juvenility--we might perhaps say,in consequence of it--gave Mary much valuable advice.
"Dat man's in a bad way," said she, as, with her huge lips poutingearnestly, she examined the contents of a big pot on the fire. Theblack maiden's lips were so pronounced and expressive that they mightalmost be said to constitute her face!
"What man?" asked Mary, who, with her sleeves tucked up to the elbows,was manipulating certain proportions of flour, water, and butter.
"Why, Dick, oh course. He's de only man wuth speakin' about."
Mary blushed a little in spite of herself, and laughed hilariously asshe replied--
"Dear me, Butter, I didn't think he had made such a deep impression onyou."
"'S not on'y on me he's made a 'mpress'n," returned the maid,carelessly. "He makes de same 'mpress'n on eberybody."
"How d'you know?" asked Mary.
"'Cause I see," answered the maid.
She turned her eyes on her mistress as she spoke, and immediately atransformation scene was presented. The eyes dwindled into slits as thecheeks rose, and the serious pout became a smile so magnificent thativory teeth and scarlet gums set in ebony alone met the gaze of thebeholder.
"Buttercup," exclaimed Mary, stamping her little foot firmly, "it'sboiling over!"
She was right. Teeth and gums vanished. The eyes returned, so did thepout, and the pot was whipped off the fire in a twinkling, but notbefore a mighty hiss was heard and the head of the black maiden wasinvolved in a cloud of steam and ashes!
"I told you so!" cried Mary, quoting from an ancient Manuscript.
"No, you di'n't," retorted her servitor, speaking from the depths of herown consciousness.
We refrain from following the conversation beyond this point, as itbecame culinary and flat.
Next day Dick Darvall, refreshed--and, owing to some quite inexplicableinfluences, enlivened--mounted Black Polly and started off alone forTraitor's Trap, leaving his heart and a reputation for cool pluck behindhim.
Of course he was particularly watchful and circumspect on the way up,but saw nothing to call for a further display of either pluck orcoolness. On arriving at the cave he found
his friends there much as hehad left them. Buck Tom, owing to the skilled attentions which he hadreceived from that amateur surgeon, Hunky Ben, and a long refreshingsleep--the result of partial relief from pain--was a good deal better;and poor Leather, cheered by the hope thus raised of his friend'srecovery, was himself considerably improved in health and spirits.
Fortunately for his own peace of mind, it never seemed to occur to Shankthat a return to health meant for Buck Tom, death on the gallows.Perhaps his own illness had weakened Shank's powers of thought. It maybe, his naturally thoughtless disposition helped to render him obliviousof the solemn fact, and no one was cruel enough to remind him of it.But Buck himself never forgot it; yet he betrayed no symptom ofdespondency, neither did he indicate any degree of hope. He was a manof resolute purpose, and had the power of subduing--at least ofabsolutely concealing--his feelings. To those who nursed him he seemedto be in a state of gentle, colourless resignation.
Charlie Brooke and Hunky Ben, having been out together, had returnedwell laden with game; and Leather was busy at the fire preparing asavoury mess of the same for his sick friend when Dick arrived.
"News from the old country!" he exclaimed, holding up the letters onentering the cave. "Two for Charles Brooke, Esquire, and one for MisterLeather!"
"They might have been more polite to me. Hand it here," said thelatter, endeavouring to conceal under a jest his excitement at the sightof a letter from home; for his wild life had cut him off fromcommunication for a very long time.
"One of mine is from old Jacob Crossley," said Charlie, tearing theletter open with eager interest.
"An' mine is from sister May," exclaimed Shank.
If any one had observed Buck Tom at that moment, he would have seen thatthe outlaw started and rose almost up on one elbow, while a deep flushsuffused his bronzed countenance. The action and the flush were onlymomentary, however he sank down again and turned his face to the wall.
Charlie also started and looked at Shank when the name of May wasmentioned, and the eye of Hunky Ben was on him at the moment. But Hunkyof course could not interpret the start. He knew little of our hero'spast history--nothing whatever about May. Being a western scout, noline of his mahogany-looking face indicated that the start aroused athought of any kind.
While the recipients of the letters were busily perusing their missives,Dick Darvall gave the scout a brief outline of his expedition to theranch, reserving the graphic narration of incidents to a more fittingoccasion, when all the party could listen.
"Dick, you're a trump," said the scout.
"I'm a lucky fellow, anyhow," returned Dick.
"In very truth ye are, lad, to escape from such a big bunch o' Redskinswithout a scratch; why--"
"Pooh!" interrupted the sailor, "that's not the luck I'm thinkin' of.Havin' overhauled Roarin' Bull an' his little girl in time to helprescue them, that's what I call luck--d'ee see?"
"Yes, I see," was Hunky Ben's laconic reply.
Perhaps the scout saw more than was intended, for he probably observedthe glad enthusiasm with which the bold seaman mentioned Roaring Bull'slittle girl. We cannot tell. His wooden countenance betrayed no sign,and he may have seen nothing; but he was a western scout, and accustomedto take particular note of the smallest signs of the wilderness.
"Capital--first-rate!" exclaimed Charlie, looking up from his letterwhen he had finished it.
"Just what I was going to say, or something of the same sort," saidLeather, as he folded his epistle.
"Then there's nothing but good news?" said Charlie.
"Nothing. I suppose it's the same with you, to judge from your looks,"returned Shank.
"Exactly. Perhaps," said Charlie, "it may interest you all to hear myletter. There are no secrets in it, and the gentleman who writes it isa jolly old fellow, Jacob Crossley by name. You know him, Dick, as theowner of the _Walrus_, though you've never seen him."
"All right. I remember; fire away," said Dick.
"It is dated from his office in London," continued our hero, "and runsthus:--
"MY DEAR BROOKE,--We were all very glad to hear of your safe arrival in New York, and hope that long before this reaches your hand you will have found poor Leather and got him to some place of comfort, where he may recover the health that we have been given to understand he has lost.
"I chanced to be down at Sealford visiting your mother when your letter arrived; hence my knowledge of its contents. Mrs Leather and her daughter May were then as _usual_. By the way, what a pretty girl May has become! I remember her such a rumpled up, dress-anyhow, harum-scarum sort of a girl, that I find it hard to believe the tall, graceful, modest creature I meet with now is the same person! Captain Stride says she is the finest craft he ever saw, except that wonderful `Maggie,' about whose opinions and sayings he tells us so much.
"But this is a double digression. To return: your letter of course gave us all great pleasure. It also gave your mother and May some anxiety, where it tells of the necessity of your going up to that wild-west place, Traitor's Trap, where poor Leather is laid up. Take care of yourself, my dear boy, for I'm told that the red savages are still given to those roasting, scalping, and other torturing that one has read of in the pages of Fenimore Cooper.
"By the way, before I forget it, let me say, in reference to the enclosed bill, it is a loan which I have obtained for Leather, at very moderate interest, and when more is required more can be obtained on the same terms. Let him understand this, for I don't wish that he should think, on the one hand, that he is drawing on his mother's slender resources, or, on the other hand, that he is under obligation to any one. I send the bill because I feel quite sure that you started on this expedition with too little. It is drawn in your name, and I think you will be able to cash it at any civilised town--even in the far west!
"Talking of Captain Stride--was I talking of him? Well, no matter. As he is past work now, but thinks himself very far indeed from that condition, I have prevailed on him to accept a new and peculiar post arising out of the curious evolutions of the firm of Withers and Company which satisfies the firm completely and suits the captain to a T. As the work can be done anywhere, a residence has been taken for him in Sealford, mid-way between that of your mother and Mrs Leather, so that he and his wife and little girl can run into either port when so disposed. As Mrs L, however (to use his own phraseology), is almost always to be found at anchor in the Brooke harbour, he usually kills both with the same visit. I have not been to see him yet in the new abode, and do not know what the celebrated Maggie thinks of it.
"When you find Leather, poor fellow, tell him that his mother and sister are very well. The former is indefatigable in knitting those hundreds of socks and stockings for poor people, about which there has been, and still is, and I think ever will be, so much mystery. The person who buys them from her must be very deep as well as honest, for no inquiries ever throw any fresh light on the subject, and he--or she, whichever it is--pays regularly as the worsted work is delivered--so I'm told! It is a little old lady who pays--but I've reason to believe that she's only a go-between--some agent of a society for providing cheap clothing for the poor, I fancy, which the poor stand very much in need of, poor things! Your good mother helps in this work--at least so I am told, but I'm not much up in in the details of it yet. I mean to run down to see them in a few days and hear all about it.
"Stride, I forgot to say, is allowed to smoke a pipe in your mother's parlour when he pays her a visit. This is so like her amiability, for she hates tobacco as much as I do. I ventured on a similarly amiable experiment one day when the worthy Captain dined with me, but the result was so serious that I have not ventured to repeat it. You remember my worthy housekeeper, Mrs Bland? Well, she kicked over the traces and became quite unmanageable. I had given Stride leave to smoke after dessert, because I had a sort of idea that he could nor digest his food without a pipe. You know
my feelings with regard to _young_ fellows who try to emulate chimneys, so you can understand that my allowing the Captain to indulge was no relaxation of my principles, but was the result of a strong objection I had to spoil the dinner of a man who was somewhat older than myself by cramming my principles down his throat.
"But the moment that Mrs Bland entered I knew by the glance of her eye, as well as by the sniff of her nose, that a storm was brewing up--as Stride puts it--and I was not wrong. The storm burst upon me that evening. It's impossible, and might be tedious, to give you all the conversation that we had after Stride had gone, but the upshot was that she gave me warning.
"`But, my good woman,' I began--
"`It's of no use good-womaning me, Mr Crossley,' said she, `I couldn't exist in a 'ouse w'ere smokin' is allowed. My dear father died of smokin'--at least, if he didn't, smokin' must 'ave 'ad somethink to do with it, for after the dear man was gone a pipe an' a plug of the nasty stuff was found under 'is piller, so I can't stand it; an' what's more, Mr Crossley, I _won't_ stand it! Just think, sir, 'ow silly it is to put a bit of clay in your mouth an' draw smoke through it, an' then to spit it out again as if you didn't like it; as no more no one _does_ on beginnin' it, for boys only smoke to look like men, an' men only smoke because they've got up the 'abit an' can't 'elp it. W'y, sir, you may git up _any_ 'abit. You may git the 'abit of walkin' on your 'ands an' shakin' your legs in the hair if you was to persevere long enough, but that would only prove you a fool fit for a circus or a lunatic asylum. You never see the hanimals smokin'. They knows better. Just fancy! what would you think if you saw the cab 'osses all a-settin' on their tails in the rank smokin' pipes an' cigars! What would you think of a 'oss w'en 'is cabby cried, "Gee-up, there's a fare a 'owlin' for us," an' that 'oss would say, "Hall right, cabby, just 'old on, hold man, till I finish my pipe"? No, Mr Crossley, no, I--'
"`But, my good soul!' I burst in here, `do listen--'
"`No use good-soulin' me, Mr Crossley. I tell you I won't stand it. My dear father died of it, an' I _can't_ stand it--'
"`I _hate_ it, Mrs Bland, myself!'
"I shouted this interruption in such a loud fierce tone that the good woman stopped and looked at me in surprise.
"`Yes, Mrs Bland,' I continued, in the same tone, `I detest smoking. You know I always did, but now more than ever, for your reasoning has convinced me that there are _some_ evil consequences of smoking which are almost worse than smoking itself! Rest assured that never again shall the smell of the noxious weed defile the walls of this house.'
"`Lauk, sir!' said Mrs Bland.
"I had subdued her, Charlie, by giving in with dignity. I shall try the same role next breeze that threatens.
"I almost feel that I owe you an apology for the length of this epistle. Let me conclude by urging you to bring poor Leather home, strong and well. Tell him from me that there is a vacant situation in the firm of Withers and Company which will just suit him. He shall have it when he returns--if God spares me to see him again. But I'm getting old, Charlie, and we know not what a day may bring forth."
"A kind--a very kind letter," said Leather earnestly, when his friendhad finished reading.
"Why, he writes as if he were your own father, Brooke," remarked BuckTom, who had been listening intently. "Have you known him long?"
"Not long. Only since the time that he gave me the appointment ofsupercargo to the _Walrus_, but the little I have seen of him hasaroused in me a feeling of strong regard."
"My sister May refers to him here," said Leather, with a peculiar smile,as he re-opened his letter. "The greater part of this tells chiefly ofprivate affairs which would not interest any of you, but here is apassage which forms a sort of commentary on what you have just heard:--
"`You will be amused to hear,' she writes, `that good Captain Stride has come to live in Sealford. Kind old Mr Crossley has given him some sort of work connected with Withers and Company's house which I can neither understand nor describe. Indeed, I am convinced it is merely work got up on purpose by Mr Crossley as an excuse for giving his old friend a salary, for he knows that Captain Stride would be terribly cast down if offered a _pension_, as that would be equivalent to pronouncing him unfit for further duty, and the Captain will never admit himself to be in that condition till he is dying. Old Jacob Crossley--as you used to call him--thinks himself a very sagacious and "deep" man, but in truth there never was a simpler or more transparent one. He thinks that we know nothing about who it is that sends the old lady to buy up all the worsted-work that mother makes, but we know perfectly well that it is himself, and dear mother could never have gone on working with satisfaction and receiving the money for it all if we had not found out that he buys it for our fishermen, who are said really to be very much in need of the things she makes.
"`The dear old man is always doing something kind and considerate in a sly way, under the impression that nobody notices. He little knows the power of woman's observation! By the way, that reminds me that he is not ignorant of woman's powers in other ways. We heard yesterday that his old and faithful--though rather trying--housekeeper had quarrelled with him about smoking! We were greatly surprised, for we knew that the old gentleman is not and never was, a smoker. She threatened to leave, but we have since heard, I am glad to say, that they have made it up!
"H'm! there's food for meditation in all that," said Dick Darvall, as heknocked the ashes out of his pipe and put it in his vest pocket.