Rach-Land, a romance of adventure and adventurers

Front matter

R A NCH-LAND Ran ch-L and A ROMANCE OB Adventure and Adventurers BY W. B. GILPIN AUTHOR OF "HUNTING AND RACING STORIES," etc. Rp) 189O LONDON : The Leadenhall Press, E.C. Simpkin, Marshall, Hamilton, Kent If Co., Ltd : New York: Scribtur & Wtlford, 743 &,74J, Broadway. THE LEADENHALL PRESS, LONDON, E.C. (T. CONTENTS. CHAPTER PAGE I. Seaerook Club ... ... ... ... i II. The Hospital ... ... ... ... 10 III. A Model Nurse ... ... ... ... 20 IV. The Stage ... ... ... ... 30 V. The Round-up ... ... ... ... 41 VI. Homeward bound ... ... ... 53 VII. Too late to repent ... ... ... ... 60 VIII. The Rivals ... ... ... ... 72 IX. Revenge is sweet ... ... ... ... 83 X. One Tale's good until Another is told ... 97 XI. The Wedding... ... ... ... ... no XII. An M.P. wasted ... ... ... ... 123 XIII. A Strange Find ... ... ... ... 140 XIV.

A Tale which is told ... ... ... 154 XV. A Crisis ... ... ... ... ... 171 XVI. A Reconciliation... ... ... ... 187 XVII. The Plot thickens ... ... ... ... 200 XVIII. A Crisis ... ... ... ... ... VI CONTENTS. CHAPTER PAGE XIX. A Hurried Departure ... ... ••• 228 XX. The Widow and Fatherless ... ... 245 XXI. Gone ... ... ... ... ... ... 264 XXII. Pent-up Feelings ... ... ... ... 281 XXIII. In the New World ... ... ... ... 297 XXIV. A Quick Burst ... ... ... ... 305 XXV. The Climax ... ... ... ... ... 317 XXVI. Patience rewarded ... ... ... RANCH-LAN D.

Chapter I. Seabrook Club

A SMARTLY dressed crowd were gathered together in the grounds of the Seabrook Club, and the terraces of the Club house were crowded with members and their guests. All were chatting gaily, and talking of the pleasures in anticipation for them at their favourite rendezvous, New port. Newport and its doings seemed just now to be of far greater interest and importance to them even than the races of the day, which had caused them to assemble at this out of-the-world seaside spot. As a rule the Club seldom was made much use of by members, excepting it was on an occasion such as the present, when the principal steeplechase meeting of the year, together with the dictates of fashion, ordained a visit. Strange, too, that it should not have been more generally frequented, for it was a charming spot ; and the view it afforded, with a glimpse of the ocean in the distance, was alone worth the wasting of an afternoon there, even putting aside the Club-house luxuries, which helped so materially to add to the pleasure.

Not one-half of the people present could have given their reason, if asked, why they had come; only that it was the thing for society people to do, and therefore they did it. Did they care much for racing ? No, not particularly. It B RANCH-LAND. 2 was pretty to see the silk and satin jackets, with such a lovely view in the background ; and, besides that, they knew some of the riders, and that made it interesting. The upper ten of American society have not the love of sport in then composition which is so deeply ingrained in either the Irish or English natives. The pleasure of looking at good racing would have attracted but a small concourse of these spectators, had it not been that this was a Club meeting ; and to be present at the Seabrook Club meeting was a function of society. On a fine day the ladies made a point of attending ; they vied with one another in the expensive luxury and beauty of their costumes, and to-day was the grand day of the week.

In addition to several fairly important purses, there was included in the programme the principal stake of the meeting, a handicap steeplechase, with two thousand dollars added. Not a very valuable race as stakes go, still the best prize offered for a jumping race in America, where there is not a great amount of patronage bestowed upon steeplechasing generally. In the front of the Club house was a smoothly shaven lawn, used for a promenade, sloping gradually until it was divided from the course itself by high iron railings. On the far side a broad expanse of undulating turf stretched away into the distance, where it was lost in the blue verge of the Atlantic. Close in shore could be discerned the boats of the fishermen, with their red sails, as they busily plied their craft, dredging for oysters and other shellfish, for which the bay is noted.

Still further, again, could be seen the masts and funnels of gigantic steamers, as they steamed majestically past on the broad ocean, either home ward bound or on their way out from the busy port of New York. A charming scene truly, and seductive enough to divert one's thoughts and' attention many miles away from the busy little play which was being enacted in the grounds of the Club. The noise and tumult, usually so rampant SE A BROOK CLUB. 3 at race meetings, were here conspicuous by their absence. Every one was sedate and proper, and everything about the Club house so very genteel, that the leather-lunged pool seller or betting man would have felt himself completely out of his element. The betting fraternity had been studiously removed out of earshot of the ladies, and assigned a position at the other end of the enclosures, where any, if they wished to invest their money, were compelled to follow.

There was not much betting ; the ladies of the Club had not been bitten by the same craze which affects so many of the ladies frequenting the regular race meetings. The Club men too, apparently, were affected with the same indifference ; they thought betting hardly worth the trouble of bothering their heads about, or of forsaking their fair companions in the Club house. The three first races on the programme had already been decided, and there remained but one more, previous to the big event of the meeting. As regards this big race, how it was run, who won it, and how it was won, I must refer my reader to the " Turf Guide," for it has no part nor consequence in connection with this story. Our interest is centred upon the fourth race, a minor handicap, and it is in connection with the Woodsburgh Plandicap that the hero of these pages is first brought under notice.

In order to make his acquaintance, it will be necessary, in the first place, to stroll as far as the paddock behind the betting-ring, and there interview him as he stands talking to a horsey-looking individual with a cut-away coat and a shaved hat tilted on the side of his head. The horsey-looking individual is the owner of a horse which he has asked our hero to ride for him in the next steeplechase, and we can readily pick out the man of whom we are in search, as he is dressed in breeches and boots of unmistakably English cut, and, like the majority of Britishers, wears a light brown covert coat, which betrays his origin unmistakably. RANCH-LAND. 4 Gerald Holder — such is his name — had only recently crossed the Atlantic. He had come over to America in the hope that he might be one of those lucky individuals who make a fortune there, and who are invariably supposed to have had little or nothing to do in order to amass it.

It really is a strange thing how many people in England look upon the States as being a species of El Dorado, where money can be had almost by taking the trouble to stoop and pick it up. Holder's people were, to use a hackneyed phrase, well to do, but he was anxious to see the world, and to obtain some share in these fortunes of which he had been told. At the age of twenty-two, therefore, he had obtained from his father permission to visit the ranch of a friend in Montana, and there see for himself whether money were as plentiful as it was generally represented to be. Being in New York, and passionately devoted to riding and steeplechasing, it took but little persuasion on the part of friends to induce him to accept some mounts which were to be had at the Seabrook meeting, and to put off his journey to the West for a few days in order to do so.

Twice at the meeting he had already ridden unsuccess fully, on indifferent horses, but great things were expected of Paramount, the horse he was now about to ride, and, as he had ridden very frequently in steeplechases at home, it is needless to say that great things were also expected of him as a jockey. At the time we are first introduced to him, the owner of Paramount was explaining as best he could the peculiarities of the horse, and how he wished him to be ridden. "You have nothing to do, sir, but sit still, and let him stride along in front," he was saying. "Don't touch him with the curb if you can help it, or he'll fight, and throw his head all over the place, and not look where he's going. I had to put a curb on him, as he sometimes takes it into his head to bolt, and there's no holding him when he does that, excepting in a curb.

I don't know that I need SEABROOK CLUB. 5 bother you with any more advice. You know enough, I guess, not to need it, and you'll win, and win easy, too." Paramount was being led round the pair as they stood talking, and true enough he certainly looked capable of more than holding his own in the company which he was asked to meet. He was a varmint-looking thoroughbred, standing on good limbs, and a beau-ideal of a useful steeple chase horse. Evidently no pains had been spared to put a nice polish on him, and he was looking fit and well capable of compassing the two-and-a-half-mile journey which was now about to be required of him. Holder took good stock of the horse as he passed and repassed him, and his well satisfied air showed that he too held a good opinion of his mount, so far as appearances went.

Had he not forsworn betting, and also possessed little more money than was requisite for his journey, seeing that he had now delayed some two weeks, he would have felt much inclined to entrust his mount with a fifty-dollar bill. But he couldn't afford to risk losing it under the circumstances, so wisely resolved to take what pleasure he could out of the riding, and leave the betting alone. The bell was ringing now for the race, and the jockeys had orders to mount their horses for the parade. Holder therefore took off his coat, and, handing it to one of his friends to carry into the dressing-room, followed out of the paddock the others who were mounted. They all proceeded in Indian file past the stand, under the charge of the starter, and after the procession had been duly gone through with, cantered off to the top of the straight, where was situated the post from which the two-and-a-half-mile course started.

Paramount was a fine mover, and no sooner did Holder feel what a pleasant mount he had under him, than his spirits began to rise, and his confidence in winning increase. The buzz of conversation and small talk had increased as the horses came out for inspection, and continued until it RANCH-LAND. 6 was seen that the competitors had taken up their positions at the post. Then a hush came over every one, and all eyes were turned in the direction of the board fence, which was the first jump, as the horses started on their journey; for they were coming. Most attention was bestowed upon Paramount. Every one had heard such glowing accounts of him and his jockey, and he had been generally put about as such a strong tip for the race, that the bulk of the ladies' gloves and bonnets were dependent upon his success, and more than usual of the Club men's dollars.

As was his custom, the horse jumped off in the lead immediately the flag fell, and very soon had placed the board fence behind him, and was fighting for his head. The excitement of racing always made him wild, and the sight of colours, soon made him mindful of the tricks which he had frequently attempted on previous occasions with success. He took the bit between his teeth, and, plunging two or three times, endeavoured to snatch the reins through Holder's hands, and so obtain his head. This time, how ever, he had reckoned without his host, and a sharp reminder from the curb rein proved to him that to-day he was not going to do exactly as he thought proper, but was now in the hands of his master. Two or three times he attempted the same tactics without avail, and then, finding himself conquered at his favourite game, gave up in disgust and elected to sulk.

On they swung towards the stone wall, the jump immediately opposite the club stand, and Paramount was in the lead, much to the satisfaction of his backers. They liked to see their choice in front, even if the horses had gone little more than a quarter of a mile, for they fondly hoped and expected he would remain there from start to finish. There was no stopping nor steadying their horses as they came towards the wall. Despite the fact of its being a height of four feet or more, and too stiff SEABROOK CLUB. 7 to be trifled with, the jockeys rattled at it, taking chances of a horse getting fairly into his stride, and treating it as lightly as though it were a flimsy hurdle. Paramount, having made up his mind to sulk and show his bad temper, did not have to wait long for his opportunity. As they raced at the wall, he dug his toes into the ground, and, when rewarded by a sharp dig of the spurs, galloped headlong into it as if no such impediment to his progress existed, hitting it with his chest and turning a complete somersault.

There he lay in the place where he fell, his rider underneath, the pair of them mixed up together in a helpless and inexplicable mass. A cheer had greeted them as they approached the jump, but by degrees, as the serious nature of the fall became apparent, the cheer changed into a groan, and cries of " Oh-h-h ! " were given vent to as people held their breath in anticipation of what happened. Ladies who had been looking on with delight at the pretty sight afforded, now fainted in numbers. They were many of them new to steeplechasing, and unaccustomed to see such falls ; and although they had read daily in the papers of horrible tragedies and far worse accidents in other ways, still had never before had death brought so closely before them. The heap lay for some seconds in the place where it had fallen, but only until the horse had time to recover some of the wind which he had by his obstinacy knocked out of himself.

He soon struggled to free himself from his awk ward position, and, again rolling over the body of his pros trate jock, momentarily balanced himself all fours in the air before recovering himself. Then he jumped up, and, shaking himself as though to wash his hands of the whole transaction, trotted off jauntily in pursuit of the others. The jockey, on the other hand, never moved a muscle. There he lay where the horse had left him, as still as a corpse. When the policemen on duty on the course RANCH-LAND. came and lifted him from the ground, his head fell back, and his arms hung down; his body, too, was limp and lifeless. It seemed as though the breath had been literally squeezed out of him. " All over with this poor chap," remarked one of the pair of bluecoats. " Yes. Guess he won't ride many more races, nor care much what wins this neither," answered his fellow.

" But I always said I'd rather be a cop than take the chances these steeplechase fellers do." It was indeed a terrible fall ; and as the two policemen bore him away towards the far end of the stand, few who looked on, and had seen the way in which the horse had twice rolled over him, ventured to think there could be a particle of life left in his body. A doctor was speedily summoned to the dressing-room. (There always seems to be a number of these worthies, who crop up most unex pectedly on such occasions, prepared to take a hand in the case.) The first thing he did was to take his knife and, slitting open the silk jacket and other clothing, endeavour, by means of feeling with his hands and listening through his stethoscope, to ascertain the extent of the injuries, both external and internal.

His face, after concluding his exami nation, didn't give rise to much hope, and he shook his head, as if to imply that the jockey was beyond the reach of human skill. In addition to broken bones, he feared his neck was partially dislocated, and seemed surprised to think that the patient still showed signs of life and was breathing. He ordered his removal at once to the hospital in New York, and as soon as possible this was done. He was carried carefully to the floor of a railroad car, and from that transferred to an ambulance sent from the Bienvenu Hospital. Little more was thought of either him or the accident by those who were present at the races. In ten minutes the incident had been well-nigh forgotten, and SE AB ROOK CLUB. 9 everybody's attention was riveted on the big handicap and the remaining events.

One girl alone, Stella French, could not divest her mind of the tragic occurrence of the day. It all seemed to her so sudden and so terrible, that a young fellow should be cut down in the prime of life. Holder had been introduced to her only a few days previously, and had dined at her father's house only two nights before. It was mainly at his solicitation she had come to the races, and to see him ride. Now, therefore, that he was so suddenly cut down, as it were, she felt dazed by the calamity, and at fault as to what she could do to be of assistance to him. It was hard that he, who probably would have had plenty at home to care for him, should die here in an hospital unheeded and alone. Yet what could a girl do ? She felt so helpless ! How she wished for the time being she could be a man and do something — do, indeed, anything for him ! RANCH-LAND.

Chapter II. The Hospital

BIENVENU Hospital was a widespreading, unpretentious red-brick building, with its wings surrounding a grass courtyard, and built on the bank of the East River. It was by no means a haut ton establishment, but, on the contrary, was the general receptacle provided by the city authorities for cases of sickness, and more especially of accident, which in this mighty Babylon of New York were so numerous. The accident ward, the one into which Gerald was taken from the car, was the one where the most extreme cases were received. No home of luxury this. In it lay the maimed and the dying, huddled in close proximity to one another — many of the sufferers only brought there when the family funds could no longer afford to pay for surgical aid, and when they were at the point of death. Deaths, as a matter of course, were fre quent.

A screen would be put around the cots of the dying men, in order to hide the view from other patients, then that was the end of them. At night the dreaded coffins would be brought in to receive their burdens, and they would be carried out without the least concern. It seemed, indeed, almost as if it was a matter of course that any one who once entered this ward should be, sooner or later, carried out in the shell provided by the authorities. There was a dull monotony about all the proceedings in the accident ward, only varied occasionally by the ravings THE HOSPLTAL. 11 of some delirious patient, the groans of the dying, or some new arrival. The cot upon which Holder was laid was soon surrounded by one of the screens, for, despite the fact that he continued to breathe, he lay in a deathlike stupor, and the doctors who examined him on his first arrival one and all declared their inability to save his life, or even to extend it beyond a few hours.

One thing alone was in his favour, and that was his iron constitution. Riding so extensively as he had been for months before his fall, he had been compelled to keep himself in the best of health and condition. This strength had alone kept him living these few hours he had survived ; nothing else could possibly have done it, seeing the bad way in which he had been crushed. Nothing could be done for him now, only to give him soothing draughts, and wait until he should awake from his stupor, and give some indications of either return to life or exit to death. There were no friends to visit him ; not a soul, as it seemed, to be interested as to whether he lived or died. He was in a strange country, and the many who would gladly have come to his aid at home in such an emergency, could now only be informed by cable that an accident had happened.

It was an unfortunate state of affairs for him that he should be left to die in an hospital, unbefriended and without a soul to see the last of him ; but so it was. After the accident had happened at the races, Stella French had had no heart for more. She begged her escort to get her back home again as quickly as possible, and the whole of that night lay awake thinking over the events of the day, and what she could do to be of some use to this stranger. She had taken a fancy to him when they first met, and, now that he was hurt, would have given much to be able to render him some assistance, however slight. How could she do it, she wondered, without impropriety. Was there no way in which she could help ? nothing she RANCH-LAND. 12 could do ? She worried herself to such an extent thinking about it that, in despair of getting to sleep, she at length rose from her bed and paced up and down the floor, hoping for inspiration.

Still the idea didn't come; and when she dressed and joined her father at his early break fast in the morning, she was looking such a wreck, from lack of sleep, and so pale, too, that he couldn't fail to notice it, as she sat opposite to him. "Whatever is the matter, my dear child ?" he asked, eyeing her. " You look terrible. Are you ill ? Come and tell me." Stella wanted but little encouragement to cause her to burst into tears. She was tired, worried, and excited, and the events of the previous day had proved too much for her. She tried to answer her father's question, but could keep the tears back no longer, and, taking out her hand kerchief, held it to her eyes and broke down. " Oh, papa, I am so miserable, so unhappy ! I can't help it." "Why, gracious child, what's the matter? You who never cry, like this?

You don't look well. Dear, dear! I ought to have noticed it before. What is it, childie ? Come and tell me what's the matter; come and tell your dad. I must fetch the doctor to you. This will never do." Thus adjured, Stella rose from the table and walked round to her father. Then, laying her head upon his shoulder, she broke into sobs again, even louder than before. " Well, well," said the old gentleman soothingly, " this is something strange to see my little girl cry like this. What's it all about? Won't you tell me? What is it, Stella, child ? " "Oh, papa, I've been thinking all night about that poor Mr. Holder. I feel sure he's dead. And in the hospital, too. Oh, it is so terrible, and he is so nice, and there isn't a soul to look after him ! " " Oh-h-h ! That's it, is it ? Well, yes, my darling, it is very sad ; but cheer up, I hope he's not dead, and he'll be well taken care of.

He must have some friends. Let's see, where did you say they took him to? I'll go and see after him ; I'll go myself." " To Bienvenu, papa ? Oh, how kind of you ! Will you really go, dear? I am so sorry, so sorry for him." " Don't take on so, my child. He'll be all right, I guess. Those steeplechase jockeys are used to that sort of thing ; they never come to any hurt. A fall's nothing to them; they take it as a matter of course." " But he isn't a steeplechase jockey, papa." "No? I thought he was. Why, what is he ? " " A gentleman, papa dear." " Oh yes, I know that. But I mean he often rides steeplechases, doesn't he? Can't kill those fellows, you know. Don't fret yourself, little one. He'll be all right." " I'm sure they've killed him, papa. I know he's dead ; I k'now he is ! Oh-h-h ! " " Come, come, darling, cheer up !

Drink some tea, and then you can put on your things and come out with me. We'll order the carriage and drive down to see about him. Will that please you? We'll go past the hospital on my way down town." " Oh yes, papa. How good of you ! We'll go directly, shall we ? And I'll order the carriage." Stella brightened up at once on hearing this decision on the part of her father, and hastened at once to ring the bell and give orders for the carriage to be brought round immediately. She was an impulsive girl, and, like most of her disposition, when once embarked on any project, went into it with heart and soul. No difficulty appeared to her insuper able, and obstacles were banished from her mind as soon as they suggested themselves. In this affair of Holder's, she had been deeply interested. She had been longing to go RANCH-LAND. 14 and look after him, but yet had hesitated, knowing full well the construction which less sympathetic friends would at once put upon her conduct.

Now that her father was willing to take the initiative, and, moreover, offered no opposition to her practical interest in the sufferer, the com plexion of affairs was altered, and her difficulties in a great measure removed. She had doubted her father permitting her to mix herself up in the case, and it was her utter helplessness to be of assistance which had gone home so keenly and caused her such sorrow. With this first bold step accomplished, she was now full of hope, and had little doubt that she would by degrees be enabled to carry out the remainder of her self-conceived programme. It would be as well, perhaps, before going further, to tell the reader some more details concerning this good little Samaritan. Stella, at the time of this story, was but eighteen years of age. Her mother had died when she was merely a girl in short frocks, and ever since that time she had been sole mistress and the life and soul of her father's house.

She was young to have been thus left alone to control a big establishment, but, young as she was, servants, tradesmen, and all who came in contact with her, seemed to have but one idea in regard to the young mistress, and that was to treat her with love and respect. No unkind feelings ever arose between them and Miss Stella. She was so winning in her ways, but withal so firm and impatient of disobedience, that everything about the establishment moved with the steady routine of perfect management. Under the circumstances, it is not surprising that Mr. French was not desirous of changing his state. Everything possible was done to administer to his comfort, and his home was a pattern of what a home should be. Stella had begun her reign at a very tender age, but early supremacy had not spoiled her.

From being a bright sunny little child, she had grown into a sweet-tempered, lovable girl. Many of her sentiments and manners were those of a woman of much riper years, but withal she had never lost the bright and winning ways of her childhood, and diffused sunshine by her presence wherever she went. Her character could readily have been discerned by one glance at her face. She was not handsome ; her pert little nose, of no definite shape, would have proved a decided bar to any claim to such a distinction. But there were plenty of redeeming features to make up for it. She had what in a child would be called a little love of a mouth — a pair of tempting lips, enclosing a regular set of brilliantly white teeth ; and her eyes were of a liquid blue, bordered by long, sweeping dark lashes. Her forehead — in fact, her face altogether — was too broad to be correct from an artist's point of view, and was surmounted, not, as might have been guessed, by a crown of flaxen or golden hair, but by a mass of nutbrown tresses, which formed a marked contrast to the blue of her eyes.