Grizzly's Little Pard

Front matter

g_yzzirs little ta%l> 'i ■ær THS SAME *AUTHO\ THE LITTLE HEROINS OF TOI'EHsr FLAT Small crown Svo, cloth, with I/lustrations Trice <?d " A Story that holds you captive until its last word, and leaves you wishing for yet more" —Word and Work EDINBURGH & LONDO-X, 0LIPHANT & FERRIS^ The men crowded around." (Page 14.) Q%izzlts Little Tat^d By ELIZABETH MAXWELL COMFORT of "The Little Heroine of Toverty Flat'1'1 EDINBURGH & LONDON OLITHANT ANDERSON tf FERRIER i*95 To the Three Tfear Little Folk who tried so hard to \eep still while Auntie wrote, this Story is lovingly inscribed

Chapter I

Snow ! A white, whirling world of it. Snow on the jagged mountain-tops, rising like rough-hewn marble against the stormy sky ; snow on the seamed and rugged slopes ; snow on the purple-green pines that clothed the mountain-sides and the billowy foot-hills ; snow covering the brown trails that threaded the silent forest ; snow hooding the ragged stumps from which the trees had been torn in for mer tempests ; snow cushioning the fallen trees and the logs lying about here and there ; snow lying heavily on the wagon trail winding its perilous way along the dizzy edge of the precipice, and down by 6harp curves and sudden plunges to the valley be low. A world of falling snow ; falling upon the tree-tops far below in the deep gorge through which a riotous stream shone like a dark ribbon in its many windings between the snow-covered bowlders and snow-tufted willows.

The low-roofed log-cabins in the sheltered valley were thickly thatched in fleecy white, and the tiny windows were almost hidden. The paths that had been broken early in the morning were again lost, and the snow was still falling from a leaden, sur charged sky. A number of men had gathered at " Simpson's,'' the one store that supplied the various needs of Gold Ledge, a little mining camp in the Rocky Mountains. Seated on barrels, boxes, or whatever afforded a convenient seat, they were discussing the lucky strike up on the ledge, and the probability of heavy snows coming early, to stay and shut off work on the new lead. The great future predicted for Gold Ledge might he in definitely postponed. " Simpson's" was a long, low building of logs, like the rest of the cabins. The spaces between the logs were thickly chinked inside and out with mud to keep out the winter cold, but there was no plas tering nor paper lining, cloth-covered, to hide the rough ugliness of the mud-chinked walls and rough ceiling.

Simpson would have told you that life was too short and money too scarce to spend on such foolishness as long as one could be comfortable without it. Judging from the general appearance of the rest of the rudely built cabins, no one else cared for looks. It was a camp of men, with not a woman or child to cheer the loneliness and monotony of their lives or to brighten the home-coming of any one of them. Shut out from all refining influences, they were rough in dress, rougher in speech and conduct, un shaven, unkempt, uncared-for generally ; working GRIZZLY'S LITTLE PaARD. 3 hard for the hidden gold ; fighting bitterly, often to the death, over disputed claims and boundary lines ; reckless of life ; careless of their quickly acquired wealth, often gambling away in one night all the proceeds of a rich "clean up."

Yet they were generous — such men always are. They would turn out the last dollar for any one in real need. They scorned meanness and anything that was not " open and above board ;" a sneak would have no show among them. They had a rough code of honor, which made a man's word as good as his bond. There were as tender, generous, noble hearts underneath the rough exteriors as ever beat, but the want of the blessed influence of pleasant home life had made these men barbarous, almost, in their lives ; still they were not lacking in refinement and many of the gentle courtesies of life, as this story will show. " It's durned bad luck fur this big snow to come right on top of that big find and stop all work," said one of the little knot about the fire, as he hugged one knee and tilted back on a fire-log that he had set up on end for a stool.

" Winter a-set tin' in the middle of September ! Humph ! that's what I call hard lines. There ain't nothin' but hard luck in this world, seems to me. " The speaker was a lean, " lanky" fellow with a thin face, over which a scanty, light-colored beard struggled at intervals for an existence, like the scrubby pines above timber line. His light blue eyes were small and round, with a melancholy droop, and the corners of his thin lips, which were not at all con cealed by his ineffectual mustache, also drooped sor rowfulwise. Yet there were certain lines about his eyes and a quiver about the corners of his mouth that contradicted the general melancholy aspect of the man. " What's luck, anyhow ?" he continued in a mor alizing vein, as he rocked back and forth on his im provised rocking-chair. " Luck ?" queried another, a tall, dark man whom they called " Doc," partly from his superior education and stock of general information, but chiefly on account of a knowledge he seemed to possess of various remedies for different maladies.

He had also shown evident skill in surgery on several occasions that called for surgical practice. " Luck !" he repeated. " Well, good religious people would call it Providence ; others call it Fate. It's something you can't manage or seem to grasp — something certainly beyond us." " Begorra ! it's the truth ye're shpakin'. It's meself that niver could grasp it at all, at all. 'Deed an' it's luck I'm not acquainted wid. It's way beyant us, isn't it now, Tim ?" and the big, good natured Irishman, who broke in upon Doc's high sounding speech, gave Tim a clap on the shoulder that nearly upset him and his uncertain rocking-chair. " Look out ! this here ain't no Boston rocker I'm sittin' on, Pat," exclaimed Tim, as he caught himself and regained his former comfortable po sition. " As I was a-sayin' when Doc lit out on his sermon, it's durned bad luck to have winter set tin' in so blamed early, and — " " You ain't sech a bloomin' ijit as to think this storm's the beginnin' of winter," said another man, a powerful fellow, tall, broad-shouldered, and well knit.

He had keen gray eyes that blazed with black fury when he was angry. His luxuriant gray beard and hair had won for him the nickname " Grizzly," and it was the only name by which he was known. " This here snow is nothin' but a clearin' off of the rainy spell. We'll have all the rest of this month and October to work and git ready for winter in. I'm going to work to-morrow and break a trail to my diggins, if I don't do any thing else. " "You're welcome to, Grizzly," responded Tim — " Long Tim" they usually called him — sighing as he spoke. " But you'll find you've broke your back, too, and all for nothin'. It'll be a sheer waste of time and strength ; and how do you know there's any luck to be had there ?" Long Tim hugged his lean knees and cast a mournful glance at the enterprising Grizzly.

" It's blamed certain me nor no other fellow will ever strike it rich huggin' of our knees. Pity you couldn't stay to home and tend baby," growled Grizzly, eyeing Tim with great contempt from un der his shaggy brows. " All right, Grizzly," answered Tim, with mourn ful good nature. " Be you a family man when you're to hum ? Jest send fur your kids and I'll agree to tend 'em while you're at the diggins if you'll give me a good share. Lord ! boys, what a tender father he must be ! An Al, gilt-edge dad," and he eyed Grizzly critically. The men laughed. Grizzly in the capacity of family man and tender father was beyond their im agination, for he was well known as a desperate fel low, a sure shot, and altogether too quick with his " gun" when angered or a little the worse for liquor. There seemed to be no hint of softness or tenderness in Grizzly's rough make-up.

Grizzly grew white as the laugh turned on him at Tim's words, but to the great surprise of all, in stead of pitching upon the offender, he stood for an instant perfectly still, his face twitching as if in agony ; then with a muttered curse he turned and left the store. " Gee whiz ! what hit him so hard !" exclaimed Tim, actually letting go his knees. " I never was 60 took back. Why, I was feelin' fur my gun in case of fire. Tell yon what, boys, I thought it was goin' to be kingdom come fur me. An' all fur a innercent offer to tend baby fur him. I swear, boys," Tim continued, gathering up his knees again, " I'd like nothin' better than a little kid to dandle on a day like this, and a tidy bit of caliker a-settin' by the fire and makin' home cheerful fur a feller. That's what's the matter." " Go get your ' bit of caliker,' Tim, and we'll give you a housewarming," said Doc.

" We need some new excitement." " Blamed ef I ain't a mind to," exclaimed Tim. " Ef ever this snow melts so's to let a feller out of these here mountings — " Just at this moment Simpson, who ' had been standing in the doorway watching the silent progress of the storm, called out, " Halloo ! I guess there's a new arrival in camp. There's a fellow with a team that's just about stuck in the snow." The men left the stove and gathered about the door. Looming up through the snow-laden air, like a white phantom, slowly came a large covered wagon drawn by two good horses. The weary, almost ex hausted animals, plunging and stumbling through the heavy, drifting snow, made but little progress. The wheels, packed with snow from tire to hub, scarcely turned upon their axles. A large drift had piled up just ahead of the weary team.

The rough lookers-on in the doorway of the little store began to bet as to whether the team could turn the heavily clogged wagon sufficiently to pull it around the drift. To go through it was impossible — no one would be so reckless of his gold dust as to bet on that ; but the team was a powerful one, they could see, although well-nigh given out. "What's he come here for, I wonder?" said Simpson. " For the same reason that brought the rest of us, perhaps," said Doc, " to try his luck." " Shure an' it's the mistake av his life, for didn't yez say luck was somethin' we can't grasp ? He'd betther turn back. An' is it bettin' yez are on them poor bastes pullin' through the drift ? Faith we'd betther be a helpin' av them to do it. Simp son, me friend, lind me the loan av a shovel ;" and without waiting for permission, O'Hara seized one of the shovels standing near the door and started for the blocked wagon.

None too soon, for just at that moment one of the horses fell forward, unable to regain his feet in the deep snow. Then a man got down from the seat, pausing as if to speak to some one in the wagon. Then a thrill shot through the crowd of hitherto unhelpful spectators, for, framed in by the black background of the cavernous wagon-cover, indistinct though it was through the snowy atmos phere, they caught a glimpse of a face — unmistaka bly the face of a woman ! " Goshomighty, boys, it's a bit of caliker !" ex claimed Tim, forgetting his mourns ulness. No more betting as to whether the team would pull around the drift, but as one man, the crowd, with shovels shouldered, started for the snow-bound wagon with but one thought — to get a nearer glimpse of that face, and bring that " bit of caliker" to warmth and safety.

O'Hara, forging ahead, had a nearer view. He stopped short, as if he had received an electric shock. " Howly Mother !" he exclaimed under his breath, "it's the Blissid Vargin, " and devoutly crossed himself, with bowed head. When he looked again he could see nothing but the snow-laden wagon and the prostrate horse. He stood in dumb amaze ment. " What's the matter, Ted ?" asked Tim, as the others now came up with him. " Sure's me name is Terence O'Hara, I've seen a vision av the Blissid Vargin," was the reply in sol emn voice. " Blessed fiddlesticks !" exclaimed Tim. " No, sir ! there an't no vision in there — it's a blessed bit of caliker ; that's what's the matter !" " Is it now ? Sure we'll be afther paying our re spicts to the same !" and shouldering his shovel, which he had dropped in his first surprise, he started on with more energy than ever.

Chapter II

" Hello, stranger ! Got stuck, hev ye ? We'll give you a lift out of this here snow ef you'll show us what you've got in your wagon. Come now, no foolin' !" The stranger had been so busy trying to free his prostrate horse, that he had not noticed the approach of the men, although he had seen the crowd in the distant doorway some little time before. Now at the sound of a voice close by, with a faint note of threatening in it, a sort of challenge, he turned and faced the men standing near the wagon. "Well, boys," he said, "I don't think myself it's a time for fooling, as you call it. Lend a hand, won't you, in getting my horse out ? I'll do as much for you some day if there's any occasion. As for what I've got in my wagon, I'll unload later, when I get out of this, and you can see for your selves that I'm not carrying any bombs or infernal machines."

" I reckon you don't catch on, pard. What we want is to see that bit of caliker stowed away in thar. Sabe ?" "Oh, that's it, is it?" The stranger did " catch on" this time. Here were a lot of men, remote from civilization, with no society but that of their own sex, hungry for a look at a woman's face, for the sound of a woman's voice. He had read of such instances, but had never expected to be an actor in a scene like this. Was it possible that he had brought his wife to such a camp ? " All right, boys," he said, accepting the situation as cheerfully as possible. " I catch onnow. Jean!" But the bright little woman in the wagon had heard the strange request, so curiously worded, and was already at the front of the wagon, her sunny smile resting upon the rough, strange crowd before her. This was a new experience in her life, but she did not feel afraid as she encountered the gaze of the men.

" This is my wife, Mrs. McLeod, gentlemen," said the stranger, with a fond look at the little woman. " Good-afternoon," said she pleasantly, with a smile upon them all. Notwithstanding the storm of wind and thickly flying snow, every head was bared the moment she appeared. " God bless the woman !" cried one of the men. " Three cheers for the bit of caliker !" Three hearty cheers sounded out upon the snow laden air. Jean McLeod was touched. There was no doubting the genuineness of this homage. Her bright face flushed, her soft hazel eyes be came suffused with sudden moisture. Moved by a sudden impulse of her womanly heart, she leaned forward and extended her hand, saying : GRIZZLY'S LI1TLE PARD. " Thank you for your hearty welcome, friends, for 1 believe you are my friends ; and I should like to shake hands with you as a pledge of friend ship."

With hats still in their hands, and rough locks now powdered with snow, the men pressed forward, each receiving and giving a hearty hand-grasp. " Shure it's right yez are," said O'Hara heartily. " Your f rinds and yere sar vints, mem, till the end av yere life — the saints forbid that yez should iver live to see that day," he added with true Irish gal lantry. Every one laughed, and then they all fell to work with a will. In a short time the heavily clogged wheels were freed from their casing of snow, the fallen horse was righted, and the road was cleared as far as the store. In the mean time, Grizzly had reappeared and silently taken a hand in clearing away the snow. His powerful physique, his grim silence, his furtive glances toward the wagon, and the rapidity with which he made the snow fly, attracted the attention of the little woman in the wagon.

He had not been one of the number around the wagon at first, but she suddenly noticed the big silent fellow bending to the task of clearing the ground with a zeal as if something serious was at stake. When the wagon stopped before the store, Simp son, who had been working with the rest, cordially invited the new-comers to " git out and come in to the fire.'' A path had been cleared from the road to the store, the door of which stood invitingly open. The men stood about waiting for the " bit of caliker" to be lifted down from the wagon, and to render any further service they might for their honored guest. Jean busied herself for a moment in the depths of the big wagon. Grizzly, standing close by, heard a queer little inarticulate sound from within. Instantly he stuck his shovel in the bank of snow, and with a long stride that was almost a leap, he stood by the front wheel where McLeod was also standing to lift his wife to the ground.

Jean appeared with what looked like a roll of shawls carefully held in her arms. Grizzly held out his hands eagerly. " Let me take that — bundle," he whispered huskily, a tremble in his voice, and a world of pleading in his eyes uplifted to the woman's face. Jean McLeod smiled very sweetly as she depos ited the " bundle" in the outstretched arms, saying, " Thank you ever so much. I think she is still asleep, or at least hardly awake yet." While McLeod helped his wife down, the men, who had been watching Grizzly's movements, now began to gather about him. Here was a fresh sur prise. A baby ! They gave a sort of suppressed shout — " Lawsy ! a baby ! Hand over the kid !" "Look out !" said Grizzly gruffly, holding still more closely the roll of shawls from which unmis takable little grunts were now proceeding. ' ' You' 11 scare it to death with your shouting."

The father now turned to relieve Grizzly of his self-imposed burden, but that worthy, merely say ing, "She's all right," strode past him into the store. Again every head was bared as the pro cession of three, headed by Grizzly bearing the little cooing bundle of shawls, passed into the store. Not until the mother was seated by the stove did Grizzly relinquish his charge. She noticed how carefully and without any awkwardness he had held her baby, how loath he seemed to give it up even to her, and she mentally concluded that the big, grizzled fellow had a heart as big as himself and as tender as a woman's under all that rough covering. " He'll tell me his story some day, if I stay here long enough," she said to herself. The men crowded around to get a glimpse of the baby. Any kind of baby would have been consid ered beautiful in the eyes of these men, so long un used to seeing babies, and so hungry for the sight of one.

But this baby ! She would surely have carried off all the prizes at any baby show for beauty, sweetness of nature, and pluck. There she sat on her proud young mother's knees, dimpled, rosy, and smiling, looking about on the strange faces with wonder in her sweet eyes, but quite unafraid of these bearded men. Her little hood was removed, showing a crown of sunny hair that lay in rings all over her pretty head. " My ! ain'tshe a beauty !" gasped Tim. " An' she ain't afraid nuther — not a bit," he added de lightfully. Just then baby's father came in the little one's sight. " Ba ba !" called the baby, reaching out her little hands. " Gorry ! ef she ain't a-talking to you ! Lift her up so's we kin git a good look at her. God bless her ! but she's a purty sight." McLeod had lifted the baby to his shoulder, where she sat, a tiny queen on her lofty throne, holding court.

Every man there was her sworn slave, as she cooed and gurgled and smiled, and dis tracted the crowd generally by her beauty and win ning ways. " Pass the little kid around. Let's have a holt of her," cried one of the men, holding out his hands to the baby. Baby looked doubtful. She put her little head down on top of her papa's hat, at the same time jamming the brim down over his eyes ; but after much coaxing she yielded, and al lowed herself to be " passed around" among them all. Her lovely eyes looked inquiringly into those of the strangers ; her cooing and little gurgles of laughter ceased for the time. She was too busy studying these new faces and wondering about them to indulge in any levity. But she didn't cry; only when the round had been made, and the last one held her toward her mother, she gave a glad little gurgle and nestled down in her mother's lap, saying, " Mum-m-m-ma — mam-ma !" and then, from the safe shelter of her mother's bosom, she babbled in her baby language just what she thought of the situation.

It made a picture worthy the brush of a master. The rude surroundings of mud-chinked log walls, hung with all sorts of mining tools and utensils, while barrels, boxes, picks and shovels were ranged along the room ; the soiled, unpainted counter ; the rough shelves behind it, filled with a motley variety of men's wearing apparel, canned goods, tobacco, and groceries ; the dirty, unplaned floor, tracked over just now with grimy snow ; the big box stove in the centre ; around it the group of unshaken, unshorn men, in soiled and worn gar ments of canvas and corduroy, and in the midst of this group a bright-faced woman holding on her lap a sunny-haired baby that smiled upon its rugged worshippers. Twenty centuries ago, amid rough surroundings, another babe had smiled upon its coarsely clad, soil-stained worshippers.

The picture was not unlike this one, I fancy, and those shepherds, who had followed over many weary miles to pay homage to the Holy Child in that far away old world and far-away olden time, rendered no truer homage than did these rough, world-hardened men to this little child, smiling in their midst. All the chivalry, all the tenderness and nobleness of their nature were called forth by the sacred pres ence of pure womanhood and innocent childhood. They would have laid down their fives for the sweet sake of that mother and baby. Meanwhile, Doc Lawton and Simpson were hold ing a consultation behind the counter. There was no hotel, even of the rudest sort, in this primitive camp of men — not even an empty cabin was there where the strangers could be housed for the night. A man could camp out most anywhere, but a woman with a baby !

No, sir ; something must be done for them. "I'll tell you what, Simpson," said Doc, "if I can fix up a bunk at the back of the store here, they can have my shanty until the snow goes off, or they can get something better." " Bully for you, Doc, that's just the racket," said Simpson. " You've got the best cabin in the camp, and me little lady'll be as snug as anything. I wouldn't ask fur nothin' better. Jimminy !" he exclaimed, half to himself, " think on't ! A woman with a kid in this here camp ! It's my opinion he's got here by mistake — turned off the road goin' to Golden City. An't it the blamedest joke !" Doc stroked his beard thoughtfully. " Well, we must make the best of it," he said, after a pause. " I guess they've got bedding in the wagon. Of course they must have — a good camping outfit, too.

They don't look as if they had fared badly." " It's my plan," said Simpson, not noticing the other's last words — " it's my plan to git them to make the best of it. We han't no call for regret tin'. We fellers'll git them settled fur the night, and then we'll hold a meetin' like in this store and see what we kin do to git 'em to stay. Tell you, Doc, I'd hate worst kind to see that there woman and her kid pull out o' this camp." "Well, Simpson," said Doc, with a slow smile, " I feel that way myself, to speak with strict honesty, and McLeod, as he calls himself, seems a first rate fellow, with plenty of sand." " You bet he's got sand, and that little woman there, she's clear grit right through. And the little kid, too. Why, she never batted an eye while she was bein' passed around among a lot of strangers !

I've seen young uns that would ha' fetched you bald-headed with their squallin' ef a stranger jest squinted at 'em. Oh, yes, we've got to git 'em to stay !"

Chapter III

Doc Lawton's cabin was the neatest, most com fortable one in the camp. If he had not been nicknamed " Doc" in the beginning of his career there, he would have certainly been called " Dandy" or " Dude" Lawton by the nickname-loving crowd. He was as neat in his dress as it was possible to be, and carried the same carefulness as far as he was able in the rough furnishing of his cabin. It was well floored, and boasted of two rooms, partitioned off, to be sure, only by rough boards, but still he had the advantage of a sleeping-room separate from the one where he cooked and ate his meals, which he did occasionally when tired of the fare furnished by the camp cook. The " living-room" was much the larger of the two, and served as kitchen, dining room, library, and smoking den, all in one. In the " kitchen" corner there was a very small sheet-iron camp cooking-stove, upon which Doc from time to time prepared various dishes not found on the boarding-house bill of fare.

Two large soap-boxes nailed up against the wall and divided off with shelves served as pantry and dish closet for the methodical Doc. He had also constructed a table out of four slender hemlock sap lings sawn off in suitable lengths for legs, with the bark left on, and well braced together ; for the top he had used unplaned boards, and covered them with oil-cloth. This made really a presentable piece of furniture, of which the young man was justly proud. A large black bear-skin, one of Doc's trophies, lay in front of the table. There was a chair or two — a home-made lounging camp-chair, of canvas stretched on an ingeniously constructed rustic frame. Alto gether Doc's little cabin was a credit to him and to the home training which a man can never forget, however he may ignore it. The stranger, McLeod, had very gratefully ac cepted Doc's generous offer of his cabin.

For him self, he said, he didn't mind the weather — he could bunk down anywhere with his blankets ; but for his wife and baby it was a very different matter. Baby had never camped in the snow, though she had come near doing it the night before. The men of Gold Ledge had proved the gen uineness of their hospitality by again buckling to the task of road-clearing as far as Doc's cabin, so that before dark their unexpected guests were safely housed ; the horses were stabled in an empty shed, and the big wagon backed up close by the door, so that the " little woman" might get what she needed without going into the snow. Doc had " fired up" (which is camp parlance for " built a fire") in the little stove, and a pot of coffee was soon steaming away for dear life. Some hot biscuits had been sent over from the camp boarding-house, as the big, barn-like room was called where the men refreshed, ■n or at least replenished their "inner man," paying a good price to a long-queued Chinaman to cook and wash dishes for them.