Prairie Flower; or, Adventures in the far West

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CHAPTER

XXIV.

XXV.

Chapter I. The Resolve

O ! for Oregon — what say you, Frank Leighton?” exclaimed my college chum, Charles Huntly, rushing into my room nearly out of breath. “ Come, what say you, Frank ?” queried my companion again, as I looked up in some surprise.

“Why, Charley,” returned I, “what new notion has taken possession of your brain ?”

THE RESOLVE.

“ Oregon and adventure,” he quickly rejoined, with flashing eyes. “ You know, Frank, our collegiate course being finished, we must do something for the remainder of our lives. Now, for myself, I cannot bear the idea of settling down to the dry practice of law, without at least having seen something more of the world. You know, Frank, we have often planned together where we would go, and what we would do, when we should get our liberty ; and now the Western fever has seized me, and I am ready to exclaim — ho ! for Oregon.”

“But, Charley,” returned I, “consider that we are now in Boston, and that Oregon is thousands of miles away. It is much easier saying, ho ! for Oregon, than it is getting to Oregon. Besides, what should we do when there ?”

“ Hunt, fish, trap, shoot Indians, anything, everything,” cried my comrade, enthusiastically, “so we manage to escape ennui, and have plenty of adventure !”

“ I must confess,” said I, “ that I like the idea wonderfully well — but — ”

“ But me no buts !” exclaimed Huntly ; “you will like it — I shall like it — and we will both have such glorious times. College — law — pah ! I am heartily sick of hearing of either, and long for those magnificent wilds where a man may throw about his arms without fear of hitting his neighbor. So come, Frank, set about matters — settle up your affairs, if you have any, either in money or love — and then follow me. Faith, man, I’ll guide you to a real El Dorado, and no mistake.”

The words of my companion produced a strong effect upon my naturally restless mind. Nothing that he could have proposed, at that moment, would have suited my inclination better than such a journey of adventure, and no companion would I have preferred to himself. We had been playmates together in infancy, we had studied together in youth, and we had been chums at old Harvard University.

From childhood up, I had loved Charles Huntly — or Charley, as I more familiarly termed him — as a brother ; and this fraternal feeling I knew he as warmly returned. We walked together, played together, sung together — ever took each other’s part on all occasions, whether right or wrong— and, in fact, for our close intimacy, were dubbed the Siamese Twins. We were both only sons of wealthy parents — I myself was an only child, in fact ; but he had a sister — a sweet, modest, affectionate creature, some three years his junior — whom I loved with all the ardent passion of a fiery, impetuous youth ; and was, I fancied, loved in return. Be this as it might, my passion for his sister he knew and encouraged ; and this only added a stronger link to the chain of our friendship.

In age, Charles Huntly was my senior by nearly a year, and was now a little turned of twenty-one. In stature we were much alike — both being about five feet ten inches in height, with regular proportions. In complexion we differed materially ; he being light, with light curly hair ; and I dark, with hair black and straight. In personal appearance my friend was remarkably handsome and prepossessing. His beauty did not consist in the mere perfection of features — though these were, in general, very fine — so much as in the play and expression of the whole countenance, where every thought seemed to make an instant and passing impression. His forehead was high and broad, and stamped with intellect, beneath which shone a bright, blue eye, that could sparkle with mirth, or flash with anger, as the case might be. The contour of his face was a something between the Grecian and Anglo-Saxon, though the nose was decidedly of the former cast. His skin — fine, smooth and almost beardless — gave him an appearance so boyish that I was often mistaken for his senior by many years — a matter which generally irritated him not a little, as he had a strong repugnance to being thought effeminate. His temperament was strongly nervous. At heart he was truly noble and generous ; but this, by those who did not know, him intimately, was very frequently overlooked in his hot and hasty temper. No one was more ready to resent an insult, or redress a wrong ; and as he was very tenacious of his own honor, so was he of another’s. If you insulted him, you must take the consequences, and they would not be slow to follow,

THE RESOLVE.

unless ample apology were made, in which case his hand was ever open for friendship. If he did you a wrong, and became convinced of it, he could not rest until he had sued for pardon. He was wild at times in his notions, headstrong, hot-brained^and, in general, a great enthusiast. Whenever anythi3|: new took possession of his mind, it was the great all-in-all for the time being ; but it was very apt to pass away soon, and be supplied by something equally as great and equally as evanescent.

Such, as I have just enumerated, were the striking points in the appearance and character of Charles Huntly ; and though in the latter we were much alike, yet we seldom quarreled, and then only to become better friends the next time we met.

Now as Charles remarked, in language which I have already quoted, we had often, during our leisure moments, laid out plans of adventure for the future, when our collegiate course should be finished. But the plan of to-day had always been superseded by the one of to-morrow ; so that, unless we resolved on something steadily, it was more than probable that the whole would result, simply, in speculating visions of the brain. The last proposition was, of course, the one which opens this chapter ; and which had, perhaps, less weight with me at the moment, from my remembering the failure of all the others. Still, there was one thing in its favor which none of the others had had. We had completed our studies now, and were at liberty, if we resolved on it, to carry our project into immediate execution, before it should become trite ; and besides, nothing before had seemed so fully to meet the views of both in every particular. Adventure was our delight, in every shape we could find it; as several powerful admonitions and premonitory warnings from our tutors, for various little peccadilloes, might well attest. But there was, notwithstanding, a drawback, which made me hesitate when my friend interrupted me. He was of age, but I was not ; and my father might not be willing to give his consent, without which I certainly would not venture. Another ; I loved Lilian Huntly; and should I go and leave her.

THE RESOLVE.

she might get married in my absence — a result which I ; felt was not to be endured.

While I sat, with my head upon my hand, buried in thought, rapidly running these things over in my mind, my companion stood w^ching me, as if to gather my decision from the expresSRn of my countenance.

“ Well, Frank,” said he, at length, “it seems you have become very studious all at once. How long is it going to take you to decide on accepting so glorious a proposition ?”

' “ How long since the idea of it entered your head ?”

I inquired.

“Ten, fifteen, ay — (looking at his watch) — twenty minutes. I was down for the purpose of getting a ' carriage, when the thought came across me like a flash

of lightning, and 1 turned and hurried back, to ”

' “ See me before you altered your mind,” interrupted

I, completing his sentence.

“Oh, bother! Wait till I have done. I hurried back, I say, to let you share the bright prospect with me.

“ Humph I prospect indeed 1” said I, with a laugh, merely for the purpose of annoying him ; for I saw by his whole demeanor that he was decidedly in earnest. “ And a prospect it will ever remain, I’m thinking, a long way ahead. You are joking, Charley, are you not ?”

“No, by all the bright Cupids of fairy realms, I swear to you, Frank, my dear fellow, I never was so serious about anything in my life, since the time when I played the ghostly tin-pan drum for the edification of old Aunt Nabby.”

“ But, allowing you are in earnest, you have overlooked two important points in asking me to accompany you.”

“ What are they ?”

“ My father, and Lilian.”

“Tut, tut, tut, Frank — don’t be a fool !”

“ That is exactly what I am trying to guard against,

• Charley.”

“ Pshaw ! stuff ! nonsense ! — what have your father and my sister to do with it ?”

i6

‘‘ Why, the first might refuse his consent to my going ; and the last might consent to have my place filled in my absence.”

‘‘Well,” answered Charley, “as for your father. I’ll pledge you my word that he will give his consent ; and for Lilian, that she will await your return, if it be six years hence.”

“You will?” cried I, jumping up suddenly; “you will pledge your word to this, Charley?”

“Yes, I will pledge you my honor to both, if you will say the word.”

“Enough ! here is my hand on it !” I cried.

The next moment my fingers felt the powerful pressure of those of my enthusiastic friend.

“Now, Frank,” he almost shouted, capering about the room for joy, “you are pledged beyond a back-out.”

“On condition you make your pledge good.”

“ I will do it or die !”

“ Then enough is said !”

“ Hurrah, then, for some glorious adventures !” cried Charles Huntly, darting out of my room and down a flight of stairs, to the imminent danger of his neck : “ Hurrah for the Rocky Mountains, Oregon, and the far. Far West !”

Chapter II

T was a clear, starlight evening, in the month of May, that I found myself slowly nearing the fine mansion of Benjamin Huntly, to behold my sweet and dearly-loved Lilian, perhaps for the last time. I felt strangely, as I had never felt before. A week had elapsed, and all had been arranged for my departure at an early hour on the following morning. The consent of my parents had been reluctantly yielded to the powerful eloquence and

LOVE AND JEALOUSY.

soft persuasion of my enthusiastic friend. Already had my trunks been packed, and my purse filled for the long separation. Already had I listened to the paternal advice of my father, and seen the tears of sorrow in my beloved mother’s eyes. The struggle of consent, but not of parting, was now over ; and I was wending my way to the house of my friend, to take leave of one, at the thought of whom my heart ever beat rapidly. As I said before, I felt strangely. I was about to bid adieu — a long, perchance a last, adieu — to all the bright scenes of my childhood — to friends near and dear to me — to father and mother — and last, though not least, to the idol of my purer thoughts.

It is hard, very hard, to leave the scenes of our youth for the first time — to venture forth, we scarce know whither, like a feather borne unconsciously upon the strongest current of air. However much we may plan in secret — however strikingly we may draw the pictures of adventure in the rosy colors of anticipation — however great may be our inclination to go and see the world for ourselves ; yet when the time of separation comes — when we are about to cut the cord that binds us to all we have ever seen and loved — the heart grows sad, and soft, and we feel as if staggering under the weight of some impending calamity.

Thus I felt, and a grea^ deal more which I cannot describe, as I paused for a moment upon the steps of Lilian Huntley’s dwelling, to compose my agitated nerves and appear calm and collected. Why was it that my agitation should now only increase ? Why could I never appear before her as before any other I had ever seen — cool and collected ? Why must my heart always flutter so, and my usually free-coming words stick chokingly in my throat, or congeal upon my lips ? Was it because I loved her ? I would have given half of my expected inheritance to have been able to talk to her freely, as I could to others. I had often tried it, but in vain. I always made a fool of myself, and I knew it. I fancied Lilian knew it too ; and this only added to my embarrassment. My heart and my self-esteem whispered me I was loved ; but my bashful fears told me the coni8

ZOVB AND JEALOUSY, trary. I had never tested her, and now I was about to do it. If she loved me, she would plainly show it at the moment of separation. I was shortly to be made happy or miserable — or miserably happy ; for if she loved me, I should be happy in knowing it — unhappy in the thought of a long parting. I trembled as I thought.

At last, with a desperate effort, I assumed a courage I did not possess, and, ascending the steps, rang the bell. In another minute I was ushered into the parlor, and the servant who admitted me was gone to summon my fair judge. I gazed around upon the beautiful paintings which adorned the walls, but without seeing them. I felt like a guilty culprit about to hear his doom. Could money, at that moment, have purchased me easy assurance, I would have had it at any price. I remained in suspense some five minutes, when the door opened and Lilian entered — entered like a fairy being into her golden realms.

IJeavens ! how lovely ! I had never seen her, or ^pght else, look so enchantingly sweet before. In complexion and features, Lilian strongly resembled her brother — save that everything was more soft, more effeminate, more exquisitely beautiful. Her skin was fair, and clear as alabaster, with a slight tint of crimson upon each cheek. Her features were all of the finest mold. Her large, soft, clear blue eyes were rendered extremely fascinating by long, drooping, delicatelyfringed lashes. In their depths was a soul of tender thought, feeling and love ; and, most joyful discovery ! they were now swimming in tears. She loved me, then, and had been weeping at the thought of my leaving her! The expression of her sweet countenance, too, was sad. Her plump, cherry lips were just parted, as if about to speak, displaying two rows of beautiful pearls. Her light hair was arranged a la mode^ and a bright, glowing diamond sparkled on her forehead. Her exquisitely faultless form was arrayed in the emblem of purity, a snow-white dress, which almost made me fancy her an ethereal, spiritual visitor.

She advanced with a timid step, and held out her ^npwy, dimpled hand. She tried to speak, but language failed her. I tried to do the same, with a like success. I took a step toward her, and her hand touched mine. Heavens ! what emotions thrilled me ! I was beside myself with the deepest joy I had ever felt. I forgot formality, caution, prudence, everything — and, before I knew what I was about, or how I did it, my lips were pressed to hers. The pressure was returned, one moment, and then she sprung away, blushing and confused. Think what you may of it, reader, that was one of the happiest moments of my life.

I was the first to break the silence, and I trembled as I did so.

“ I have come, Miss Lilian,” I stammered, to —

to ”

“ I understand,” she murmured, faintly, sinking into a seat ; while slowly the tears, that could not be suppressed, stole down her now pale cheeks ; “ I understand ; I am about to lose a — a — brother, and a — a — friend.”

Friend! heavens! how cold that word! It should be clipped by every lexicographer and sent out of existence ! Friend ! Why, it chilled my blood, and for the moment made me an enemy of the language which harbored it. Was there, then, no other term — one a little more endearing ? — and if so, why did she select one so cold ? Perhaps she meant it ! Perhaps her grief was only for the loss of a brother, and — if I must use the hateful term — a friend ! In that case she could not love me. I had once more made a fool of myself. But I would not do so again. I would let her see that I could be as indifferent as herself. She should not have cause to boast in after times — perhaps when wedded to another — how much I loved her, and how much she pitied me. No ! I would be as cold as marble — ay ! as a Lapland iceberg.

These thoughts went through my mind rapidly ; and but a brief pause succeeded, before I said, coolly enough. Heaven knows :

“ Yes, Miss Huntly, I have come to bid you a last farewell, and have but a few spare moments to do it in.”

I looked at her indifferently as I spoke, and oh I

LOVE AND JEALOUSY.

what would I not have given to recall those words ! Her soft, blue eyes turned full upon me, with a mingled expression of surprise and reproach, which I shall never forget. Her cheeks grew more deadly pale than ever ; and her lips quivered, as she sighed, almost inaudibly, my name. There was no withstanding this ; and on the impulse of the moment, I threw myself at her feet, and exclaimed :

“ Oh, Lilian ! sweet Lilian ! I have wronged you ! You love me, Lilian ! — you love me ! ”

She did not answer, but her look spoke volumes, as her eyes modestly sought the ground, and a slight flush beautifully tinted her cheeks. I seized her hand rapturously, and pressed it warmly. She did not return the pressure, neither did she seek to avoid it. I was in raptures, and I felt a soul of eloquence on my lips.

“I wronged you, Lilian!”! said passionately. “I thought you were cold-hearted, because you called me friend. But I was mistaken, I see 1 I was expecting a warmer term ; but I had forgotten it was not your place to, use it first. Lilian, dear Lilian — permit me so to call you — I am about to go far away ; and God only knows when, if ever, I shall return. Pardon me, then, if I improve the present moments, and speak the sentiments of my heart. I have known you, Lilian, from a child ; but I have known you only to love and adore. You have been the ideal of my boyish dreams, either sleeping or waking. The perfection of divine beauty with me has had but one standard — your own sweet, faultless face and form. Every happy thought of my existence has somehow had a connection with yourself. I could not picture happiness, without drawing you in glowing colors, the foremost and principal figure. I have thought of you by day, dreamed of you by night, for many years — have longed to be near you — have worshiped you in secret — and yet have never dared to tell you so till now. Whenever tempted to do wrong, your lovely face has been my Mentor, to chide and restrain me. I have loved you, Lilian — deeply, passionately, devotedly loved you, with the first, undefiled love of an ardent temperament — as I never can love another. I am about to leave, and

LOFJS AND JEALO US Y.

I tell you this, and only ask if I am loved in return. Speak ! let your sweet lips confirm what your looks have spoken, and I shall be the happiest of human beings !”

I ceased, and paused for an answer.

While speaking, the head of the fair being, at whose feet I kneeled, had gradually, unconsciously as it were, sunk upon my shoulder, where it now reposed in all its loveliness. She raised her face, crimson with blushes and wet with tears. Her hand, still held in mine, trembled — and her lips, as she essayed to speak, trembled also.

“Oh, Francis !” she at length articulated ; and then there came a silence.

“ Say on, Lilian, and make me happy !“

“No, no!” she said quickly, looking hurriedly around her, as if fearful of the presence of another. “ No, no, Francis — not now — some other time.”

“ But you forget, dear Lilian, that I am about to leave you — that there may never be a time like the present ! Only say you love me, fair one, and it is all I ask.”

“ But — but — ” she stammered, and then paused.

“ Ha ! then I have after all mistaken friendship for love ?” I returned, quickly, starting abruptly to my feet.

Again her soft, reproachful eyes met mine, and every angry impulse vanished before their heavenly beams.

“ You mistake me, Francis,” she said. “I — I — ” another pause.

Again was I at her feet, ashamed of my hasty display of jealous temper.

“The word is trembling upon your lips, Lilian,” I exclaimed ; “ speak it, and ”

At this moment, to my astonishment and chagrin, the door suddenly opened, and an elegantly-dressed gentleman, some five or six years my senior, highly perfumed, took one step over the threshold ; and then, perceiving me, he drew quickly back, evidently as much surprised and embarrassed as myself. Meantime, I had sprung to my feet, with a whirlpool of feelings in my breast, impossible to be described — the predominant of which were anger, mortification and jealousy. Lilian, too, had started up, and turned toward the stranger (stranger to me) with an embarrassed air.

LOVE AND JEALOUSY.

“ I crave pardon,” said the intruder, coloring, for my seeming rudeness in appearing thus unannounced ! I found the outer door ajar, and made bold to step in, without ringing, not thinking to meet with any here save the regular members of the family.”

“ Then you must either be a constant visitor, or no gentleman, to take even that liberty !” I rejoined, in a sarcastic tone of some warmth.

The face of the intruder became as scarlet at my words ; and his eyes flashed indignantly as he replied, in a sharp, pointed tone :

“ I am a regular visitor here, sir ! hwlyour face is new to me.”

Indeed !” I rejoined, with an expression of contempt, turning my eyes upon Lilian, as if for an explanation.

She was trembling with embarrassment, and her features were alternately flushing and paling, like the rapid playings of an aurora borealis. She hastened to speak, to cover her confusion, and prevent, if possible, any further unpleasant remarks.

“This — this^is Mr. Wharton, Francis,” she stammered ; “ a gentleman who calls here occasionally. Mr. Whar — Wharton, Mr. Leighton — an old friend of mine.”

Of course the rules of good breeding required us to bow on being thus formally introduced to each other ; and this we did, but very stiffly, and with an air of secret hate and defiance. That moment we knew ourselves to be rivals, and consequently enemies ; for it was impossible there should be any love between us. As for myself, I was powerfully excited, and indignant beyond the bounds of propriety. Hasty, passionate and jealous in my disposition, I was unfit to love any one ; for to me

“ Trifles light as air,

Were confirmations strong as proofs of Holy Writ,”

in consequence of which I only loved, to be miserable, and render the object loved equally so.

I exchanged no more words with Wharton ; but

LOVJS AND JEALOUSY.

turning to Lilian, I said, with all the coolness my boiling blood would allow :

“ So, then, the riddle is solved. Had you been frank enough to inform me that you expected particular company to-night, I should certainly ere this have ridden you of my presence.”

“ Oh, Francis !” cried Lilian, with an imploring, reproachful look, from eyes moist with tears ; “ you are mistaken ! — indeed, indeed you are !”

“Oh, yes, of course !” I replied, bitterly, as I coolly drew on my glove, and prepared to take my final leave. “Of course I am, or wasy mistaken ; but I shall not be likely to be again immediately, I presume. Farewell, Miss Huntly !” I continued, coldly, rudely extending to her my gloved hand ; “ I shall probably never see you again, as I leave at an early hour in the morning.”

Oh, what a look she gave me at that moment, of sweet, heart-touching, mournful reproach — a look which haunted me for days, for weeks, for months, for years — a look which, were I an artist, would peradventure be found upon every face I painted.

“ Francis !” she gasped, and sunk fainting and colorless upon a seat.

This, in spite of my jealous feelings, touched me sensibly ; and I was on the point of springing to her aid, when Wharton passed me for the purpose. I could stand no more — the devil was in me — and, with a scarcely suppressed imprecation upon my lips, I rushed from the apartment.

In the hall I met my friend Charles.

“Ha, Frank,” he exclaimed, “you seem flurried! What has happened ?”

“ Ask me no questions,” I replied, pointing with my finger to the apartment I had just quitted. “ Give my kind regards to your parents, and bid them farewell for me.”

“But stay a moment !”

“No! I must go ; ” and I seized my hat and made for the door.

“ All ready for the start in the morning, I suppose, Frank?”

ZOF£ AND JEALOUSY.

“ Ay, for to-night, if you choose !” I replied, as I hurried down the steps leading to the street.

I paused a moment, as my feet touched the pavement ; and, as I did so, I heard the voice of Huntly summoning tlie servants to the aid of his sister. I waited to hear no more ; but darted away down the street, like a madman, scarcely knowing, and caring less, whither I went.

Such was my parting with Lilian Huntly.

At last I found my way home ; and softly stealing to my chamber, I threw myself upon the bed — but not to sleep. I slept none that night. My brain was like a heated furnace. I rolled to and fro in the greatest mental torture I had ever endured.

Morn came at last, and with it Charles Huntly, all prepared for the journey. I ate a morsel, pointed out my trunks, sighed a farewell to my parents, jumped into the carriage, and was whirled away with great rapidity.

Charles looked pale and sad, and was not loquacious. I wanted him to talk — to speak of Lilian — but he carefully avoided any allusion to her. I was dying to know how he had left her, but would not question him on the subject. I inquired how he had left the family, however, and he replied :

“ Indifferently well.”

‘‘Well,” sighed I to myself, “she loves another, so why should I care ? ”

Half-past seven, and the rushing, rolling, rumbling cars were bearing us swiftly away. Fifteen minutes more, and the city of our nativity had faded from our view, perhaps forever.

We were speeding onward — thirty miles per hour — westward, ho ! for Oregon.

PROVIDENTIAL ESCAPES.

Chapter III. Providential Escapes

TEAMBOATS and railroads ! what mighty inventions ! With what startling velocity do they hurry us along, until even the overcharged mind almost feels it lacks the power to keep pace with their progress. Whoever has passed over the Boston and Providence route to New York will understand me. One mile-post succeeds another with a rapidity almost incredible ; and ere he, who travels it for the first time, is aware that half the distance is completed, he finds himself in view of the capital of old Rhode Island.

So it was with myself. I had never been from home, and knew little of the speed with which the adventurer is carried across this mighty continent. I had heard men speak of it, it is true ; but I had never realized it till now. Perhaps I was longer on the road than I imagined. When the heart is full, we take but little note of external objects, or the flight of time — time, which is bearing us on to the great ocean of eternity. My mind was oppressed and busy. I was thinking of home — of fond parents I had left behind — and of all the joys of childhood, which I could never witness again. A thousand things, a thousand scenes, which I had never thought of before, now crowded my brain with a vividness that startled me. They were gone now — forever gone ! I had bid them a last adieu. With one bold leap I had thrown off youth and become a man — a man to think and act for myself. My collegiate days, too, were over — days which memory now recalled with sad and painful feelings.