The Girl from the Big Horn Country

  CHAPTER III

  THE JOURNEY EAST

  As the great Puget Sound Limited was about to pull out of the littleWyoming way-station to which Virginia and her father had driven in theearly morning, a white-haired, soldierly looking gentleman in grayovercoat and traveling cap watched with amused interest a gray-eyedgirl in a blue suit, who, leaning over the railing of the observationcar, gave hurried and excited requests to her father who stood aloneon the station platform.

  "Father, dear," she begged, "don't work too hard or read too late atnight; and don't forget to take the indigestion tablets. And, father,I think it would be fine if Jim could have my room when it gets cold.The bunk-house is bad for his rheumatism. And I do hope you can keepWilliam away from town. You'll try hard, won't you?" The train slowlybegan to move, but she must say one thing more. "Daddy," she called,beckoning him nearer, and making a trumpet of her hands; "daddy, youtrust me, don't you, to use my judgment about talking on the journey?"

  The man on the platform smiled and nodded. Then, taking hishandkerchief from his pocket, he waved to his little daughter, who,waving her own, watched him until the now rapidly moving train quitehid his lonely figure from sight. Then she sighed, tucked herhandkerchief in her coat pocket, and sat down beside the oldgentleman, who was apparently still amused and interested, perhapsalso touched.

  "Well," he heard her say to herself with a little break in her voice,"it's all over and it's just begun." Then she settled herself back inher chair, while her neighbor wondered at this somewhat puzzlingremark.

  "How can it be all over and at the same time just begun, my dear?" heventured to ask, his kind blue eyes studying her face.

  Virginia looked at him. They two were quite alone on the platform. Theold gentleman, having heard her last request of her father, concludedthat she was using her judgment and deciding whether or not she hadbest talk to him. His conclusion was quite right. "He certainly isoldish, and very kind looking," Virginia was thinking. "I guess itwouldn't be familiar."

  "Why, you see, sir," she answered, having in her own mind satisfiedherself and her father, and allowing herself to forget all about AuntLou, "it's all over because I've said good-by to father, and it's justbegun--that is, the making of me is just begun--because I'm on my wayEast to school."

  "So going East to school is going to be the making of you, is it?"

  "That's what Aunt Lou says; and, besides, 'a very broadeningexperience.'"

  "I see; and who is Aunt Lou?"

  "She's my mother's sister from Vermont. You see, my mother lived inVermont when she was a girl, and went to St. Helen's, too; but whenshe got older, she came to Wyoming to teach school and married myfather. My mother is dead, sir," she finished softly.

  His eyes grew kinder than ever. "I'm sorry for that," he said softly,too.

  She thanked him. She had never seen a more kindly face. Certainly evenAunt Lou could plainly see he was a gentleman. Secretly she hoped hewas going all the way East.

  The train all at once seemed to be slowly stopping. There was nostation near. She went to the railing to look ahead, and the gentlemanfollowed her. Apparently the engine had struck something, for a darkobject was visible some yards distant by the track. They drew near itslowly, and as they passed, now again gathering speed, Virginia'squick eyes saw that it was a dead steer, and that on its shoulder wasbranded a horseshoe with a "C" in the center.

  "My!" she cried excitedly, half to herself and half to her companionin the gray coat. "That's a Cunningham steer, strayed from the range.Even one steer will make old Mr. Cunningham cross for a week. He'llsay there's rustlers around Elk Creek." She laughed.

  "How did you know it belonged to Cunningham? Who is he, and what's arustler?"

  Virginia laughed again. "You're like me," she said frankly. "I askquestions all at once, too. Why, Mr. Cunningham is a ranchman wholives over the hills north of us; and I knew it belonged to himbecause I saw the brand. He brands his with a horseshoe mark, and a'C' in the center. And a rustler is a horse and cattle thief. Thereused to be a lot of them, you know, who went about putting their ownbrands on young cattle and colts. But there aren't any more now, yousee, because the range isn't open like it used to be. There are toomany people now. And, besides, no one would be likely to rustle cattlewhich are branded already. You see," she went on, "Mr. Cunningham'smean, though he's very rich, and he makes his men round up his cattleever so many times even when they're not branding or shipping, so hecan tell if a single one is missing. Every one laughs at him, becausepeople in our country think it's very small to make such a fuss overone steer when you have hundreds."

  "I should think so. And how many cattle have you?"

  "Oh, not so many now as we used to have," she explained, while helistened interested. "You see, sir, the range isn't so open any more,because people are taking up the land from the government every year;and so there isn't so much room for the cattle. Besides, we've beenirrigating the last few years and raising wheat, because by and byalmost all the cattle land that's good for grain will be gone. Theboys are rounding up our cattle to-day. I guess we have perhaps athousand. Does that seem many to you?" she added, because the oldgentleman looked go surprised.

  Yes, it did seem a good number to him, he told her, since he wasaccustomed to seeing five or six meek old cows in a New Englandpasture. Then he asked her more and more about her home and the landabout, and, as she told him, she liked him more and more, and wishedhe were her grandfather. He, in turn, told her that he lived inBoston, but had been to Portland, Oregon, on a visit to his marrieddaughter, and was now returning home. "Then he will go all the way,"thought Virginia gladly. Also, after she had candidly told him that helooked like a soldier, he told her that he had been a Colonel in theCivil War, and ended by telling her that his name was Colonel CarverStandish. At that Virginia felt a longing to take from her bag one ofher new cards and present it to him; but it would be silly, sheconcluded, since he had only told her his name, and so she said quitesimply:

  "And my name is Virginia Hunter," which pleased the old Colonel farbetter than a calling card would have done.

  "And now, Miss Virginia," he said, "if you will pardon me for whatlooks like curiosity, will you tell me about Jim and William? Icouldn't exactly help overhearing what you said to your father. I hopeyou'll excuse me?"

  Virginia smiled. She did enjoy being treated like a young lady."Certainly," she said. And she told him all about poor old Jim, hiswooden leg, the accident that necessitated it, his learning to read,which greatly interested the old Colonel, and his kindness to her eversince she was a little girl. Then, seeing that he really liked toknow, she told him of the evening before, and the new saddle which theboys had given her.

  "Capital!" cried the Colonel, slapping his knee in his excitement,quite to the amusement of a little boy, who had come out-of-doors andwho sat with his mother on the other side of the platform. "Capital!Just what they should have done, too! They must be fine fellows. I'dlike to know them."

  "Oh, you would like them!" she told him. "I know you would! I lovethem all, but Jim the best. And this morning, Colonel Standish" (forif he called her by name she must return the courtesy), "this morningwhen the other men had all gone to the round-up, Jim harnessed thehorses for father to drive me to the station. But he felt so bad tohave me go away that he couldn't bear to bring the horses up to thedoor, so he tied them and called to father; and when we drove away andI looked back, he was leaning all alone against the bunk-house. And,some way, I think he was crying."

  She looked up at the Colonel, her eyes filled with tears. The Colonelslapped his knee again, and blew his nose vigorously.

  "I shouldn't wonder a bit if that's what he was doing, Miss Virginia,"he said. "Fine old man! And what about William?" he asked after a fewmoments.

  "Oh, William," said Virginia. "You'd like William; and I'm sure youwouldn't call him 'Bill' like some do. It makes such a difference tohim! If you call him 'Bill' most of the time, he's just Bill, and it'sa lot easier for him to
stay around the saloon. But if you say'William,' it makes it easier for him to keep away--he told me so oneday. And in his spare time, he loves to take care of flowers, andplant vines and trees."

  The Colonel liked William. Indeed, he liked him so thoroughly that heasked question after question concerning him; and then about Alec andJoe and Dick. It was amazing how the time flew! Another hour passedbefore either of them imagined it. The country was changing. Alreadyit was becoming more open, less mountainous. Some peaks towered in thedistance--blue and hazy and snow-covered.

  "We can see those from home," Virginia told the Colonel. "They're thehighest in all the country round. They're the last landmark of homeI'll see, I suppose," she finished wistfully, and was sorry when abend of the road hid them from sight.

  "You love the mountains?" he said, half-questioning.

  "Oh, yes," she cried, "better than anything!" And then they talked ofthe mountains, and of how different they were at different times, likepersons with joys and disappointments and ideals. How on some daysthey seemed silent and reserved and solemn, and on others sunny andjoyous and almost friendly; and how at night one somehow felt betteracquainted with them than in the day-time.

  "But the foot-hills are always friendly," Virginia told him. "Andthey're really more like people, because you can get acquainted withthem more easily. The mountains, after all, seem more like God. Don'tyou think so?"

  The Colonel did think so, most decidedly, now that he thought at allabout it. He admitted to himself that perhaps in his long journeysacross the mountains and through the foot-hills on his visits West, hehad not thought much about them, especially as related to himself. Hewished he had had this gray-eyed girl with him for she breathed thevery spirit of the country. It had been rare good fortune for him thatby chance he was standing on the platform when she said "Good-by" toher father, else he had missed much. It was dinner time before eitherof them realized how quickly the morning had passed; and Virginia ranto wash her hands, after the Colonel had raised his cap with asoldierly bow, saying that he hoped to see her again in the afternoon.

  He did see her again in the afternoon, for they discovered that theirsections were in the same car, in fact, directly opposite; and againthe next morning, until by the time they reached Omaha they were oldfriends. They talked more about the country, which, after leaving themountains, was new to Virginia's interested eyes; and then aboutbooks; and after that about the war, the old soldier telling a mostflattering listener story after story of his experiences.

  The conductor, coming through the car with telegrams at Omaha, foundthem both so interested that he was obliged to call her name twicebefore her astonished ears rightly understood him.

  "Aren't you Miss Virginia Hunter?" he asked amused.

  "Yes, sir," she managed to say. "But it can't be for me, is it? Inever had a telegram in my life."

  "It's for you," he said, more amused than ever, while the Colonelsmiled, too, at her surprise, and left the yellow envelope in her lap.

  "Whom can it be from?" she asked herself, puzzled. "The spell ofhaving a real telegram is so nice that I almost hate to break it byfinding out. But I guess I'd best."

  She tore open the envelope, and drew out the slip inside. When she hadread it, she gazed perplexed at the Colonel. She was half-troubled,half-amused, but at length she laughed.

  "I'll read it to you, I think," she said, "because in a way it's aboutyou." The Colonel in his turn looked amazed. "You see," she went on,"it's from my Aunt Lou, and she warned me about talking to strangerson the way. I suppose she thought I'd forget, and so she sent this."She again unfolded the telegram, and read to him:

  "Los Angeles, Cal., Sept. 15.

  "I hope you are remembering instructions, and having a pleasant journey.

  "Aunt Louise."

  "But I'm sure she would approve of you," she assured him; "and I'vetalked with almost no one else, except the baby in the end of the carand his mother; and babies certainly would be exempt, don't you think?No one could help talking to a baby."

  He agreed with her. "Aren't you going to send her a wire in return?"he asked.

  "Why, I never thought of that. Could I? Is there time? What can I tellher?"

  "Of course, you could, and there's plenty of time. Ten minutes yet.I'll get you a blank, and you can be thinking what you'll tell her."

  While he was gone, Virginia studied her aunt's message, and decidedupon her own. She was ready when he returned.

  "Don't go away, Colonel Standish, please," she said, when he wouldhave left her to complete her message. "I never sent a telegrambefore, and besides I want you to tell me if you think this is allright. I've said:

  "Delightful journey. No talking except with baby, mother, and oldish gentleman."

  The Colonel slapped his knee, and laughed. "Capital!" he said."Capital! You've got us all in." He laughed again, but stopped as henoted her puzzled expression. "Not satisfied, Miss Virginia?"

  "Not quite," she admitted. "You see it doesn't sound exactly honest.I've said, 'No talking ex-cept--' Now that sounds as though I'd talkedonly occasionally with the three of you, and most of the time sat bymyself, when really I've talked hours with you. I think I'll changethe 'No talking,' and say, 'Have talked with baby, mother, and oldishgentleman.' I'd feel better about it." She paused, waiting hisapproval.

  "If I'd feel better about it, Miss Virginia, I'd surely make thechange," he said approvingly. "That queer thing inside of us thattells us how to make ourselves most comfortable, is a pretty safeguide to follow."

  So she rewrote the message, while he waited, and while he went toattend to its dispatch, wondered how Aunt Lou would feel when shereceived it.

  * * * * *

  At Chicago, Miss Cobb, a friend of Aunt Louise, met her and took heracross the city to the station from which she was to take the Easterntrain; and though Virginia had said "Good-by" to the Colonel untilthey should again meet two hours later, it so happened that he was inthe very bus which took them with others across the city. Virginiaintroduced him to Miss Cobb, and under her breath, while the Colonelwas looking out of the window, asked if Aunt Lou could possibly objectto her talking with such an evident gentleman. Miss Cobb, who,perhaps, fortunately for herself, was not quite so particular asVirginia's aunt, felt very sure there could not be the slightestobjection, of which she was more than ever convinced after a halfhour's talk with the gentleman in question.

  So Virginia with a clear conscience continued her journey from Chicagoon, and enjoyed the Colonel more than ever. As they went through theBerkshires on the last day of the journey, she told him more aboutDonald, his experience at school, and how he couldn't seem to feel athome.

  "I wish my grandson knew that fellow," said the old gentleman. "Justwhat he needs. Too much fol-de-rol in bringing up boys now-a-days,Miss Virginia. The world's made too easy for them, altogether tooeasy!" And he slapped his knee vigorously to emphasize his remark. "Bythe way, what's the name of that school of yours?"

  "St. Helen's at Hillcrest, sir."

  "Exactly. Just what I thought you told me the first day I saw you. IfI'm not mistaken, that's in the neighborhood of the very school thatgrandson of mine attends. And if you'll allow me, Miss Virginia, someday when I'm there I'm going to bring that boy of mine over to seeyou. You'd do him good; and I want him to see a girl who thinks ofsomething besides furbelows."

  Virginia smiled, pleased at the thought of seeing the Colonel again.

  "I'd love to have you come to see me," she said, "and bring him, too,if he'd like to come. What is his name, and how old is he?"

  "Why, he has my name, the third one of the family, Carver Standish,and he's just turned seventeen. He has two more years at school, andthen he goes up to Williams where his father and I were educated. He'sa good lad, Miss Virginia, if they don't spoil him with too muchattention and too much society. I tell you these boys of to-day gettoo much attention and too few hard knocks.
I want this fellow to be aman. He's the only grandson I've got."

  So they talked while the train bore them nearer and nearer Springfieldwhere Virginia's grandmother and aunt were to meet her. At last therewere but a few minutes left, and she ran to wash and brush her hair,so that she might carry out the first of Aunt Lou's instructions: "Besure you are tidy when you meet your grandmother."

  She was very "tidy," at least so the Colonel thought, when, withfreshly brushed suit and hat, new gloves and little silk umbrella, shestood with beating heart and wide-open, half-frightened eyes on theplatform of the slowly moving train. The Colonel was behind her withher bag.

  "You see," she told him, a little tremulously, "I'm so anxious forthem to approve of me."

  "Well, if they don't--" he ejaculated almost angry, and perhaps it wasjust as well that the train stopped that moment.

  Virginia's eyes were searching the faces about her for those who mightbe her grandmother and aunt; and, at the same time, farther up theplatform, the eyes of a stately, white-haired lady in black and of afresh-faced younger woman in blue were searching for a certain littlegirl whom they had not seen for years.

  "There she is, mother," cried the younger woman at last, quickeningher steps, "there in the blue suit. She walks with her head high justas Mary did."

  Tears came into the eyes of the white-haired lady. "But there's agentleman with her, Nan. Who can he be?"

  "Oh, probably just some one she's met. If she's like her mother, she'dbe sure to meet some one."

  She hurried forward, and so sure was she that the girl in the bluesuit was Virginia, that she put both arms around her, and kissed herat once without saying a word.

  "Oh, Aunt Nan," breathed Virginia, her heart beating less fast. Sheknew that moment that she should love Aunt Nan. But her heart beatfast again, as Aunt Nan drew her forward to meet her grandmother, whowas drawing near more slowly.

  "And this is Virginia," said that lady, extending her perfectly glovedhand, and kissing Virginia's cheek. "I am glad to see you, my dear.Mary's little girl!" she murmured to herself, and at that tears cameagain to her eyes.

  Virginia liked her for the tears, but could somehow find nothing tosay in response to her grandmother's greeting. She stood embarrassed;and then all at once she remembered the Colonel. He stood, hat inhand, with her bag--a soldierly, dignified figure, who must impress hergrandmother.

  "I--I beg your pardon, grandmother," she stammered. "This is my friend,Colonel Standish, who has been kind to me on the way."

  Her grandmother acknowledged the introduction, her Aunt Nan also. TheColonel shook hands with Virginia, and reiterated his intention tocall upon her at school. "With your permission, my dear madam," headded, by his cultured manner quite convincing Mrs. Webster that hewas a gentleman. Then he hurried aboard his train, and left agray-eyed girl with a heart beating tumultuously inside a blue suit togo on a waiting northbound train toward Vermont. As his train pulledout from the station, the Colonel completed his sentence.

  "If they don't approve of that little girl," he said to himself, withan emphatic slap upon his knee; "if they don't approve of her, thenthey're-they're hopeless, as that grandson of mine says, and Ishouldn't care to make their acquaintance further."

  Meanwhile Virginia was fixedly gazing out of the window, as the train,leaving Springfield, carried them northward. She tried to beinterested in the strange, new country about her; but some way,instead of the crimson maples and yellow goldenrod, there would comebefore her eyes a cottonwood bordered creek, a gap between brownfoothills, a stretch of rolling prairie land, black and green andgold, and in the distance the hazy, snow-covered summits of far awaymountains. But with the picture came again Donald's words--words thatmade her swallow the lump in her throat, and smile at her grandmotherand Aunt Nan.

  "No, the East isn't like this--not a bit, and maybe you won't like it;but you're too plucky to be homesick, Virginia!"