Letters on an Elk Hunt Part 4

Promptly at noon Mrs. O'Shaughnessy and Elizabeth came with the lining for the room. We worked like beavers, and had the room sweet and ready by mid-afternoon, when the man came from Pinedale with the new furniture. In just a little while we had the room in perfect order: the bed nicely made with soft, new blankets for sheets; the pretty star quilt on, and the nice, clean pillows protected by the shams.

They could buy no rugs, but a weaver of rag carpets in Pinedale had some pieces of carpet which Daniel sent back to us. They were really better and greatly more in keeping. We were very proud of the pretty white and red room when we were through. Only the kitchen was left, but we decided we could clean that early next day; so we sat down to sew and to plan the next day's dinner. We could hear Mr. Stewart out in the barn hammering and sawing on the "chist."

While we were debating whether to have fried chicken or trout for dinner, two little girls, both on one horse, rode up. They entered shyly, and after carefully explaining to us that they had heard that a wagon-load of women were buying everything they could see, had run Mr.

Holt off, and were living in his house, they told us they had come to sell us some blueing. When they got two dollars' worth sold, the blueing company would send them a big doll; so, please, would we buy a lot?

We didn't think we could use any blueing, but we hated to disappoint the little things. We talked along, and presently they told us of their mother's flowers. Daniel had told us his mother _always_ had a red flower in her kitchen window. When the little girls a.s.sured us their mother had a red geranium in bloom, Mrs. O'Shaughnessy set out to get it; and about dark she returned with a beautiful plant just beginning to bloom. We were all as happy as children; we had all worked very hard, too. Mr. Stewart said we deserved no sympathy because we cleaned a perfectly clean house; but, anyway, we felt much better for having gone over it.

The "chist" was finished early next morning. It would have looked better, perhaps, if it had had a little paint, but as we had no paint and were short of time, we persuaded ourselves it looked beautiful with only its clean, pretty curtain. We didn't make many changes in the kitchen. All we did was to take down the mirror and turn it lengthways above the mantel-shelf over the fireplace. We put the new rocker in the bright, sunny corner, where it would be easier for dim old eyes to see to read or sew. We set the geranium on the broad clean sill of the window, and I think you would have agreed with us that it was a cozy, cheerful home to come to after fifteen years of lonely homelessness. We couldn't get the dinner question settled, so we "dished in dirty-face"; each cooked what she thought best. Like Samantha Ann Allen, we had "everything good and plenty of it."

Elizabeth took a real interest and worked well. She is the _dearest_ girl and would be a precious daughter to some mother. She has not yet told us anything about herself. All we know is, she taught school somewhere in the East. She was a little surprised at the way we took possession of a stranger's home, but she enjoyed it as much as we. "It is so nice to be doing something for some one again, something real homey and family-like," she remarked as she laid the table for dinner.

We had dinner almost ready when we heard the wheels crossing the mossy log bridge. We raced to let down the bars. Beside Daniel sat a dear dumpy little woman, her head very much bundled up with a lot of old black veils. Daniel drove through the corral, into the yard, and right up to the door. He helped her out _so_ gently. She kept admonis.h.i.+ng him, "Careful, Danyul, careful." He handed out her crutch and helped her into the kitchen, where she sank, panting, into the rocker. "It is my leg," she explained; "it has been that way ever since Danyul was a baby." Then she pleaded, "Careful, careful," to Elizabeth, who was tenderly unwrapping her. "I wouldn't have anything happen to this brown alapacky for anything; it is my very best, and I've had it ever since before I went to the pore farm; but I wanted to look nice for Danyul, comin' to his home for the first time an' all."

We had the happiest dinner party I ever remember. It would be powerfully hard for me to say which was happier, "Danyul" or his mother. They just beamed upon each other. She was proud of her boy and his pleasant home. "Danyul says he's got a little red heifer for me and he's got ten cows of his own. Now ain't that fine? It is a pity we can't have a few apple trees,--a little orchard. We'd live like kings, we would that." We explained to her how we got our fruit by parcel post, and Danyul said he would order his winter supply of apples at once.

As soon as dinner was over, Danyul had to mend a fence so as to keep his cattle in their own pasture. Mr. Stewart went to help and we women were left alone. We improved the time well. Mrs. Holt would not lie down and rest, as we tried to persuade her to, but hobbled about, admiring everything. She was delighted with the big, clean cellar and its orderly bins, in which Danyul was beginning to store his vegetables. She was as pleased as a child with her room, and almost wept when we told her which were "welcoming presents" from us. She was particularly delighted with her red flower, and Mrs. O'Shaughnessy will be happy for days remembering it was she who gave it. I shall be happy longer than that remembering how tickled she was with her bonnets.

She wanted to wipe the dishes, so she and I did up the dishes while Mrs. O'Shaughnessy and Elizabeth put some finis.h.i.+ng st.i.tches in on their ap.r.o.ns. She sat on the highest seat we could find, and as she deftly handled the dishes she told us this:--

"I should think you would wonder why Danyul ain't got me out of the porehouse before now. I've been there more 'n ten years, but Danyul didn't know it till a month ago. Charlotte Nash wrote him. Neither Danyul nor me are any master-hand at writin', and then I didn't want him to know anyhow. When Danyul got into trouble, I signed over the little farm his pa left us, to pay the lawyer person to defend him.

Danyul had enough trouble, so he went to the penitentiary without finding out I was homeless. I should think you would be put out to know Danyul has been to the pen, but he has. He always said to me that he never done what he was accused of, so I am not going to tell you what it was. Danyul was always a good boy, honest and good to me and a hard worker. I ain't got no call to doubt him when he says he's innocent.

"Well, I fought his case the best I could, but he got ten years. Then the lawyer person claimed the home an' all, so I went out to work, but bein' crippled I found it hard. When Danyul had been gone four years I had saved enough to buy my brown alapacky and go to see him. He looked pale and sad,--afraid even to speak to his own mother. I went back to work as broke up as Danyul, and that winter I come down with such a long spell of sickness that they sent me to the pore farm. I always wrote to Danyul on his birthday and I couldn't bear to let him know where I was.

"Soon's his time was out, he come here; he couldn't bear the scorn that he'd get at home, so he come out to this big, free West, and took the chance it offers. Once he wrote and asked me if I would like to live West. He said if I did, after he got a start I must sell out and come to him. Bless his heart, all that time I was going to my meals just when I was told to and eatin' just what I was helped to, going to bed and getting up at some one else's word! Oh, it was bitter, but I didn't want Danyul to taste it; so, when I didn't come, he thought I didn't want to give up the old home, and didn't say no more about it.

Charlotte was on the pore farm too, until her cousin died and she got left a home and enough to live on. Sometimes she would come out to the farm and take me back with her for a little visit. She was good that way. I never would tell her about Danyul; but this summer I was helpin' her dry apples and somehow she jist coaxed the secret out. She wrote to Danyul, and he wrote to me, and here I am. Danyul and me are so happy that we are goin' to send a ticket back to the farm for Maggie Harper. She ain't got no home and will be glad to help me and get a rale home."

Mrs. O'Shaughnessy and Elizabeth debated what more was needed to make the kitchen a bit more homey. Mrs. O'Shaughnessy said a red cus.h.i.+on for the rocker, and Elizabeth said a white cat to lie on the hearth.

Mrs. Holt said, "Yes, I _do_ need 'em both,--only it must be an old stray tabby cat. This house is going to be the shelter of the homeless."

Well, I can't tell you any more about the Holts because we left next morning. Danyul came across the bridge to bid us good-bye. He said he could never thank us enough, but it is we who should be and are thankful. We got a little glow of happiness from their great blaze. We are all so glad to know that everything is secure and bright for the Holts in the future.

That stop is the cause of my missing two letters to you, but this letter is as long as half a dozen letters should be. You know I never could get along with few words. I'll try to do better next time. But I can't imagine how I shall get the letters mailed. We are miles and miles and miles away in the mountains; it is two days' ride to a post-office, so maybe I will not get letters to you as often as I planned.

Sincerely yours, ELINORE RUPERT STEWART.

VI

ELIZABETH'S ROMANCE

CAMP CLOUDCREST, September 12, 1914.

DEAR MRS. CONEY,--

I find I can't write to you as often as I at first intended; but I've a chance to-day, so I will not let it pa.s.s unused. We are in the last camp, right on the hunting ground, in the "midst of the fray." We have said good-bye to dear Elizabeth, and I must tell you about her because she really comes first.

To begin with, the morning we left the Holts, Elizabeth suggested that we three women ride in the buckboard, so I seated myself on a roll of bedding in the back part. At first none of us talked; we just absorbed the wonderful green-gold beauty of the morning. The sky was clear blue, with a few fleecy clouds drifting lazily past. The mountains on one side were crested; great crags and piles of rock crowned them as far as we could see; timber grew only about halfway up. The trunks of the quaking aspens shone silvery in the early sunlight, and their leaves were s.h.i.+mmering gold. And the stately pines kept whispering and murmuring; it almost seemed as if they were chiding the quaking aspens for being frivolous. On the other side of the road lay the river, bordered by willows and gra.s.sy flats. There were many small lakes, and the ducks and geese were noisily enjoying themselves among the rushes and water-gra.s.ses. Beyond the river rose the forest-covered mountains, hill upon hill.

Elizabeth dressed with especial care that morning, and very pretty she looked in her neat shepherd's plaid suit and natty little white canvas hat. Very soon she said, "I hope neither of you will misunderstand me when I tell you that if my hopes are realized I will not ride with you much longer. I never saw such a country as the West,--it is so big and so beautiful,--and I never saw such people. You are just like your country; you have fed me, cared for me, and befriended me, a stranger, and never asked me a word."

Mrs. O'Shaughnessy said, "Tut, tut, 'tis nothing at all we've done.

'Tis a comfort you've been, hasn't she, Mrs. Stewart?"

I could heartily agree; and Elizabeth went on, "The way I have been received and the way we all treated Mrs. Holt will be the greatest help to me in becoming what I hope to become, a real Westerner. I might have lived a long time in the West and not have understood many things if I had not fallen into your hands. Years ago, before I was through school, I was to have been married; but I lost my mother just then and was left the care of my paralytic father. If I had married then, I should have had to take father from his familiar surroundings, because Wallace came West in the forestry service. I felt that it wouldn't be right. Poor father couldn't speak, but his eyes told me how grateful he was to stay. We had our little home and father had his pension, and I was able to get a small school near us. I could take care of father and teach also. We were very comfortably situated, and in time became really happy. Although I seldom heard from Wallace, his letters were well worth waiting for, and I knew he was doing well.

"Eighteen months ago father died,--gently went to sleep. I waited six months and then wrote to Wallace, but received no reply. I have written him three times and have had no word. I could bear it no longer and have come to see what has become of him. If he is dead, may I stay on with one of you and perhaps get a school? I want to live here always."

"But, darlint," said Mrs. O'Shaughnessy, "supposin' it's married your man is?"

"Wallace may have changed his mind about me, but he would not marry without telling me. If he is alive he is honorable."

Then I asked, "Why didn't you ask about him at Pinedale or any of these places we have pa.s.sed? If he is stationed in the Bridges reserve they would be sure to know of him at any of these little places."

"I just didn't have the courage to. I should never have told you what I have, only I think I owe it to you, and it was easier because of the Holts. I am so glad we met them."

So we drove along, talking together; we each a.s.sured the girl of our entire willingness to have her as a member of the family. After a while I got on to the wagon with Mr. Stewart and told him Elizabeth's story so that he could inquire about the man. Soon we came to the crossing on Green River. Just beyond the ford we could see the game-warden's cabin, with the stars and stripes fluttering gayly in the fresh morning breeze. We drove into the roaring, das.h.i.+ng water, and we held our breath until we emerged on the other side.

Mr. Sorenson is a very capable and conscientious game-warden and a very genial gentleman. He rode down to meet us, to inspect our license and to tell us about our privileges and our duties as good woodsmen. He also issues licenses in case hunters have neglected to secure them before coming. Mrs. O'Shaughnessy had refused to get a license when we did. She said she was not going to hunt; she told us we could give her a small piece of "ilk" and that would do; so we were rather surprised when she purchased two licenses, one a special, which would ent.i.tle her to a bull elk. As we were starting Mr. Stewart asked the game-warden, "Can you tell me if Wallace White is still stationed here?" "Oh, yes," Mr. Sorenson said, "Wallace's place is only a few miles up the river and can be plainly seen from the road."

We drove on. Happiness had taken a new clutch upon my heart. I looked back, expecting to see Elizabeth all smiles, but if you will believe me the foolish girl was sobbing as if her heart was broken. Mrs.

O'Shaughnessy drew her head down upon her shoulder and was trying to quiet her. The road along there was _very_ rough. Staying on the wagon occupied all my attention for a while. Several miles were pa.s.sed when we came in sight of a beautiful cabin, half hidden in a grove of pines beyond the river. Mr. Stewart said we might as well "noon" as soon as we came to a good place, and then he would ride across and see Mr. White.

Just as we rounded the hill a horseman came toward us. A splendid fellow he was, manly strength and grace showing in every line. The road was narrow against the hillside and he had to ride quite close, so I saw his handsome face plainly. As soon as he saw Elizabeth he sprang from his saddle and said, "'Liz'beth, 'Liz'beth, what you doin'

here?"

She held her hands to him and said, "Oh, just riding with friends."

Then to Mrs. O'Shaughnessy she said, "_This_ is my Wallace."

Mr. Stewart is the queerest man: instead of letting me enjoy the tableau, he solemnly drove on, saying he would not want any one gawking at him if he were the happy man. Anyway, he couldn't urge Chub fast enough to prevent my seeing and hearing what I've told you.

Besides that, I saw that Elizabeth's hat was on awry, her hair in disorder, and her eyes red. It was disappointing after she had been so careful to look nicely.

Mrs. O'Shaughnessy came trotting along and we stopped for dinner. We had just got the coffee boiling when the lovers came up, Elizabeth in the saddle, "learning to ride," and he walking beside her holding her hand. How happy they were! The rest of us were mighty near as foolish as they. They were going to start immediately after dinner, on horseback, for the county seat, to be married. After we had eaten, Elizabeth selected a few things from her trunk, and Mr. Stewart and Mr. White drove the buckboard across the river to leave the trunk in its new home. While they were gone we helped Elizabeth to dress. All the while Mrs. O'Shaughnessy was admonis.h.i.+ng her to name her first "girul" Mary Ellen; "or," she said, "if yer first girul happens to be a b'y, it's Sheridan ye'll be callin' him, which was me name before I was married to me man, G.o.d rest his soul."

Dear Elizabeth, she was glad to get away, I suspect! She and her Wallace made a fine couple as they rode away in the golden September afternoon. I believe she is _one_ happy bride that the sun shone on, if the omen has failed _everywhere_ else.

Well, we felt powerfully reduced in numbers, but about three o'clock that afternoon we came upon Mr. Struble and Mr. Haynes waiting beside the road for us. They had come to pilot us into camp, for there would be no road soon.

Such a way as we came over! Such jolting and sliding! I begged to get off and walk; but as the whole way was carpeted by strawberry vines and there were late berries to tempt me to loiter, I had to stay on the wagon. I had no idea a wagon could be got across such places.

Mr. Struble drove for Mrs. O'Shaughnessy, and I could hear her imploring all the saints to preserve us from instant death. I kept shutting my eyes, trying not to see the terrifying places, and opening them again to see the beauty spread everywhere, until Mr. Stewart said, "It must make you nervous to ride over mountain roads. Don't bat your eyes so fast and you'll see more." So then I stiffened my back and kept my eyes open, and I _did_ see more.

It had been decided to go as far as we could with the wagons and then set camp; from there the hunters would ride horseback as far up as they could and then climb. It was almost sundown when we reached camp.

All the hunters were in, and such a yowling as they set up! "Look who's here! See who's come!" they yelled. They went to work setting up tents and unloading wagons with a hearty good-will.

We are camped just on the edge of the pines. Back of us rises a big pine-clad mountain; our tents are set under some big trees, on a small plateau, and right below us is a valley in which gra.s.s grows knee high and little streams come from every way. Trout scurry up stream whenever we go near. We call the valley Paradise Valley because it is the horses' paradise. And as in the early morning we can often see clouds rolling along the valley, we call our camp Cloudcrest. We have a beautiful place: it is well sheltered; there is plenty of wood, water, and feed; and, looking eastward down the valley, snow-covered, crag-topped mountains delight the eye.