Kate Mulhall A romance of the Oregon Trail
by Pelton's direction into the front yard before the girls came home.
Their manes and foretops were plaited with red, white and blue
ribbons; and they held up their heads as if proud of the decorations.
Before Isaac rode off to the homestead to be gone overnight, Kate was
enjoined not to tell them from whom the ponies came--only to say they
were presents, and "lots" might be drawn to determine which one of
the girls should own "Tom," and which one should have "Jerry."
"Who brought these here, Mamma? Where is he? Tell him to take them
away!" was spoken in such quick succession as to preclude the
possibility of an answer until the questions and the exclamation had
been completed.
"The man said they belonged to two little girls that live in this
house; he left them in the front yard, but went away without any
explanation," Kate replied. All of this was true, though not all
that she knew. Kate and the girls then took hold of the halters, and
led the ponies outside the garden gate.
"What did you mean, Mamma, when you said they belonged to two little
girls that live here?"
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"That's what the man said when he left them and went away."
"But you don't mean it?" persisted Sarah.
"I only told you what the man said."
"Yes, but you don't believe it, do you?" Sarah came back in an
attitude of cross-questioning.
"Look on the pummel of the saddle and see," Kate responded; and in
doing so displayed evidence of knowing more about the case than she
had intended to reveal.
"From Santa Claus to Sarah," the girl read as she held in her hand
the paper just taken from the saddle, unnoticed before. Then she
intently re-read the label, and exclaimed, "Oh, I know--it's from
Uncle Isaac, as sure as I am alive."
For the first time in her life she had called Pelton "uncle"; before
it was either "Mr. Pelton," "Sir," or some monosyllable to address or
make reply. Sarah had recognized the handwriting on the note, and
then knew instantly where the present came from.
Now that she was trapped, Kate gave away the whole plan about the
intended trip to see father and Craig, and have a good time on the
trip besides. Sarah fairly worshiped Craig since the memorable scene
at the lone pine on the Oregon Trail. His promise, "I will mark your
mother's grave so you can find it the longest day you live," had sunk
deep in her memory and fixed in her youthful mind the thought that
some day she would visit {155} the sacred spot and pay homage to her
saintly mother--the germ of a plan that led in later years to a
pilgrimage to the grave, as will subsequently appear.
Next morning the ponies were returned to the front gate of the garden
all ready for a run in the country, and with a riding mare for
"mamma." The girls had not forgotten their experience of riding
"Nell" on the plains, but were at first shy of the ponies. Sarah
soon plucked up courage to mount Tom, while the Indian boy held him;
but in a spirit of mischief, the boy suddenly let go of the halter,
whereupon the pony started off on a canter before the rider was
fairly seated, or could grasp the reins.
Up the village street they went on a gallop, Sarah holding onto the
pummel of the saddle, with her feet dangling in the air outside the
stirrups. Tom stopped of his own accord at the hitching rack in
front of the village store, and Sarah scrambled off the pony's back
as quickly as possible to be out of sight of the idlers there. Her
teacher, happening by and seeing her predicament, held Tom until she
mounted with both feet in the stirrups and reins firmly in hand; then
with the pony under control, she was soon back at the starting place
by the garden gate.
When all three were mounted, the course taken led up the hill and at
a more moderate gait until the prairie was reached. A delightful day
in the wide, open spaces, with a visit to the old camping ground and
a canter back home in the evening, ended their first day of horseback
riding in joviality and {156} pleasure. A few days of such practice
sufficed to prepare them for their long jaunt on the road or trail to
Ben's cabin beyond the big river, over the prairies and through dense
forests.
Following a narrow road the third day out, Sarah leaned over to avoid
the overhanging brush and fell sprawling into a sea of mud, the
saddle having turned to Tom's side. Seeing her sister's predicament
Bess laughed, but Sarah rather pettishly said she couldn't see
anything funny about it, to which sister readily assented, but
admitted that somehow or other she couldn't help it. The incident
had a serious side, as her clothes were now spattered with sticky mud
from head to foot; her shoes were filled with it and even her hair
bedaubed.
It was necessary to stop and clean her clothes, empty her shoes,
gouge the mud out of her ears and wash it off of her face. A few
miles further on, it became Sarah's turn to laugh when Bess was
scraped off her saddle and tumbled over Jerry's rump, holding onto
his tail to lighten the fall; but Bess couldn't see anything funny
about that! After numerous mishaps, the party finally reached the
river steamer, where the ponies were comfortably stalled; then all
the party had a general clean-up on the upper deck, and a good laugh
together as the adventures on the road were recounted.
In two days more of tiresome traveling, with the glamour of a
horseback ride worn off, Ben's cabin was reached and father Mulhall's
welcoming kiss {157} bestowed. Notwithstanding the various
adventures on the trip, all enjoyed the experience, and expressed a
desire to return the same way.
The very next day, Craig came, as he did every other Sunday of the
month, to make good a legal "residence" on his claim. He was a great
favorite with the twins, and the reunion that followed repaid all the
fatigue of their trip. Toward evening he excused himself to visit a
neighbor, and withdrew, leaving his end of the cabin free to the
visitors.
Only a week had passed when, to her father's surprise, Kate announced
that she would start for home the next day after the morrow. He felt
hurt that the daughter he loved so well should cut her visit short;
but nothing he could say would alter her resolution. Kate had a
reason of her own which she did not explain to her father--but which
he would know later, and the reader will probably surmise.
Pelton was as much surprised at her sudden return as the Squire had
been upon her hasty departure; and his plan of introducing Kate into
a finished residence, of which he was certain she would be proud, was
frustrated. He had all the workmen that could be employed to
advantage in hastening completion of the residence, including hot and
cold water under pressure in the kitchen, a convenience she had never
experienced.
Isaac admitted to himself that he was pleased when Kate told him she
preferred to stay for the present in their village home. But when he
returned from {158} the claim on the second Saturday, he found the
drawer of the dresser locked--something that had not happened
before--and his razor, shaving cup and brush outside. Pelton was
becoming conscious that Kate had a secret she didn't want to
disclose, but said nothing about it.
Work on the residence progressed apace; and every Saturday Isaac came
to spend Sunday in the village. Somewhat to his relief, Kate had not
yet expressed a desire to visit the new home; but a month later
Pelton was ready, and to his delight Kate, still without an inkling
of the great surprise in store for her, said that she was willing to
go.
One day, after Kate had been at the new home for a few weeks,
enjoying it with indescribable pleasure, a lady and gentleman drove
up to the front door. Though strangers, she had evidently expected
them, and promptly directed the man where to stable his horses, and
then asked him into the house for lunch, though it was after the
usual hour. The woman went at once to the kitchen and began helping
to prepare the lunch and to make herself otherwise useful.
Isaac came in later, but expressed no surprise at their presence, for
he was also expecting them. Without ceremony, the lady took charge
of the household work, while the gentleman sauntered into the library
and became absorbed among the books in the small but choice selection
on the shelves. Thus a week passed in quiet expectation.
One night a light was left burning in the room {159} up-stairs, and
neither of the visitors retired at the usual hour. The nurse
remained in the room with Kate, and the doctor made frequent visits
there, finally remaining a considerable length of time. Then, in
answer to Pelton's anxious inquiry, he said, "It's a boy, and a
rousing little fellow he is."
When father Mulhall heard that he had a grandson, the mystery of
Kate's early departure was explained; and his slight pique was turned
to joy and exultation, increased by parental pride in the daughter
who had always been so loving and helpful to him. As soon as they
knew about it, the twins were very anxious to see their nephew, and
filled with childlike pride at the prospect of being called "aunt."
[1] The map of the Oregon Trail and the National Road on page 8 will
give the reader some idea of the principal routes traveled to
Missouri, either from the Atlantic Coast or the Pacific Northwest,
during the period covered by this narrative. E.M.
{160}
CHAPTER VI
THE WEDDING OF BEN AND LINDA; A SECOND OVERLAND TRIP; MASSACRE OF
NEARLY ALL THE COMPANY; BINDING UP THE WOUNDS; THE TRIP RESUMED;
SURVIVORS REACH THE OREGON COUNTRY.
Ben's hair had grown long, his beard had been cropped only with
shears, and his face was tanned by the fierce rays of a tropical sun.
His clothing was begrimed and worn almost threadbare; in appearance
he was very different from the Ben Hardy who had spent the Sunday
evening with Linda Shaeffer just before starting for Oregon with the
Mulhall outfit. It would take considerable preparation to call upon
Linda in presentable clothing; and though very anxious to see her,
Ben shrank from the impulse to do so at once. But his mother said,
"Go as you are; Linda will be rejoiced to see you."
Ben Hardy had traversed, in the opposite direction, the route that
Isaac Pelton took; and for the same object--to secure the girl of his
choice for a life companion. The departure from his Oregon cabin had
been so sudden that there was no time to write of the trip; even if
he had done so, the letter would have gone forward by the same
steamer on which he sailed. Although his trials had been less {161}
severe than Pelton's and the delays not as great, the journey was one
of continuous anxiety and fatigue.
His arrival at the old home in Missouri was unexpected and a great
surprise to all his friends there, naturally most of all to Linda.
Ben's last letter, received only two weeks before, described his
progress in establishing a home for them; but gave no intimation as
to when he would come after her, or how she could go to him. So when
Linda caught sight of Ben passing through the gate in front of her
father's residence, she could not at first believe that she saw
aright, but kept gazing in bewildered wonder and trepidation as he
approached the house.
The change in Ben's appearance had been so great that an acquaintance
could easily have been mistaken in his identity; but Linda, whose
quick eye recognized his familiar movement, rushed from the house and
met him on the walk, half-way between the gate and the veranda steps.
Most readers have known the thrill of such a surprise, though
probably few of the intensity of this one; nevertheless, out of their
own experience, they will understand and appreciate Linda's joy. The