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Bushy a romance founded on fact

Cynthia May Westover Alden

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Bushy: a Romance Founded on Fact
Illustration note[Illustration: “OH, LISTEN TO ME, JIP; YOU ARE SO IMPOLITE!”--_Page 140._ ]
BUSHY A ROMANCE FOUNDED ON FACT BY CYNTHIA M. WESTOVER ILLUSTRATED BY J. A. WALKER ’Tis strange--but true; For truth is always strange, Stranger than fiction. --BYRON, _Don Juan_
Illustration note [Illustration]
NEW YORK THE MORSE COMPANY 1896 COPYRIGHT, 1896 BY CYNTHIA M. WESTOVER _Entered at Stationer’s Hall, London_ INTRODUCTION Bushy is real, but she is no longer a little girl. In her memory the scenes and incidents of that strange child-life in the Rockies mingle to form a single pleasant dream. Their hardness is all gone. They have become impersonal, so that it would often be difficult for Bushy herself to determine where the line runs that separates individual experience from environment. But no matter! The whole picture is a truthful one, as those who knew Bushy in the mines could testify. The resolution of the equation of existence to its simplest form, amid the most rugged surroundings, makes a singular school for the development of womanhood. A child situated as Bushy was, finds little encouragement for that element of innate poetry which ranges from “Jack the Giant Killer” to “The Tempest,” and from “Grimm’s Fairy Tales” to Tennyson’s “Round Table.” The habit of self-dependence, the perpetual exaltation of the practical, the continuous nearness to nature, bring their compensation, nevertheless, in the forced growth of character; character worth having and worth studying. In the hope that the value of such character may be illustrated here, this story is dedicated to an indulgent public. THE AUTHOR. LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS “OH, LISTEN TO ME, JIP; YOU ARE SO IMPOLITE!” _Frontispiece_ FACING PAGE “OH, I’S ALL WEDDY, PAPA!” 5 “OO IS WELL, NOW, PETE” 20 THE FATAL MINER’S LAMP 26 “‘GO ’WAY, SHANKS; YOU TALKED LOUD, TOO’” 36 “YES, YES, I’LL DIG YOU OUT,” SHE CRIED 40 SHE THOUGHT SHE HEARD HER FATHER SAY, “ALL DEPENDS ON YOU, BUSHY” 42 “OH, LOOK, ROVER, THE LAKE IS GROWING WIDER AND WIDER” 46 “GREAT HEAVENS! BUSHY, WHAT HAS HAPPENED?” CRIED SHANKS 48 “NOW, TOM, I AM SURE ENOUGH A LITTLE BOY!” 52 “LIE CLOSE AND CLING TIGHT,” CRIED MR. SUKOLT, JUST AS HE, TOO, WENT OUT OF SIGHT 54 “HOW DE DO,” CRIED BUSHY, THROWING HER NET AT ONE OF THE NEAREST ONES 58 SHE CAUGHT THE SNAKE JUST BELOW THE HEAD AND HELD IT WITH HER SLENDER, WIRY FINGERS 60 BUSHY FIRED AGAIN, AND THIS TIME DOWN HE CAME 68 AT THE SAME MOMENT CAME A REPORT FROM BUSHY’S REVOLVER 74 “PICKLE AND HERRING! BUT THIS IS A DISH FIT FOR A KING WITH A CROWN ON” 78 THE DANCE WAS A VERITABLE SERPENTINE ONE OF MODERN DAYS 94 “OH, NED, NED, NED, JUMP, JUMP FOR PADRE’S SAKE, JUMP!” 104 SHE GAZED DOWN IN ADMIRATION UPON WHAT SHE SAW REFLECTED THERE 108 BUSHY SHOT HIM, AND HE FELL ON HIS FACE ACROSS TOM’S BODY 120 “THOSE ARE THE HORNS FOR ME,” SHE SAID, AND FIRED WHEN THE SHEEP WAS IN MID-AIR 130 SHE HELD HIS HEAD IN HER LAP AND KISSED HIS BIG, SORROWFUL EYES 138 BUSHY CAUGHT JIP’S MANE IN ONE HAND AND WOUND HER FOOT IN THE ROPE THAT CIRCLED HIS BODY 152 “BUSHY! MY GOD, BOYS, SHE IS NOT HERE!” 162 ROVER WAS CAPERING LIKE MAD ABOUT HIM 172 “SH! KEEP STILL,” WHISPERED BUSHY 184 BUSHY GAZED UPON THIS PICTURE IN THE DEEPEST ADMIRATION 192 “I’LL HOLD YOU, WILLIE, DEAR,” SHE SAID 204 “THERE, NOW, OLD FELLOW, KEEP COOL; KEEP COOL; KEEP COOL, SIR!” 212 THE INSTANT BUSHY REALIZED HER DANGER, SHE FIRED 222 BUSHY’S HOME AT GREAT PINE MINE 290 “GOOD-BY!” 318 BUSHY CHAPTER I Until Bushy Sukolt was four years old she had lived with her father and mother in the town of Afton, Iowa. Mr. Sukolt was of the firm of Sukolt & Block, the largest iron foundry of the State. Mr. Block dipped into politics, just enough to bring in big contracts to enrich the firm, and Mr. Sukolt was satisfied to fill all orders that Block’s business methods secured. The office of Mr. Block was in the town and Mr. Sukolt’s headquarters were at the foundry, and in this way the partners saw very little of each other. The death of Mr. Block, which happened when Bushy was about four years old, caused an examination of the accounts, and it was discovered that he had, unknown to Bushy’s father, issued a large amount of paper in the firm’s name. This was fast approaching maturity and was enough to make an assignment necessary. Bushy’s mother, a frail, delicate woman, could not survive the trouble, and in three months after the failure she was buried in the little churchyard of Afton. Mr. Sukolt, feeling he could no longer remain in a place where he had known so much sorrow, gladly became one of a geological party, bound for the Rocky Mountains. His intention had been to leave Bushy for three or four years in the care of a Mrs. Golden, a dear friend of the family. But on the day before his departure, as Tom Cole, who was going with Mr. Sukolt as a driver, was loading the wagon with the necessary articles for such a journey, Bushy was found rolled up in some blankets that were to be put into the wagon. As Tom pulled her out she pushed her bushy hair back from her eyes and said: “Don’t oo touch me! Don’t oo touch me; I’s doin’ wiv my papa’s tachel.” Tom eyed her a second, as if debating within himself whether it would be safe to approach such a fiery little piece of humanity; then, gathering her up in his arms, he carried her out to the wagon where Mr. Sukolt was superintending the loading. “Mr. Sukolt, Bushy says she is going with your satchel. I found her almost melted, hidden in them blankets. It beats me how she got there. I brought ’em down only a few minutes ago myself, and I know she wasn’t in ’em then.” “I twawled in when you was eatin’ bwead and milk in de tichen,” sobbed Bushy. Mr. Sukolt, taking her from Tom, kissed her chubby hands a dozen times. She cuddled down in his arms and tried to hide her face in his bosom. “Does Bushy love papa so much?” He hugged her closer to him. “But never mind, dear; when I come back I will bring you the biggest dolly you ever saw--one that will cry ‘wah, wah!’ just like a real baby. Won’t that be fine?” Her only reply was to snuggle yet closer, thus feeling that he could not possibly put her away from him. He looked at Bushy, at the wagon, at the house, and again at Bushy; then he seemed to gaze off into the unexplored regions of the Rockies. He was so long quiet, and the expression of his face so sad that Tom, growing uneasy, turned to the wagon and pretended to adjust some of the luggage, his one object being to hide the tears that would trickle down his wrinkled face. The long silence caused Bushy to raise her head and with childish curiosity peep into her father’s face. At that moment it became resolute. Calling to Tom he said: “Pack no more just now; pile everything here by the wheel, and then go to Warren’s for that box of provisions; I wish to speak to Mrs. Golden about Bushy.” “Oh, I’s all weddy, papa!” cried Bushy. Wriggling out of his arms and running to the blankets, she pulled from under them a little roll. “See, papa; see! I’ve dot my ove’shoes. I’ve dot my sun bonny. I’ve dot my nightie.” And here one of the sobs that had been coming up her little throat, to her surprise found its way out and cut her words short. She stood before him with a shoe in one hand and a nightgown in the other, her tear-stained but now happy face looking up into his for the sign of approbation her little heart felt she would receive for her thoughtfulness. “My baby! my baby!” he cried, snatching her up and tossing her on his shoulder. “Go with papa’s satchel? Of course you will! How could I for a moment think of leaving you--you, the only joy in the wide, wide world now left to me?” and they started for the house. “I’s doin’! I’s doin’! I’s doin’!” came from the child’s sweet lips, as she waved the nightgown to express her happiness and patted her father’s head rather roughly with her shoe, which she still clung to, her little heels digging vigorously into his big, broad chest. “’Oorah! ’oorah! ’oorah!” “Mrs. Golden--where are you, Mrs. Golden? Come here; we want you--Bushy and I. Yes, it is Bushy and I from henceforth, for where I go Bushy shall go, and where Bushy can’t go I won’t go!” he exclaimed, as he handed her over to good, old Mrs. Golden. Her startled face showed she was thinking: “The man’s gone clean mad! Poor fellow!”
Illustration note[Illustration: “OH, I’S ALL WEDDY, PAPA!”]
“Call on some of your friends to help you. Buy a roll of gray flannel and make it up into pinafores for Bushy. I have decided to take her with me. Put into that small trunk of mine all the things you think she will most”---- “But, man alive!” gasped the old lady, “she is only four--a mere baby. What will you do with her?” “I can keep her warm and feed her,” sternly replied the father. “If you will not do this for me I must get some one else, for Bushy goes with me or I don’t go. Bushy and I are going to begin a new life in a new country. We start Wednesday morning at 5.30. Can I depend on you, Mrs. Golden?” She nodded assent and wiped her eyes on a corner of Bushy’s apron. “I’ll do it. But you are taking her to her death, poor, dear heart!” she cried, as she disappeared in the house. That night in putting Bushy to bed old Mrs. Golden hovered about her longer than usual. “Come, dear, say your prayers,” said the old lady as she secured the last button on the “nightie.” “You won’t forget to kneel down and say your little verse every evening, while away from auntie, will you, darling?” “Des I won’t, tause I tant s’eep when I fordet,” was the lisped reply. Then dropping on her dimpled knees she placed her head in Mrs. Golden’s lap, clasped her little hands and began the prayer: “Now I lay me down to s’eep--but I ain’t a layin’ down to s’eep, auntie!” She lifted her head and peeped inquiringly into Mrs. Golden’s face. “It means that you will go to sleep in just a minute, dear.” “Oh,” said Bushy, and down her head rested again on the old lady’s knee. “Now I lay me down to s’eep--auntie, tan I say sumpin’ else?” A second time the head was raised and the little one looked into the auntie’s eyes. “Certainly, dear, if you want to.”