CHAPTER XXXVII. – TRYING TO REMEMBER
CAPTAIN OSBORN had sent word to Mrs. Horton immediately after the accident, that her husband was detained on some business matters and would not return home until the following day. With the gray dawn of morning, he took counsel with Hugh whether it were better to keep up the deception or communicate with the family, and tell them of the accident and of Mr. Horton’s real condition. It was finally decided that the deception was a necessity, and every effort should be made to keep the facts from Mrs. Horton. Accordingly, the captain wrote a hasty note to Mrs. Horton, saying that her husband had been detained on some important business affairs, and would probably not return home for several days. As it was nothing unusual for the cattle owner to be unexpectedly called away in looking after his various interests, his wife, on receipt of the captain’s note, was not at all alarmed.
Captain Robert Painter, the commander of the local G. A. R. post, was quietly informed of the situation, and a report was promptly circulated on the streets of Meade that J. B. Horton had sustained no serious injuries from his fall. In the meantime, before the morning sun had climbed above the horizon, strong and willing hands of old comrades had tenderly carried the injured man, who was still under the influence of opiates, to Captain Osborn’s home. Captain Painter secured four old veterans as assistants, and held them subject to orders in a room adjoining the one occupied by the patient. They conversed in whispers of the strange revelation, and shook their heads doubtfully, wondering if the sufferer would recover and be reconciled to the two lives he had lived.
Captain Osborn and Hugh were constantly by the patient’s bedside. The physician arrived, and, after a careful examination, pronounced the symptoms favorable. The fever had been allayed, while the pulse and respiration were almost normal. When the effects of the opiates began to wear away, the patient became restless and presently opened his eyes. “Good morning, gentlemen,” said he, as he glanced hastily from the face of Captain Osborn and then to Hugh. “I fear I have overslept,” and he made a motion as if to arise from the bed.
“I don’t consider it prudent,” hastily interposed the physician, laying his hand gently on the patient’s head, “I advise perfect quiet.”
“Indeed!” said Mr. Horton, rather brusquely, pushing the physician’s hand roughly away, “in the absence of the army surgeon I shall decide for myself.”
“I beg of you, comrade,” interposed the captain, “not to fatigue yourself, but rest quietly in bed. The colonel of the Twenty-ninth has been sent for, and will be here shortly.”
“Where is your blue?” asked the patient, while his dark eyes sparkled with a trace of indignation. “If you are a comrade of mine, you should be wearing the colors. Perhaps, though, you are too old for service; you look decidedly grizzled.”
“Very true, Lieutenant Stanton,” replied the captain, “as you say, I am rather gray and grizzled; nevertheless, I am your comrade as far as the sentiments of loyalty for the old flag are concerned. Indeed, I am quite as ready to sacrifice my life in the defense of the stars and stripes as you have shown yourself to be.”
“You exaggerate the severity of my wound. I assure you it is comparatively slight. By the way,” he continued, turning toward Hugh, “did you send my letters?” Hugh nodded affirmatively. “Very well,” he continued, addressing the captain, “if you are a comrade of mine you will permit me to dress and be ready to receive my captain.” The physician caught Captain Osborn’s eye, and made a sign that perhaps it would be best to humor the injured man’s whim. The doctor and Hugh withdrew to an adjoining room, but Captain Osborn remained. The cattle owner assumed a sitting position on the side of the bed. His coat, vest, and trousers were resting on a chair near by, but he seemed in no hurry about dressing. “Well, comrade,” said Captain Osborn, “perhaps, if you feel strong enough, you had better make haste and dress, as the captain of your company will arrive before long.”
“Where are my clothes?” asked the lieutenant.
“Why, don’t you see them on the chair before you?”
“What?” roared the injured man, “My uniform, my uniform, sir! Don’t you understand? Do you think for a moment that I will tolerate the idea of wearing citizen’s clothes, – and secondhand at that?” Whereupon he gave the chair a vigorous push with his foot, upsetting it, clothes and all. As he did so, a pocketbook slipped from his coat pocket and rested on the floor at his feet. Captain Osborn was momentarily at a loss to know what to do or say in the emergency. In the meantime, the cattle owner had reached for and picked up the pocketbook and some business cards that had fallen out of it. “Ho, ho! what’s this?” said he, glancing at one of the cards. “‘Hugh Stanton, Cashier Meade National Bank, Meade, Kansas.’ It seems that I have a namesake in the banking business.” As he opened the pocketbook to replace the cards, he read aloud the name stamped in gold on the russet leather lining, “‘John B. Horton.’ Horton, Horton,” he repeated to himself, as he pressed his hand against his wound. “Where have I heard that name?” and he looked half vacantly at the old captain, who was watching him intently.
“Lieutenant Stanton,” said the captain, coming closer to him and looking him squarely in the face, “this pocketbook belongs to the man whose name you have pronounced – John B. Horton – the cattle king of southwestern Kansas and No-Man’s-Land, who is worth ten million dollars if he is worth a cent. His beautiful home is at Horton’s Grove; he has a noble wife and a most lovely daughter, Ethel.”
“Ethel, Ethel,” repeated the injured man, “my wife’s name.”
“Not a vestige of remembrance,” murmured the captain to himself, “this is, indeed, sad.” Then nerving himself for the occasion, he said aloud and with marked firmness, “Lieutenant Stanton, dress yourself; put on your clothes, citizen’s though they be, and I will undertake to clear up the mystery.”
The wounded man stared vacantly at the captain for a moment, and then began mechanically to dress himself in silence, and, before Captain Osborn could intercept him, he approached a large French plate mirror.
“Hold on,” cried the captain, but it was too late. The wounded man, with his bandaged head, had seen his reflection in the glass.
“Great God! What is this?” he exclaimed, starting back in amazement. “This beard streaked with gray. My God! What am I? Where am I?” and he sank back into a chair, overcome with confusion and mystery.
Captain Osborn hastily opened a drawer of a desk and took from it an old daguerreotype, and, approaching him, said, “Do you recognize this?”
“Oh, yes,” said he, after a moment’s scrutiny, “indeed, this is my captain, Captain Osborn of the Twenty-ninth, the warmest friend of my boyhood, and as brave a man as ever wore the blue.”
“My dear Stanton,” said the captain, “you are right in saying that it is a likeness of Captain Osborn; you are correct also in saying that he was your warmest friend; not only was, but is to this day. I am Captain Lyman Osborn.”
“What!” shouted the wounded man, starting up. “No, no; impossible! You may be the captain’s father or grandfather, but you’re not the captain of my company.”
“Yes, my dear friend,” said Captain Osborn, laying a hand gently on either shoulder of the patient, who had risen from his chair, “the war has been over a long time – over twenty years. I am now an old man, and so are you.” The captain’s gentle embrace seemed to soothe and subdue the listener. “More than twenty-five years have intervened since that engagement at Bethel Church, when you received that terrible wound on your head. You were captured by the enemy and nursed back to life among strangers, but the unnatural pressure of a misplaced bone disturbed your memory, leaving your previous life a blank. Your friends supposed you were dead, but I thank God you are not. You had forgotten your name, and in some way substituted the name of John B. Horton.”
The rich cattle owner gazed speechlessly into the captain’s face as he made this wonderful revelation. He glanced hastily over his shoulder at the mirror, and seemed to realize the truth of all that he had heard, and his hand unconsciously stole into the captain’s.
“But my wife, Captain, my wife and little Hugh?” The captain was silent.
“Come, Captain Osborn, if it is really true as you state, don’t trifle with me, don’t keep me in suspense. My darling wife, my little boy, – tell me of them.” He clasped the captain’s hand in both his own, as if he were beginning to believe and trust him.
“My dear Hugh,” replied the captain, “I know your love for Ethel was very great; then you were a young man, only twenty-five years old. You are more than fifty now, and many changes have come. Be brave and courageous. Ethel, your little wife, died a year after you were wounded, but little Hugh has grown to be a man much loved and respected by all. He is an honor to you.”
“But, Captain,” faltered Stanton, while tears sprang to his eyes, “where have I been all these years?”
“Not idle,” replied the captain, “you are perhaps the richest man in southwestern Kansas; you are called John B. Horton, the cattle king, and, as I remarked awhile ago, you live at Horton’s Grove, two miles from here, with your good wife and your lovely daughter, Ethel.”
“Yes, yes,” said he, clasping his hands to his head and sinking into a chair which the captain had pushed toward him. “Yes, yes, I am beginning to remember, – yes, beginning to remember.” He finally grew silent and was lost in thought.
Captain Osborn paced patiently back and forth before the silent man. He felt sure that Hugh Stanton of his boyhood days and John B. Horton of the present were manfully struggling with the tangled thread of memory, for many years severed but now laboring to be reunited.
CHAPTER XXXVIII. – TRUTH STRANGER THAN FICTION
AFTER what seemed to Captain Osborn to be an interminable length of time, the wounded man arose from his chair and gazed long and earnestly at his reflection in the mirror; then, turning, he said:
“God be praised, Captain Osborn, I remember all. Yes,” he went on, as the two men clasped hands, “I remember my two lives. I’ve lived them all over, even down to the time when I was thrown from the mustang in front of your bank. I must be known as John Bruce Horton, but, for God’s sake, bring me my boy, my son, Hugh. No wonder I took such a strong fancy to him from the first day we met after his arrival in Meade.”
The two men embraced, and then the captain, going to the adjoining room, beckoned to Hugh, who hastily approached. “He remembers all,” said the captain, “both his lives. Go in to your father.” Then, gently closing the door, Captain Osborn turned to the post commander, Captain Painter, and his associates, and explained to them in detail the marvelous story.
An hour later Hugh joined Captain Osborn and his associates. He was noticeably agitated, and his eyes were red with weeping. “Gentlemen,” he said, “my tears have been those of joy at finding my father. I am going to Horton’s Grove.” Then, bidding them adieu, he hastily took his departure.
Arriving at the Grove, he found Mrs. Horton seated on the veranda. “Welcome, Mr. Stanton,” said she, as Hugh, with flushed face, saluted her with more warmth than usual. Without wasting time, he hastily narrated to her all that had occurred. Her expressions of distress and alarm, when told of the accident which had befallen her husband, and of amazement as Hugh’s narrative proceeded, were indeed a study.
“Then you,” she exclaimed, “you, Mr. Stanton, you are my husband’s son, and I – I will be your mother, if you will let me, and you shall be my boy as well as his.” She embraced him warmly, while tears dimmed her eyes. “Oh!” she exclaimed, “it is all so new – so sudden; I can hardly understand the unraveling of such a mystery. Before our marriage he told me that the beginning of all memory with him was his recovery from that ugly wound on his head.”
“And now,” asked Hugh, “where is Ethel – my sister?” Hardly had he asked the question when he heard her singing within.
“Go, Hugh, my son, and tell her all. I am so overcome; I must compose myself and prepare to set out immediately for your father.”
As Hugh turned and walked briskly along the veranda, he saw Doctor Redfield disembarking from a boat-ride. Through the screen door he saw Ethel, whose tender brown eyes and marvelous beauty were daily growing more radiant under the expanding influence of an ennobling and reciprocal love. She was humming a love ditty to herself as Hugh pushed aside the screen and approached her.
“Welcome, my good friend,” said she, looking up and extending her hand, “Jack and I were talking of you while taking our boat-ride, and had made up our minds to go and fetch you, had you not come of your own accord. Now then,” said she, roguishly, “where are your excuses and explanations?”
“Ah, Ethel,” said Hugh, as he still held her hand in his with tenderest loyalty and respect, “I have much to say.” And then, controlling his excitement as much as possible, he hurriedly related all that had happened.
“Poor daddy,” murmured Ethel, while tears trembled in her eyes as she followed the detail with closest attention.
“And have you told mamma?”
“All,” replied Hugh.
“Then we must order the carriage and go at once for my darling father. Ah, Hugh, he is your father as well; and you – you are my brother!” A flood of recollections seemed suddenly to envelop both brother and sister, and for a moment they were stunned.
“Yes,” said Hugh, “you are my sister,” and, taking her in his strong arms, he embraced her fervently.
A moment later they were both startled at a footstep on the veranda, and, turning, they found themselves face to face with Doctor Redfield, who had observed their affectionate embrace.
“Pardon me,” he said, stiffly, and with marked politeness, “I was not aware that our friend had arrived.”
“Yes,” stammered Ethel, while a smile played around her lips, “Hugh has given us quite a surprise, and you don’t know how glad I am that he is here.”
“Yes, I imagine that you are decidedly pleased,” said Jack, in his most frigid tones, while he shot a glance at Hugh as much as to say, “An explanation is in order, sir; otherwise, coffee and pistols for two.” In the meantime, Ethel had quite recovered herself.
“Why, Jack,” said she, “you are usually so jolly; what makes you act so petulantly? I believe you are angry at something?”
“Me angry? Oh, no,” said Jack, coldly; “possibly a little displeased with myself for having interrupted such a pleasant conversation.” He tried to give an expression of indifference and half amusement to his face, but instead it was one of absolute vexation.
“Well, old fellow,” said Hugh, “how are you, anyhow? I saw you getting out of your boat awhile ago, and intended coming down to the boat-house after you, but was detained. You know how fascinating Ethel is. She makes a foolish fellow like myself forget all about time and everything else.”
“It is quite evident that you did not expect me at the house quite so soon,” replied the doctor, quickly.
“To be candid,” replied Hugh, “we did not. You are, nevertheless, welcome. Can’t you say as much to me?” There was a certain dangerous look of passion in Jack’s eyes that filled them with a glowing, searching gaze, as he replied:
“I have never failed, sir, to welcome you at all times, because until now I believed you to be an honorable man.”
Hugh laughed good-naturedly, and, leading Ethel, he went over to Jack, put one hand on his shoulder, and with the other arm he encircled Ethel’s waist. “Now, Jack, old fellow, I know that ‘love maketh a man mad,’ but you surely would not suspect me of a dishonorable act, especially where your interests are concerned.” There was a bewitching sweetness, mingled with amusement, hovering in Ethel’s eyes, while Hugh was speaking.
“Well,” said Jack, as he forced a little husky laugh, “I’ve always supposed you were my friend.”
“Go on believing it,” said Hugh, “and, when you and Ethel are married, remember that you will then become my brother, for this noble girl is my sister,” and there, with one hand on Jack’s shoulder, and an arm about Ethel, Hugh told him the strange story. When he had finished, Jack clasped his hand warmly, and said:
“Hugh, my dear fellow, accept my congratulations. Truly, facts are stranger than fiction. Thank God my confidence in your friendship is unshaken. Ethel, forgive me.”
The Horton carriage was soon ready, and it was not long before John Horton was surrounded by his loved ones from the Grove. During the afternoon the patient was removed to his home. On returning to Meade, Hugh found Captain Osborn at the bank.
While they were talking, little Harry came in. His tiny arms were clasped about bunches of dandelions and wild flowers that he had gathered from the protected nooks and banks of the Manaroya. The captain opened the door of his private office and said, “Come in, Harry, come in here, you little rascal. Where have you been all day?”…
The child, still holding the flowers in his chubby arms, climbed upon his father’s knee. “I’s been out to det the pretty posies, papa. I bringed ‘ou ha’f of ‘em, an’ I left ha’f of ‘em wiv mamma. I laid ‘em down on dat little place, papa, and I whispered, ‘Mamma, little Harry ‘oves’ou, and papa ‘oves ‘ou, too.’ I listened long time, papa, but I did n’t hear nuffin. I ‘spec mamma was asleep, but maybe she was ‘way wiv the angels. Do you fink so, papa?”
The old captain held the boy to his great heart, while his eyes filled with tears.
“Yes, papa, I bringed ‘ou ha’f of ‘em, an’ I give mamma ha’f of ‘em. I put ‘em all round dat little mound, papa, an’ I stacked ‘em up high, and when mamma turns back from visitin’ the angels, she’ll see ‘em, won’t she, papa? And I wrote her a great big letter and doubled it all up, and put on the outside – ’To mamma from Harry.’.rdquo;
CHAPTER XXXIX. – JUDGE LYNN HAS AN IDEA
A FEW days later Judge Linus Lynn called at the Patriot office, and Major Hampton looked up from a book he was intently reading as his study was invaded. “Come in, Lynn,” said the major, “and be seated. How are you, anyway?”
“Comfortable, my dear Major, quite comfortable, I assure you,” replied Lynn, as he helped himself to a cigar from an open box.
“That’s right, Judge,” said the major, observing his familiarity; “shall I help you to a light?”
“Thanks,” said Judge Lynn, “I’m always provided with matches, or I’d have you gimme one. I regard it as mighty poor taste for an old smoker like me to always be browzin’ ‘round askin’ his ‘sociates for matches – therefore I’m always supplied.”
“How thoughtful,” observed the major, smiling sarcastically.
“Yes,” replied Lynn, “I claim to be a thoughtful man, – the result of much thinkin’. Don’t look soopercilious an’ disbelievin’, for it’s a fac’. Now, Major, I have an idee.”
“Indeed?” replied the major, as he picked up a pencil. “Let me record it; it is doubtless quite an affair, and should be captured before it gets away from you.”
Judge Lynn appeared to take no notice of the major’s irony, and said: “You see, Major, I’ll onboosom myself enough to tell you that in my pinion honesty will soon be so condemned scarce in this ‘ere mortgage-ridden Southwest, that a feller ‘ll have to use the article itself to deceive the deceivers. Now it’s gettin’ dangnation slow with me, an’ while I’m mighty near worked to death in my office, – feet is, I’m ‘lowin’ I’ll have the brain fag if things don’t let up, – yet it is bringin’ me no ready cash. I’m jest whoopin’ ‘round doin’ a credit bizness. Do you see?”
The major laughed outright. “Yes, I see, Judge, and I also know what an easy matter it is for some people to be overworked. The same class of men find a shady corner on a hot day almost irresistible.”
“Don’t laugh, Major,” said Judge Lynn, with an injured look on his countenance, “you can bet it’s no laughin’ matter. Speakin’ wide-open an’ confidential-like, I’ll say we’re out o’ flour down at my palace, an’ my grocer has adopted a sort o’ C. O. D. policy that is quite paralyzin’, an’ besides the rent is way past due, the landlord is screechin’ ‘round, an’ I fear a successful suit of ejectment will soon be brought, bet yer life I do. The burnin’ up of the country by hot winds an’ the big prairie-fire nach’ally started litigation off on a canter all right ‘nuff, but nobody has come projectin’ ‘round so far with money to pay court fees. I’d be all right if it had n’t been for the trouble I got into with the attorney-gen’ral. That nach’ally locoed me good and plenty. You, perhaps, are rememberin’ how I ‘tempted to reverse a decision of the Supreme Court in regard to the foreclosure of a mortgage on a poor devil’s farm, an’ in turn they got malignant-like an’ reversed me, – in short, turned me down, an’ at the same time made things thrillin’ by exhaustin’ my ready cash and hypothecatin’ all my credit an’ anticipated earnin’s for the next year, to keep me out of the clutches of what the aforesaid attorney-gen’ral calls law. I jist had all I could do to keep my han’s away from my artillery. If the attorney-gen’ral’d come down ‘ere there’d been obsequies.”
“Yes, I remember,” said the major, sighing; “you made a mistake, and yet your error was on the side of humanity. I forgive you and so does humanity. Take this,” said he, reaching the judge a roll of bills, “with my forgiveness and this advice, – be careful not to exceed your authority again, for law, in the hands of Shylocks, is a relentless thing. Take this, Judge, and pay your debts.”
“What, Major, a hundred dollars? Why, surely, sir, I’m already more deeply indebted to you than I can ever squar’ up. This, I’m assoomin’, is too much.”
“My dear Lynn,” said Major Hampton, throwing his head back in his own unique way, “my mission in life is to help the needy. More years of sorrow and suffering than you can comprehend have opened the doorway of my understanding. I was an old veteran in the cause of humanity when I helped in the crusade for liberty at Valley Forge; later I was at the Commune in Paris during the Reign of Terror, when it was demonstrated that man can endure the galling yoke of slavery and adversity easier than he can withstand prosperity or the tickled vanity of a new-found power. Later I was honored with the confidence of John Brown in his noble and heroic attempts to overthrow slavery; and still afterwards gave my advice to Lincoln, and at his solicitation helped formulate the Emancipation Proclamation. Yes, I’ve seen the black race freed from slavery, but the yoke was not destroyed, and in turn it has, like an octopus, fettered a race of white slaves. As a lover of mankind and a reformist, I am now building up the nucleus of a power in my organization, the Barley Hullers, that will not only free from bondage the white slaves of our land, but will also effectually destroy the yoke – the instrument of torture. This can be done only by an equal distribution of wealth. In giving you this money I am acting as an instrument of the Unseen, yet, nevertheless, potent force that will never rest until liberty liberates.”
“Major Hampton,” said Judge Lynn, rising and striking an attitude, and bringing the tips of his fingers and thumbs together, as was his wont in addressing a jury, “you sure do me an honor by givin’ me such a plain, comprehensive statement, speakin’ gay and genial-like, of your position and life’s mission. I’m thrilled to overflowin’ at your confidence in me. Think I don’t know thoughts when I hear ‘em rumblin’ down all ‘round me? Course I do! Speakin’ of the Barley Hullers brings me face to face with the idee which I had in mind when I entered this room. In short, sir, I wish to jine the organ’zation, and to secure a place as lecturer, or somethin’ of that sort, at some stipulated, but not exorbitant compensation. Do you see?”
“Pay your grocery-bill from the funds I have given you,” said the major, with a wave of his hand. “Do your utmost to provide for your family by your own exertions; but, should you fail, come and see me again. I think I understand folly your ambition, and why you wish to join the Barley Hullers. I will consider it, but do not understand me, at all, to say that I favor your plans.”
“By the great horn spoon, Major!” said Judge Lynn, lighting his cigar afresh, “I hope to be shot if I don’t wish you were at the head of the gover’ment. You nach’ally would jist show ‘em a legerdemain trick or two worth knowin’, an’ don’t you furgit it You’ve got a sooperior quality of good jedgment an’ a whole log-yard rail o’ book learnin’. Oh, I know what I’m talkin’ ‘bout.”
Major Hampton laughed good-naturedly at the judge’s attempted compliment. “Thank you,” said he, “my mission is not to rule, but to reform and to emancipate. However, if I had the reins of government in my hands, knowing as I do the poverty and sufferings of the masses, I should employ different methods than those often adopted for their relief. By the way,” continued the major, “have you seen anything of Hugh Stanton?”
“No,” replied the judge, “hain’t seen him projectin’ ‘round lately, but I’m allowin’ he’s at the bank as usual. Speakin’ ca’mly-like, that was a wonderful affair – John B. Horton cornin’ to life, so to speak, and Hugh discoverin’ him to be his father. Bet yer life it was a speshul chunk of good luck to Hugh.”
“Yes, indeed,” replied the major, “truly wonderful. I have felt a deep interest in the young man, especially since his reverses occasioned by the hot winds, but now that he is heir apparent to half of John B. Horton’s enormous wealth, my plans will necessarily have to be changed. I have an impression,” he went on, thoughtfully, “that Mr. Horton will find in Hugh a veritable watch-dog for his vast herds, and that cattle thieving as a science is liable to be reckoned among the lost arts.”
“Don’t suppose Hugh ‘ll get toomultuous-like an’ troubled with the swell-head, do you, now that he is financially loafin’ ‘round in sight of a mint?” inquired Lynn.
“Oh, no,” replied the major, “he is too well-balanced, – he is too intelligent and sensible.”
“Speakin’ pretty p’lite-like, them’s my sentiments to a nicety, Major. Now, there’s no use denyin’ I’m carryin’ more wrinkles to-day than when I was a younger man, but I’m ‘lowin’ in my face there’s a sign of much thinkin’ and not decrepitood. Course it’s different with women, for wrinkles in one o’ these reg’lar high-steppin’ women’s faces are sort o’ zither strings on which are played the death-knell of their noomerous conquests. Ancient hist’ry is suggested at onct, while poverty of looks, if not of purse, is an actooality. Person’ly, if I had a million to-morrow I’d actooally wear the same sized hat I do to-day, which I must admit is not a roarin’ big one at best. Now, if you should git a hankerin’, Major, to put me in the push as a sort of speshul deputy lecturer ‘mong the Barley Hullers, it would n’t loco me nor puff me up a mite; no, sir, bet yer life it would n’t. I nach’ally have no ultra ambitions for absorbin’ wealth in this ‘ere world, an’, when I die, a quiet funeral without flowers will be quite satisfact’ry.”
Some one knocked at the door, and a moment later Dan Spencer came shuffling in. His short, sandy beard seemed redder than ever, while the freckles on his face gave him a leopard-like appearance. His immense feet and hands and slightly stooped shoulders made his gaunt figure look especially angular. His eyes were as restless as ever, while nis abnormal tooth seemed constantly saluting those with whom he conversed.
“How d’ ye do, Major? Jist dropped in fur a minute. Did n’t know you wuz here, Judge, though I’m proud to see you – always glad to see the court in a friendly way.”
“Well, Spencer, what is it?” asked the major, looking at him intently.
“Nothin’ much alarmin’,” replied Spencer, “only me an’ Kinneman jist got back from the Cimarron River, an’ it’s reported there wuz about two hundred head of fat beeves cut out uv Horton’s herd and driv’ off ‘bout ten days ago.”
“Infamous, infamous!” said the major, coming to his feet, and striking the table with his hand, as if to give emphasis to his feelings.
“Us fellers heerd,” replied Dan,’ “thet you wuz still ‘way lecturin’ to the Barley Hullers, else we’d come back sooner an’ reported, an’ thet’s the truth.”
“Another reason, Major,” interposed Lynn, “speakin’ on the spur of the minute like, why you should favorably consider my idee. You need a deputy – bet yer life you do, in this ‘ere lecturin’ business; then you could give yer time to runnin’ down and locoin’ the cattle thieves. I wear magnifyin’ glasses, I do, when such swell opportunities as this ‘ere comes slidin’ ‘round under my nose, bet yer life I do.”
The major seemed lost in thought, and walked slowly back and forth, with his hands clasped behind him, paying no attention whatever to Judge Lynn’s observations. Presently he said: “Very well, Spencer, I will see you and Kinne-man this evening, after the Barley Hullers’ meeting. Call at my house about eleven o’clock.”
“All right,” replied Spencer, “jist as you say; you kin always count on Bill Kinneman and yours truly bein’ punctu’l when you give the word,” and with this Dan shuffled out of the room.
After he had gone, the major said: “This is a bad business, very bad. The Patriot comes out to-morrow, and I must write up this last outrage of the cattle thieves. It is simply incomprehensible how they can carry on this lawless work without being detected.”
“My private opinion, Major, speakin’ once-served-like,” said Judge Lynn, “is that you’re needed dangnation bad to sort o’ look after these ‘ere fellers, person’ly, an’ you can’t do it spendin’ yer time away from home lecturin’, bet yer life you can’t.”
The major scowled, and, seating himself at the table, commenced writing, and soon after Judge Lynn quietly took his departure, without again venturing to broach the subject of being made deputy lecturer.