Caddo; or, Cupid in the gas belt. A story from real life

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THE RESCUE

Chapter I. The Rescue

“ How’er it be, it seems to me,

’Tis only noble to be good ;

Kind hearts are more than coronets,

And simple worth than Norman blood.”

REAT Caesar! Bill, look at them ’ere dogs a vJT fightin’. They’re a rollin’ an’ tumblin’ right toward Doc. Blackfoot’s hoss, an’ Nora has jist got into the buggy. There’ll be a runaway as sure as shootin’. Yes, here they come, lickety-cut, an’ Nora will be thrown out an’ killed, sure.”

The horse came dashing down Main street on a furious run, and the terrified girl pulling only on one rein, screaming “Whoa, whoa! help! stop him!” while the men on the street ran out of the way of the frightened beast, each, though, yelling, “Head him off, stop him, whoa,” etc., when Mr. Slathers, a tall, broadshouldered man, who had first called attention to the dog fight and frightened horse, sprang to the rescue and caught the rein next to him as they passed, but pulling it with such force that it snapped like a thread in his powerful hand, and the speed of the frightened animal was rather increased than checked by the effort.

George Hartley, a lad of seventeen, was coming up the sidewalk, a square below, and had seen the 2 horse start, and knowing that Nora’s life was in danger, determined to stop the furious beast at the risk of his own life ; so, springing with the agility of a cat to the horse’s head as he came dashing down the street, caught with both hands to the bridle, near the bit, and was dragged along for half a square, sometimes apparently under the horse’s feet, and then again swinging around by his side, but finally bringing the frantic steed to a full stop by turning it up to a rack at the sidewalk in front of Mr. Johnson’s store.

A dozen lazy loafers now stepped forward to help the frightened girl out of the buggy, after they saw that young Hartley had brought the horse to a safe halt, and had him under complete control.

But Mr. Slathers, the man who had first caught the rein, had followed on with all possible speed and was by the side of the buggy as soon as the horse was stopped, almost walking over them, as he said, “ Clair outen here, you lazy, sneakin’ cowards,” and reaching up towards the frightened child, she instinctively sprang into his strong arms and was tenderly lifted to the sidewalk.

“You cussed cowardly whelps,” said he, “to run an’ squall like a passel uv skeered chickens with a hawk arter ’em, ’stid uv tryin’ to do somethin’ sensible to stop the hoss, an’ now when you see there ain’t no danger, to come shinin’ around here bigger ’n boots. Clair outen here, I tell you,” and the loafers dropped back, much as a lot of curs would have done from a furious Newfoundland dog.

“ Here, George, you saved the girl, so you jist take her home, an’ I’ll take keer uv the hoss, for the lines is all broke up, an’ she’s too skeered to ride anyhow. But

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say, George, you’re hurt, ain’t ye? Whar’s all that blood a cornin’ from?”

All eyes were now turned toward the brave boy.

A sharp point on the horse’s shoe had cut quite a gash just below his knee, which was bleeding rapidly, and he was also spitting blood quite copiously.

“ Oh, George ! you are badly hurt. What shall we do?” cried Nora, who was the first one to his side.

“Oh! this amounts to nothing. I shall soon be all right,” said he, but with these words he fell fainting to the sidewalk, for the knee of the horse had struck him on the side and chest, bruising him deeply, which caused bleeding from his lungs.

“ Here, Bill Arnett, you run quick for Doc. Blackfoot,” said the man who had lifted the frightened girl to the sidewalk; and stooping down, he lifted the wounded boy tenderly as any other man in the crowd could have done for a little child, and carrying him into the store, laid him on a lounge in the office.

The man addressed ran with all haste to Dr. Blackfoot’s office, and on entering said, “Doctor, Henry Hartley’s boy is killed down at Johnson’s store, and they want you down there quick.”

“Well, if he is killed I can do him no good,” said the Doctor, “lam neither a resurrectionist nor an undertaker.”

“Well, Josh Slathers said for me to tell you to come quick.”

“ Did no one else send for me ?”

“ No, sir, not as I heard.”

By this time Nora came running in, trembling and almost breathless: “ Pa, they want you quick at Johnson’s store. George Hartley is there and badly hurt.”

“Well, Arnett, this puts another face on the matter, and you may tell them Til be there in a few minutes.” So saying he took his pill bags and a few surgical instruments, and hastened to the side of the wounded boy. His sensible daughter had not taken time to tell of the runaway or even how the boy was hurt, as she feared that every moment lost might prove fatal to the one who had risked his life to save hers.

George and Nora had been classmates in school ever since Dr. Blackfoot located in Caddo, and their dispositions being quite congenial, a warm friendship had sprung up between them. But on the contrary, a feeling of hatred on the part of the Doctor and his wife, had for some time existed toward Henry Hartley and his family, in part because he was a farmer and heavily in debt, but chiefly because the Hartley family were Methodists and also strong temperance people.

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Chapter II. A Heartless Doctor

C ONSCIOUSNESS had been restored, and the flow of blood mainly stopped before the Doctor arrived, through the good sense of the man who had carried George into Mr. Johnson’s private office. A half a dozen of the excited loafers came crowding into the little room where Mr. Johnson and one of his clerks led the way to the lounge on which the wounded boy was laid.

They all had suggestions to make as to what should be done, but no one of them seemed willing to do anything but get in the way of those who really had the case in charge.

“ Why don’t you put water in his face?” said Sam Hooker.

“Better turn him over and pound him on the back,” said Abe Green.

“ Somebody go and hurry the doctor up; he’Jl never get here,” said Joe Gassett.

“Better — hie — bleed him — hie — if the doctor don’t — hie — get here pretty — hie — soon,” said old Jerry Wilson, who was too drunk to stand steady, so leaned awkwardly against the door facing.

“I’ll bet the Doctor ’ll give him a puke when he comes,” again yelled Abe Green, “for that’s what he give Mrs. Murphy t’other day for the cramps, an’ you bet it fetched her quicker’n lightnin’.”

“ Clair outen here, every dratted one of ye ,” said Mr. Slathers, who just then returned from the back yard where he had been for a pail of water. “Mr. Johnson an’ I’ll take care of him ’till the Doctor comes. You’re jist a breathin’ up all the air that he’s a gaspin’ for. Clair out, I tell ye.”

The curious loafers knew better than to wait for a second warning from Josh Slathers, as he was familiarly called by everybody in Caddo, so filed out, muttering their curses against “the green Yankee that didn’t know enough to nuss a sick cat.”

The Doctor arrived a few minutes later, and his examination proved that one rib was broken and two others fractured, while the cut below the knee was only an ugly flesh wound.

He could not tell, however, how seriously he had been bruised internally; and as he had not yet learned how or why the boy w T as hurt, he showed more indifference in the case than the attendants thought he should. So when he told George that he had better try to get home as soon as he felt like walking, Mr. Slathers indignantly protested against his trying to walk home. The look of intense pain on George’s face touched the great, kind heart of Joshua Slathers, and turning to the doctor, he said:

“ Now, look here, Doc. Blackfoot, that ’ere boy ain’t fitten to try walkin’, an’ he shan’t walk a durned step either ; an’ you orto be ashamed to ax him to, after savin’ your daughter’s life like he did. Why, ef it hadn’t been fer his ketchin’ your dratted runaway hoss, it would a been Nora instid o’ him a needin’ your attention about now.”

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“ How is this, Mr. Johnson? I don’t understand it,” said the Doctor.

“He can tell you more about it than I can, Doctor,” said Mr. Johnson, nodding his head toward Mr. Slathers, “I knew nothing about the accident until I saw the crowd gathered around the bleeding boy on the sidewalk.”

“Well, Josh, tell us how it happened,” said the Doctor.

“Well, in the fust place, Doc., them cussed dogs of Sam Hooker’s and Abe Green’s got to fightin’ on t’other side o’ the street from your house jist as Nora was a gittin’ into the buggy, an’ afore she could git a holt o’ both lines the durned dogs come a tumblin’ over one ’nother, right under the buggy, and the devil hisself couldn’t a hilt such a cussid runaway hoss as your’n then. I jumped into the street as he come along an’ ketched him by the line that Nora was pullin’ on, but Judas, Doc., it snapped like a rotten shoe string, an’ never checked him a bit more’n ef I’d sneezed at him. An’ every cussed rat on the street an’ sidewalk below hollered an’ run out of the way, all a helpin’ to skeer the hoss wuss’n ever, ’till that brave boy lay in’ thar jumped like a cat an’ caught him by the bridle, an’ stuck right to him like brick dust to a bar o’ soap ’till he stopped him right here in front o’ the store.”

“Ah, yes, I understand now,” said the Doctor, “I noticed the horse and buggy were gone, but I thought the girls had driven around to the stable, as they frequently do. Well, George, you are a brave boy, and I certainly feel under obligations to you for your efforts.

I will have my buggy sent around to take you home.”

“ No you don’t, Doc., not by a darned sight,” said

Slathers, “he shan’t be all shuck up that way. Besides, that cussed hoss is so near skeered to death now that there mout be another runaway, an’ that’d finish George, the fix he’s in. Jest you take a holt o’ the foot o’ the lounge an’ I’ll take the head and the heft o’ the weight, an’ we’ll carry him home, for it ain’t more’n half a mile.”

u I think this plan the better one,” said Mr. Johnson, “and I will have some of my men to assist you.”

But as George’s father just then came in, he and Mr. Slathers carried the sufferer home on the lounge in as easy a manner as possible, but weeks passed before he was sufficiently recovered to be able to walk out.

The Doctor called daily for more than a week, but could do but little for the relief of his patient; in fact, his sensible mother did about all that could be done for him. All of his classmates called frequently to see him, and their little tokens of kindness were very grateful to his heart, but none of them so much so as the beautiful bouquets which Nora always brought him.

As before stated, Dr. Blackfoot was not friendly toward the family of Henry Hartley, and now that he saw that his patient was recovering and out of danger, he forbade his daughter’s further manifestation of her gratitude to George for what he had risked and suffered to save her from danger.

“I shall not permit you to pay any further attention to any of the Hartley family, Nora,” said the father, “ now that the boy is out of danger, even if his other classmates choose to do so. You must understand that they are poor, laboring people, and the whole family have to work hard on their farm and economize closely, and I have recently learned that their farm is

CUPID IN THE GAS BELT.

heavily mortgaged, and they will probably lose that, in which case they will be little better than paupers. Besides, they are every one Methodists and fanatical on the temperance question, and I hope that no child of mine will disgrace us by recognizing these Hartleys as being on friendly terms with us. Do you understand what I mean, Nora?”

“I think I do, papa; but surely you would not wish me to be less expressive of my appreciation of George’s kindness than any member of our class, since his suffering was all caused by his efforts to save me from possibly a worse fate ?”

“I mean just what I say, Nora, and I shall expect you to pay no further attention to George, or any other fanatical Hartley.”

It was hard for Nora to keep back her tears, as she felt that her father was so unreasonable in his demands ; but this course had just the opposite effect with her from what her proud father intended, for her sympathies were now more than ever enlisted for her afflicted classmate. She had noticed that his clothes were of the cheaper grade, but they were always scrupulously neat and clean. She had heard the day before that the Hartley family were compelled to exercise the most rigid economy in order to keep their home, and at the same time keep their children comfortably clothed and in school; and now that her father had confirmed the statement by speaking of their poverty, she determined to make one more effort in their behalf, so she said, “ Well, papa, as they are so poor I hope you will charge them nothing for what you have done in this case, as I should have been the one who required all the attention if it had not been for his bravery in stopping our horse.”

Dr. Blackfoot saw that his daughter’s sympathies were drawn out toward the sufferer, and knowing that it is “only a step from pity to love,” he determined if possible to build an insuperable barrier between his own family and every member of that of Henry Hartley. He hated the latter most intensely for fc his temperance principles; besides, wealth was the idol he worshiped; poverty the demon he detested. While he loved his daughter, yet he had inherited from his father a stern, inflexible will that would not allow him to yield a point on account of her wishes, so he replied :

“You are too young, Nora, to understand much about business. I shall be very reasonable in my charges in this case, as I am with all very poor people. Besides, I fear you put too much stress on the mere act of his stopping the horse. Why, .it was no more than his duty, which any one should have done under the circumstances, and I wish you to dismiss this subject from your mind now and give your whole attention to your studies.”

Nora made no reply, but left the room with a heavy heart.

“ How can papa be so selfish?” thought she, as she resumed her studies in the library. “If ever I am a woman and have any means at my disposal, I shall take pleasure in helping such noble poor people rather than in any way to oppress them.”

But in order that the reader may have a better idea of Dr. Blackfoot’s character, a sketch of his early life must be given.

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Chapter III. College Days

T EN years ago, Caddo was a beautiful town of less than three thousand inhabitants, and situated in what is now known as the “Natural Gas Belt.” For years past her citizens had been noted for their interest in schools, churches, and especially in the temperance work, as they had not at that time tolerated a saloon in their town.

A few years before the opening of our story, Dr. Blackfoot, of Albany, New York, located with his family in Caddo. The Doctor was a man of commanding appearance, with dark brown eyes and full black beard slightly tinged with grey, for he was nearing the meridian of life. He could be very sociable and friendly at times, but as a rule was not so ; and the close observer could not fail to detect in him, on certain occasions, a restless, uneasy movement, that was suggestive of some apprehended danger.

Mrs. Blackfoot was an unusually handsome woman of forty, and far more than the Doctor’s equal in social qualities, but scarcely equaling him in pride and avarice.

Their son Archibald, who was nineteen at the time of their removal to Caddo, was rough and uncouth in his manners, besides being so disgustingly profane and overbearing that the boys called him “ Bull-dog Blackfoot.”

Their three daughters, Belle, Nora and Kate, were beautiful girls, though all of a different type.

Belle, the eldest, a girl of seventeen, was rather tall, with dark brown eyes and auburn hair.

Nora, two years younger, was of medium height, and round, full form, with light blue eyes and flaxen hair, and while she was the most beautiful, she was also by far the most lovely in her character.

Kate, a girl of ten years, was as nearly the picture of her father as a girl ever could be, with jet black hair, and dark, restless eyes, that told of a raging temper within, which at times was uncontrollable.

But that the reader may more clearly understand the nature of one of our chief characters, we must go back to the boyhood days of Dr. Blackfoot.

He was the only son of Mr. John Blackfoot, a wealthy liquor dealer of Albany, New York. Mr. Blackfoot had given Richard, for this is the Doctor’s name, every educational advantage that money could bestow, but had neglected that heart training, without which, no life, even in the business world, is safe. His mother, though, was an earnest Christian, and often had she prayed with and for her son through his early boyhood days, that God would make of him a pure, noble and true man.

These lessons were not wholly unheeded by Richard, for until he left the parental roof to attend college, he seldom neglected his hours of devotion and secret prayer. Indeed, for weeks after entering college, he daily thought of his promise to his devoted mother as she gave him her own beautiful pocket Bible with her parting kiss, and begged him to make this book his daily counselor and friend.

‘‘You will be surrounded by temptations and dangers on every hand, Richard,” said she, “but so long as you

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rely, not on yourself, but God, for help, you will be safe. Read from this blessed book daily, my son, not for my sake only, nor because I have asked it, but for the sake of him who gave his life’s blood for you, and who has promised to be strength to you in every hour of temptation and need. As to your personal or temporal wants we have always given you everything you need, and shall send you from time to time as much money as is required for any reasonable expenditures while you are in college ; but you must keep an accurate account of all you expend, and what it is for, as you will not then be so likely to use your money foolishly.”

It is needless to say that Richard promised compliance with his mother’s wishes in all of these matters, for he dearly loved and honored her ; and there was no personal sacrifice he would not cheerfully make for her sake.

But little did he know the weakness of his own character. While kneeling at his mother’s side, shut out from the world and those who would ridicule his devotions, it was easy enough to attend to these duties. But as another student, George Grant, occupied the same room with himself, who, so far as he could discover, had never received any religious training, he felt it would be impossible to read even his mother’s Bible, and kneel as had been his custom, at the evening altar, in his presence. Oh, how different might his whole life have been, had he sacredly kept the promises given with the parting kiss to his mother ; for his room-mate had made similar promises to his Christian parents on leaving his religious home, and with as little thought that he, too, would soon yield to the temptations to heedlessly neglect such sacred duties.

Chapter IV. Broken Vows

“There is a time, we know not when,

A point, we know not where,

That marks the destiny of man To glory or despair.

There is a line by us unseen,

That crosses every path ;

The hidden boundary between God’s patience and his wrath.

“To pass that limit is to die,

To die as if by stealth ;

It may not quench the beaming eye,

Or pale the glow of health.

Oh, where is this mysterious bourne By which our path is crossed ;

Beyond which, God himself hath sworn, That he who goes is lost.”

OT until the day before Richard left college did he learn that his room-mate had been reared in a

Christian home, and' was daily stifling his Christian mother’s prayers. Coming into his room hastily one day near the close of the college term, he found two letters lying on the table. One was from an old schoolmate, Ned Saunders, who had gone a few months before with his parents to the far west.

In addition to his glowing description of the wild scenery around their new western home, the whole letter was full of sprightly humor, which caused him more than one hearty laugh, before he came to the postscript, which ran as follows :

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‘ ‘ Richard, don’t let the matrimonial bee get in your bonnet before you have seen the west. Also, kindly extend my invitation to your jolly room-mate to come with you and spend your vacation with us. By the way, you will please let him read this letter, if you do not object to his knowing how poor a correspondent you have.”

“ By Jove !” exclaimed Richard, as he finished reading the letter, “Ned is a jolly good correspondent, and I must let George read this letter as soon as he comes in. But where is this other letter from ? The post-mark is so dim I can’t make it out, but the writing looks familiar. Yes, it must be father’s. I wonder why he has written, as mother writes all the social letters, and I was looking for her letter to-day.”

He opened the letter and in it found a hastily written note from his father, telling him to start immediately for home, stating that the enclosed letter from his mother would be sufficient explanation.

With trembling hands he seized his mother’s letter, which, in his excitement, had fallen to the floor, with the empty envelope and the letter from Ned Saunders.

The letter ran as follows :

“Albany, N. Y., Dec. 20th, 18 — .

“My Dear Son Richard. —

“The time has now come for you to know that you may soon be motherless, and much as I dislike to throw a shadow over your pathway, yet I feel something impelling me 'to write to you as I never have before; for this may be the last letter your mother’s hand will ever pen to you.

“ While you have known that my health has been failing for some months past, yet you have not known the cause. Dr. Anderson pronounced my malady an internal tumor several weeks ago, and yesterday, he, in consultation with Drs. Johnson and Cutter, decided that a critical surgical operation would be necessary in order to save my life.

“As Dr. Cutter leaves for Chicago on the 24th, they have decided to perform the operation next Friday, and your father thinks we had better have you come home. As the time is so near at hand, and accidents or delays may occur to prevent your arrival in time for me to say all I wish before my strength fails me, I shall leave a few words on these pages for you to treasure when the hand that now writes, and these lips which have so often kissed you, shall lie cold in death. It is hard for me to leave you and father, but God knows what is best, and I have learned to trustingly say, “Thy will be done.”

‘ ‘ Oh, Richard ! be ever true to your vows. Be true to the promises you made to your mother when you took her parting kiss, ever to make God’s Word your counselor and guide, and daily to bend your knees to Him in prayer. He only can help you in the dark hours of temptation, which will come to you, as come they must to all. But with every victory over temptation, even though it be that of denying your Savior before your room-mate, by neglecting your Bible and evening devotions in his presence; if you conquer this sin, you will become stronger in your Christian life, and doubtless too in his estimation and affections. For if George is the noble young man you say he is, your united prayers doubtless ascend daily as sweet incense to the Giver of all good. Oh, Richard, your Bible and your daily prayers will

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be the sheet anchors to your soul in all your coming life, if you do not forsake them.”

Richard could read no more, for every word seemed to send a thrill of pain through his soul. He dropped the letter on the floor, and bowed his head in grief on the table before him.

How bitterly he reproached himself for all his broken vows.

“ O, mother!” he sobbed, “how can I ever look in your sweet face again and tell you what a coward I have been ? Well, this ends my college days, for I shall never leave my mother again. With her, I can be brave. Away from her, I am indeed a coward. I must see the college faculty immediately, and make my arrangements for taking the early morning train homeward. But here comes George, and I am in no mood for talking with him.”

So hastily gathering up the letters and putting each, as he supposed, in its proper envelope, dropped them on the table. After gathering up a few articles that he feared might be forgotten, and putting them in his trunk, he walked back past the table as his room-mate entered, and putting, as he supposed, his mother’s letter in his pocket, he handed the other to George, saying, “I am requested to let you read this letter, and as I shall be out for a short time, you can look over it while I am gone.”

George opened the letter and glancing over it said, “Why, this is a lady’s hand; whose can it be? Well, Dick said he was requested to give it to me to read, so here goes.”

“ My Dear Son Richard.” “ Why this must be from his mother. I wonder why he never showed me any of her letters before ? Perhaps, though, for the same reason that I have concealed my mother’s from him. I’ll see.”

George had scarcely read to the point at which Richard dropped the letter, when the latter re-entered the room.

“Oh, Richard!” said he, “what a fool and coward I have been. Here you have had the manhood to show me your mother’s letter, which has doubtless been in your heart to do all the time, and I, like the coward that I am, have never dared to show you any of my mother’s letters for fear you would learn that I, too, had made a similiar promise to my Christian mother before leaving home, that it appears you have made to yours. Oh, Richard ! how often after reading one of her loving letters, have I wished that you would propose the course indicated in this excellent letter from your mother that you have so kindly let me read, and for which I sincerely thank you.”

“I deserve no thanks from you, George, for I see I have made a mistake and given you my mother’s letter instead of Ned Saunders’. But since you have shown your approval of my mother’s sentiments, I now heartily wish I had let you read them all. I shall take the early morning train for home, but I shall never enter college again. I have no power to resist temptation when not under my mother’s influence, and I shall never leave her again.”

“Oh, Richard, I hope your mother’s health may soon be fully restored, so that you can at least return early in the term ; for I shall now miss you more than ever, and we could help each other in the future to be true to our vows.”