Overland Tales Part 21

Their wagon will come into sight directly; but I don't want them to see my little girl out here with me."

An hour afterward a heavily laden wagon, drawn by two stout horses, was rolling into Gila Bend, followed by Mr. George W., mounted on Bess. A pleasant welcome was extended by all to the new arrivals; even Bose, the hypocrite, barked and capered and flounced his tail as though he hadn't greeted his master, two miles down the road, a little while ago. Supper was served by the mother and aunt--this latter lady being narrowly but furtively watched by the station-keeper of Kenyon's Station. All thoughts of business or departure seemed banished for that night. The aunt and the newly-come station-keeper enjoying their pipe in quiet harmony, a little apart from the rest, so much taken up with each other that the second man was left entirely to the family. The next morning this second man was offered to the aunt by George W. as a subst.i.tute for Dora; but, as the Kenyon's station-keeper had offered himself to her as a husband, earlier in the day, the subst.i.tute was declined. Neither George nor the second man, however, seemed put out about it. Indeed, there was something suspicious about the readiness with which he went to work on the half-finished corral building at the station. The aunt and the stepfather did not seem to notice this. Only the mother thought her own thoughts about it.

Later in the day, when the father and the brother were with the man at the corral, the aunt with her station-keeper, and Sis thoughtfully kept employed by her mother, Dora found a chance to steal out to the wagon, where George was waiting for her. From under the wagon sheet he drew two or three bundles, which, on being opened, contained what Dora thought the finest display of dry-goods she had ever seen. Lost in admiration, her face suddenly fell, and a queer, unexplained sense of something painful or humiliating jarred on her feelings when several pairs of ladies' shoes and numerous pairs of stockings made their appearance from out of one of the bundles. She drew back, hurt and abashed, and when George asked--

"But, Dora, don't you like your finery? I thought you liked pink. Isn't this dress pretty?"

She answered confusedly, "I--I didn't know they were for me--and besides--I can't take them. I know I am a poor--ignorant girl--but--" a sob finished the sentence as she turned to go to the house.

But she did not go. I don't know what George W. said to her while he held her close to him. It was something about his right to buy finery for his little wife, and the like nonsense, which Dora did not repeat to Sis when she presented to her a dress of the brightest possible scarlet.

That night they all sat out under the trees together. There was no more reserve or secrecy maintained. A dozen papers of the choicest brands of tobacco and half a dozen bottles of "Colorado river water," from Fort Yuma, had wonderfully mollified the stepfather. The mother would have been happy, even without the indigo-blue dress that fell to her share, and Buddy was radiant in new suspenders and a white store shirt. As soon as possible a Justice of the Peace was imported from Arizona City, to which place he was faithfully returned, after having made two happy couples at Gila Bend.

Many months after, on my way back from Tucson, we came quite unexpectedly, between the latter place and Sacaton, on a new shanty. It was built of unhewn logs of cottonwood and mesquite trees, the branches, with their withered foliage, furnishing the roof. A certain cheerful, home-like air about the place made me surmise the presence of a woman.

I was not mistaken; for though the only door of the hut was closed, and I could see no window, a loud but pleasant treble voice rang out directly: "Dad! Bud! come right h'yere to me. I know that's her comin'

thar--I jist know it is," and a little lithe body rushed out of the door and up to the ambulance, as though she meant to take wagon, mules, and all by storm. A rough-looking man came slowly from behind the house, and Bud, with a selection of dogs at his heels, clambered over a piece of fence--merely for the sake of climbing, as there was plenty of open s.p.a.ce to cross.

The delegation insisted on my alighting, which I did in consideration of Dora's mother being at the head of it. The family had moved back here from Oatman's Flat, where they had given Sam his Indian scare on our way out. Once in the house I no longer wondered how she had discovered the ambulance, with the door closed and no windows in the house. The walls had not been "c.h.i.n.ked," so that between the logs was admitted as much light and air as the most fastidious could desire. All around were the signs of busy preparation. It was near Christmas, and they were expecting company for the holidays--a family moving from Texas to California had sent word by some vehicle swifter than their ox-teams that they would be with them by Christmas-day.

Though the house contained but this one airy room, it was neat and well kept. Just outside the door there were two Dutch ovens, and this was the kitchen. Beyond the half-fenced clearing the willows and cottonwoods grew close by the river, and the mild December sun of Arizona lying on the rude homestead seemed to give promise of future peace and well-doing to these who had planted their roof-tree on the banks of the Gila.

The mother sent her love and a fresh-baked cake by us to her daughter. A loaf of the same cake was given to me, and I can say that it tasted better than what I have often eaten at well-set tables, though there was no cow to furnish milk or b.u.t.ter, and only a few chickens to lay eggs.

At Gila Bend, you remember, they had chickens, too; and when I got out of the ambulance there some days later, I stopped to admire a brood of little chicks just out of the sh.e.l.l.

"How pretty they are," said I, looking up into George W.'s honest face.

"Ah!" he exclaimed, his eyes lighting up, "but go inside, to Dora."

He led the way to the room, and there, in a little cradle, lay a sweet, pretty girl-baby--the first white child, so far as history records, that was ever born at Gila Bend.

_A LADY IN CAMP._

Camp "Andrew Jackson," in the southern part of Arizona, had not always been without that brightest star on the horizon of an army officer's outpost life, "A lady in camp." If you happened to be of sufficiently good social standing, and clever fellow enough to be received and entertained by the officers of the One Hundred and First Cavalry--which had long garrisoned Camp Andrew Jackson--one or the other of them might tell you, confidentially, lounging in a quartermaster-made chair under the _ramada_ of the sutler-store, as far as he knew it, the story of this lady.

Camp Andrew Jackson was a two-company post; and the officers of both companies, or the number remaining--after a liberal deduction by detached service, furlough, and sick-list--had congregated one day, years ago, to discuss the chances of the major's arrival in the course of the night or the following day. The place of congregating was the sutler-store, or the _ramada_ in front of it; time, between "stables"

and "retreat."

"Don't I tell you," a.s.serted young Grumpet, in his most emphatic manner, "don't I tell you that when I was in Tucson, the general told me that he should not be able to let the major have more than five men and a corporal for escort from Tucson out here; and do you think that Major Stanford, with that young wife of his--a shining mark for Apache arrows--would venture on the road, in broad daylight, with this small number? No, indeed. I tell you he'll start out from Tucson about this time, reach Davidson's Springs at midnight, and get in here toward morning in good order and condition."

"Seems to me I shouldn't be afraid to start out from Tucson, and go anywhere in broad daylight, with _my_ wife," said old Captain Manson, the post-commander, grimly.

An amused expression pa.s.sed over the faces of the younger officers; everybody in camp knew, from hearsay, if not from personal observation, that the captain and his wife lived like "cats and dogs" when they were together, and that he would probably have let _her_ go out from Tucson anywhere, in broad daylight and all alone, without the slightest fear or compunction, had she been in Arizona.

"For my part," continued Mr. Grumpet, who had been a.s.signed to the One Hundred and First, and ordered to Arizona immediately after graduating from West Point, one year ago, "I shall be rejoiced to welcome a lady to the camp. One grows rusty at these outposts in the course of years, without the refining influence of ladies' society--without opportunities of any kind for cultivating and improving one's intellect and manners."

"The One Hundred and First has always had an excellent library, embracing books suited to a wide range of capacities and intellect, from a 'First Reader' to 'Corinne' and the 'Cosmos.' And, as far as _tournure_ and manners are concerned," continued the gruff captain in a lower tone, and turning to the post-adjutant beside him, "why, I'm sure the doctor and I have made Chesterfieldian prodigies of Tom, the pup; Bruin, the grizzly; and Chatter, the parrot!"

From the laugh that followed, the junior lieutenant of Company "F" knew that something had been said to create this merriment at his expense; but he consoled himself with the thought that "old Manson" felt sore because Major Stanford would relieve him in the command of the post, and probably make him (Grumpet) post-adjutant, as he belonged to the major's company. Left in command of Company "F" by the senior lieutenant's absence, and officer of the day at the same time, Mr.

Grumpet felt that he had no more time to devote to this cla.s.s of mortals; so, bidding them a disdainful "_Adieu_," he proceeded to his own quarters, where he arranged sash, sabre, and belt to the greatest advantage on his sprightly person, and then awaited the summons to the parade-ground.

Whatever his meditations might have been, as his eyes wandered over the interminable sand-waste before him, they were interrupted by the spectacle of a cloud of dust arising in the distance. Quickly returning to his brother officers, he called their attention to this phenomenon.

"If it is not a smoke that the Indians are raising for a signal, it must be the major with his party," was Captain Manson's opinion.

To Mr. Grumpet's infinite disgust he could not find time to argue this question with his superior officer, for the arbitrary tones of the bugle called him to the parade-ground, and when he next found time to contemplate the landscape, the major's outfit was already in sight and slowly nearing the camp.

There is nothing martial in the appearance and progress of a military "outfit," unless accompanied by a command: the rough, gaunt mules drawing the dust-covered ambulance or carriage, followed, as the case may be, by one, two, or three heavy army-wagons; the jaded, worn horses of the escort, and the tired-looking, travel-stained men forming the escort, make a decidedly demoralized and demoralizing impression toward the close of a long journey.

The two occupants of the elegant travelling-carriage accompanying this train were in a state of involuntary _deshabille_, owing to the sand-storm through which they had pa.s.sed early that morning, during which the major's hat and a number of Mrs. Stanford's veils and wraps had taken to flight. Marcelita alone, seated beside the driver in the front of the carriage, had sustained no losses; as her _rebozo_, the only outside garment she possessed, had been so tightly wrapped around her that the storm had vented its fury in vain on her belongings.

Marcelita was one of those moon-faced, good-natured Mexican women we meet with in New Mexico and Arizona. She had probably decided in her own mind--though it was not very deep--that it was just as easy to smoke her _cigarritos_ lounging on the floor of the _adobe_ quarters of Camp Andrew Jackson, earning thereby _dos reales_ per day, and a never-failing supply of _frijoles con carne_, as it was to perform the same amount of labor in Tucson, where nothing could be earned by it, and the supplies of the dainties just mentioned were by no means certain or unfailing. So Marcelita became Mrs. Stanford's maid. "Tiring-maid," I should have said; only I am very certain Marcelita would have drawn Mrs.

Stanford's stockings on her arms, and one of the richly embroidered petticoats _over_ the plainer-made dresses, had the attiring been left to the taste and judgment of this dusky child of the soil.

Captain Manson alone greeted the major and his wife when the train drew up at the commanding officer's quarters, the younger officers discreetly awaiting the morrow to pay their respects. In accordance with true "army spirit," Major Stanford's quarters had been furnished with the best Camp Andrew Jackson could boast of, in the way of household goods and furniture, when it had become known that he was to bring a young wife to camp. Not the officers of the army alone possess this knightly spirit; every soldier in the command is always ready and willing to part with the best and dearest in his possession, to contribute to the comfort or pleasure of "the lady in camp." Major Stanford had not been with his company since the close of the war; still, when the captain courteously inquired whether there was any particular individual in the company whom he would prefer to take into his personal service, the major requested that Holly--who had already been an old soldier, while the major was cadet at West Point--might be sent him.

Holly demonstrated his joy at being thus distinguished by his "old lieutenant;" and on returning to the men's quarters had so much to say about the beauty, grace, and goodness of the major's wife, that the men immediately grew enthusiastic, and before tattoo obtained the sergeant-major's permission to serenade this first lady in Camp Andrew Jackson, providing a sufficient number of instruments could be found.

And Mrs. Stanford was awakened from her early slumbers by "music," the first night she spent in this camp.

There are always a number of tolerable musicians to be found among almost any body of soldiers. The One Hundred and First had always been celebrated for the musical talent in the rank and file of its members; and though the Graces and the Muses had been somewhat neglected of late years, they threatened now to take possession of every individual man, with truly alarming fervor. Indeed, Mrs. Stanford's life was made very pleasant at this dreaded outpost in Arizona--albeit in a little, cheerless room, with mud walls and mud floor, carpeted half with soldier blankets half with old tent-cloth. A washstand of painted pine-wood, and a table of the same material in its native color; a bench to match; one or two camp-chairs, and a camp-cot with red blanket--representing a sofa--made up and completed the _ameublement_ of Mrs. Stanford's best room. But there were red calico curtains at the little windows, and a bright rug upon the table; and books, and the thousand little _souvenirs_ and pretty trifles always to be found in a lady's possession, were drawn out of trunks and boxes, and other hiding-places, to give the room a civilized aspect.

Still, it was not pleasant in this close-built room, with the door shut; and open, the sand and reptiles drifted in promiscuously. It became one of Marcelita's chief duties, in time, to examine the nooks and corners of the apartment before closing the door for the night, to make sure that no intrusive rattlesnake had sought admittance, and to shake up pillows and blankets before her mistress retired, to see that neither centipede nor tarantula shared her couch. Otherwise it was tolerable; even young Grumpet was agreeable, though he had not been made post-adjutant, but he was Mrs. Stanford's most favored escort in her rides, and that made up for all other losses and disappointments.

The country was not altogether a howling wilderness, either; though the road that pa.s.sed close by the major's quarters led into the most desolate, the most Indian-ridden part of all Arizona, still, at a point where the road made a sudden fall, a narrow path branched off, and ran immediately into a little valley, where gra.s.s and wild flowers were kept fresh and blooming, by the spring at the foot of the hill. It was an oasis such as is frequently found in Arizona, more particularly at the foot of the mountain ranges; and to this spot Mrs. Stanford, accompanied by the major, Marcelita, or some one of the gentlemen, often bent her steps, at times when no Indians were apprehended in the vicinity of the post. The evenings at the garrison were dedicated to quiet games of whist, or interchange of the various news of the day. On Tuesdays, these conversations were liveliest; for the mail came in from Tucson on that day, and letters from the different outposts and the East were received and discussed.

One Tuesday there was, among the official papers laid on the post-commander's desk, an order from Department Head-quarters directing that provision be made for furnishing quarters to a company of infantry.

Camp Andrew Jackson was to be made a three-company post, on account of the growing depredations of the hostile tribes of Indians. It was not until weeks afterward that any speculations were indulged as to what company, of what regiment, had been a.s.signed to the post; but at the hospitable board of the major's one evening, after a late tea, it was the irrepressible Grumpet who proclaimed that he knew to a certainty all about the matter in question. Company "H" of the Forty-third Infantry was coming, and had already reached Fort Yuma, _en route_ to Camp Lowell (Tucson).

"Then Crabtree is in command of the company; or has Captain Howell been relieved? He was on detached service in Washington, the last I heard from him," remarked Major Stanford. But Mr. Grumpet interrupted:

"There you are wrong, again; Crabtree is not with them at all."

"Why, how's that?" was asked from all sides; even Mrs. Stanford had looked up.

Whenever Grumpet had a good thing he always made the most of it; and it was irresistibly charming to let Mrs. Stanford see that he knew more than all the rest put together.

"Ahem! Mr. Crabtree, senior lieutenant of Company 'H,' Forty-third Infantry, has exchanged, with the sanction of the War Department, with Mr. Addison--Charlie Addison, you know--of Company 'D,' Sixty-fifth Infantry."

In an "aside" to himself, he continued: "Well, I declare! I've astonished Mrs. Stanford by my superior knowledge. Why, she's actually staring at me."

So she was; or, at least, her eyes were wide open, and her face was pale as death.

"Are you sick, Eva, my child?" asked the major; "or do you see anything that frightens you?"