A Fortune Hunter; Or, The Old Stone Corral: A Tale of the Santa Fe Trail. John Dunloe Carteret
burden from my heart; we will select a home near here early Monday morning, and begin building at once. I shall leave the selection with you, Mary, however."
"Oh, we are too late," she replied, with a cheerful smile. "Robbie has found the spot already; he has just returned from down the valley, where Scott Moreland and himself had driven the stock, and they report having found a perfect paradise. They are both boiling over with enthusiasm, and are bareheaded, having left their hats hanging on trees to mark the location of their respective 'claims,' and when I left the camp-fire they were inveighing against the injustice of a law that would not permit fifteen-year-old boys to take a 'homestead.'"
In a more cheerful mood the couple now sought the camp-fire, which was surrounded by more than a dozen persons of both sexes, all animated and happy over the termination of their long and toilsome journey.
The two who have just entered the circle are Colonel Warlow and his wife, while the handsome youth of fifteen, with hazel eyes and auburn hair, which has a faint tinge of red, that accounts for the reputation he has earned within the Warlow circle, is Robbie, their youngest; while that golden-haired young Adonis, who, in a fit of grave abstraction, sits leaning against a tree, his white and tapering hands clasped about his knee, the firelight glimmering over a small and well-shaped boot resting on the round of his chair, is their oldest son, Clifford, whom we have met before; while Maud, their only daughter, is easily recognized as she flits about, busy and graceful.
Next we see the family of Squire Moreland, from the valley of the Merrimac—the squire himself being a representative Puritan, plain and grave; his wife, a type of the live and thorough-going New England woman, deeply imbued with the "thingness of is," able to discuss apples or algebra, beans or baptism, or in fact any subject down to zymology. Then Ralph, principally to be recommended for being "general good fellow." Next in their family is Scott, quiet and grave, addressed by Rob Warlow as the "Young Squire;" and their only daughter, Grace, in whose make-up there is more than a faint spice of the tomboy.
Colonel Warlow's family had left their old Missouri home, the tobacco and hemp plantation on which the children had all been born, and, having met the Morelands on their rout, bound for that indefinite region "out West," they had journeyed on together to this spot, attracted by Colonel Warlow's remembrance of its great beauty and natural fertility, which had deeply impressed him when he was here a quarter of a century before.
Learning, at Council Grove, that the valley was open to homestead entry, they had hastened on, miles ahead of other settlements, to locate here on a spot that was beyond the utmost limit of civilization.
Soon the hungry travelers were seated at the cloth that was spread on the downy buffalo-grass, and were partaking of the broiled quail and antelope steak, the appetizing odors of which now pervaded the whole camp; but as the company ranged themselves about the tempting repast, Maud and Grace retired to a seat by the fire, declaring as they did so, that they would not sacrifice their precious lives by sitting at a table with thirteen other sinners.
"Give us a song, then," cried some one from the table, at which Grace sprang up and brought Maud's guitar from the carriage, and soon the sweet strains,
"Oft in the stilly night,
Ere slumber's chains have bound me,
Fond memory brings the light
Of other days around me,"
re-echoed through the tranquil valley. As Maud's tender soprano mingled with the luscious alto of Grace's voice the listeners almost forgot the tempting feast spread before them, and cries of "Bravo!" "Encore!" etc., greeted the close of the pathetic song, which was wholly lost, as to its sentiment, upon the younger members of the company.
"Pass the hat," cried Bob, whereupon Grace handed her sunshade around among the laughing group, but after inspecting the collection, she said with an air of contempt:—
"A wish-bone and five bread-crusts! Why, a prima donna would starve on such a meagre salary. I've a notion to play Herodias's daughter and dance off your heads;" and when Maud struck up a lively fandango, she shook her curls in a threatening manner, and then whirled off into an amazing waltz.
Jeers and hoots from the boys resounded at her last pas seul, and Clifford's voice was heard in the gay tumult saying: "Mademoiselle dis Grace must have learned her step at an Irish wake."
"Let us no longer serve an ungrateful public," said Maud, as they sat down to the table, where their gayety chased away all traces of care or sorrow. When the meal was finished, Maud and Grace begged Colonel Warlow to relate his early history. Their request was eagerly seconded by the other members of the company, who were anxious to learn the particulars of that tragedy, hinted at by the inscription on the mound, and how he came to be connected with the actors in that terrible drama, and to lose a great fortune on that spot so long ago. Then the colonel, after sitting for a few moments wrapped in serious thought, replied that it was a long story, and would require more than one evening to relate all the particulars of that great tragedy, that would always be fresh in his memory as long as life endured.
The company reminded him that it would be rather lonesome on their first Sabbath, and entreated him so eagerly that at length he consented; then, as the firelight leaped and sparkled, and the beams of the rising moon silvered the waters of the stream, moaning and fretting over the stony ford, they all gathered about the colonel, still and expectant. The quavering scream of a lone wolf died out on the hills in a plaintive wail; then only the faint whisper of the wind sighing though the willow was heard, and the colonel said:—
Chapter II.
COLONEL WARLOW'S STORY.
"When a boy of twenty I joined the army that soon invaded Mexico, and carried victory with its banners into the Aztec capital—the world-renowned halls of the Montezumas.
"It was before Vera Cruz—when our ranks were swept by the iron hail, rained upon our storming columns by scores of cannon from San Juan de Ulloa—that I first saw Bruce Walraven, whom I was thenceforth to regard as a brother.
"An exploding shell had killed my horse, which had fallen upon me in such a way that made it impossible for me to rise without assistance; and while I was yet vainly struggling to extricate myself from the dangerous position, a squadron of cavalry rushed by, charging a company of Mexican infantry intrenched behind a light breastwork of sand-bags. I held up my hand with an imploring gesture—a human voice was lost in the wild thunder and roar of artillery—and the leader of the cavalry saw my sad plight. He wavered a moment as though struggling with discipline; but the sight of a fellow-soldier in distress seemed to outweigh all else, even the pride of leading his men, for he dashed to my side and helped me to rise; then, as a riderless horse galloped by, he caught its dangling rein, and by his help, in a moment more I was again in the saddle.
"By rapid riding we soon overtook the command, and were greeted by a ringing cheer from the soldiers, who quickly showed their appreciation of his humanity. Later in the war I would not have been so fortunate; but we were new, as yet, to scenes of bloodshed and carnage, which accounted for the laxity of discipline, but evidence of humanity, shown in this incident.
"After the successful storming of the enemy's slight earthworks, which, with their usual lack of military science, had been but half manned and illy constructed, I had a long talk with young Lieutenant Walraven, and in a short time I had managed to be exchanged into his company; and we soon became inseparable companions, sharing the same blanket at night and rude fare during the day, or riding side by side through the battles of that glorious campaign, and finally reaching the valley of Mexico safely.
"Here, while engaged in a slight skirmish with the enemy, Walraven was wounded in the arm, and was immediately conveyed to the old hacienda of Monteluma,