CHAPTER IX.

CHAPTER IX.

There was the sound of a familiar “whoo-hoo” outside, and Helen Pierson, whom the dwellers in this part of the country knew as the Angel, came bounding into the room.

“Hello, boys! Whoo-hoo!”

“It’s the Angel!” said Shoshone, springing forward to meet her.

“Good-morning, Shoshone,” said she, cordially.

“Morning, Angel. What you doin’ down so early?”

“On my way to Silver Bill’s. I told them I’d come back to-day. He’s out of tobacco, too, and I want some to take him.”

“Won’t it—won’t it be bad for the kids?” asked Shoshone, with an anxious look.

“Oh, no; he can smoke out-of-doors. As for the boy, he’ll smoke some day himself, and as to the girl, she’ll have to get used to it some day, anyhow.”

“With our compliments and best wishes,Angel. We’ve got a case of preserves here from the East. If it was not asking too much of you, now would you give Mrs. Silver Bill a dozen jars?”

“I’ll carry one over. That’s all I can manage to-day.”

“I’ll send a man over with the rest in the morning, and some sardines, some canned salmon and Boston beans—just the things for an invalid, aren’t they?”

“Well, they will be next week. She will be on toast and gruel all this one.”

“Oh—ah—yes, of course. Well, I am proud that she—ah—well—give her my best respects. I’ll get the jelly.”

“Mine, too,” said Shoshone. Then, as he saw that they were alone, Shoshone took a step or two nearer her, saying:

“You are the best woman God ever made, Angel. That’s what you are!”

“What makes you say that, Shoshone?”

“You won’t get mad if I tell you?”

“Why, no. What is it?”

“I know I’m kinder low-down and rough, Angel, but I hain’t never stole nobody’s hosses nor branded cattle that wan’t mine, and, as for drinking, I’m willing to stop that at once. Inever cared for it, anyway, but what else is there to do, out here? Will you, Angel?”

“Will I what, Shoshone?”

“Now you won’t get mad at me?”

“Mr. Shoshone, speak out! What do you want me to do?”

“My heart is all empty a-longin’ for you, and I want you to crawl in forevermore. I want you to be my wife.”

“Dear God! what is he saying? Oh, I can’t, Shoshone, I can’t!”

“Yes, you can; if you only will.”

“But I can’t, Shoshone, my good friend, and I will tell you why. I was married once, and my husband deserted me for another woman, and stole my child, my little boy. So I am not free, you see.”

“Yes, I see,” said Shoshone, swallowing hard. “Don’t say nothin’ more, Angel. I’m sorry I said a word. Try and forget it, will you, Angel? But if ever you need someone to fight or die for you, jes’ call on Shoshone, and I’ll do it, so help me—I will!”

Keeping his back to her, so that she could not see the bitter disappointment in his face, Shoshone started away, when Helen called him.

“Are you going away, Shoshone?”

“Yest, jes’ for a little while; jes’ out therein the rocks and lonesomeness. I wouldn’t want a woman to see me cry—and I’m d——d near it!” he added under his breath as he hastily escaped, while she held out her hands, saying sadly:

“You may never know it, Shoshone, but if I were free I would be your wife—faithful and loving.”

Then, hearing footsteps, Helen started out to meet Snakes who was returning with a jar of startlingly large proportions.

It was Goldberg and Bennie whose steps Helen had heard, and they came into the saloon from the dining-room, where Bennie had persuaded Mr. Goldberg to drink a cup of coffee. His own appetite needed no urging. The elder man wanted some tobacco, and, as they came in, he said:

“Und, take my atvice, Bennie, nefer touch it. Let it alone, strictly. It is no goot. Viskey is de bummest stuff, A1, double Xs.”

“No fear, Mr. Goldberg. I never use it. But, tell me——”

And then the same old question of the disappearance of Dora came uppermost again.

“De only news I effer hat vos dot dey tooket her to Cheyenne, und den I vatch und look und hunt, und von day I heard dot a party offour dot looket like dem haf come dis vay. So I come, too. Ah, Bennie! vot ve haf sufferet—Loney und I! Ah, Gott! und if I shall lif to pe twice as olt as Methusela I shall nefer forget dis place vot dey call Hellandgone. Poor Dora! if dey haf pring her here ve nefer vill find her!”

And Dora was not ten feet away from her father and lover, lying in a stupor from the potion which Muriel had found it necessary to give her to calm her nerves, for some subtle instinct seemed to warn the poor girl that her loved ones were near.

While Morris and Bennie were waiting for Snakesy Duffy to return, Helen came back for the tobacco she had wished to take with her. She started, on seeing the shoemaker, whose strong features were not of a mould to be easily forgotten. After one sharp look she advanced to him, saying:

“It is! It is my preserver! Praise Heaven! I see you again!”

“You are mistakenet, matam. I gannot efen preserve meinselluf. I am de wrong man. I don’t know you.”

“Why, you are Morris Goldberg, of New York, are you not?”

“I am if I am lifing, but how you know me I cannot see.”

“I can tell you. Because you took a poor, forsaken, heart-broken wreck and taught her that it was never too late to mend. You helped me to come out here and reform, and Heaven will bless you for it. I haven’t touched a drop since that day.”

“Dot’s right. Don’t efer touch it again, and I von’t, eider. Vell, vell! vot for a change. I vouldn’t effer haf known you.”

“I am out here, alone, with the mountains, the sky, the birds and flowers, and the wild creatures. I live close—oh, very close—to Nature, in a little shack. I never come down, except when there is sickness or accident—some one that needs care and devotion. Those are all the riches I have, but I find them enough. You see me well and strong, quite a different being from the miserable creature you saved. My brain is clear, my health perfect, and I owe it all to you. But what are you doing here?”

“Mein chilt, my daughter, Dora, vos stolen! Und I am out here looking for her. I t’ink she cannot be much farder avay. I haf a feelings in mein heart dot she vill pe fount, but it is a long time.”

Just then Shoshone came into the room.There was a strange gleam in his eyes, and a new manner quite unknown to Helen. He walked quietly, but there was a suppressed excitement in his walk and look, but he kept quiet. Helen was saying:

“Your daughter stolen! How I wish to Heaven that I could help you! Have you any idea who took her away?”

“From what de Loney say, it vos Dopey Mack und de tall smooth-faced man vot vos in mein shop de first day you comet.”

“What did your daughter look like, pardner?” asked Shoshone quietly.

“Like von of de angels dot de goot Gott lofes de pest. She is small, und dark und peautiful, mit big black eyes und such a muchness of dark hair—yah, she is peautiful, ain’t she, Bennie? Und she sing—yust like de pirts on de trees, don’t it, Bennie?”

“By the living Lord, I’m right!” said Shoshone earnestly, “for yesterday she asked us, ‘Has any of you seen Bennie? He is gone away so long.’ That’s what she said.”

“Vot do you mean, Mister?” asked Morris pitifully, clasping his hands.

“There were some strangers came here yesterday—two men, two women. The big one was said to be mother of the little young one, butthey didn’t look alike and, by the jumping jeeswax! they’re in the house right now. The small one looks like what you say, and they say she’s crazy. She sings something about ‘Tell me that you love me,’ or something like that.”

“It’s Dora! It is Dora!” said Bennie, the tears gushing from his eyes. “It is her song that she always sings.”

“Are you sure, Mister? For if I get disappointed now, it vill kill me,” said the father, imploringly.

“Yes, I tell you, they are here now. Right upstairs there. They ’roused my suspicions from the first. The women keep in the room all the time. I know I’m right.”

“In dere, are dey? Vell, ve vill haf dem out!” said Morris, with grim determination, starting for the staircase.

“Be careful, pardner, of that kind of cattle. They’ll shoot you on sight!”

“Den let dem shoot! I can die to safe mein chilt!”

The father started toward the stairs, but Shoshone took him grimly but gently, saying:

“Wait a minute, pardner. When you want to trap a fox, you must stop up all the holes. Angel, guard this door; you, young man, take this pistol. Go out through the back and watch there.I’ll go behind the house. There is a window there that opens out upon the rocks. You, her father, go on upstairs and open the front door. If you can’t open it, break it in! Meantime I’ll have them covered from the window. Now go, and be careful!”

At the word of command, Bennie and the Angel took their positions, while Morris went up the stairs, his heart beating to suffocation.

When he reached the landing he saw that the door to the back room was open, but that of the front was closed. A hasty glance showed that the back room was empty. He knocked at the door, crying:

“Dora! Dora! it is de fader! Dora! Dora! I am coming!”

There was no reply, and those downstairs heard a mighty crash, as though the door had been burst open by one blow! Then an anguished cry:

“Dora! she is gone! De room is empty! Mein Gott! dey haf gone!”

When the others reached the room, the bereft father was kneeling, sobbing by the little table where lay a bit of blue ribbon.

“Dora! Dora!” he sobbed.

Back to IndexNext