Little Wolf Part 12

"A few months after the death of my nurse, he was pursuaded to join a party from Pembinaw, who were going on their annual visit to St. Paul for the purpose of trading with the whites. At my earnest request he permitted me to accompany him. I was then in my fifteenth year, and mere child as I was, he left me the first day of our arrival entirely alone in our encampment at St. Paul, while he went with the rest of the company to the city.

"By chance a gentleman pa.s.sing, heard the sound of the violin, with which I was beguiling the tedious hours, and came into my tent. At first I was quite alarmed at sight of a stranger, but his words and manner immediately won my confidence, and put my fears to rest, and, I confess, I was lonelier when he left me and glad when he came again.

He knew my unprotected situation, and always made it a point to come when brother Jim was absent. It would be quite impossible for me to describe to you the subtile influence which this person gained over me. I learned to love him with all the ardor of which my pa.s.sionate and imaginative nature was capable. It was the first unbounded devotion of a warm and innocent heart that he betrayed. I have no words with which to convey an adequate idea of the anguish which I suffered at parting with him. He promised to follow me and make me his wife, but he never came, and at a time when I was least able to bear it, I was subject to brother Jim's fury. His cruelty brought me near to death, and my sufferings only aggravated his bitterness and wrath.

With awful curses he swore vengeance on the man for whom I would even then have laid down my life.

"As soon as my strength would permit, I fled to my friends at Pembinaw. I told them all, even of my shame, which a little grave had forever hid from the world. Like true Christians they soothed my sorrows, and gave me the place in their family which their only daughter, who had married and left them during my absence, had occupied. Several years had pa.s.sed away, and the good missionary died.

His wife soon followed him, and I was again left alone. I had never seen brother Jim since I left him, but had frequently heard of his wicked deeds. I thought now that I would go with my life in my hand and seek him out and try once more by affectionate pursuasion, to induce him to give up his reckless life. Accordingly, I mounted my pony and set out for my former wild home. Reaching the lodge after nightfall, to my surprise I heard voices within. I did not go in, but stood listening at the entrance. I heard brother Jim and his companions propose a plan to capture you. They were to start that very night; so I hid myself among the trees and waited until they were gone. Then I went in for the night, and the next morning set out to do what I could towards rescuing you.

"Now I have told you all, Miss DeWolf, and our Heavenly Father alone knows our future. As for my name in that bible, you know as much about it as I do. I never saw the book before."

CHAPTER XIII.

TWOFOLD AGONY--DR. GOODRICH'S PROMISE--HOME AGAIN--LILLY FOOT--THE CONVALESCENT--THE NEIGHBORHOOD WEDDING--NEWS FROM CHIMNEY ROCK--THE SHERMAN FAMILY AT THE WEST.

Edward Sherman was still where we left him, listening graciously to the pretended good wishes of Hank Glutter, when Dr. Goodrich, who happened to pa.s.s that way, saw him through the window and beckoned him out side.

"I expected to have met you at Dr. DeWolf's," said he, "and I brought a letter for you."

Edward took the letter and read it carefully through, turning very pale as he did so. It was from his sister Louise, and contained a brief account of the dangerous illness of his mother, with a request for his immediate presence at home. His extreme paleness and the trembling hand, with which he in silence offered the open sheet for the Doctor's persual were all the outward sign of his soul's agony; agony for a beloved and dying mother; agony for the beloved, lost one, for whom, in company with a few friends, he was about to go in quest.

While the Doctor was running over the communication, Edward tried to calm the surging tempest within, sufficiently to decide him how to act.

"Doctor," said he, "I must go to mother, can you, I know it will be difficult, but _can_ you take my place in the company to-morrow?"

"I will go, and, by the love I bear your sister, I promise to do what I can."

"Let me hear from you by mail," said Edward, wringing his hand.

Edward had now barely time to return to Pendleton, and hastily get his trunk in readiness for the forthcoming steamer.

At the sound of the bell he was ready to embark and a few days rapid travelling brought him worn and weary to the old homestead. It was evening when he arrived, and, as he approached the house, he saw a light in his mother's room. His apprehensions were so great that he had not the courage to enter, and, listening near the window, he distinguished his mother's voice in conversation with Louise.

"I would not be surprised to see him this very evening," he heard his sister say.

"Miss Louise," called out Recta's familiar voice. "Miss Louise, won't you please come here quick. Old Spot has got into the front yard; there she is nibbling at that rose bush under the window. I can't see nothing but the white spot in her face; but I know it must be her, she's such an unruly critter; won't you just hold the light while I hist her out?"

"O where's Lilly Foot," said Louise, "she'll drive her out while you open the gate. Here, Lilly Foot."

Lilly Foot came growling along from the vicinity of the barn, where, after the fatigue of bringing the cows from the distant meadow, she had gone to rest and recruit for night watching.

Having forgotten at the beginning of our story to introduce Lilly Foot under the family head we will pause for a moment and give her the notice to which her position and worth ent.i.tle her. She was a very respectable looking animal of the canine species originally coal black with the exception of one white foot, from which she derived her name, but now grown grey in the service of the family.

From puppyhood to old age, this faithful creature had made it her daily business to keep the cows, sheep, pigs, and poultry each in their proper places, and, having been raised on a quiet, orderly New England farm, had never in the course of her whole life, had occasion to perform more onerous nightly duties than to sleep with one eye open; consequently, she had come to consider regular rest as her lawful right, and was in no mood to bear the present encroachment.

"I believe the dog is getting old and cross," said Recta in a voice very like that which had occasioned her censure. "Here Lilly Foot, there's Old Spot; take her."

The words had scarcely left Recta's lips before Lilly Foot saw and flew violently at the object indicated,

"Lilly Foot."

They all heard--Edward's voice that came from the rose bush, and it would be difficult to say from which of the three, Louise, Recta, or Lilly Foot, he received the warmest greeting.

Mrs. Sherman had pa.s.sed the crisis, of her disease, and Edward, a.s.sured of her convalesence, sought her bedside with a buoyant step.

"My dear son, to have you here is all the medicine I need now," she said, as she held him to her bosom.

The first greetings over, Edward's unnatural strength produced by anxiety and excitement gave way, and he lay down to rest that night prostrated in body and mind.

Confused images of his mother, Little Wolf, and b.l.o.o.d.y Jim crowded his unquiet dreams, and he awoke in the morning comparatively unrefreshed, and the old load in his bosom but little lightened. Soon after breakfast he signified his intention of riding over to the Post Office, two miles distant.

"O no," said his sister playfully, "mother will be disappointed; she expects to have you all to herself this morning. I made it a point to go for the mail every day until she was taken sick. Let me go this time, I really need a horseback ride. If I get a letter for you, you shall have it in just fifteen minutes."

"From now?"

"No; from the time I get it."

"I am overruled," laughed Edward, and he went to his mother's room.

Scarcely had he seated himself when Mrs. Sherman enquired,

"Has Dr. DeWolf's daughter been found yet, Edward?"

"No, mother."

"How dreadful! Dr. Goodrich said in his last letter he had but little hope of seeing her alive. I was gratified to hear that you were in pursuit, and that you were situated so you could do your father's old friend a favor. I wish you would tell me the particulars of the sad affair."

Mrs. Sherman wondered at Edward's prolonged silence, as he sat there utterly unable to say a word. She was beginning to have a vague conception of the truth, when he turned to her and said in a voice which the effort to control rendered scarcely audible.

"Mother, I expected to have made Miss De Wolf my wife. I can not talk about it now."

But Mrs. Sherman led him gently on by means which true mothers know so well how to use, to unburden his heart, and ere long her sympathy ran so high as to propose that he should return to Minnesota, and if need he should return to Minnesota, and if need be spend the winter there.

"If I could take you and Louise with me," said he.

Just then Louise came, in high spirits.

"O mother," said she, "you must hurry and get well in time to attend Maria Dole's wedding. I met her going to shop. She wants me to be one of her bridesmaids. Now guess who she is going to marry; but of course you'd never guess for you are not acquainted with the gentleman; so I may as well toll you at once; John Hanford, from the wilds of Minnesota. Maria says she is afraid of being carried off by the bears, but still too willing to venture a home in the woods for her dear Johnny's sake. I did not tell her about Dr. DeWolf's daughter, I was afraid it would stop the wedding, Maria is such a timid creature.

Brother, do tell me about that horrible affair."

"Tell her mother," said Edward and immediately left the room.

While Mrs. Sherman was explaining the matter, Edward was walking up and down the lawn in front of the house, vainly considering the probabilities of a favorable termination of his troubles.

"What can we do for poor Edward?" said Louise, after a long silence, "I think he ought to go back."