Charlie to the Rescue Part 48

Let the reader try to imagine a wide plateau, dotted with trees and bushes, on one of the eastern slopes of the Rocky Mountains, where that mighty range begins to slide into union with the great prairies. It commands a view of mingled woodland and rolling plain, diversified by river and lake, extending to a horizon so faint and far away as to suggest the idea of illimitable s.p.a.ce.

Early one morning in spring, five hors.e.m.e.n, emerging from a belt of woodland, galloped to the slope that led to the summit of this plateau.

Drawing rein, they began slowly to ascend. Two of the cavaliers were young, tall, and strong;--two were portly and old, though still hearty and vigorous; one, who led them, on a coal-black steed, was a magnificent specimen of the backwoodsman, and one, who brought up the rear, was a thin little man, who made up for what he wanted in size by the energy and vigour of his action, as, with hand and heel, he urged an unwilling horse to keep up with the rest of the party.

Arrived at the summit of the plateau, the leading horseman trotted to its eastern edge, and halted as if for the purpose of surveying the position.

"Here we are at last," he said, to the tallest of his comrades; "Sweet.w.a.ter Bluff--and the end of our journey!"

"And a most n.o.ble end it is!" exclaimed the tall comrade. "Why, Hunky Ben, it far surpa.s.ses my expectations and all you have said about it."

"Most o' the people I've had to guide over this trail have said pretty much the same thing in different words, Mr Brooke," returned the scout, dismounting. "Your wife will find plenty o' subjects here for the paintin' she's so fond of."

"Ay, May will find work here to keep her brushes busy for many a day to come," replied Charlie, "though I suspect that other matters will claim most of her time at first, for there is nothing but a wilderness here yet."

"You've yet to larn, sir, that we don't take as long to _fix_ up a town hereaway as you do in the old country," remarked Hunky Ben, as old Jacob Crossley ambled up on the staid creature which we have already introduced as _Wheelbarrow_.

Waving his hand with enthusiasm the old gentleman exclaimed, "Glorious!"

Indeed, for a few minutes he sat with glistening eyes and heaving chest, quite unable to give vent to any other sentiment than "glorious!"

This he did at intervals. His interest in the scene, however, was distracted by the sudden advent of Captain Stride, whose horse--a long-legged roan--had an awkward tendency, among other eccentricities, to advance sideways with a waltzing gait, that greatly disconcerted the mariner.

"Woa! you brute. Back your tops'ls, won't you? I _never_ did see sitch a craft for heavin' about like a Dutch lugger in a cross sea. She sails side on, no matter where she's bound for. Forges ahead a'most entirely by means of leeway, so to speak. Hallo! woa! Ketch a grip o' the painter, d.i.c.k, an' hold on till I git off the hurricane deck o' this walrus--else I'll be overboard in a--. There--" The captain came to the ground suddenly as he spoke, without the use of stirrup, and, luckily, without injury.

"Not hurt I hope?" asked d.i.c.k Darvall, a.s.sisting his brother-salt to rise.

"Not a bit of it, d.i.c.k. You see I'm a'most as active as yourself though double your age, if not more. I say, Charlie, this _is_ a pretty look-out. Don't 'ee think so, Mr Crossley? I was sure that Hunky Ben would find us a pleasant anchorage and safe holding-ground at last, though it did seem as if we was pretty long o' comin' to it. Just as we was leavin' the waggins to ride on in advance I said to my missus--says I--Maggie, you may depend--"

"Hallo! Zook," cried Charlie, as the little man of the slums came limping up, "what have you done with your horse?"

"Cast 'im loose, sir, an' gi'n 'im leave of absence as long as 'e pleases. It's my opinion that some the 'osses o' the western prairies ain't quite eekal to some o' the 'osses I've bin used to in Rotten Row.

Is this the place, Hunky? Well, now," continued the little man, with flashing eyes, as he looked round on the magnificent scene, "it'll do.

Beats W'itechapel an' the Parks any 'ow. An' there's lots o' poultry about, too!" he added, as a flock of wild ducks went by on whistling wings. "I say, Hunky Ben, w'at's yon brown things over there by the sh.o.r.es o' the lake?"

"Buffalo," answered the scout.

"What! wild uns?"

"There's no tame ones in them diggin's as I knows on. If there was, they'd soon become wild, you bet."

"An' w'at's yon monster crawlin' over the farthest plain, like the great sea-serpent?"

"Why, man," returned the scout, "them's the waggins. Come, now, let's to work an' git the fire lit. The cart wi' the chuck an' tents'll be here in a few minutes, an' the waggins won't be long arter 'em."

"Ay, wi' the women an' kids shoutin' for grub," added Zook, as he limped after the scout, while the rest of the little band dispersed--some to cut firewood, others to select the best positions for the tents. The waggons, with a supply of food, arrived soon after under the care of Roaring Bull himself, with two of his cowboys. They were followed by b.u.t.tercup, who bestrode, man-fashion, a mustang nearly as black as herself and even more frisky.

In a wonderfully short time a number of white tents arose on the plateau and several fires blazed, and at all the fires b.u.t.tercup laboured with superhuman effect, a.s.sisted by the cowboys, to the unbounded admiration of Zook, who willingly superintended everything, but did little or nothing. A flat rock on the highest point was chosen for the site of a future block-house or citadel, and upon this was ere long spread a breakfast on a magnificent scale. It was barely ready when the first waggons arrived and commenced to lumber up the ascent, preceded by two girls on horseback, who waved their hands, and gave vent to vigorous little feminine cheers as they cantered up the slope.

These two were our old friends whom we knew as May Leather and Mary Jackson, but who must now be re-introduced to the reader as Mrs Charlie Brooke and Mrs d.i.c.k Darvall. On the same day they had changed their names at the Ranch of Roaring Bull, and had come to essay wedded life in the far west.

We need hardly say that this was the great experimental emigrant party, led by the Reverend William Reeves, who had resolved to found a colony on total abstinence principles, and with as many as possible of the sins of civilisation left behind. They found, alas! that sin is not so easily got rid of; nevertheless, the effort was not altogether fruitless, and Mr Reeves carried with him a sovereign antidote for sin in the shape of a G.o.dly spirit.

The party was a large one, for there were many men and women of the frontier whose experiences had taught them that life was happier and better in every way without the prevalent vices of gambling and drinking.

Of course the emigrants formed rather a motley band. Among them, besides those of our friends already mentioned, there were our hero's mother and all the Leather family. Captain Stride's daughter as well as his "Missus," and Mr Crossley's housekeeper, Mrs Bland. That good woman, however, had been much subdued and rendered harmless by the terrors of the wilderness, to which she had been recently exposed. Miss Molloy was also there, with an enormous supply of knitting needles and several bales of worsted.

Poor Shank Leather was still so much of an invalid as to be obliged to travel in a spring cart with his father, but both men were rapidly regaining physical strength under the influence of temperance, and spiritual strength under a higher power.

Soon the hammer, axe, and saw began to resound in that lovely western wilderness; the net to sweep its lakes; the hook to invade its rivers; the rifle to crack in the forests, and the plough to open up its virgin soil. In less time, almost, than a European would take to wink, the town of Sweet.w.a.ter Bluff sprang into being; stores and workshops, a school and a church, grew, up like mushrooms; seed was sown, and everything, in short, was done that is characteristic of the advent of a thriving community. But not a gambling or drinking saloon, or a drop of firewater, was to be found in all the town.

In spite of this, Indians brought their furs to it; trappers came to it for supplies; emigrants turned aside to see and rest in it; and the place soon became noted as a flourishing and pre-eminently peaceful spot.

CHAPTER THIRTY FOUR.

The Last.

But a little cloud arose ere long on the horizon of Sweet.w.a.ter Bluff.

Insignificant at first, it suddenly spread over the sky and burst in a wild storm.

The first intimation of its approach came from Charlie Brooke one quiet autumn evening, in that brief but delightful season known as the Indian Summer.

Charlie entered his garden that evening with a fowling-piece on his shoulder, and two brace of prairie hens at his girdle. May was seated at her cottage door, basking in sunshine, chatting with her mother--who was knitting of course--and Shank was conversing with Hunky Ben, who rested after a day of labour.

"There, May, is to-morrow's dinner," said Charlie, throwing the birds at his wife's feet, and sitting down beside her. "Who d'you think I pa.s.sed when I was out on the plains to-day, Hunky? Your old friend Crux the Cowboy."

"He's no friend o' mine," said the scout, while something like a frown flitted across his usually placid brow. "I'm not over-pleased to hear that he's comin', for it's said that some old uncle or aunt o' his--I forget which--has left him a lot o' dollars. I hope he ain't comin' to spend 'em here, for he'd never git along without gamblin' an' drinkin'."

"Then, I can tell you that he _is_ just coming to stay here," returned Charlie, "for he has several waggons with him, and a dozen men. I asked him where he was going to, and he said, to locate himself as a store-keeper at Sweet.w.a.ter Bluff; but he did not seem inclined to be communicative, so I left him and galloped on to report the news. What d'you think about it?"

"I think it'll be a bad day for Sweet.w.a.ter Bluff when Crux comes to settle in it. Howsoever, this is a free country, an' we've no right to interfere with him so long as he don't break the laws. But I doubt him.

I'm afeard he'll try to sell drink, an' there's some o' our people who are longin' to git back to that."

The other members of the party, and indeed those heads of the town generally who knew Crux, were of much the same opinion, but some of them thought that, being in a free country, no one had a right to interfere.

The consequence was that Crux and his men were permitted to go to work.

They hired a shed in which to stow their goods, while they were engaged in building a store, and in course of time this was finished; but there was a degree of mystery about the ex-cowboy's proceedings which baffled investigation, and people did not like to press inquiry too far; for it was observed that all the men who had accompanied Crux were young and powerful fellows, well armed with rifle and revolver.

At last however, the work was finished, and the mystery was cleared up, for, one fine morning, the new store was opened as a drinking and gambling saloon; and that same evening the place was in full swing-- sending forth the shouts, songs, cursing and demoniac laughter for which such places are celebrated.

Consternation filled the hearts of the community, for it was not only the men brought there by Crux who kept up their revels in the new saloon, but a sprinkling of the spirited young fellows of the town also, who had never been very enthusiastic in the temperance cause, and were therefore prepared to fall before the first temptation.

At a conference of the chief men of the town it was resolved to try to induce Crux to quit quietly, and for this end to offer to buy up his stock-in-trade. Hunky Ben, being an old acquaintance, was requested to go to the store as a deputation.

But the ex-cowboy was inexorable. Neither the offer of money nor argument had any effect on him.

"Well, Crux," said the scout, at the conclusion of his visit, "you know your own affairs best but, rememberin' as I do, what you used to be, I thought there was more of fair-play about you."

"Fair-play! What d'ye mean?"

"I mean that when folk let _you_ alone, you used to be willin' to let _them_ alone. Here has a crowd o' people come back all this way into the Rockies to escape from the curse o' strong drink and gamblin', an'