The Thorogood Family Part 7

"Ha; get fat, would she," growled Bob, the soldier, "so as to be ready for the first n.i.g.g.e.r-chief that took a fancy to have her cooked for supper--eh? Never fear, Molly, we won't let you go to the Cannibal Islands. Give us another cut o' that cannon-ball, mother. It's better eating than those I've been used to see skipping over the battlefield."

"But they're not _all_ Cannibal Islands, man," returned d.i.c.k; "why, wherever the missionaries go, there the n.i.g.g.e.rs get to be as well-behaved as you are. D'you know, Molly, I've really been thinking of cutting the service, and emigrating somewhere, if you and Fred would go with me."

"It would be charming!" replied Molly, with a sweet though languid smile. "We'd live in a wooden hut, roofed with palm-leaves, and while you and Fred were away hunting for dinner, I would milk the buffaloes, and boil the cocoa-nuts!"

"Ah, Molly," said Tom, the Coastguardsman, stroking his bushy beard, "the same idea has been running in my head, as well as in d.i.c.k's, ever since we got that letter from Jim, telling us of the beauty of his new home, and urging us all to emigrate. I've more than half a mind to join him out there, if you and the old folk will consent to go."

"You're not serious, are you, Tom?" asked Harry, the fireman, laying down his knife and fork.

"Indeed I am."

"Well, you might do worse. I would join you myself, if there were only houses enough to insure a fire or two every month."

"Why, man," said Fred Harper, "in these lands the whole forest goes on fire sometimes--surely that would suffice to keep your spirits up and your heart warm."

"Let's have a look at Jim's last epistle, mother," said d.i.c.k, when the feast was nearly over, and fragrant coffee smoked upon the board, (for you know the Thorogood Family were total abstainers), "and let Fred read it aloud. He's by far the best reader amongst us."

"Well, that's not sayin' much for him," remarked the fireman, with a sly glance at his sister.

"Your lamp is not as powerful as it might be, mother," said Fred, drawing his chair nearer to that of the fair invalid, as he unfolded the letter. "Turn your eyes this way, Molly,--there, keep 'em steady on the page; I can see _now_!"

"Eagle's Nest, Rocky Mountain Slopes, 5th October 18---," began Fred.

"Darling Mother,--You've no idea what a charming place G.o.d has given me here, with plenty of work to do of the most congenial kind. I have only an opportunity for a short letter this time, because the postboy has arrived unexpectedly, and won't wait. Postboy! You would smile at that word if you saw him. He's a six-foot man in leather, with a big beard, and a rifle and tomahawk. He was attacked by Indians on the way over the mountains, but escaped, and he attacked a grizzly bear afterwards which didn't escape--but I must not waste time on _him_, Well, I must devote all my letter this post to urging you to come out. This is a splendid country for big, strong, hearty, willing men like father and my brothers. Of course it is no better than other countries--rather worse--for weak men, either in mind or body. Idlers go to the wall here as elsewhere; but for men willing and able to work--ready to turn their hands to anything--it is a splendid opening. For myself--I feel that my Heavenly Father has sent me here because there is work for me to do, and a climate which will give me health and strength to do it. My health is better now than it has ever been mince the day of that fall which damaged my const.i.tution so much as to render me one of the confirmed cripples of the earth. But it was a blessed fall, nevertheless. I was cast down in order that I might be lifted up. You would smile, mother,--perhaps you'd laugh--if you saw me at my work. I'm a Jack-of-all-trades. Among other things I'm a farmer, a gardener, a carpenter, a schoolmaster, a shoemaker, and a missionary! The last, you know, I consider my real calling. The others are but secondary matters, a.s.sumed in the spirit of Paul the tent-maker. You and dear Molly would rejoice with me if you saw my Bible Cla.s.s on week-days, and my congregation on Sundays. It is a strange congregation to whom I have been sent to tell the old old story of Jesus and His love. There are farmers, miners, hunters, even painted savages among them. My church is usually a barn--sometimes a tent--often the open air. There are no denominations here, so that I belong to none. Only two sects exist-- believers and unbelievers. But the place is growing fast. Doubtless there will be great changes ere long. Meanwhile it is my happy duty and privilege to scatter seed in the wilderness.

"Now, I urge you to come, because there is health for Molly to be found on these sunny slopes of this grand Backbone of America. That is my strongest point. If that does not move you, nothing else will! One glance from the windows of my wooden house--this Eagle's Nest on the Rocky Mountain Slopes--would be sufficient to begin the work of convalescence. Woods, dells, knolls, hills, plains, prairies, lakes, streams--with the blue mountains in the far, far distance. Oh! if I were a poet, what a flight I would make into the realms of--of--well, you understand me! I have no time for more. The big-bearded postboy is growing impatient. Only this much will I add,--do, _do_ come, if you love me. My kindest love to you all. May G.o.d guide you in this matter.--Your affectionate son, JIM.

"P.S.--One of the members of my congregation is a celebrated hunter named Reuben Dale. His wife is also one of my flock, and so is his friend Jacob Strang. The manner in which Reuben got married is so curious that I have amused myself by writing an account of it for mother. I enclose it."

"Read the story aloud, Fred," said Molly. "What Jim thought interesting must be well worth reading."

Thus urged, Fred took the ma.n.u.script and read as follows:--

THE HUNTER'S WEDDING.

A STORY OF THE ROCKY MOUNTAINS.

On the summit of a green knoll, in one of those beautiful valleys which open from the prairies--like inviting portals--into the dark recesses of the Rocky Mountains, there stands, or stood not long ago, a small blockhouse surrounded by a wooden palisade.

Although useless as a protection from artillery, this building was found to be a sufficient defence against the bullets and arrows of the red men of North America, and its owner, Kenneth MacFearsome, a fiery Scotch Highlander, had, up to the date on which our story opens, esteemed it a convenient and safe place for trade with the warlike savages who roamed, fought, and hunted in the regions around it. Some people, referring to its peaceful purposes, called it MacFearsome's trading post. Others, having regard to its military aspect, styled it Mac's Fort.

Reuben Dale stood at the front gate of the Fort conversing with a pretty, dark-haired, bright-faced girl of eighteen years or thereabouts: Reuben himself being twenty-eight, and as strapping a hunter of the Rocky Mountains as ever outwitted a redskin or circ.u.mvented a grizzly bear. But Reuben was naturally shy. He had not the courage of a rabbit when it came to making love.

"Loo," said Reuben, resting his hand on the muzzle of his long rifle and his chin on his hands, as he gazed earnestly down into the quiet, soft little face at his elbow.

"Well, Reuben," said Loo, keeping her eyes prudently fixed on the ground lest they should betray her.

The conversation stopped short at this interesting point, and was not resumed. Indeed, it was effectually checked by the sudden appearance of The MacFearsome.

"What, have ye not managed it yet, Reuben?" said the Highlander, as his daughter tripped quickly away.

"Not yet," said the hunter despondingly.

"Man, you're not worth a gunflint," returned MacFearsome, with a twinkling glance from under his bushy grey eyebrows; "if ye had not saved Loo's life twice, and mine three times, I'd scorn to let you wed her. But you'll have to settle it right off, for the parson won't stop another day. He counted on spendin' only one day here, on his way to the conference, and he has been two days already. You know it'll take him all his time to get to Beaver Creek by the tenth."

"But I'll mount him on my best buffalo-runner and guide him myself by a short cut," said the hunter, "so that he shall still be in good time for the circ.u.mference, and--"

"The conference, Reuben; don't misuse the English language. But it's of no use, I tell you. He won't stop another day, so you must have it settled right off to-day, for it shall never be said that a MacFearsome was married without the benefit of the clergy."

"Well, I'll do it--slick off;" said the hunter, shouldering his rifle, and striding away in the direction of a coppice into which he had observed Loo disappear, with the air of a man who meant to pursue and kill a dangerous creature.

We will not do Reuben Dale the injustice to lift the curtain at this critical point in his history. Suffice it to say that he went into that coppice pale and came out red--so red that his handsome sunburned countenance seemed on the point of catching fire. There was a pleased expression on it, however, which was eminently suggestive.

He went straight to a wigwam which stood near the fort, lifted the skin door, entered, and sat down beside the fire opposite to a hunter not unlike himself. The man was as tall and strong, though not quite so good-looking. He was at the time smoking one of those tomahawks which some Indians have made with pipe bowls in their heads, the handles serving for stems, so that, when not employed in splitting skulls, they may be used for damaging stomachs--i.e. for smoking tobacco!

"I've done it, Jacob Strang," said Reuben, with a grave nod, as he slowly filled his pipe.

These two hunters were knit together with somewhat of the love that David bore to Jonathan. Jacob gazed at his friend for some time in mute admiration.

"Honour bright?" he asked at length.

"Honour bright," replied Reuben.

"Well now," said Jacob to the cloud that issued from his lips, "I couldn't ha' done that to save my scalp. I've tried it, off an' on for the last six year, and alers stuck at the p'int--or raither just before it, for I never got quite the length o' the p'int. But I've bin very near it, Reuben, more than once, uncommon near. One time I got so close to the edge o' the precipice that another inch would have sent me right over. `My dear Liz,' says I; but I stuck there, an' the sweet little thing runned away, larfin', an' so I'm a bachelor still. But I'm right glad, Reuben, that you've got it over at last. How did it feel?"

"Feel!" echoed the hunter, "it felt as bad, or wuss, nor the time that grizzly bar up the Yellowstone River got his claws into the small o' my back--only I hadn't you to help me out o' the difficulty this time. I had to do it all myself, Jacob, and hard work it was, I tell 'ee, boy.

Hows'ever, it's all over now, an' we're to be spliced this evenin'."

"That's raither sharp work, ain't it, Reuben?" said Jacob, with a critical wrinkle of his eyebrows, and a remonstrative tone in his voice.

"I ain't much of an authority on sitch matters, but it do seem to me as if you might have given the poor gal a day or two to make sure whether her head or heels was uppermost."

"You're right, Jacob; you're judgment was always sound, but, you see, I was forced to do it slick off because the parson won't wait another day, an' I'd like to have it done all s.h.i.+p-shape, for I've a respec' for the parsons, you see. A man who's come straight down from the Pilgrim Fathers, like me, behoves to act discreetly--so, the weddin's to be this evenin'."

"Well, you are the best judge, Reuben, an' it's as well that it should come off when old Fiddlestrings is here, for a weddin' without a fiddle ain't much of a spree. By good luck, too, there's the lads from Buffalo Creek at the fort just now, so we'll muster strong. No, I wouldn't give much for a weddin' without a good dance--not even yours, Reuben."

That afternoon The MacFearsome arranged with the Reverend William Tucker to delay his departure for one day in order to unite his only daughter Loo to Reuben Dale.

"You must know, Mr Tucker," he explained, in a slightly apologetic tone, "although Reuben is only a hunter, his parents were gentlefolks.

They died when Reuben was quite a little fellow, so that he was allowed to run wild on a frontier settlement, and, as a matter of course, took to the wilderness as naturally as a young duck takes to the water. But Reuben is a superior person, Mr Tucker, I a.s.sure you, and as fine a disposition as you could wish. He's as bold as a lion too, and has saved my girl's life twice, and my own three times--so, you see, he--"

"He deserves a good wife," said the Reverend William Tucker heartily.

"Just so," replied the old trader, wrinkling his fierce yet kindly face with a bland smile, "and you'll confer a great favour on me if you will stay and perform the ceremony. Of course, according to Scotch law, we could marry them without your a.s.sistance, but I respect the church, Mr Tucker, and think it becoming to have a clergyman on occasions of this kind."

Having settled this important piece of business, Kenneth MacFearsome went off to make arrangements for the indispensable dance, and the clergyman, being fond of equestrian exercise, went out alone for an afternoon ride.

That same afternoon a band of Indians belonging to the Blackfeet tribe encamped in a gloomy defile of the Rocky Mountains, not far from Mac's Fort. It was easy to see that they were a war-party, for, besides being armed to the teeth, their faces were hideously painted, and they had no women or children with them.

They had stopped for the double purpose of eating a hasty meal and holding a council of war.