A Fortune Hunter Or The Old Stone Corral Part 12

Although the group had emerged from the house in a confused manner, it was remarkable how soon order was restored, and the young people paired off into couples after the law of affinity--Maud and Ralph, Grace and Hugh, leaving Clifford and Miss Estill to either mate with Rob and Scott, or to choose each other for partners in the ramble; and it is also strange how quickly they chose the latter alternative, and sauntered away with appalling _sang-froid_, leaving those youths to their own resources without even the ghost of an apology. But the youngsters had ample revenge for this heartless, cold neglect, when, a few moments later, Rob was seen leaning on Scott's arm in a languis.h.i.+ng manner, with a hollyhock perched daintily just above his nose, in semblance of a most coquettish hat, his bob-tailed coat embellished with an enormous petticoat of rhubarb-leaves, while Scott alternately cast admiring glances upon his frail "lady," or fanned the mock beauty with a catalpa-leaf fully half a yard broad.

And while Maud and Grace regarded their manoeuvres with furtive scorn and ill-concealed disgust, this precious pair sauntered conspicuously after their friends, who could see "Miss Rob" mince along with exaggerated airs and graces, often pausing to sniff of the enormous water-pot, carried in imitation of a lady's scent-bottle.

Finally the party eluded the persecution of this devoted couple by going back into the house, and ascending to the "Crows' Nest" in the top of the old elm; and as Maud recounted the thrilling adventure of the "flood," she felt certain that Rob was too well acquainted with his paternal discipline to venture upon any nonsense about the house. But half an hour later, as they were strolling down to the boat, the party, in turning an abrupt curve in the path, surprised the infatuated Scott on his knees kissing the hand of the shy he-damsel, who, with affected modesty, was hiding her face in the dainty fan and the last view our friends caught of them while rowing up the river, the fascinating Rob was sinking into the outstretched arms of his ostentatious lover.

Clifford rowed up the winding stream, which, although only a few feet deep, was here several rods in width. As they pa.s.sed along, an old beaver, which had built a dam below, stuck its snout up through the tangled gra.s.s that trailed into the water; then, after gazing a moment at the intruders, it sank quietly from sight.

The pleasant ride suggested a boating song, and a concert followed, which scared many a gray old musk-rat to his den, and the frightened wild-fowls scurried with whizzing wings out from the dark, sedgy nooks, shaded by the elms and willows, as the unwonted sounds floated out over the water.

Our friends walked up to Clifford's dwelling, after landing and mooring the boat to a tree, and while they rested on the pale ashen-green buffalo-gra.s.s in the shadow of a mighty elm that smothered the gables of the stone cottage with its wide-spread branches, Clifford pointed out the stone wall, which was half concealed by the vines, where his father had so narrowly escaped death a quarter of a century before; and as they sat, he told of the terrible tragedy that had here been enacted, which explained why Maud had so tenderly trained the roses over the ruined wall--the wall that had sheltered their father on that tragic night.

At the close of the mournful story Miss Estill exclaimed:--

"Oh, what a cruel fate. Poor, ill-starred Ivarene! It was that unfortunate bride that I so strangely resemble. But how mysterious that it should be so! Now I do not wonder at your father's agitation at meeting one who reminded him of his lost friend and benefactress. That was why he gazed so pathetically into my eyes:--I recalled the days of his youth, his lost fortune, and the tragic fate of his dear friends."

Hugh Estill said:--

"Oh, this is not the first time I have heard the particulars of that tragedy. It was often talked of in the days of my boyhood; but I was a child at the time when it was still fresh in the memory of the few settlers in the upper valley of the Cottonwood. It was fully ten years after the event that I heard the version from one of our herders, who said it was whispered that white men were engaged in the ma.s.sacre.

Father was unnecessarily irritated, I thought, when I repeated what the fellow said, and he went so far as to discharge him, and forbade me ever mentioning the subject again."

"Your parents were living on your ranch at that time?" said Clifford, in a strange eager tone of inquiry.

"Yes; we have lived on the same place for the past twenty-seven years, and both Mora and myself were born on the old ranch," replied Hugh.

After remaining rapt in silence a moment, Miss Estill said, as she and Clifford stood apart from the others, while he stooped to gather a spray of the sensitive-plant:--

"What is this strange, haunting sense of danger and grief that always a.s.sails me on this spot? It is like the dim remembrance of some tragic event connected with my own life--a half-forgotten night-mare, as it were--the very elusiveness of which is distressing to me. I feel that same sensation now which I mentioned having always felt on this spot, when you told me how strangely you were affected when pa.s.sing Antelope b.u.t.te."

"I often experience that peculiar sentiment here, also, Miss Estill,--a kind of perception or impression of some dire calamity with which not only myself, but you likewise, have been connected here," Clifford replied with troubled face.

"I am afraid we shall mould if we stay in this gloomy shade any longer,"

cried Grace, springing up with a little s.h.i.+ver; but the bright look which young Estill beamed upon her showed plainly that he, at least, was in no danger of such a blighting fate.

It was a beautiful scene that burst upon their view as they emerged from under the low, sweeping boughs, and stood in the sunlight south of the gothic cottage. Around the knoll, on which they were standing, purled and gurgled the stream, fringed by feathery willows and stately elms, and, after half embracing the hill in its tortuous folds, winding away down the widening valley. Where the timber, which skirted the serpentine river, grew in groves of deepest green, there the stream had expanded into placid lakelets, which flashed like silver in the slanting sunbeams.

On the south, in the smooth, level valley, were fields of ripening grain,--wheat of coppery red or creamy gold, silvery sheen of rye and oats, set in a frame of emerald where the wild prairies came sheer up to the clear-cut fields, that were _innocent_ of fence or hedge. Then their vision roamed out to the north, where the rolling hills melted away on the dim horizon.

As they stood silently gazing on the tranquil landscape, the bell in the latticed belfry of the Warlow homestead rang out in mellow clang, and Maud said:--

"Let's return, for it is the supper-bell. I do hope, though, that mother has prepared something more substantial for her guests than Clifford has done for us this afternoon."

"Why, have we not reveled in mystery?" cried Grace.

"And feasted on landscape?" said Miss Estill.

"And did he not hospitably entertain us with legend, mellow and old?"

chimed Ralph.

"Sorry that I could not have treated you to fresher puns," retorted Clifford, laughingly.

On rowing down the tranquil stream, and coming once more into the shady yard of the Warlows, our young friends found the tea-table spread under the boughs of the ever-serviceable elm, and Rob and Scott busy a.s.sisting Mrs. Warlow with the evening meal.

As with deft fingers Maud culled choice bouquets from her garden, and decked the table, she felt a thrill of pardonable pride in the snowy damask, the crystal and silver that glittered with the polish of good housewifery, and the tempting, dainty dishes which her mother had, with true Western hospitality, prepared in honor of the guests.

Ah, hungry reader, I wish that you could have been there also; for my mouth vainly waters, even yet, at the remembrance of asparagus and green peas, spring-chicken smothered in cream (which I hasten to explain was not the fowl of boarding-house memory and tradition, with which the frosts of December had "monkeyed;" no barn-yard champion was it, with cotton-like breast and sinewy limb, but a tender daughter of the May-time, that had perished on the threshold of a bright young pullethood), and frosty lemon-pie, just tinged with bronze, flanked by the crimson moulds of plum-jelly.

An hour later, in the gloomy twilight, as the guests were taking leave, Miss Estill said:--

"Your son has told me of the old tragedy that has saddened your life, Colonel; but it is very strange that I should resemble that ill-fated Mexican bride."

"Ah, Miss Estill, every hour you recall the memory of my lost friends; just such a daughter might have blessed them, _if they had lived_," he replied, with a sigh, as he searched the young face with his wistful blue eyes.

"It is only a chance resemblance, of course--a mere coincidence," she replied, in a tone of uneasiness. "My parents were living here at the time of the ma.s.sacre; but I never have heard of the dreadful occurrence until to-day," she added.

"I would like very much to meet your father, and talk over the early history of this country," said the colonel, eagerly. "I sometimes find myself hoping that they might have escaped," he continued, in a half-musing tone, like one whose mind is wholly engrossed by an overmastering subject. She overlooked his incoherence, knowing well that he referred to Bruce and Ivarene. "Since I have been here on the scene of the tragedy, the thought often recurs that I took it for granted that they perished, and have trusted too readily to circ.u.mstantial evidence in confirmation of that belief."

"How strange it is that no trace of that enormous treasure of gold and gems was ever obtained!" she replied. "But, then, the horde of Cheyennes, which Hugh said to-day were reported as having been led by white men, found it an easy task enough, no doubt, to carry away even that great amount of coin after their murderous work."

"Ah! it is all a strange, dark mystery," he replied; "and to-day it is more impenetrable than ever. But if I could see your father he might remember."

Here the colonel paused abruptly, and threw up one hand with an involuntary start, and Miss Estill saw by the faint light that he was ashen pale. But as the others were now pa.s.sing out through the gate, she reluctantly shook hands with the colonel, who, she saw, was trembling with repressed emotion; and then she took leave of the other members of the family, vaguely wondering why the courtly old gentleman should be so affected by events which had occurred more than a quarter of a century before.

When, an hour later, Clifford returned from Squire Moreland's, whither he had accompanied Miss Estill, he was accosted by Rob in the following vein:--

"What's up, Cliff?"

"Up where?" replied his brother, evasively.

"On the porch, if you have eyes for anything less attractive than a young lady with a mop of blue hair," said the indignant Rob.

"Oh--father and mother! Why, I can't see anything strange in our parents sitting on the porch," replied his brother, in a tone of feigned indifference.

"Well, but they have had their heads together and been plotting for an hour; but Maud keeps up such an everlasting racket with her singing and dish-clattering that I can't hear a word they say. That girl positively is noisier than a fire-engine. Now, just listen at that!" as Maud's voice sang in sweet crescendo:--

"Stars are s.h.i.+ning, Mollie darling." (Crash, rattle.)

_Mrs. Warlow._--"Do you think it possible that they were saved?"

_Maud_ (diminuendo).--

"Through the mystic veil of night." (Rinkety-clink.)

_Colonel._--"She may be their daughter, who survived." (Splatter.)

_Maud_ (piano).--

"No one listens but the flowers, As they hang their heads in shame." (Klinkety-klink.)

_Rob._--