Over the Rocky Mountains: Wandering Will in the Land of the Redskin by Ballantyne (classic books for 10 year olds TXT) 📕

matter of his ablutions to a bread can—and Larry O’Hale with his faithful Indian friend Bunco.

“To think,” said Maryann, with a quiet laugh, as she handed a cup of tea to Bunco—“to think that I should ever come for to sit at tea with a live red Indian from Ameriky—not that he’s red either, for I’m sure that hany one with eyes in their ’ead could see that he’s only brown.”

“Ah, my dear, that’s ’cause he’s changed colour,” said Larry, pushing in his cup for more tea. “He wasn’t always like that. Sure, when I first know’d Bunco he was scarlet—pure scarlet, only he took a fancy one day, when he was in a wild mood, to run his canoe over the falls of Niagara for a wager, an’, faix, when he came up out o’ the wather after it he was turned brown, an’s bin that same ever since.”

“Gammon,” exclaimed Maryann.

“Sure ye don’t misdoubt me word, Maryann,” said Larry reproachfully; “isn’t it true, Bunco?”

“Yoos a norribable liar, Larry,” answered Bunco with a broad grin.

Richards the coachman, who had been for some minutes too busy with the buttered toast and bacon to do more than listen and chuckle, here burst into a loud guffaw and choked himself partially. Jemima and Maryann also laughed, whereupon the baby, not to be outdone, broke suddenly into a tremendous crow, and waved its fat arms so furiously that it overturned a tea-cup and sent the contents into Bunco’s lap. This created a momentary confusion, and when calm was restored, Mrs Richards asked Maryann “if hanythink noo ’ad turned up in regard to the estate?” which she seemed to know so much about, but in regard to which she was, apparently, so unwilling to be communicative.

“Not so, Jemimar,” said Maryann, with a look of offended dignity, “unwillin’ to speak I am not, though unable I may be—at least I was so until yesterday, but I have come to know a little more about it since Master Will came ’ome while I chanced to be near—”

Maryann hesitated a moment, and Richards, through a mouthful of toast, muttered “the keyhole.”

“Did you speak, sir?” said Maryann, bridling.

“No, oh! no, not by no means,” replied Richards, “only the crust o’ this ’ere toast is rayther ’ard, and I’m apt to growl w’en that’s so.”

“If the crust is ’ard, Mr Richards, your teeth is ’arder, so you ought to scrunch ’em without growling.”

“Brayvo, my dear,” exclaimed Larry, coming to the rescue; “you’re more nor match for him, so be marciful, like a good sowl, an’ let’s hear about this estate, for it seems to me, from what I’ve heard, it must be somewhere in the neighbourhood of Bunco’s native place.”

Maryann, darting a look of mingled defiance and triumph at Richards, who became more than ever devoted to the toast and bacon, proceeded—

“Well, as I was a-sayin’, I ’eard Mrs Osten say to Master Will that his uncle Edward—as was a scape somethin’ or other—had died an’ left a small estate behind the Rocky Mountains in Ameriky or Afriky, I aint sure which.”

“Ameriky, my dear,” observed Larry.

“An’ she said as ’ow they ’ad discovered gold on it, which could be picked up in ’andfuls, an’ it was somewhere near a place called Kally somethin’—”

“Calliforny?” cried Larry.

“Yes, that was it.”

“I towld ye that, Bunco!” exclaimed the Irishman, becoming excited; “go on, dear.”

“Well, it seems there’s some difficulties in the matter, wich I’m sure don’t surprise me, for I never ’eard of things as ’ad to do with estates and law as didn’t create difficulties, and I’m thankful as I’ve got nothin’ to do with none of such things. Well, the end of it all is that, w’en master was dyin’, he made missis swear as she’d urge Master Will to go to see after things hisself, an’ missis, poor dear, she would rather let the estate and all the gold go, if she could only keep the dear boy at ’ome, but she’s faithful to her promise, an’ advises him to go—the sooner the better—because that would let him come back to her all the quicker. Master Will, he vowed at first that he would never more leave her, and I b’lieve he was in earnest, but when she spoke of his father’s wish, he gave in an’ said he would go, if she thought it his dooty so for to do.”

“Hooray!” shouted Larry, jumping up at this point, and performing a species of war-dance for a few moments, and then sitting down and demanding another supply of tea. “Didn’t I tell ye, Bunco, that the order would soon be up anchor an’ away again! It’s Wanderin’ Will he’s been named, an’ Wanderin’ Will he’ll remain, that’s as plain as the nose on me face.”

“No doubt the nose on your face is very plain—the plainest I ever did see,” said Maryann sharply,—“but you’re quite wrong about Master Will, for he’s very anxious to get married, I can tell you, an’ wants to settle down at ’ome, like a sensible man, though it does grieve my ’eart to think of the creetur as has took him in in furrin parts.”

“Get married!” exclaimed Larry, Jemima, and Richards in the same breath.

“Yes, get married,” replied Maryann, very full of the importance of her keyhole discoveries, and not willing to make them known too readily.

“How did you come to know that, Maryhann?” asked Jemima; “are you sure of it?”

“How I came for to know it,” replied the other, “is nobody’s business (she paused a moment and looked sternly at Richards, but that sensible man continued to gaze steadfastly at his plate and to ‘scrunch’ crusts with grave abstraction), and, as to its bein’ true, all I can say is I had it from his own lips. Master Will has no objection to my knowing what he tells his mother—as no more he shouldn’t, for Jemimar, you can bear me witness that I’ve been a second mother to him, an’ used to love him as if he were my own—though he was a aggrawatin’ hinfant, an’ used to bump his ’ead, an’ skin his knees, an’ tear his clothes, an’ wet his feet, in a way that often distracted me, though I did my very best to prevent it; but nothink’s of any use tryin’ of w’en you can’t do it; as my ’usband, as was in the mutton-pie line, said to the doctor the night afore he died—my ’eart used to be quite broke about him, so it did; but that’s all past an’ gone—well, as I was a-sayin’, Master Will he told his mother as ’ow there was a young lady (so he called her) as ’ad won his ’art, an’ she was a cannibal as lived on a coal island in the Paphysic Ocean. Then he told her some stories about the coal island as made my blood run cold, and said his Flora behaved like a heroine in the midst of it all.”

At this point Larry and Bunco exchanged meaning glances, and the former gave vent to a soft whistle, which he accompanied with a wink.

“I’m sure,” continued Maryann, “it’s past my comprehension; for instead of being dreadfully shocked, as I had expected, Mrs Osten threw her arms round Master Will’s neck and blessed him and the cannibal, too, and said she hoped to be spared to see ’em united, though she wouldn’t like them to remain on the coal island in the Paphysic. I do assure you, Jemimar,” continued Maryann, putting the corner of her apron to her eyes, “it quite gave me a turn, and I was nearly took bad w’en I ’eard it. Master Will, he made his mother promise to keep it to herself, as, he said, not a soul in the world knew of it but him and her—”

Mr Richards coughed at this point, and appeared to be engaged in a severe conflict with an untractable crust, which caused Maryann to stop suddenly and look at him. But Larry again came to the rescue by saying—

“Why, Maryann, my dear, ye’ve bin an’ mistook a good deal of what you’ve heard, intirely. This Flora Westwood is no cannibal, but wan o’ the purtiest bit craturs I iver had the good luck to set eyes on; as white as a lily, wid cheeks like the rose, not to spake of a smile an’ a timper of an angel. She’s a parson’s daughter, too, an’ lives on a coral island in the Pacific Ocean, where the people is cannibals, no doubt, as I’ve good raison to know, for they ait up a lot o’ me shipmates, and it was by good luck they didn’t ait up myself and Master Will too—though I do belaive they’d have found me so tough that I’d have blunted their teeth an’ soured on their stummicks, bad luck to them. But it’s surprised that I am to hear about this. Ah, then, Master Will, but ye’re a sly dog—more cunnin’ than I took ye for. Ye threw dust in the eyes of Larry O’Hale, anyhow.”

Poor Maryann appeared much relieved by this explanation, although she felt it to be consistent with her dignity that she should throw considerable doubt on Larry’s statement, cross-question him pretty severely, and allow herself to be convinced only after the accumulation of an amount of evidence that could not be resisted.

“Well, now, that accounts for the way in which his mother received the news,” said Maryann.

“It is a strange story,” remarked Jemima.

“Uncommon,” observed Richards.

Bunco said nothing, but he grinned from ear to ear.

At that moment, as if it were aware of the climax at which the party had arrived, the baby, without a single note of warning, set up a hideous howl, in the midst of which the bell rang, and Maryann rose to answer it.

“Master Will wants to speak to you, Mr Hale, and to Mr Bunco, too,” she said on returning.

“Come along, Mister Bunco,” said Larry, “that’ll be the order to trip our anchors.”

“My friends,” said Will Osten, when the two were seated on the corners of their respective chairs in the drawing-room, “I sent for you to say that circumstances have occurred which render it necessary that I should visit California. Do you feel inclined to join me in this trip, or do you prefer to remain in England?”

“I’m yer man,” said Larry.

“So’s me,” added Bunco.

“I thought so,” said Will, smiling; “we have been comrades together too long to part yet. But I must start without delay, and mean to go by the plains and across the Rocky Mountains. Are you ready to set off on short notice?”

“In half an hour av ye plaze, sur,” said Larry.

Bunco grinned and nodded his head.

“The end of the week will do,” said Will, laughing; “so be off and make your preparations for a long and rough trip.”

In pursuance of this plan, Will Osten and his two staunch followers, soon after the date of the above conversation, crossed the Atlantic, traversed the great Lakes of Canada to the centre of North America, purchased, at the town of Saint Pauls, horses, guns, provisions, powder, shot, etcetera, for a long journey, and found themselves, one beautiful summer evening, galloping gaily over those wide prairies that roll beyond the last of the backwood settlements, away into the wild recesses of the Western Wilderness.