A mother of unborn generations, a novel

Front matter

-Hi

MOTHER

COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT

Chapter I

In a bronzed and bearded figure, with widebrimmed sombrero, a face roughened by years of exposure to excessive heat and cold, a well-knit frame, erect, showing considerable evidence of physical strength and endurance, though scarcely fleshy enough to be exactly symmetrical, and the aspect of a man between the age of thirty-five and forty, that rode from the plains upon the back of a sturdy broncho into a small railroad town in northern Montana, with the hot midday sun beating down upon him, none would have recognized John Langworth, the thoughtful, pale-faced clear-cut featured medical student of a decade past. Nevertheless only ten years had passed though he looked fifteen years older at the least. Lines upon his face that he showed no evidence of when he was first introduced to the reader had formed and deepened, adding a firmness to his well-shaped mouth and a keenness to his. dark gray eyes, and a few gray hairs could be descried among the brown of his locks. The latter, however, were not the result of dissipation or illness, which is often the case, but due rather to the hard life which I he had led of rough work and exposure, and his natural manner of deep thought.

He had followed in turn the pursuits of cowboy, farmer, miner and cattle raiser. But throughout it all he had not accumulated any great amount of the world’s goods. He had come some considerable distance from the ranch jointly owned by him and another, and he showed some evidence of travel. There was dust upon him, beaten from the prairie grass by the tread of his horse where paths and roadways had been absent, but not so much as there otherwise might have been owing to the fall of recent heavy rains in the neighborhood. He was about to make a journey by rail into the neighboring State of Dakota to settle up some property transactions, the sale of some land he owned near the town of Ross, which had been partly carried out by correspondence; then he intended to journey as far as Bismarck to visit some friends and relatives. A desire had possessed him for some time for a vacation, for he had worked so steadily for a long time, and he decided to take one.

After having his horse taken charge of at a hostelry, and partaking of some needed refreshments himself, he sought the railway station, and began his wait for the train. He judged it would be a considerable time, and late as usual, and he was not mistaken.

After reaching the small wooden platform he relieved himself of his hand-bag, which was of rather modest proportions, and his coat which he had been carrying under his arm, by tossing them carelessly upon a near-by bench and began pacing up and down the length of the platform, somewhat impatiently at first, his movements as he did so indicating the possession of a fair share of manly 2 strength, grace and agility. Indeed, as he moved about in the easy attire of woolen shirt, the one garment visibly covering the upper part of his form, his shoulders broad and his frame erect, his face bronzed to the color of his mustache, his eyes looking keenly from beneath the broad-brimmed hat, he looked the typical man of the plains and far from a weakling.

Then slackening his pace after a time and finally coming to a stand opposite an open space between two buildings that gave him an unobstructed view ahead he stood gazing across the wide prairie whence he had come, with its long, rank grass broiling under^ the rays of the hot, clear sun, and sea of simmering vapor rising therefrom. Though his eyes were rivetted in the one direction, to where the prairie was lost in the distant haze yet the view was subordinated to other scenes his mind’s eye resurrected of other places and other days. As he stood there much of the happenings of the past decade, since he returned from the East to take up the life he was now following, swept before his mental vision producing varied flitting emotions. In these emotions there was nothing akin to egotistic pride or self-satisfaction at his achievements even though he had made some substantial headway and position in the world. On the contrary, he was inclined to belittle what he had done. It seemed, in weighing his opportunities, he could have done much more and ought to have done much better. Then he found himself arguing that it would all make no difference in the end. Though he was seldom prone to take a pessimistic view of life, yet at this instant there seemed to be an emptiness in existence and a littleness in all one’s endeavors, and he found himself 3 questioning the use of it all and the wisdom of the aim and end of things.

He was in this reflective mood when finally the train came along, awakening him from his reverie. He was the only passenger waiting for it, and when it came to a stand he sprang aboard with his belongings and had scarcely sunk into the first vacant seat when it was moving again.

John Langworth found his mind occupied for a time gazing out the open window at passing objects. But he was familiar with most of these sights — the broad, rolling prairie, an occasional cattle ranch in the distance, a near-by corral, a mountainous bluff standing out clear against the far-off horizon, and at intervals a dwelling or farm house — and his mind soon became reflective of other matters.

He found occupation for a time eying his fellow passengers, of which there was a goodly number present in the same coach of a pronounced motley stamp, speculating whence one or the other came, where they might be going, what might be their station in life and what might be their aim, if they had any. From this his reflections carried him back to his student days in New York, and he thought of his fellow medical students, Hilkley Tweedwell and Caldwell Winngath, of whom he had never heard any more since his parting from them a decade past, and he wondered what had come of them, if they were both in the land of the living and if they had made a success of life and their profession.

He wondered what like a doctor he would have made himself if he had remained with the profession in place of abandoning it as he had done; whether he would have been a failure, or of mediocre ability, or a success, and whether he 4

■would have been a married man with a growing family now.

He could not bring his mind to the belief that he would ever have made a decided success of the profession; he thought he might have attained to mediocre ability at the most ; therefore, he believed he had been right in abandoning it.

He still went on musing on one subject and another as the train rushed on, one thought crowding the other in rapid sequence. There was something in the speeding motion stimulating to his mental faculties. But after a time his thoughts became less clear and definite with this crowding, rapid transition, and his general grasp of the conditions of existence less lucid. There seemed to be a growing, undefined unreality about much. Even life itself at times seemed to be unreal and shadowy.

The journey for the first few hours was as uneventful as most railway journeys. There was little to break the monotony save the occasional stopping at a cluster of dwellings, generally shacklike in appearance, called a town. But though no untoward happening or excitement marked its beginning and early stages it was not destined to end so.

When the banks of the river were reached, running closely parallel with the railway, and night was approaching, evidence of the recent heavy rains was visible in the swollen and strongly running current.

It swirled along, its dark bosom moved into wide undulations, then anon in short and violent wavelets dashing against the low banks close to the railway tracks.

The day had been excessively hot, the atmosphere humid in the extreme. As the night drew apace 5 dark threatening clouds formed and hovered in the northeastern sky, unmistakably heralding an approaching storm. Then as the darkness overhead increased to dense blackness and the landscape took on the aspect of early night, the wind, that had almost died away, arose suddenly in violence stirring the river’s bosom into wavelets, bending with giant strength the trees lining the banks, rending and cracking the branches, tearing and hurling its way through them till they moaned and cried in great pain. Then above the sound of the wind and the rush of the train came the ominous roar of thunder, low and deep, anon loud and vibrant, splitting the blackness above in twain in zigzag lines of forked fire, its sudden glare at brief intervals lighting up for an instant the dark landscape and the blackness of the river’s bosom, followed by a deafening roar of unrestrained violence. Then the storm burst in all its wild fury, the wind blew in fierce gusts, the raindrops descended in great spots, then in one pouring, driving torrent drenching the thirsty earth, rushing to the river in thousand streamlets ; the thunder roared and crashed, the lightning flashed terribly and aweinspiringly. The train rushed on through it all but with reduced speed.

John Langworth sat watching through the drenched window, as best he could, the fury of the storm with much interest and some awe; watching the violence of the wind among the trees, their swaying, rending, cracking and breaking; listening to the roaring and crashing of the thunder ; watching the glaring flashes of lightning lighting up the black landscape and the dark river; viewing the torrential rain, and wondering where it all came from and when it would cease its drenching downpour. He was deep in the latter occupation when a sudden jolting, rending, crashing, not of the storm, broke in upon his thoughts, its violence throwing him almost from his seat, banishing everything from his mind save a hazy realization of these later manifestations of violence. He had scarcely time to think what these sounds and movements indicated, when in an instant the coach in which he sat with his fellow passengers swayed violently far over to one side amid the continued splintering, rending sounds of smashing wood and glass, and the dark river on which his eyes had been bent seemed to rise suddenly toward him and in a moment more he felt himself engulfed in the flood, the cold water everywhere immersing him. The cool water seemed to restore his dazed faculties immediately, and he realized that an accident had taken place and he had got to make an effort for his life. For a moment or two the weight of water and some other impediments of a firmer nature seemed to hold him down ; then he felt himself moving, seemingly impelled upward along with the force of the current and pressed through an appeture of the coach. All he heard now was the singing of rushing water in his ears. In an instant more he had reached the surface ; but for a moment or two, with the deluging rain and turbulent river tempestuously driven by the fury of the gale against his upturned face, depriving him of his breath and sight, and the blackness above him and about him, he was unaware of his good fortune. However, as his head turned from the fury of the elements, a vivid flash of lightning revealed to him for a moment the scene of violence, and he heard the tumult of the gale, the rending of branches and trees, the screeching of the wind mingling with the hoarse shouts of men 7 and the shrill screaming of despairing women. He saw that he was near a partly submerged coach, past which he was being swept, and knowing his power as a swimmer, realized he could reach it with a few strokes of his strong arms.

A moment more he was about to strike out in the direction of the coach when a terrific roar of thunder followed by a brilliant flash of lightning revealed a dark object with a white, upturned face sweeping past him and he heard from it a pitiful, terrified cry of despair. It was so shrill and despairing that it might have been the voice of a woman, and in its apparent utter helplessness and terror it appeared as such, and appealed at once to him. He did not consider his own danger for a moment — that a few strokes of his arms might take him into the river’s most violent current and possibly beyond his strength to combat, while the same number of strokes in the opposite direction would most likely land him in safety.

When the cry rang in his ears again, the appeal reaching him almost before the other had died away, he made a plunge in the direction whence it had come, but the form had disappeared swallowed up by the fury of the gale and his hands came in contact with nothing but water, and he saw nothing but turbulent blackness about him; but he battled amid it all in the hope of rendering assistance to a perishing fellow mortal. The opportunity, however, seemed to be passing rapidly, and he began to think of his own safety, of how he would battle to the shore. His next thought suggested to him the wisdom of striking out immediately for this haven.

Though he was a powerful swimmer, and not unduly concerned for his own safety, nevertheless 8 he was moved to some anxiety at a full realization of what weighty impediments to his efforts were his clothes and riding-boots.

He was just about to put forth some efforts shoreward when a vivid glare of extraordinary brilliancy, followed by another and another of similar illuminative power accompanied almost at the same instant by a terrific crash of heaven’s ordnance and a quick succession of similar reports like the rapid firing of artillery, revealed to him the object he had sought.

He saw now that it was the head of a beardedfaced man that appeared on the surface of the water a few yards from him, and he struggled toward it. Now there was no cry of despair in that direction. He could not tell if there was any struggle. He saw the white face, however, illumed clearly thrice in succession and his strong arms cleft the water toward it. But the next flash revealed only two disappearing arms and hands stretched heavenward near him. He knew that in •an instant they would disappear and with one mighty effort he threw himself toward them and caught one hand as it was sinking beneath the tide.

Thus arrested in its descent the body shot upward before him and he was enabled to take a better grip of it. He realized then that the struggling of the man was likely over.

Now he thought of the best means of reaching the shore, and as he could not see more than a few yards from him even with the aid of the flashing lightning, which revealed nothing but the turbulent water, he did not know in what direction to strike out. A little reflection, nevertheless, soon indicated to him the best course in the circumstances.

This was to make just enough effort to maintain his buoyancy upon the water and allow the current to carry him along to some bend in the river, then when he reached that he could use his husbanded strength in an effort at landing.

Thus John Langworth drifted down the river amid the swiftly-running tempestuous current, with his burden, holding the head of the inanimate form as well out the water as he could. The storm seemed to be still raging at its height. The wind lashed the water in unrestrained fury; the rain descended in torrents as if the whole heavens had opened up its sluice-gates ; the thunder roared and crashed and the lightning flashed as if a host of Titans of the sky were waging their gigantic warfare.

Finally after what seemed to have been a long time of drifting, though the actual time had been short since the accident and the precipitation into the water, a flash of lightning revealed that which appeared like the river bank near at hand and he strenuously put forth all his strength — strength that was now greatly enfeebled and nearly exhausted — in a supreme effort to reach the goal of safety.

Soon his feet touched some solid substance, and he dragged himself and his burden through the shallow water and up the slimy, yielding bank. Then when some few feet away from the river, that was almost level with the banks, he laid the inanimate form upon the ground, thoroughly exhausted from all his efforts, and fell upon the rainsoaked earth too helpless to move for the time being.

Chapter II

John Lang worth lay panting on the water-soaked ground, the warm torrential rains beating down upon his drenched form. Too exhausted to scarcely think or move he was almost oblivious to his surroundings for a time and what had happened. He was conscious of the elements warring about him in their unrestrained, relentless fury, that was about all. Dazed thoughts of the companion he had brought to land entered his mind occasionally. He did not know whether the latter was living or dead, when at intervals he was enabled to think somewhat clearly, he could scarcely form any conjecture.

Finally the elements began to abate their wrath. The wind tore through the trees with less unbridled fury, the rain reduced its torrential downpour, and came in exhausted gusts, the thunder roared less triumphantly as if worsted in the battle, and faint, sickly flashes of lightning told of the latter’s feeble efforts. At last all sounds and activity ceased save the steady, feeble patter of the rain on the wellsoaked ground, the steady swash of the onrushing river.

With this change a gradual recollection of all the happenings of the last hour — for it was not more than an hour since he felt himself losing his equilibrium in the train and was engulfed in the river — dawned lucidly upon his mind till he fully recalled everything with clearness, and now he glanced about him surveying his surroundings.

Night had evidently settled upon the earth though 11 the darkness was no more intense than during the height of the storm, and one’s range of vision was much less obstructed since the decreasing downpour of rain. He could discern the dun sky overhead with not a break in it now; the dark river at his side hurrying and swirling along in one great flood, its banks rising but little above the onrushing tide ; the great road of transit nearby, its iron rails glistening faintly through the gloom ; the water-soaked trees and grassy ground, the latter with pools of water at intervals of a few feet. He was actually lying partly in one of these pools himself, he realized as he looked about.

He had not the remotest idea how far he was below the place where the wreck had taken place. It might be two or three miles, or it might be ten or fifteen for all he knew or could form an estimate.

He looked a little more closely at the form he had snatched from the river and probably from death, lying near-by him. There were indications that it had moved for he recalled laying it on a slight mound. Now it seemed to have rolled over to lower ground. This indicated that there was likely life in it when he brought it to land. Was there life now, he wondered. He would soon find out, he decided. The latter thought no sooner entered his mind than he rose to his feet with some pain and difficulty to execute his intent. His limbs were stiff and sore, and his head pained him as if it had been contused by striking something severely. Now as he moved about he believed he must have gotten quite a few severe knocks in different parts of his body during the accident.

A few steps brought him to the form of the man lying out at full length. It was evidently a man 12 neither young nor old, probably about his own age, he saw at the first scrutiny as he knelt closely to it and peered into the face his strained gaze penetrating the darkness. He placed his arm under the head and shoulders raising that part of the body, and placed his free hand upon the man’s heart to discover any beating.

But before he had time to locate that sign of life a faintly audible murmur burst from the lips followed by others. They were faint at first then much louder, then the import of the utterance plainly discernible.

“What’s the matter?” was the query. “What’s the matter?” was the repetition again and again, and finally much louder as the man’s eyes opened gazing around and into the other’s face.

“There’s been a smash-up on the road,” John Langworth explained in sympathetic tones as the other’s eyes searchingly looked into his own; “and you’ve been hurt, or — or nearly drowned when the train was thrown in the river.”

A perturbed, puzzled expression was the answer to the information, and the eyes of the man searched the countenance of the communicator in silence for a few moments before he spoke.

“And you — you, too, have been in the wreck, and hurt, too,” was the answer at last.

“I’ve been in the wreck, but not hurt,” said John Langworth with gentle assurance.

“At least not to any extent,” he added.

“But you have,” persisted the other. “You must have got a pretty severe knock in the head the way it looks to be bleeding there at the side.”

This was news to the one informed and his hand sought his head searchingly after disengaging himeelf from the prostrate man.

The search revealed a considerable gash above the temple from which a liquid was trickling slowly down the side of the face in a small stream. When he drew his hand away it contained a dark stain which he judged to be blood, and he was somewhat surprised at the revelation.

“It’s of no consequence, however,” he said, assuringly as he rose to his feet. “Just a small scalp wound. I’ll bind it up with my handkerchief. I thought it was merely the rain trickling down my cheek.

“You know, I’m a little bit of a doctor,” he went on explaining with a smile as he produced his wet handkerchief and started to bind it about his head. “I studied at a medical college for a year.”

“So am I,” was the re joiner with a forced laugh. “I am a considerable bit of a one. At least I think I am for I attended the full course and graduated and practiced for a few years.” There was unmistakable evidence of some pride in the tone of utterance which failed not in escaping the hearer though the words might have been interpreted and intended as of modest, deprecating import. The information was imparted as the man rested on his elbow on the ground and looked up at the other.

John Langworth bowed respectfully at this information of superior knowledge. “I would have called for your assistance, doctor, in this matter,” he said with earnestness, “if I had known, and you had been in a condition to render it.”

The newly revealed medical practitioner seemed encouraged from this utterance.

“I think I am getting better, and will soon be able to move,” was his imparted information with assurance in his tone. “In fact, I think I could move now with a little assistance if you could render it. Just a little; I feel weak, that is all. But — He paused and glanced around, and then looked inquiringly at the other as if something had suddenly dawned on his mind, then resumed, “but how and in what manner did I get here — here and landed high upon the banks from the water? I have not the faintest idea or recollection. I can recall the smash and being thrown in the water; then being carried down amid the rushing blackness lighted up occasionally by the glare of the lightning, but — ^but that is all.’'

“I saw you swept past me, and heard your cry,’' was the reply with quiet modesty, “and, being a good swimmer, I struck out in your wake. But, owing to the darkness everywhere, except the flashing of lightning at intervals lighting up the surroundings, I had some difliculty in reaching you. But I finally caught you as you were disappearing beneath the water, and drifted down the stream with you till me came near the shore and then we landed.”

For a few moments the prostrate man gazed at the other standing by him without breaking the silence. Then he spoke in low tones betraying deep emotion and gratitude, and said:

“It is to you, then, my friend, that I owe my life — not to chance circumstances of being thrown up on the banks by the water, which I thought might be possible at first. Well, for all you have done for me — and no man could do more for another, calling for more gratitude, than one risking his life for another — you have my deep, heartfelt gratitude. It is all I can give you just now. But I will not forget in the future — I will not forget.

And if there is anything I can do to repay — remember, I will not forget.” He shook his head impressively.

John Langworth raised his hand protestingly, then his voice. “It is nothing — nothing — nothing more, at least than anyone would do for another, were it in his power,” he said with quiet modesty. “If it had been in your power to do such an act for me, you would have done it I feel sure. And as regards reward,” he went on in the same manner, “there is sufficient reward in the service itself, or in the gratitude it wins. So let the matter rest. Say no more about it.”

The other bent his head toward the ground as if moved by feelings of deep emotion and gratitude and his eyes became rivetted there meditatively for quite a few seconds, the only sound breaking the stillness being the swash of the river and the faint patter of the rain on the ground.

Finally he looked up inquiringly at his companion, who had also been in deep meditative thought, and broke the silence.

“But where and in what direction are we to go ?” he asked. “Have you the remotest idea? We might be a great distance from any habitation or from the location of the wreck.”

“I don't think we are far from the latter place or some habitation — at least I hope not,” was the reply in reassuring tones.

“And if you could walk with my assistance, we’ll follow the railway in the direction from which the river flows and we’re bound soon to come to the wreck or to some dwelling.”

The one addressed prepared to rise and John Langworth bent down and assisted him to his feet. i6

Then the stronger man gave his arm to his companion and they moved on with some difficulty through the darkness and the rain stumbling occasionally over the wet, sodden ground.

Chapter III

A FEW steps brought the two men to the railway track which they sought. Then they followed its well-beaten path as being much more preferable to otherwise stumbling along amid the twigs, brush and over the uneven ground.

The rain descended lightly and the walking was not so bad except for the wet, drenched clothes clinging to their tired forms and the difficulty and pain they naturally experienced in such circumstances.

Both exerted themselves, however, as well as they could without thoroughly exhausting themselves, which exhausted condition they had all but reached. And with the exception of an occasional stumble, wherein the more exhausted companion clung more closely to the other, they made fairish good progress. The ground on both sides of the railway was well wooded with brush and trees. It was almost level and rose but a few feet from the onrushing river that could be descried nearby at intervals through the dense and luxuriant foliage.

Everything, with the exception of the railway bespoke the wilderness, and if it had not been for some knowledge of their location they might have doubted their nearness to civilization. Few words were spoken on the way, both being desirous of reserving their almost exhausted strength as much as possible. What little was said was generally of an encouraging nature of one to the other to bear up in the trying circumstances.

Finally after they had traversed a distance they i8 judged to be about a mile, a bend in the railway showed them the lights of a near-by house some little distance from the track, and they bent their steps in that direction. When they had reached the dwelling and knocked at the door the summons speedily brought a female form in response, to whom John Langworth briefly explained their condition and experience.

The woman told them that she knew of the wreck, which had taken place at a washout of the road a mile or more further up the track, just beyond a hamlet that distance away, whither her husband, who was a track-walker, had gone to render any assistance he could after hearing of the accident. While informing them of this she invited them within to partake of much-needed refreshments and rest, which invitation they accepted with much thankfulness.