For Woman's Love Part- 2 by Mrs. E. D. E. N. Southworth (i love reading books txt) 📕

Eyes. Poor Little Violet Cried A Good Deal. But You Know She Has Such A

Tender Heart,  Poor Child!--Look At That Herd Of Deer,  Cora,  Standing On

The Top Of That Swell Of The Land To The Right,  And Actually Gazing At

The Trail Without A Motion Or A Panic. I Hope Nobody Will Shoot At

Them!" Exclaimed Mr. Clarence,  Suddenly Breaking Off In His Discourse To

Point To The Denizens Of The Thicket And The Prairie,  Until Upon Some

Sudden Impulse The Whole Herd Turned And Bounded Away.

So They Fared On Through That Glorious Autumn Day--Over The Vast,

Rolling,  Solitary Prairie--Now Rising To A Smooth,  Gradual Elevation

That Revealed The Circle Of The Whole Horizon Where It Met The Sky; Now

Descending Into A Wide,  Shallow Hollow,  Where The Rising Ground Around

Inclosed Them As In An Amphitheater; But Everywhere Along The Trail,  The

Prairie Grass,  Dried And Burnished By The Autumn's Suns And Winds,

Burned Like Gold On The Hills And Bronze In The Hollows,  Giving A

Singularly Beautiful Effect In Light And Shade Of Mingling Metallic

Hues.

At Noon The Captain Ordered A Halt,  And All The Teams Were Drawn Up In A

Line; And All The Men Got Out To Feed And Water The Horses And Mules,

And To Prepare Their Own Dinner.

They Were Now Beside A Clear,  Deep,  Narrow Stream,  A Tributary Of The

Kansas River,  Running Through A Picturesque Valley,  Carpeted With Long

Grass,  And Bordered With Low,  Well-Wooded Hills On Either Side. The

Burnished Gold And Bronze Of The Long Dried Grass On The River's Brim,

Dotted Here And There With A Late Scarlet Prairie Flower,  The Brilliant

Crimson And Purple Of The Autumn Foliage That Clothed The Trees,  The

Bright Blue Of The Sky And The Soft White Of The Few Downy Clouds

Floating Overhead,  And All Reflected And Duplicated In The River Below,

Made A Beauty And Glory Of Color That Must Have Delighted The Soul Of An

Artist,  And Pleased The Eye Of Even The Most Careless Observer.

Mike O'reilly,  The Captain's Orderly,  Was Busy Spreading A Table Cloth

On The Grass,  At The Foot Of A Hill On The Right,  And Old John,  Mr.

Clarence's Man,  Was Emulating Mike By Spreading A Four-Yard Square Of

White Damask At A Short Distance Behind Him.

Our Friends Had Nearly Finished Their Lunch,  When Something--She Never

Could Tell What--Caused Corona To Look Behind Her. Then She Shrieked!

All Looked To See The Cause Of Her Sudden Fright.

There Stood A Group Of Indians,  With Blankets Around Their Forms,  And

Gleaming Tomahawks About Their Shoulders.

"Pawnees--Friendly. Don't Be Afraid. Give Them Something To Eat," Said

The Captain,  In A Low Tone,  Addressing The First Part Of His

Conversation To Corona And The Last Part To Mrs. Neville.

But Corona Had Never Seen An Indian In Her Life,  And Could Not At Once

Get Over Her Panic Caused By The Sight Of Those Bare,  Keen-Edged Axes

Gleaming In The Sun.

Captain Neville Spoke To Them In Their Native Tongue,  And They Replied.

The Conversation That Ensued Was Quite Unintelligible To Clarence And

Corona,  But Not To Mrs. Neville,  Who Beckoned To Two Squaws Who Stood

Humbly In The Rear Of The Braves. They Were Both Clothed In Short,

Rude,  Blue Cotton Skirts,  With Blankets Over Their Shoulders. The Elder

Squaw Carried A Pack On Her Back; The Younger One Carried A Baby Snugly

In A Hood Made Of The Loop Of Her Blanket At The Back Of Her Neck.

They Both Approached The Ladies,  Chattering As They Came; The Elder One

Threw Down Her Pack On The Grass And Began To Open It,  And Display A

Number Of Dressed Raccoon Skins Stretched Upon Sticks,  And By Gibbering

And Gesticulations Expressed Her Wish To Sell Them.

Neither Of The Ladies Wished To Buy; But Mrs. Neville Give Her Loaves Of

Bread And Junks Of Dried Beef From The Hampers On The Grass,  And Corona

Gave Her Money.

She Put The Money In A Little Fur Pouch She Carried At Her Belt,  And She

Packed The Bread And Beef In The Bundle With The Highly Flavored Raccoon

Skins. She Was Not Fastidious.

While Mrs. Neville And Corona Were Occupied With The Squaw,  Captain

Neville And Mr. Clarence Had Been Feasting The Braves,  And The

Attendants Had Been Washing Dishes,  Repacking Hampers,  And Reloading

Wagons For A Fresh Start.

When All Was Ready The Wayfarers Took Leave Of The Indians And

Re-Entered Their Conveyances And Resumed Their Route,  Leaving The

Savages Still Feasting On The Fragments That Remained.

It Was Now Two O'clock In The Afternoon,  As The Long Trail Of Carryalls

And Army Wagons Passed Up From The Beautiful Valley And Out Upon The

Vast Prairie That Still Rolled On Before Them In Hills And Hollows Of

Gold And Bronze,  Blazing Under The Bright Autumnal Sun.

Men And Women,  Mules And Horses,  Had All Been Rested And Refreshed By

Their Mid-Day Halt And Repast.

The People,  However,  Seemed Less Inclined To Observe And Converse Than

In The Forenoon.

Even Clarence Saw More Than One Flock Of Birds Sail Over Their Heads,

And Made No Sign; Saw A Herd Of Deer Stand And Gaze,  And Said Not A

Word.

At Length Clarence Took Out His Cigar And Lit It,  And As He Smoked He

Watched The Descending Sun Until It Sank Below The Horizon And Sent Up

The Most Singular After-Glow That Clarence Had Ever Seen--A Shower Of

Sparks And Needle-Like Flames From The Edge Of The Prairie Immediately

Under The Horizon.

"Looks Like De Worl' Was Ketchin On Fire Ober Dere,  Marse Clarence,"

Said Young Mark,  Speaking For The First Time Since They Had Resumed

Their March.

"It Is Only The Light Reflected By The Prairie,  My Boy," Kindly Replied

Mr. Clarence. And Then He Smoked On In Silence,  While The After-Glow

Died Out,  The Twilight Faded,  And One By One The Stars Came Out. Corona

Seemed To Be Slumbering In Her Seat. Young Mark Crooned Low,  As If To

Himself,  A Weird,  Old Camp Meeting Hymn. It Was So Dark That He Could

Not Have Seen To Guide His Horses,  Had Not The Captain's Carryall Been

Immediately In Front Of His Own,  And The Long Trail Of Wagons In Front

Of The Captain's,  With Lantern Carried By The Advance Guard To Show The

Way.

"What's The Matter?" Suddenly Called Out Mr. Clarence,  Who Was Aroused

From His Reverie By The Halt Of The Whole Procession.

"We 'Pears To Got Sumwhurze," Replied Mark,  Strongly Pulling In His

Horses,  Which Had Nearly Run Into The Back Of The Captain's Stationary

Carryall In Front.

"We Are At Burley's," Called Out Captain Neville From His Seat.

While He Spoke Mike O'reilly Brought Up A Lantern To Show Their Way To

The House.

Clarence Alighted And Handed Down His Niece,  Took Her Arm,  And Followed

Captain And Mrs. Neville Past The Wagons And Mules And Groups Of Men

Through A Door That Admitted Them Into A Long,  Low-Ceiled Room,  Lighted

By Tallow Candles In Tin Sconces Along The Log Walls,  And Warmed By A

Large Cooking Stove In The Middle Of The Floor. Rude,  Unpainted Wooden

Chairs,  Benches And Tables Were The Only Furniture,  If We Except The

Rough Shelves On Which Coarse Crockery And Tinware Were Arranged And

Under Which Iron Cooking Utensils Were Piled.

Captain Neville And Mr. Clarence Returned To The Wagons To See For

Themselves That Their Valuable Personal Effects Were Safely Bestowed For

The Night,  And That The Horses And Mules Were Well Cared For. The

Proprietor Of This Place Attended Them.

While Mrs. Neville And Corona Still Walked Up And Down In The Room,  A

Small Dark-Haired Woman Came In And Nodded To Them,  And Asked If They

Would Like To Go Upstairs And Have Some Water To Wash Their Faces.

Both Ladies Thankfully Accepted This Offer,  And Followed The Landlady Up

A Rude Flight Of Steps That Led Up From The Corner Of The Room To An

Open Trap Door,  Through Which They Entered The Garret.

This Was Nothing Better Than A Loft,  Whose Rough Plank Floor Formed The

Ceiling Of The Room Below,  And Whose Sloping Roof Rose From The Floor

Front And Back,  And Met Overhead.

Here They Rested Through The Night.

Let Us Hasten On. It Was The Thirteenth Day Out. The Trail Had Crossed

Nearly The Whole Of The Indian Territory,  And Were Within One Day's

March Of Fort Farthermost,  On The Texan Frontier.

They Had Passed The Previous Night At Fort W.,  And At Sunrise They Had

Crossed The Rio Negro,  And Before Noon They Had Made Nearly A Score Of

Miles Toward Their Destination. They Halted Beside A Little Stream That

Took Its Rise In A Spring Among The Rocks On The Right Hand Of The

Trail. Here The Party Meant To Rest For Two Hours Before Resuming The

March To Fort Farthermost,  Which They Hoped To Reach That Same Night.

As Usual At The Noon Rest,  Mules And Horses Were Unharnessed And Led

Down To The Stream To Be Watered And Fed. Fires Were Built And Rustic

Cranes Improvised To Hang The Pots And Kettles Gypsy Style. Since The

First Day Out Old Martha Had Been Constituted Cook And Old John Butler

To Our Party.

In A Short Time Martha Had Prepared Such A Hot Dinner As Was Practicable

Under The Circumstances,  And John Had Laid The Cloth.

When All Was Ready The Party Of Four Sat Down On The Dry Grass To

Partake Of The Meal,  To Every Course Of Which They All Did Ample

Justice.

"This Is Our Last _Al Fresco_ Feast," Said Captain Neville,  After

Dinner,  As He Filled The Glasses Of The Two Ladies And Of Clarence

Rockharrt And Proposed The Toast:

"Our Lasting Friendship And Companionship."

It Was Honored Warmly.

Next Clarence Proposed:

"Mrs. Neville," Which Was Also Honored And Responded To By The Captain

In A Neat Little Speech,  At The End Of Which He Proposed:

"Mrs. Rothsay."

This Was Duly Met By Clarence With A Brief Acknowledgment. Mr. Clarence

Was No Speechmaker. But He Proposed The Health Of--

"Our Gallant Captain," Which Was Drank With Enthusiasm.

The Captain Responded,  And Proposed--

"Mr. Clarence Rockharrt," Which Was Cordially Honored.

Then Mr. Clarence Made His Last Little Speech Of Personal Thanks.

After This The Company Arose And