XVCHOLERA RAGES
“Cholera is epidemic everywhere along the road,” wrote Jean in her diary on the 8th of June. “Our company is not yet attacked, but our dear mother is seriously alarmed. She counts all the graves we pass during the day, and sums them up at night for us to think about. Some days there is a formidable aggregate.”
The fame of Mrs. McAlpin’s skill as a physician and surgeon, and of Captain Ranger’s marvellous medicine-chest, grew rapidly in the front and rear of the Ranger train as the epidemic spread.
“It is lamentable to note the lack of forethought in many people,” Captain Ranger would say, as he dealt outhis supplies of “Number Six,” podophyllin and capsicum, which grew alarmingly scant as the demand increased, and his patience was sorely tried. But he never refused aid to any who applied for it; and the “woman doctor,” who because of her proficiency was considered little else than a witch, was scarcely given time to eat or sleep.
“How do you keep your company from catching the cholera?” asked the anxious father of a numerous family, most of whom had fallen victims to the scourge.
“Common-sense should teach us to allow no uncooked or stale food to be eaten, and no surface or unboiled water to be drunk. Let all companies be broken into small trains, and keep as far apart from each other as possible. Rest a while in the heat of every noonday. Don’t be afraid of the Indians, or of anything or anybody else. The greatest enemy of mankind is fear.”
But in spite of both his precept and his example, the cholera continued its ravages; and Captain Ranger, to avoid contact with the epidemic, and, if possible, relieve Mrs. Ranger’s mind of apprehension, changed his course from the main travelled road, and turned off to the north by west, leaving the multitude to their fate.
“The other trains can follow if they choose, and we can’t help it,” he said to his wife; “but I must get my family away from the crowd, as the best way to save us all from the nasty epidemic.”
“Isn’t there danger of getting lost, John, or of getting captured by the Indians?” asked Mrs. Ranger, as the teams were headed for the Black Hills,—a long, undulating line, which looked in the shimmering distance like low banks of dense fog.
“My compass will point the way, Annie. The Indians will give us no trouble if we treat them kindly. They’re a plaguy sight more afraid of us than we have any reason to be of them.”
Mrs. Ranger, blessed with full confidence in her husband’sability to accomplish whatsoever he undertook, leaned back on her pillows and guarded the children from danger, as was her wont.
On June 15, Jean made another entry in her much-neglected journal, as follows:—
“We have travelled all day between and over and around, and then back again, among low ranges of the Black Hills. The scenery is grand beyond description, and the road we are making as we go along, for others to follow if they are wise, is good. Lilliputian forests of prickly pears spread in all directions, and are very troublesome. Their thorns, barbed, and sharp as needle-points, are in a degree poisonous. We laugh together over our frequent encounters with the little pests, though our poor wounded feet refuse to be comforted. But we are missing the long lines of moving wagons, before and behind us, swaying and jolting over the dusty roads we’ve left to the southward, and we are glad to be alone, or as nearly so as our big company will permit. The streams we cross at intervals are clear, and the water is sweet and cold.
“Mother seems in better health and spirits since we have removed her from the constant sight of so much suffering and death.
“Dear, patient, faithful, loving mother! Will her true history, and that of the thousands like her, who are heroically enduring the dangers and hardships of this long, long journey, be ever given to the world, I wonder?”
Near nightfall, on their second day’s journey away from the main thoroughfare, they encountered a long freight-train, in charge of fur-traders, the second thus met since their travels began. Every wagon was heavily loaded with buffalo robes which had been prepared for market by the tedious, patient labor of Indian women. As the wives and slaves of English, French, Spanish, and Canadian hunters and traders, these women followed thefates of their grumbling and often cruel lords and masters through the vicissitudes of a precarious existence, with which nevertheless they seemed strangely content.
The leader or captain of the freighters’ outfit was a tall, bronzed, and handsome Scotchman, whose nationality was betrayed at a glance. Captain Ranger bargained with him for a big, handsomely dressed buffalo robe, paying therefor in dried apples and potatoes.
“Our men are getting scurvy from the lack of fruit and vegetables,” the leader said, as the exchange was concluded. “When they are in camp the squaws keep them supplied with berries, camas, and wapatoes. But they can’t bring the women out on a trip like this, away from the scenes of their labors.”
“Here’s a present for you, Annie,” said Captain Ranger, bringing a soft, heavy, furry robe to his wife, and spreading it over her much-prized feather bed. “It will help you to bear the rough jolting over the rocky roads.”
“Thanks, darling. You are very kind and thoughtful, but I shall not need it long.”
“Oh, yes, you will, Annie! We’ve passed the cholera belt. The sun rides higher every day; and I’m sure you’ll soon be all right.”
“Did you notice that big handsome Scotchman who seemed to be the boss of that freighters’ outfit?” asked Mrs. McAlpin, addressing Jean, and emerging from her hiding-place in one of the wagons after the outfit had passed out of sight and hearing and the Ranger company had encamped.
“Yes, Mrs. McAlpin. He seemed master of the situation.”
“Do you think he discovered me or mamma?”
“I didn’t think to notice whether he saw either of you or not.”
“I kept out of his sight, and made mamma do likewise.”
“Did you know him?”
“May I trust you, Jean?”
“Why, certainly! What’s up?”
“I need you, Jeanie; I need a friend with a level head.”
Mrs. McAlpin’s face was gray, like ashes, and her aspect of fear was startling.
“What under heaven is the matter?” asked Jean.
“That man is my husband!”
“Then I congratulate you. Daddie was much pleased with him. But I thought your husband was a man of leisure, travelling in Europe, or Asia, or among the ruins of Central America. You told me he was an archæologist. Did you expect to find him here on these plains?”
“No, Jean, or I should not have been here myself. Only think of it! I started on this journey on purpose to hide myself away from him for good and all. He had gone to England a year ago to claim a vast estate, and I planned to leave Chicago for this wild-goose chase on purpose to avoid him. I had no idea he’d ever think of taking up a business like freighting in a fur company. But there is no way to foresee the acts of a man who has more money than he knows what to do with. I suppose he grew weary of the Old World.” Mrs. McAlpin sighed.
“Are you quite sure it was he?”
“It could not have been anybody else. I’d know that voice if I heard it in Kamchatka. And I saw him, too. I cannot be mistaken.”
“And you are determined not to live as his wife any more?”
“I simply cannot, will not, live a lie any longer.”
“Why do you tell me about this, Mrs. McAlpin? I’m nothing but an inexperienced girl.”
“But you have more discretion than most grown-up people.”
“That’s ’cause I’ve never been in love, I guess. They say that all people when in love are fools.”
“I want you to go with me to meet that man to-night, Jean.”
“I? What for?”
“I’m going to talk it out; and I’ll need a witness.”
“Absurd! You remind me of a moth around a candle. Does your mother know about this?”
“No. I let her think an Indian was wanting me for a wife, and she remained hidden till the freighters had gone. The rest was easy. She is mortally afraid of Indians.”
“I can’t imagine why you desire an interview with a man you are trying to avoid. How did you arrange a meeting?”
“I sent him a note by Hal, who thinks I want to buy a buffalo robe like your mother’s.”
“To be plain with you, Mrs. McAlpin, you’re a fool.”
“I know it. But I confess to you that I want to see him so I can defy him.”
“If you want sensible advice, go to daddie.”
“I don’t want anybody’s advice. I just want you to accompany me, and keep hidden so as to be close at hand during the interview. He has no idea that he is going to meet Daphne Benson.”
As Jean had been forbidden by her father to continue her rides in Mrs. McAlpin’s company, she did not feel satisfied with herself during this stolen interview.
“Then you didn’t let your husband know it was you who wanted to see him?”
“Of course not. What do you take me for?”
“I’ll certainly take you for one of the silliest women on earth if you don’t give up this interview.”
“I believe, after all, that you’re right, Jeanie. But I thought, if I met him unexpectedly out here in these wilds and put him upon his honor, he would never tryto trouble me again. I have something very important to say to him.”
“Then wait till we get to Oregon. We must go back to camp at once. It is time all honest folks were at home in bed.”
They found Mrs. Ranger sitting alone on a wagon-tongue, shivering in the sharp night air.
“I’m very ill, my daughter,” she said; “dangerously so. I’ve been watching and waiting for you the past half-hour. Where have you been?”
“She’s been pommelling a little common-sense into my addled noddle,” said Mrs. McAlpin.
“I’ve been taking a little walk with Mrs. McAlpin, mother dear, that’s all. But what’s the matter, mother? Where’s daddie?”
“Asleep, poor man. I don’t want him disturbed. Get me the bottle of ‘Number Six.’ There!” taking a draught of the fiery liquid. “I’ll soon be better. Go to bed.”
Jean never could forgive herself for not sounding an alarm. During the remainder of the short summer night Mrs. Ranger wrestled with her fate, suffering and unattended. The heavy breathing of the weary oxen as they slept, or the low chewing of their cuds in the silence, the occasional hoot of an owl, or the sharp scream of a belated eagle, the sighing of the wind in the juniper-trees, and the acute pangs of her suffering body occupied her half conscious thoughts as she patiently awaited the dawn, which broke at last, spreading over earth and sky the radiance of approaching sunrise.
“John dear, come quickly; I’m very sick, and I believe I’m dying!” cried the lone sufferer at last.
Her husband was instantly aroused.
“Why didn’t you call me long ago, darling?” he asked, crawling from beneath a tent and rubbing his eyes to accustom them to the light. A deadly fear blanched his cheeks as his wife fell back in convulsions in his arms.
She opened her eyes after a prolonged spasm of pain and gave him a look of melting tenderness.
“Make the biggest tent ready, boys!” he called, holding her close. “Fetch the feather bed and the buffalo robe. Get hot water, Sally. Get everything, everybody,” he exclaimed, carrying her in his arms and pacing excitedly to and fro.
“Oh, why did I bring you out here into this wilderness?” he sobbed, as he laid her on the bed and chafed her stiffening fingers. “Only live, and the remainder of your days shall be as free from care as a bird’s!”
“But I shall not live, John,” she whispered during a brief lucid interval, her eyes beaming with love and devotion. “Or, rather, I shall not die, but awake into newness of life. This body is worn out, but that is all. The life that animates it will never die, though I am going away.”
No effort that circumstances permitted was spared to retain the vital spark. Not a man, woman, or child in the company would have hesitated at any possible sacrifice to keep her spirit within the body, or to give her ease and comfort in passing to the land of souls.
The afternoon was wellnigh spent when she grew easier. A prolonged interval of consciousness followed.
“Where’s Bobbie?” she asked in a whisper.
“Here, mother!” cried the child, who had been a dazed and silent watcher all the day.
“Bless his little life!” she whispered with a look of unutterable love.
“Come, Bobbie dear,” said Jean, “let’s go out and see if we can’t find heaven, where God is. Mother is going there to live with the angels. Let’s see if there’ll be any room for us.”
“There’ll be room for me, Jeanie; there’ll have to be, for I’m going to die before long.”
“Why do you think so, Bobbie?”
“Cos I just am. I dreamed I went to heaven. It was a tight house, too, like Oregon, or Texas.”
“You mustn’t think you’re going to die, Bobbie.”
“There isn’t any surely death,” said the child. “It is just going to heaven.”