THE WOMAN WHO 
 LOST HIM 
 
 and 
 
 TALES OF THE ARMY 
 FRONTIER 
 
 BY 
 
 JOSEPHINE CLIFFORD McCRAGKIN 
 
 WITH INTRODUCTION 
 BY 
 
 AMBROSE BIERCE 
 
 1913 
 
 GEORGE WHARTON JAMES 
 Pasadena, Cal. 
 
95"$" 
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 INTRODUCTION, AMBROSE BIERCE v 
 
 ACKNOWLEDGMENT viii 
 
 ROMANTIC HISTORY OF JOSEPHINE CLIFFORD 
 
 McCRACKIN 1 
 
 HER RED HAIR 45 
 
 THE COLONEL S YOUNG WIFE 122 
 
 THE END OF THE SONG 141 
 
 DRUMS 147 
 
 PENITENCIA 155 
 
 DESDEMONA 180 
 
 A PICTURE OF THE PLAINS 200 
 
 THE PRIEST AND THE SOLDIER 204 
 
 PAY DAY AT THE MINE 215 
 
 THE WOMAN WHO LOST HIM 223 
 
 ONE DAY IN JUNE 240 
 
 CAN DEAD MJN TELL NO TALES? 266 
 
 ON THE .STROKE OF xii . 234 
 
 WHERE* TJEtEY FOtTND : KER . / 291 
 
 WHAT THE WHITE LADY TOLD ME . . 298 
 
Mrs. Josephine Clifford McCrackin 
 
 269823 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 By Ambrose Bierce 
 
 To the few of us still living whose high privilege it is 
 to have familiarly known the early work of the author of 
 this book (the Josephine Clifford of Bret Harte s Over 
 land Monthly) this later fruitage of her mind will ad 
 dress itself with a peculiarly tender salutation, as of a 
 voice out of the twilight, saying: "Be of good cheer 
 the dark is not yet, and all is well." 
 
 It is a long interval, truly, but not a barren, for into 
 it has been crowded much of living and of adventure 
 in other words, of thinking and doing, for thought is life 
 and to do is to dare ; the brave alone challenge attention 
 of the gods. 
 
 Our author s life, of which this book is the evensong 
 under the harvest moon, has been lived in the freaking 
 gleams and brooding glooms that seem never to lie along 
 the paths of the ungifted children of the dread, wisely 
 content in their encompassment of gray. A great writer 
 has said that life is a farce to him who thinks, a tragedy 
 to him who feels. But he who most deeply thinks most 
 keenly feels; so his are the high lights and the black 
 shadows ; and however he move among them with pas 
 sive acceptance or dissenting activity his life is more 
 than a life : it is a career. Its every feature is "out of the 
 common," and all its mutations are memorable. 
 
 The lady of whose life-story some hint seems to me, 
 perhaps fancifully, to whisper in every passage of this 
 book, has in foregoing volumes related less indirectly the 
 
strange experiences which some may say have moulded 
 her character, but which others may think, with a deeper 
 philosophy, were shaped and determined by it. I am of 
 those who attribute to character the larger share in bring 
 ing about events; and I think that this unique figure in 
 life and letters could not, under any constraint of circum 
 stances, have had a career greatly different from what 
 has been. However this may be, let us be thankful that, 
 in the slang of science, interaction of organism and en 
 vironment did somehow, despite the friction known as 
 suffering and sorrow, result in just that kind of woman 
 living just that kind of life, for to the essential con- 
 gruity between the two we owe just this kind of book. 
 
 I do not know that it is a great book. I do not know 
 that it and its predecessors from the same pen have that 
 incomprehensible distinction of character that more fre 
 quently merits than compels the transient attention that 
 we are pleased to call fame. I know only that to me 
 the books are the woman as I have known her, and that 
 the woman is most interesting. In contemplation of that 
 piquant personality, I disarm ; "submissive to the deeper 
 word" of its suasion, I throw down the critic s pen and 
 yield myself to the charm of a delightful memory, "like 
 an unresisting child." 
 
 Possibly I thereby abjure my many-times-confessed 
 faith that personal character and literary work have 
 hardly a speaking acquaintance with each other, and that 
 "side-lights" of the one thrown upon the other are noth 
 ing but a darkening of counsel. So be it ; I am not great 
 ly concerned about consistency not today and God 
 forbid that I retain always the power to see, in the cold 
 light of literary perspicacity, the faults of my friend. 
 
THE ROMANTIC HISTORY 
 
 OF 
 
 JOSEPHINE CLIFFORD McCRACKIN 
 
 BY 
 
 GEORGE WHARTON JAMES 
 
ACKNOWLEDGMENT 
 
 This story of Mrs. McCrackin s life is a reprint from 
 The National Magazine, Boston, Mass., and appears here 
 by the kind courtesy of Joe Mitchell Chappie, the Editor. 
 
THE ROMANTIC HISTORY 
 
 OF 
 
 JOSEPHINE CLIFFORD McCRACKIN 
 
 By George Wbarton James 
 
 I doubt whether any other woman in the United States 
 today, save Josephine Clifford McCrackin, can write in 
 the first person of her actual experiences of army life on 
 the western frontier immediately after the close of the 
 Civil War. In 1913 she celebrated her seventy-fourth 
 birthday, and yet she is active and doing as much ardu 
 ous work on a seaside town newspaper as the busiest 
 sub-reporter on a metropolitan daily. 
 
 Her history in some cases is far more romantic and in 
 credible than the wildest fiction. Indeed some of it was 
 published a few years ago as fiction, and though it did 
 not deviate in the slightest from the rigid truth, it was 
 regarded as too improbable to be called good fiction. 
 She has had an interesting life of association with Bret 
 Harte, Charles Warren Stoddard, Ina D. Coolbrith, 
 Joaquin Miller, Ambrose Bierce, Noah Brooks, Mark 
 Twain and the other intellectual giants of the days of the 
 old Overland Monthly, when Harte sat in the editorial 
 chair and had these others as contributors. Then for a 
 while she lived a happy pastoral life with her second hus 
 band on the glorious heights of the Santa Cruz moun 
 tains, to be suddenly rendered homeless by a forest fire 
 that swept the whole mountain side and caused great 
 devastation, loss and distress. 
 
2 JOSEPHINE CLIFFORD McCRACKIN 
 
 As a child she was a happy, prattling, high-spirited 
 youngster, the petted child of a German of noble estate, 
 Ernest Wompner, younger son of an old patrician family 
 of Hanover. She came into this world November 25, 
 1838, and her birthplace was in the ancient castle, here 
 with reproduced, at Petershagen on the Weiser River, 
 in Prussia. Her father fought at the battle of Waterloo, 
 not under Blucher, who commanded the German troops 
 of the allied forces, but directly under Wellington. This 
 fact shows us what pawns we are on life s chessboard. 
 In those days the king of England was also the king of 
 Hanover, and therefore Hanoverian soldiers were Eng 
 lish soldiers at the mere word of their king. Though but 
 eighteen years of age, he was created a lieutenant on the 
 field of Waterloo for conspicuous bravery, and when 
 later he married Josephine s mother, he wore the scarlet 
 uniform of the English army. The child was born, there 
 fore, in an army atmosphere, and as a little one was often 
 regaled with stories of army life, of thrilling conflicts, 
 of personal adventures on the field of battle, and used 
 to thrill with delight when a grizzled old warrior would 
 come to the castle to visit her father, take her on his knee 
 and tell her a story of some gallant charge, some forlorn 
 hope, some brave and heroic deed which turned defeat 
 into victory. 
 
 Josephine s mother was a daughter of the younger 
 branch of the Hessian family of Von Ende (Ende von 
 Wolf sprung). More correctly speaking, the title was 
 Freiherr Von Wolfsprung, Count von Ende, for one of 
 her far-off ancestors had been created baron by Emperor 
 Karl the Fourth. 
 
 Her mother was educated with the view of becoming 
 maid of honor to Princess Maria of Hesse-Kassel, and 
 
JOSEPHINE CLIFFORD McCRACKIN 3 
 
 her grandfather died while he was commandant of the 
 old fortress of Ziegenhain, after having been, during 
 King Jerome s reign, while Napoleon occupied Germany, 
 commandant at Brunswick. It was during this time that 
 the rightful prince the Duke of Brunswick and Ols 
 endeavored to regain possession of the city, and the 
 Count Von Ende, therefore, by the fortunes of war, was 
 compelled to defend his charge against the prince to 
 whom in his inner heart he rendered allegiance. Hence 
 he was glad to re-enter the Hessian service when the 
 French conqueror was overthrown. 
 
 Her nearest blood-relation her cousin Reinier was a 
 cadet at the military school of Hesse-Kassel at the same 
 time that the present Emperor of Germany, William II, 
 was there, and he was as recently as the early 90 s the 
 commandant of the capital city of Berlin, his father 
 having been the minister of war of Hesse. 
 
 I have been thus somewhat explicit in detail about 
 Mrs. McCrackin s European relationship and ancestry, 
 for they reveal the heredity that belongs to her and the 
 influences that environed and controlled her younger 
 days. She was of noble family and lived with nobles, 
 was taught to look at everything from their aristocratic 
 standpoint, and whatever culture comes with high birth 
 and haughty breeding belongs naturally to her. All this 
 is clearly revealed in her life today. She has no ignoble 
 views of things, of people, of life. Her survey is from 
 an elevated mental and spiritual plane, and though 
 pressed upon by the weight of an arduous life, many cares, 
 and her seventy-four years, she yet bears herself with 
 the noble dignity of her ancestors, and unconsciously de 
 mands by that natural pride of bearing, the respect and 
 deference of all with whom she comes in contact. Such is 
 
4 JOSEPHINE CLIFFORD McCRACKIN 
 
 the nobility of her soul that it is stamped upon her face 
 and exhibited in her every movement, so that were she a 
 charwoman or a washerwoman every gentleman would 
 instinctively raise his hat to her in real honor and vener 
 ation. 
 
 Yet there is a strong strain of sterling democracy in 
 her blood. At the close of the Napoleonic wars her 
 father tired of the demoralizing life of the army and en 
 tered the Prussian civil service. He was made chief of 
 the district surveying corps, and the castle of Peters- 
 hagen, then in partial ruins, as the result of the constant 
 battlings for its possession, was assigned to him as his 
 residence and office. Here with his large staff of assist 
 ants he retransferred the whole country from the French 
 system of measurement back to the German, and here in 
 due time, Josephine, the subject of my sketch, was born. 
 
 But the spirit of discontent was rife among the upper 
 classes of people, and it culminated in the year gold was 
 discovered in California (1848) in the revolution. Jose 
 phine s father felt this unrest keenly, so much so, that 
 two years before the open revolt he decided to remove to 
 a new land with more democratic tendencies, greater 
 opportunities and possibilities. Accordingly he came to 
 the United States, settled in St. Louis, became a fully 
 naturalized citizen, and thus Josephine came under the 
 broadening influences of this democratic land when she 
 was a child of eight years. 
 
 Here educated privately and then in a convent school, 
 she received that groundwork of knowledge upon which 
 she has so faithfully built in her later years. In 1854 her 
 father died ; an older brother, George, had left for Cali 
 fornia in the days of the gold excitement, and she, her 
 mother and sister, were alone. In due time Lieutenant 
 
JOSEPHINE CLIFFORD McCRACKIN 5 
 
 James A. Clifford, of the Third Cavalry, United States 
 Army, wooed and won her, and at the close of the Civil 
 War, which found them at Carlisle Barracks, Pennsyl 
 vania, they were ordered to Fort Union, New Mexico, 
 there to meet General Carleton, who was to meet the dif 
 ferent troops sent there and assign them to the different 
 forts, camps, and stations in his department. 
 
 From her own vivid writings one can gain a most in 
 teresting series of pictures of her journeys over the wild 
 and desolate portions of New Mexico and Arizona to the 
 appointed rendezvous. Reaching Fort Leavenworth, 
 Kansas, the Third Cavalry joined General Sykes com 
 mand, and then started across the plains. She says in 
 "Marching with a Command" : "Besides the twelve hun 
 dred mules in the wagons, there were some two hundred 
 head extra, and a number of horses for the officers. All 
 of these animals had been drawn from the government 
 corrals at Fort Leavenworth. ... It was not till the 
 second day, when we made camp, that I saw how large 
 the command was ; and I remember thinking that it had 
 taken since yesterday for the tail end of the trail of 
 wagons, mules, and horses to leave the corrals and get 
 into camp. . . . Fancy the tramp of eight hundred 
 men, the keen, light-turning wheels of a dozen or two 
 carriages, and the heavy, crunching weight of two hun 
 dred army wagons, drawn each by six stout mules ! No 
 wonder the grass never grew again where General Sykes 
 commands had passed!" 
 
 Before they went away from Fort Leavenworth, how 
 ever, Lieutenant Clifford had purchased from the gov 
 ernment stables a beautiful white horse, which he gave 
 to his wife, intending it to be for her own personal use 
 when she reached her new desert home. As this horse 
 
6 JOSEPHINE CLIFFORD McCRACKIN 
 
 figures largely in one of the most thrilling episodes ever 
 a woman passed through, I shall quote Mrs. Clifford s 
 description of how it came to her. "The door of our 
 quarters stood open ; the captain had gone out, and I was 
 startled by a knock on the doorpost. Looking up, I saw 
 the head of an orderly appearing at the door ; but, poking 
 over his head, I saw that of a horse evidently taking a 
 strict inventory of everything in the room. Of course, I 
 was at the door, and on the horse s neck, in a very few 
 seconds, for, from the orderly I soon understood that the 
 captain had sent the horse for me to look at. Colonel 
 
 L, , with his two little girls, came up just then, and, 
 
 as we were all going in the same command, the acquisi 
 tion of a horse for the march had an interest for all par 
 ties. Together, we surrounded and admired the beau 
 tiful white animal; and the two little girls and myself 
 were soon braiding clover blossoms into Toby s tail, and 
 trimming his head and neck with garlands of buttercups 
 operations which did not in the least interfere with his 
 good humor or his appetite for the juicy grass he was 
 cropping. The captain, it seems, had already tried his 
 speed and mettle ; he was not appraised at any unreason 
 able figure, and so Toby was mine before we took up the 
 line of march for the plains. 
 
 "From the wagon-master I heard later that Toby had 
 been captured in Texas during the war. He had been 
 raised and trained by a woman who had followed him 
 around the country for some time, trying to get her pet 
 back again ; but Uncle Sam, for reasons of his own, had 
 placed him in the stables of the Fitting-Out Depot. One 
 thing certainly spoke for the truth of the story: when 
 ever Toby had been let loose and refused to be tied up 
 again, he would always allow me to come up to him, 
 
JOSEPHINE CLIFFORD McCRACKIN 7 
 
 when he would turn and throw up his heels at the ap 
 proach of a man." 
 
 Captain Clifford rode him daily as the march pro 
 gressed, turning him loose at halting times, for they soon 
 discovered that he would not stray away. He was a 
 cunning thief, however, was Toby, and Mrs. McCrackin 
 tells several amusing stories of his thefts, as, for instance, 
 on one occasion when he stole a lunch-basket deliberately 
 from the lap of the Colonel s wife while she was pre 
 occupied, deposited it on the grass, opened the lid and 
 began to help himself to the contents. "Unfortunately 
 for Toby, Mrs. L had spread mustard on her ham- 
 sandwiches, and the sneezing and coughing of the erring 
 horse first called her attention to her loss." 
 
 Another time after the major and his family had vis 
 ited the Cliffords and enjoyed a tea-drinking, the latter 
 were invited to repay the visit. The major s cook pre 
 pared a fairly elaborate spread and had just stepped out 
 of the tent to call the family and guests to the meal, 
 when Toby, who was loose as usual, "gravely walked up, 
 swallowed the butter with one gulp, upset the sugar 
 bowl, gobbled up the contents, and proceeded leisurely 
 to investigate the inside of a tin jelly-can. The soldiers, 
 who had watched his maneuvers from a distance, had 
 been too much charmed with the performance to give 
 warning to the cook ; but when he made his appearance, 
 meat-dish and teapot in hand, they gave such a shout as 
 set the whole camp in an uproar, and Toby was fairly 
 worshipped by the soldiers from that day out." 
 
 On one occasion he led the whole of the mules out of 
 the corral, one of the herders having left the entrance 
 unguarded, and they having been accustomed to follow 
 the lead of a white bell mare Toby himself being white. 
 
8 JOSEPHINE CLIFFORD McCRACKIN 
 
 His destination that time was his mistress tent, but the 
 way there was through the camp. The rumpus can well 
 be imagined when the soldiers awakened to find an over 
 flow of mules floundering among their tent ropes and up 
 setting their outfits. They belabored them with clubs, 
 ropes, and picket pins, and this made the mules squeal 
 and bellow to such an extent that the whole camp was 
 soon in an uproar, and the wagon-master in a towering 
 rage threatened to shoot him if he ever caused such 
 trouble again. 
 
 But it was only a few days later when his mistress 
 found a grinning orderly at her tent, who held the mules 
 of her ambulance and Toby on a chain and said: "The 
 general sent his compliments, and said he d shoot the 
 mules and the white horse, too, the next time they pulled 
 the tent-fly down over him." 
 
 The story was too good to be kept and the general him 
 self afterwards told how, "lying asleep on his cot, under 
 the tent-fly, where it was cool, he had been waked up by 
 Toby s nose brushing his face. Raising himself, and 
 hurling one boot and an invective at the horse, he was 
 surprised at seeing two mules trying to stare him out of 
 countenance at the open end of the fly. The other boot 
 was shied at them, but there was no time to send any 
 thing else. The chain fastening the mules together had 
 become twisted around the pole holding up the fly, and 
 the precipitate retreat of the long-eared pair brought 
 down the heavy canvas upon the general s face." 
 
 Another time Toby came to the tent door with a 
 strangely bright polish on his fore-hoofs and a suspicious 
 greasiness about his nose and face. During the night he 
 had got to the baggage wagon belonging to the officer 
 in the next tent the habit being to put the wagons to 
 
JOSEPHINE CLIFFORD McCRACKIN 9 
 
 the rear of each tent of the officer to whom it belonged 
 and had got at two jars of butter and pulled out six or 
 eight sacks of grain with his teeth. 
 
 But, as Mrs. Clifford afterwards wrote: "The faith 
 fulness and patience of the horse in time of need made 
 me forgive him all these tricks. Months later when 
 still on the march, in the most desolate wilderness, in the 
 midst of the pathless mountains, when the other horses 
 gave up the ghost/ and were shot at the rate of a dozen 
 a day Toby held out, carrying me on his back, day after 
 day, night after night, till his knees trembled with fatigue 
 and faintness, and he turned his head and took my foot 
 between his teeth at last, to tell me he could carry me no 
 farther! Not once, but a dozen times he repeated this 
 maneuver ; once, too, when we were coming down a very 
 steep hill, he planted his forefeet down firmly, turned his 
 head, and softly bit the foot I held in the stirrup, to tell 
 me I must dismount." 
 
 Is there any wonder that Mrs. McCrackin loved Toby 
 with an affection not often given to horses? 
 
 But there are many other fascinating passages in her 
 books, descriptive of events on this memorable trip 
 across the plains. 
 
 After her arrival at Fort Union the "Mounted Rifles" 
 came marching into camp. Here is her vivid picture of 
 the scene : "Nearer rolled the dust slowly, slowly, a 
 snail might have moved faster, I thought, than this regi 
 ment, famed once as the Rifles, and blessed with the rep 
 utation of being very unlike a snail in general character. 
 . . . The slow, heavy tramp of the approaching troops 
 shook the earth like far-off thunder ; but the dust was so 
 thick that it was hard to tell where the soldiers left off 
 and the wagons commenced, while the train moved. 
 
10 JOSEPHINE CLIFFORD McCRACKIN 
 
 At last there came the sudden clanging of trumpets, so 
 shrill and discordant that I put my hands up to my ears, 
 and then the command halted near our camp. 
 
 "Let no one dream of a band of gay cavaliers riding 
 grandly on prancing steeds, and with flying banners! 
 Alas, for romance and poetry! Gaunt, ragged-looking 
 men, on bony, rough-coated horses, sun-burned, dust- 
 covered, travel-worn, man and beast. Was there nothing 
 left of the old material of the dashing, death-dealing 
 Rifles? Ah, well! These men had seen nothing for long 
 weeks but the red, sun-heated soil of the Red River coun 
 try ; had drank nothing but the thick, blood-red water of 
 the river ; had eaten nothing but the one hard, dry cracker 
 dealt out to them each day, for they had been led wrong 
 by their guide, had been lost, so that they reached Fort 
 Union long after, instead of long before, the Fifth In 
 fantry." 
 
 Several times on this trip they came upon mutilated 
 corpses of civilians and soldiers who had been caught un 
 awares by the vindictive and merciless Apaches. She 
 tells of one pathetic incident as follows: "Just at the 
 foot of the rough, endless mountain, the men who had 
 come under the protection of our train from Fort Cum- 
 mings pointed out where the two mail-riders coming 
 from Camp Bayard our destination had been am 
 bushed and killed by the Apaches only the week before. 
 I had heard of these two men while at the Fort, one of 
 whom, a young man hardly twenty, seemed to have an 
 unusually large number of friends among men of all 
 classes and grades. When smoking his farewell pipe be 
 fore mounting his mule for the trip to Camp Bayard, he 
 said: "Boys, this is my last trip. Mother writes that 
 she is getting old and feeble; she wants me to come 
 
JOSEPHINE CLIFFORD McCRACKIN 11 
 
 home; so I ve thrown up my contract with Uncle Sam, 
 and I m going back to Booneville just as straight as God 
 will let me, when I get back from Bayard. It s hard 
 work and small pay, anyhow sixty dollars a month, and 
 your scalp at the mercy of red devils every time you 
 come out. His mother s letter was found in the boy s 
 pocket when the mutilated body was brought in. 
 
 "It was no idle fancy when I thought I could see the 
 ground torn up in one place as from the sudden striking 
 out of horses hoofs. One of the men confirmed the idea 
 that it was not far from the place where the body had 
 been found. The mule had probably taken the first fright 
 just there, where the rider had evidently received the 
 first arrow, aimed with such deadly skill that he fell in 
 less than two minutes after it struck him." 
 
 On an earlier occasion, after they had left Fort Craig 
 behind them, she saw ahead what proved to be a party of 
 soldiers. "They drew up in line as they saw the captain 
 approaching; perhaps they had not discovered my pres 
 ence in time, for before the sergeant could throw a 
 blanket over the cold, stark form lying on a pile of rocks 
 by the roadside, I had already seen the ghastly face and 
 mutilated limbs of the wretched man who had found a 
 cruel death here only the day before. It was the usual 
 story of two men (civilians), mounted, who were crossing 
 the desert together, when, driven almost crazy with thirst, 
 they had attempted to turn down to the river to fill their 
 canteens, but were attacked and chased for miles by the 
 Indians; one man escaped to Fort Seldon, but the other 
 fell into the red devils hands, to be tortured to death. 
 The soldiers dug his grave, wrapped him in a gray 
 blanket, and laid him to rest on the silent and lonely 
 desert. Many such scenes as this I have witnessed since ; 
 
12 JOSEPHINE CLIFFORD McCRACKIN 
 
 but there, by the stranger s grave, I knelt to say a short 
 prayer, while the soldiers, with uncovered heads, threw 
 the last earth on the low mound." 
 
 Constantly hampered by the Indians; sweltering on 
 the Jornada del Muerto, journey of death across the 
 waterless desert ; floundering in the slush and mud of the 
 acequias, or irrigating ditches of the Mexicans and In 
 dians; once nearly swallowed up, Toby and rider, in a 
 New Mexico morass ; several times threatened with hor 
 rible death as they slid on dangerous shelves of roads 
 hewn out of the face of frightful precipices ; once swept 
 away, bag, baggage, mules and ambulance, by the fierce 
 flood of the Rio Grande ; several times nearly swallowed 
 up in treacherous quicksands ; once left alone on the 
 desert owing to the escape of their mules ; reduced to 
 living upon the scantiest of canned rations, the portion of 
 the command sent on to Camp Bayard gladly hailed their 
 arrival at the destined spot, solitary and lonely though it 
 was, in the heart of the wild Apache country, and far, far 
 away from the nearest city of safe civilization. 
 
 Let us see what kind of a home this cultured and re 
 fined descendant of a noble German family found in the 
 wilds of Arizona : "Our tent looked cozy enough, when 
 finished and furnished. A piece of brilliant red carpeting 
 was spread on the ground; the bedding was laid on 
 planks, resting on trestles; the coverlet was a red 
 blanket ; the camp-chairs were covered with bright cloth, 
 and the supper, served on the lid of the mess-chest, 
 looked clean and inviting. The kitchen, just back of the 
 tent, was rather a primitive institution : a hole dug into 
 the ground, two feet long, a foot wide, with two flat, iron 
 bars laid over it, was all there was to be seen. Two or 
 three mess-pans, a spider, and a Dutch oven constituted 
 
JOSEPHINE CLIFFORD McCRACKIN 13 
 
 our kitchen furniture; and with these limited means an 
 old soldier will accomplish wonders in the way of cook 
 ing. Before enlisting, one of our servants had been a 
 baker ; the other, a waiter at a hotel ; and, between them, 
 they managed the task of waiting on us very creditably. 
 To be sure, my husband s rank entitled him to but one 
 servant from the company ; but then I was the only lady 
 with the company, and our company commander was 
 considerate of my comfort/ 
 
 And now began that phase of Mrs. Clifford s life that 
 seems more incredible than the wildest romance. Lieu 
 tenant Clifford had killed a man in self-defense, he 
 claimed but the civil officers of the state where the 
 tragedy had occurred had vowed to follow him to the 
 ends of the earth and capture him, bring him back, try 
 him and finally hang him. In some way, either by chang 
 ing his name or his personality, he had thrown them 
 completely off his track, was now an officer of the United 
 States army, and one might have thought perfectly safe 
 from pursuit and danger. But in a sudden mood of con 
 fidence he had told his young wife of the fate that was 
 pursuing him and of what would surely happen should 
 he be discovered. Then, either his brain became dis 
 ordered by the pressure of his unseen terror, or he be 
 came possessed of a devil, for he suddenly developed a 
 belief, a dread, a fear that his wife was determined and 
 anxious to betray him and hand him over to the officers 
 of the law that he might be hanged, and he began a series 
 of midnight terrorizings that would have driven any 
 weak-minded or less courageous woman insane in a 
 week. Is there any wonder that she became nervous 
 not nervous in that she would scold, or fret, or worry 
 and lay it to the state of her nerves; not that she was 
 
14 JOSEPHINE CLIFFORD McCRACKIN 
 
 fidgety, or cross, or irritable. But she would grow pale 
 at an unexpected knock at the door, or flush painfully red 
 if she heard a quick footstep behind her for years after. 
 Friends have told me that they have seen her grasp the 
 banister for support, if, looking down the stairs into the 
 hallway, she discovered a form not familiar to her eye; 
 and at night she has begged earnestly of her women 
 friends that they would let her sleep in a room directly 
 and openly adjoining theirs, so that they could rouse her 
 quickly when her cries for help told she was living her 
 awful experiences over again in her dreams. 
 
 Later, in one of her stories that was regarded as 
 romance, she told the strictest truth as follows: "They 
 tell me that Silver City has been established within ten 
 miles of the very spot that once looked so hopelessly 
 deathlike and so deserted to me in my despair. For I 
 was in despair. Beautiful as was the country, pleasant 
 as seemed my surroundings, in spite of the devotion 
 shown me by the soldiers who composed the garrison, 
 the respect and attention of the officers, and last, but not 
 least, the undivided affection of my white horse, Toby, 
 I was not only in despair that is too mild a term I 
 was living, day and night, in sunlight or darkness, in a 
 state of terror, fear, and suspense, such as cannot be 
 described. In the midst of apparent safety and protec 
 tion, death stared me constantly in the face not the 
 swift, sudden death that the Indian s arrow or the ball 
 of an assassin grants, but the slow tortures with which 
 the cunning of the maniac puts its victim to the rack ; for 
 my husband was a madman and a murderer, and I was 
 given, helpless and without defense, into his hands. I 
 think the discovery must have paralyzed me, for I can 
 not now explain to myself the dazed, unresisting state in 
 
JOSEPHINE CLIFFORD McCRACKlN 15 
 
 which I remained for months after I knew the whole 
 truth. Partly, perhaps, the consciousness that I was 
 thousands of miles away from where help could reach 
 me from my own people, the natural reluctance of a wife 
 to disclose her misery and wretchedness to strangers, 
 and the knowledge of the power which to a certain de 
 gree my husband possessed, at least, over his immediate 
 subordinates all these considerations, a mixture of fear 
 and pride, held me in thrall for long, long days. 
 
 "I would tie a strip of flannel around my throat and 
 complain of a bad cold, in order to hide the marks that 
 his fingers had left, where he had strangled me just one 
 degree short of suffocation. With what feeling of grati 
 tude I used to step to the tent door in the morning 
 when my liege lord gave permission to take one more 
 look at the sky above me, after a night passed waking, in 
 momentary expectation of a blow from a hatchet he had 
 concealed about the tent during the day, or with the 
 silent horror of the situation growing on me till I was 
 ready to shriek out, Be merciful ! Kill me at one blow, 
 or pull the trigger the next time you hold the death- 
 cold muzzle of your pistol to my head ior you must 
 know it was a favorite way he had of amusing himself. 
 He would hold the revolver pressed close against my 
 temple and let that horrid click, click sound in my ear 
 till I was fairly numb with terror. Then he would ex 
 plain to me in a low voice how utterly impossible it 
 would be for any help to reach me in time if I screamed 
 for help ; would dilate upon the numerous strings and 
 loops he himself had added to the fastenings of the tent, 
 and would describe how he could cut me into small bits 
 and roast the bits in the fire, before being discovered, 
 if I ever so much as dared to breathe what passed in 
 
16 JOSEPHINE CLIFFORD McCRACKIN 
 
 those quiet, peaceful-looking quarters of ours. For our 
 tent had really a cheerful home-look about it. Strictly 
 speaking, there were two tents set up close together in 
 one, and the soldiers, in their solicitude for my comfort, 
 had built a wall some four feet high about it, and the 
 canvas had been partly removed at either end to make 
 room for a fireplace they had built of mud and stones, 
 the chimney reaching high above the tent. So that in 
 reality we had two rooms, a fireplace in each; and alto 
 gether our quarters were looked upon as exceedingly 
 fine and comfortable, exciting surprise and envy in the 
 minds of the few stray visitors that passed through the 
 camp. That these visitors were few and far between was 
 a great blessing, as I soon found, for after my husband 
 had once admitted to me that he was a murderer and had 
 fled from justice, he was seized with an insane idea, 
 whenever an arrival was announced in camp, that the 
 officers of the law had tracked him here from Texas, 
 where the crime had been committed years ago, and that 
 I had communicated to them where he could be found. 
 He had cut a round opening in the top of the tent and 
 through the fly as if the space had been intended for the 
 passage of a stove-pipe and from this point of observa 
 tion he could see the dust flying up in the road when 
 anyone approached the camp. Then he would make a 
 spring at me as a tiger springs upon his prey grasp 
 my throat with both his murderous hands, and urge me 
 to confess for whom I had sent, and by whom I had sent 
 this message, swearing direst vengeance on all concerned 
 did he but discover them. If, however, the orderly came 
 to the door the next moment to announce that Mr. So- 
 and-so, or Such-a-one had arrived and desired to see the 
 lieutenant, this gentleman was all good nature and con- 
 
JOSEPHINE CLIFFORD McCRACKIN 17 
 
 descension, sending an immediate invitation to the vis 
 itor to come to our tent, or going in person to meet him. 
 I had to smooth my ruffled feathers as best I could, for I 
 knew that the least failure to appear happy and cheerful 
 in the presence of the guest would be rigorously punished 
 as soon as the stranger s back was turned. 
 
 "You must remember there was nothing in the coun 
 try then save military posts at long intervals and a very 
 few poverty-stricken Mexican towns and settlements, 
 separated by hundreds of miles of waterless sand deserts 
 and barren rocks, with Indians of different tribes, but 
 all alike hostile, sprinkled over the whole ad libitum. 
 A.nd yet I was often on the point of braving all those 
 horrors to escape the terrors of my captivity and torture. 
 Often when Toby came whinnying around our quarters, 
 I was sorely tempted to cut the fastenings of the tent 
 and make a bold dash for liberty or death ; for you must 
 understand that during the lieutenant s absence from the 
 tent I was never permitted to go to the entrance under 
 any excuse. I might have taken an opportunity of that 
 kind to appeal for help, or send word of my wretched 
 condition to the commanding officer by a passing soldier 
 don t you see? And this he was determined to pre 
 vent. Poor Toby, never corraled or hobbled as other 
 horses were, would clatter around the tent for hours, 
 pawing the ground, tugging at the ropes, and scratching 
 at the entrance; but never till the lieutenant made his 
 appearance was I permitted to give him the lump of 
 sugar or other tidbit I had ready for him. Day by day 
 my life grew more intolerable, and I don t know how 
 toon it might have been ended, either by that man s 
 hand or my own, had he not finally bethought him of a 
 way in which I could perhaps benefit him. He had been 
 
18 JOSEPHINE CLIFFORD McCRACKlN 
 
 placed under arrest for some trifling neglect of duty 
 soon after we reached camp, and though this might have 
 been all the more pleasant under ordinary circumstances 
 as giving him more time to pursue his own pleasure, he 
 began to chafe under this inactivity, and at last con 
 cluded that it was a deep, underhanded plot of his su 
 perior officers to injure and annoy him. If the concep 
 tion of this idea strongly suggested one of the common 
 fancies of the insane, the remedy he concluded to adopt 
 certainly afforded proof conclusive that his brain was 
 turned. As, however, I saw in it a possible means of 
 escape, I grasped at it as a drowning man grasps at a 
 straw. His plan was this: I was to apply to the com 
 manding officer for an ambulance and escort as far as 
 Santa Fe, and there I was to lay his grievances person 
 ally before General Carleton, and ask at his hands re 
 dress and protection for my husband. Redress and pro 
 tection for him! The bitter irony and humor of the 
 thing was not lost upon me even in the abject state of 
 mind I was then in ; but I took good care to allow no trace 
 of my real feelings to appear upon my face. The purpose 
 was quickly carried out. Next day the orderly bore a 
 note from me to the captain, written, I need hardly say, 
 under the eyes of my tormentor; and in a little while 
 after, a polite note from him assured me that my train 
 would be ready at the hour mentioned the following 
 morning. Very gladly had this kind-hearted man con 
 sented to my request, for, as I learned later, something 
 of the true condition of affairs at our quarters had be 
 come known to him through our orderly and the cook, 
 and the captain felt but too happy to grant me safe es 
 cort on my way back to my friends, which he thought 
 I was now taking. Women, however, are the most fool- 
 
JOSEPHINE CLIFFORD McCRACKIN 19 
 
 ish, unaccountable, soft-hearted idiots in creation. The 
 night preceding my departure was spent in great part 
 by the lieutenant on his knees, imploring my forgive 
 ness, vowing reform, and explaining how it was only his 
 great love for me that had made him at times a little 
 tyrannical." 
 
 Yet when she begged her husband to allow her to take 
 her horse Toby, he positively refused, and the captain 
 confirmed his refusal, stating that the danger from In 
 dians would be enhanced if she attempted to ride horse 
 back through so dangerous a country. 
 
 "Toby, poor fellow, had been confined in the corral, 
 and his whinnies grew first rebellious and then heart 
 breaking, as dragging at his chain and wildly pawing 
 the ground, he saw the train moving out and leaving 
 him behind. My heart smote me at the horse s cries, 
 if it was only a horse; but the lieutenant had got into 
 the ambulance with me, to go as far as the limits of the 
 post, and was giving me his parting instructions and 
 making his parting promises of repentance and reform, 
 and I did not even dare to express my grief at leaving 
 my dear, devoted friend. Pinkow, the orderly, for whom 
 the lieutenant had obtained the captain s permission to 
 accompany me all the way to Santa Fe and back, sat 
 beside the driver of the ambulance, as I said, while the 
 lieutenant and I sat in the seat behind. 
 
 "Hardly had the lieutenant left the ambulance and 
 vanished from sight \vhen Pinkow turned in his seat and 
 faced me with an eager, questioning look in his eyes. I 
 was startled by the man s sudden movement and asked 
 him in some alarm, What is it, Pinkow? 
 
 " Thank God! he cried, with a great sigh of relief, 
 You are free, madam. I have counted the moments 
 
20 JOSEPHINE CLIFFORD McCRACKIN 
 
 since the lieutenant came into the ambulance with you, 
 dreading that he would change his mind at the last min 
 ute and drag you you back to that horrid tent to murder 
 you at his leisure/ 
 
 " Why Pinkow, I protested, the lieutenant 
 
 " is my commanding officer and has detailed me to 
 wait on you, with secret instructions to bring you back 
 from Santa Fe, dead or alive. Alive if possible; dead, 
 should you refuse to return to the prison he 
 has prepared for you. Do you think, madam, that be 
 cause your silent, uncomplaining endurance of the lieu 
 tenant s tyranny was ignored by the captain and the 
 other officers, it is not known at headquarters? And in 
 the company there is not a man who has forgotten your 
 courage and kindness on the long march out here. All 
 these men here will go into Santa Fe with you if you but 
 say the word; and once under the general s protection, 
 the lieutenant can never more approach or harm you. 
 The captain, though not advised of your intention, feels 
 convinced that you will never return to our camp or the 
 lieutenant again. I have his orders to see that every 
 thing you may need on your journeying, whether under 
 taken with a military escort or on the overland stage, 
 be furnished you, though, indeed, the general himself 
 will see to that, and the captain also thinks that some of 
 the other officers wives are at Fort Marcy (Santa Fe) at 
 present/ 
 
 " But, Pinkow/ I remonstrated tremblingly, I prom 
 ised to come back; he will come after me if I break my 
 promise; I know he will, and will kill me, wherever he 
 finds me/ 
 
 " Do you suppose the captain will give him permission 
 to leave camp and follow you? Not while he thinks you 
 
JOSEPHINE CLIFFORD McCRACKIN 21 
 
 will seize upon this opportunity to make your escape. 
 He is under the firm impression that you are anxious 
 to get out of that madman s clutches, and would be sur 
 prised if he heard that you had conscientious scruples 
 about breaking your word with him. Do you know/ he 
 continued in a lowered voice, that he is a condemned 
 criminal, that he escaped the gallows only by flight, and 
 lives in hourly dread of being recognized and handed 
 over to the civil authorities by his brother officers? And 
 to such a man s power you would return ? 
 
 " It will break his heart if I go and leave him in his 
 trouble, I cried, thinking of his parting appeals and 
 promises. He is not bad, Pinkow; he was young and 
 hot-headed when that man in Texas enraged him, and 
 he shot him in a fit of passion. It has been kept secret so 
 long; why raise up that dread ghost now? And think 
 of Toby; I should never see Toby again, and you heard 
 how he cried. I must go back, Pinkow; oh, I must go 
 back! And I burst into tears." 
 
 Is it possible for words to tell the horror of that drive? 
 Not only did she have the desert to cross, but there was 
 the constant terror that her husband would surely es 
 cape, follow, torture and ultimately murder her. "A 
 scorching sun above, a barren waste beneath ; a chain of 
 dull brown mountains on the right, a ridge of low hills 
 far to the left. Thus the road winds, drearily, silently, 
 changelessly along. Hour after hour you gaze upon this 
 blank, vast monotone, never daring to hope that one 
 bright spot may greet the eye, but dreading ever that the 
 brooding stillness of the heavy air be rent in sudden 
 horror by the Indian s savage cry. Oh, the long, slow 
 hours that dragged their leaden wings across this waste ! 
 To me, there were twin demons lurking in every isolated 
 
22 JOSEPHINE CLIFFORD McCRACKIN 
 
 clump of lance-weed that we passed. Where the men 
 looked for only one enemy, I feared two the Indian s 
 painted visage was not more dreaded by me than the 
 diabolical smile I had seen on that madman s face. And 
 I could not shake off the feeling that he was pursuing 
 me that he was even now on the road I had just passed 
 over." 
 
 Day after day the dread of pursuit grew more intense 
 and vivid. One morning when they were delayed by a 
 broken wheel, she cried out to her orderly: "Pinkow, 
 we must go on. All last night I dreamed of the lieuten 
 ant; he had overtaken us, and everywhere around me 
 was blood blood. I am going on ; if there is no ambu 
 lance to be had, they can give me a horse, or I will ride 
 one of the ambulance mules. Somehow, I feel that the 
 lieutenant knows by this time that I mean to escape, and 
 if he catches up with us now he will kill me sure." 
 
 On, on, the frantic woman urged her escort. Her 
 nerves racked with the torture to which she had been so 
 long subjected, she was now under the fearful pressure 
 of appalling dread, of intolerable terror. She felt the 
 unspeakable horror of pursuit. She knew her husband 
 was following her, and just the very day after she had 
 crossed the Rio Grande, as the ambulance was about to 
 start, her direst fears were justified by an exclamation 
 which came from Pinkow. Turning her eyes in the di 
 rection they all pointed she saw a horseman, the sight of 
 whom seemed to turn her heart to stone. 
 
 " The lieutenant ! said Pinkow faintly, and involun 
 tarily Sergeant McBeth urged his horse closer up to my 
 ambulance. 
 
 "I did not faint, but there was a blank of several min- 
 
JOSEPHINE CLIFFORD McCRACKIN 23 
 
 utes in my memory, and then I heard a hissing whisper 
 close to my ear. 
 
 " So you tried to get away from me, did you? But 
 you see I have overtaken you, and alive you will never 
 get away from me again. Don t scream or call on those 
 men for help I have two revolvers with me. I would 
 kill them all, and then tie you to Toby s tail and let him 
 drag you to death. Do you hear me? 
 
 "There must have been something deathlike in my 
 wide-open eyes, for he bent over me with sudden appre 
 hension ; but I had heard him. Every word of his had 
 burned itself into my brain as with a searing-iron. The 
 words are there to this day the Lord help me and I 
 answered, hardly above a breath : 
 
 " I hear you! 
 
 "Not that I wanted to whisper or speak in a low tone. 
 I could not have spoken a loud word if my life had de 
 pended on it, as perhaps it might. 
 
 " Come back into the house with me, he said in a 
 louder tone : I am hungry and tired ; neither Toby nor 
 I have had rest or food since leaving camp, except what 
 we could get at a Mexican ranch back here. I knew that 
 they would keep me back at the posts, in order to give 
 you a good start. He lowered his voice again, and his 
 strong yellow teeth gleamed viciously behind his drawn 
 lips. His hollow eyes were burning with the fire of 
 madness, and strands of long, uncut hair were hanging 
 wildly about his face. He laid his talon-like hand on my 
 arm. 
 
 " Come, he continued aloud, we shall not be able to 
 go from here today; the ambulance will need an over 
 hauling. Come into the house with me! 
 
24 JOSEPHINE CLIFFORD McCRACKIN 
 
 " Never ! I said, speaking low, and trying to speak 
 firmly. Kill me right here, if you want to I shall not 
 go into the house with you/ 
 
 " Then you insist upon bloodshed and open disgrace. 
 He spoke close to my ear again. Remember that I 
 promised to reform, and that you promised to be patient 
 with me and aid me. Is this what your promise is worth? 
 You want to deliver me into the hands of my enemies 
 to see me wronged and murdered. Come with me and 
 I will forgive you/ 
 
 "He to forgive me !" 
 
 " But refuse and I will kill you and the rest here on 
 the spot/ 
 
 "And he raised me from my reclining posture and 
 lifted me from the ambulance to the ground. 
 
 "Pinkow stood by, pale and motionless with suspense, 
 but Sergeant McBeth had dismounted and stepped up 
 to me. 
 
 " Madam/ he said, touching his cap, the damage to 
 the ambulance can be repaired in half an hour s time; 
 you need not even alight, for we shall not take the mules 
 out at all/ 
 
 " Have the mules taken out, Sergeant/ the lieutenant 
 interposed sharply, and let your men dismount. My 
 wife will not continue her journey today/ 
 
 " My instructions are to obey madam s orders, and I 
 see none of my superior officers here who could counter 
 mand the order. As soon as madam signifies her wishes, 
 I shall hold my men in readiness to carry out her com 
 mands/ 
 
 "Every man of the escort had dismounted, and they 
 stood clustered about me as if ready and eager to carry 
 out any order I might give. I saw an appealing look in 
 
JOSEPHINE CLIFFORD McCRACKIN 25 
 
 Pinkow s eye, and noted the gleam of hate and fury that 
 flashed on him from the lieutenant s bloodshot orbs, 
 while with a quick movement he threw back the old sol 
 dier overcoat he had on and displayed the shoulder- 
 straps on the cavalry jacket he wore under it. But even 
 now the gallant sergeant would not submit. 
 
 " Your orders, madam? he asked, with eager eyes and 
 glowing cheeks. 
 
 " I have none to give, sergeant, I replied sadly, ex 
 cept that you take the best care of the outfit in your com 
 mand. I thank you and your men for their attention 
 and obedience, and I want them all to have a rest after 
 their long journey/ 
 
 " Stand aside, sergeant/ the lieutenant said harshly, 
 I will now take charge of the command, and herewith 
 relieve you of all further responsibility. You will con 
 sider yourself under orders to me/ 
 
 "He gave me his arm and led me back into the court 
 yard, where, somehow, the escort had collected, and 
 again I was reminded of a military funeral as I passed 
 through the file of sober-faced, heavily armed men. 
 
 "Entering the low door which I had left but an hour 
 ago forever, as I thought, I turned my head wistfully 
 back, and there, at the foot of the courtyard, near the 
 gate, stood Sergeant McBeth, the wind blowing about 
 the folds of his short soldier s cape, his hand resting on 
 the hilt of his cavalry sabre, and his eyes following me 
 with a questioning, pitying look. Sergeant Brown stood 
 gravely holding the door open for us, offering the lieu 
 tenant a military salute; but I vainly sought Pinkow 
 with a last, despairing look. 
 
 "Suddenly his voice came, rough and broken, from the 
 open gate of the courtyard. 
 
26 JOSEPHINE CLIFFORD McCRACKIN 
 
 " Madam/ he cried in evident distress, Madam oh ! 
 it is too late. Toby is here, but 
 
 "Toby! True, had I not seen him totter under the 
 lieutenant s cruel spurring when he was urging him up 
 to the ambulance a while ago? Swiftly and with sudden 
 strength I snatched my hand out of the lieutenant s 
 encircling fingers and was flying back across the yard 
 and outside, where I saw Pinkow leaning, sobbing 
 against Toby s neck. The animal was trembling in 
 every limb, but when he spied me a low whinny struck 
 my ear, and he moved forward a step to reach my side. 
 I rushed toward him, but before I could reach him he 
 had tottered and fallen at my very feet, with a deep, al 
 most human groan. 
 
 "I cried out with grief and knelt by his side, stroking 
 his white, silky mane and trying to bed his shapely head 
 in my lap. But his eyes broke even while I was caress 
 ing him, and I bent over the faithful, long-suffering 
 animal, and my tears fell hot and fast tears as honest 
 and sincere as any I ever shed for a human being. 
 
 ". . . I cannot remember for the life of me how I 
 got back to Sergeant Brown s adobe house. The first 
 thing I remember was the lieutenant s haggard face 
 bending over me, and most unexpectedly his protesta 
 tions of affection, repentance and reform were as pro 
 fuse as they had been on the night preceding my depart 
 ure from Fort Bayard. He needed my sympathy, he 
 said, and my aid, for we must now proceed to Santa Fe ; 
 it was almost a matter of life and death with him, an 
 officer under arrest, to escape from camp and venture 
 directly into the lion s den the commanding general s 
 headquarters." 
 
JOSEPHINE CLIFFORD McCRACKIN 27 
 
 On his arrival, however, at Santa Fe, the presence of 
 his wife availed him nothing. The general ordered him 
 under arrest at once, and commanded him to return to 
 Fort Bayard, there to await trial. Friends sought to in 
 tervene between the crafty madman and his yielding 
 wife, in whom a variety of conflicting and strange emo 
 tions were contending. To her dismay she found herself 
 at last in the ambulance returning to Fort Bayard in the 
 company of the mentally disordered wretch who still 
 claimed her obedience and fealty as a wife. That return 
 journey was enough to have killed her. A pet dog that 
 had been allowed to ride in the ambulance part of the 
 way was cruelly thrown out, and, when in a state of in 
 decision it made as if it would return to Santa Fe, the 
 lieutenant called a halt, whistled to the dog, and after 
 beating his brains out with the butt of his revolver, 
 shouted in mad fury : "I ll teach you to try and get away 
 from me," and pointing to the quivering body of the poor 
 brute, he called to his wife, "That s the way I serve all 
 runaways." 
 
 At all the posts on their return those who had hoped 
 the wife was escaping from her husband when she went 
 north alone, were puzzled at her apparent abject subjec 
 tion to her husband, and as she says of the commander 
 at Fort Bayard: "Perhaps he was the most puzzled of 
 all. All circumstances considered, it was only proper 
 that he should not call to greet me on our arrival, but 
 he immediately sent his servant to me with supper and 
 compliments. My husband had reported to him at once, 
 had been ordered not to leave his quarters without spe 
 cial permission, and late at night the captain sent an 
 orderly to demand his side-arms. The lieutenant was 
 
28 JOSEPHINE CLIFFORD McCRACKIN 
 
 furious, but I knew what it meant, though the future 
 proved that all the captain s efforts to ensure safety to 
 me were futile." 
 
 For a few days he seemed cowed, then unfortunately 
 one of his men was persuaded to obtain him a two-gallon 
 keg of whiskey from Pinos Altos. This naturally added 
 fuel to the fire of hate and rage that were consuming the 
 madman s bosom, and he vented it all upon his long-suf 
 fering but proud-hearted wife. Though his side-arms 
 had been removed, the lieutenant had no difficulty in 
 gaining access to the tool-chest of the company-carpen 
 ter, and his wife soon learned that a hatchet was as for 
 midable a weapon in the hands of a madman as a pistol 
 or revolver. 
 
 When the court-martial convened the excitement of 
 the lieutenant increased, and his threats and actual vio 
 lence to his wife grew more intolerable. "I knew," said 
 she, "that the sitting of the court-martial would be as 
 much, and more, of a trial for me than for him, for at 
 the very worst his judges could not and would not take 
 his life, while the preservation of mine would be highly 
 problematical." 
 
 One day one of the officers discovered a slight error 
 in the proceedings, which uncorrected would have given 
 the lieutenant a loophole of escape had the verdict gone 
 against him. He called attention to the fact, and that 
 night his poor wife was made to bear the burden of his 
 anger, his spite and his bitter hatred against the man 
 who had circumvented him. 
 
 Another day he returned home earlier than usual from 
 the trial, closed the tent and drew a hatchet from under 
 the mattress. He commanded his wife to kneel down 
 
JOSEPHINE CLIFFORD McCRACKIN 29 
 
 and hold her hands, for he was "going to cut her head 
 open." As she did so for she knew it was useless to 
 resist, and that if she cried out he would murder her 
 before help could come he spanned her throat with one 
 hand and with the other held the hatchet above her. 
 Fortunately something distracted his attention, and 
 soon he stumbled upon the whiskey which his wife had 
 hid, and, taking a tumbler full of it, was speedily lulled 
 to sleep. But as he stretched himself out on his bed, he 
 bid her lie where he could touch her with his hand, lest 
 she should open the tent during his sleep and let the 
 soldiers in to murder him. 
 
 Though anguished almost to the breaking point, mer 
 ciful Nature came to the tortured woman s aid, and at 
 length she herself fell asleep. Can anyone conceive her 
 situation when she was awakened as follows. Here are 
 her own words : 
 
 "What woke me up I never knew, but as I opened my 
 eyes they fell directly on the sharp edge of the hatchet, 
 and the maniac face of my husband grinning fiendishly 
 behind it. In a moment it flashed on me that he was 
 taking deliberate aim so as to kill me at the first blow, 
 fearing, doubtless, that in my death agony I should 
 scream for help if the blow were not planted full in my 
 brain. Before I could move my head, his other hand 
 was grasping my throat and pressing my head back on 
 the pillow ; but the struggle, faint as it had been, changed 
 the position of the weapon in his hand. Then I saw that 
 not only was he trying to get in the most telling blow, 
 but he was also calculating the exact position in which 
 the shadow was thrown on the roof and the wall of the 
 tent. He had evidently replenished the fire, as the night 
 
30 JOSEPHINE CLIFFORD McCRACKIN 
 
 was cool, to convince Pinkow and the guard that serenity 
 and harmony prevailed in our tent ; and the glitter of the 
 drunken fiend s eye was hardly less cruel than the glint 
 of the cold steel of the hatchet. I raised my hand im 
 ploringly and tried to speak. 
 
 " Not a word out of you/ he hissed into my ear with 
 an oath. I can cut you into little pieces before the guard 
 can get into the tent, and I m going to do it. So much 
 you get for asking for a guard to protect you. Then I 
 am going to roast you alive for telling the judge-advo 
 cate all about me. 
 
 "And he pressed my head back, and again took aim. 
 Presently he laughed, shifted his position and declared 
 he didn t want my brains spattered all over his hands, 
 like the dog s, and putting his heavy hand on my fore 
 head, he brought the hatchet within an inch of my throat, 
 making the motion of drawing it across and across. 
 
 " Steady, I heard him mutter, steady. 
 
 "Whether he meant this admonition for himself or 
 for me, I never knew, but after a moment s balancing he 
 rolled over, the hatchet fell from his nerveless hand on 
 my breast, and in a moment more he slept the heavy, 
 sottish sleep of the drunkard. Hardly daring to breathe, 
 I lay with my eyes wide open, praying for daylight to 
 come, and for some helpful hand to lead me from this 
 dark, dreadful tent and out of the dreary, desolate grave 
 yard of a country. 
 
 "At last the day dawned ; Pinkow called to the lieu 
 tenant what hour it was, and when he saw from the lieu 
 tenant s looks that this gentleman had slept all night 
 with his clothes on, he knew that the remnant of whiskey 
 had been found. Coming in to light the fire, he started 
 
JOSEPHINE CLIFFORD McCRACKIN 31 
 
 back when his eyes fell upon me, and well he might, for 
 when I approached the little mirror over the chimney- 
 board, I saw that there were white hairs among the 
 brown on my head." 
 
 This damnable assault was the last straw. The obe 
 dient wife died then and the militant woman arose in her 
 might and declared that let the hazards be what they 
 would, she must escape from this living death. Her de 
 voted orderly was informed ; he and others plotted how 
 it was to be done ; the commandant and other officers 
 heartily co-operated, and at length the long-suffering 
 woman succeeded in getting away. This time it was 
 open, avowed flight. She was sent back, with the most 
 kindly letters to the various post commanders, over the 
 road she had so recently traveled twice, to Santa Fe. 
 The captain himself came and assured her that he had 
 placed a man with a drawn revolver in the lientenant s 
 tent, a sentinel back and front of the tent, and a full com 
 pany as a cordon around it to prevent any possibility of 
 escape. 
 
 Could that long journey have been any other than one 
 long, drawn-out agony? The wonder is that human 
 beings do not utterly succumb under such frightful men 
 tal torture. But at last she reached Santa Fe. There 
 General Carleton placed her under the kind protection of 
 General Alexander and his wife who, under full and 
 watchful escort, took her back to civilization. 
 
 Yet, strange to say, when they reached Fort Lyons, 
 an express rider who had followed them brought the 
 startling information that the lieutenant had escaped 
 again. Fortunately he was rearrested, and subsequently, 
 though he gained technical liberty, he was placed in such 
 
32 JOSEPHINE CLIFFORD McCRACKIN 
 
 a position by the army proceedings that he made no 
 effort to follow his wife. The last she knew of him he 
 was dismissed from the service, but from that day to this 
 she has never learned of his whereabouts, alive or dead. 
 
 Almost immediately after she made her escape from 
 Fort Bayard other misfortunes befell her which com 
 pelled her, for the first time in her life, to gain her own 
 living. Her brother, sister and mother were already in 
 California, and it was natural that she should come there, 
 and for a while she taught German in the South Cosmo 
 politan School in San Francisco. Then, while she was 
 paying a short visit to Arizona, which always has had a 
 great allurement for her, she heard of the founding of 
 the new magazine of the Pacific Coast, the Overland 
 Monthly, by Bret Harte, and she decided to try writing 
 for it. Her first article was entitled "Down Among the 
 Dead Letters," and it appears in the December number, 
 1869. Harte liked it so well he urged her to write more, 
 and especially some of her army experiences, and stories 
 based upon them. She did so, and in the Volume IV 
 four of her army and desert sketches appear, with an 
 equally prominent scattering in later volumes. Before 
 her first sketch appeared, however, she had been enabled 
 by the influence of the Bancrofts to visit the Harper 
 Brothers in New York, and they accepted one of her 
 sketches and paid her on the spot for it $45 in ragged 
 greenbacks, the first money she had ever earned by writ 
 ing. 
 
 Now began what may be called the literary epoch of 
 her life. She wrote for many magazines and papers both 
 East and West, until the name Josephine Clifford was 
 one of the well-known names of current literature. 
 
JOSEPHINE CLIFFORD McCRACKIN 33 
 
 Then, in 1881, Arizona again attracted her. Her army 
 friends were always begging her to come to visit them, 
 and in spite of the horrors she had endured at Fort Bay 
 ard, the country itself never ceased to call her, so she 
 yielded to the importunity of friends and met her fate ! 
 For while visiting around she was introduced to many 
 prominent people, among others Jackson McCrackin, a 
 South Carolinian by birth, but now a thorough-going 
 Westerner. He was the discoverer of a well-known and 
 productive gold mine, the speaker of the first legislature 
 ever convened in Arizona, and an attractive gentleman. 
 He fell in love with Mrs. Clifford, wooed and won her, 
 and in 1882 they were married. 
 
 Now began the pastoral epoch of her life as Mrs. Jose 
 phine Clifford McCrackin. She and her husband moved 
 to a ranch they had purchased in the Santa Cruz moun 
 tains, which she named the Monte Paraiso (Mountain 
 Paradise), and there for seventeen happy years she lived 
 with the man she loved, surrounded by all that sincere 
 and devoted affection could give her. During this period 
 she wrote much for a variety of publications, both Cali- 
 fornian and Eastern, and many of her sketches were 
 translated and published in German. She had already 
 issued, in 1877, a volume of her collected stories from the 
 Overland, so they were called "Overland Tales," and in 
 1893 a second volume, entitled "Another Juanita," was 
 published. 
 
 In a letter written to me but a short time ago, Mrs. 
 McCrackin thus speaks of the ranch and her life there: 
 "So many happy years I spent on Monte Paraiso Ranch, 
 and I had counted on spending the remaining years of 
 my rather stormy life there ; but fate had decreed other- 
 
34 JOSEPHINE CLIFFORD McCRACKIN 
 
 wise, and the forest fire of October, 1899, which swept 
 away every building on the ranch, with contents, was 
 really the beginning of the end, though Mr. McCrackin 
 did not die till December 14, 1904, and I soon after left 
 the mountains and put the land up for sale. 
 
 "We had built up such a beautiful place ; it was rightly 
 named, before the fire had swept it. And always we had 
 delightful people with us, and in the neighborhood. Old 
 army friends looked in upon us, and Major-General Bar 
 ry, with his charming wife, knew the ranch before the 
 desolation. Mr. McCrackin had elected this distin 
 guished officer to the Presidential chair while he was 
 still captain in the First Infantry. A young officer, Lieu 
 tenant W. Ory Smith of the Seventh Infantry, was also 
 a great favorite with Mr. McCrackin, for Billy Smith s 
 grandfather, William Onry, the Arizona pioneer, had 
 been his friend and pardner, as Mr. McCrackin was the 
 first white man to set foot on the ground where Prescott 
 now stands. 
 
 "A very pleasant summer was that of 1899, though it 
 went out with the pall of smoke hanging over it. Am 
 brose Bierce came up in the Santa Cruz mountains early 
 in the year, with the avowed intention of remaining 
 through the season. Ambrose Bierce, the best-hated and 
 the best-loved man in California, whose renown followed 
 wherever the fear his name scattered had penetrated 
 first. Yet he could be so good and kind and companion 
 able. Though he could have been Mr. McCrackin s son 
 in years, he chose to act as if they were old cronies to 
 gether, greatly to Mac s delight, for Bierce, too, claimed 
 to be country-bred, and he would turn to Mac for cor- 
 roboration when he said, We used to do so on the farm, 
 
JOSEPHINE CLIFFORD McCRACKIN 35 
 
 didn t we, Mac? But he could be merciless in his sar 
 casm ; he hated hypocrisy and was utterly without fear. 
 
 "He made his home at the Cotton s resort, though he 
 rented a cottage farther up the hill, where he wrote his 
 manuscripts. To my mind he never wrote more beau 
 tiful things than those he wrote here, especially of retro 
 spection, a memory embodying his army days, the most 
 touching, pathetic strain from the depths of a heart that 
 so many thought calloused. For Bierce had been an 
 army officer, and though no one was ever permitted to 
 say Major Bierce, I have always maintained that the 
 army lost a brilliant officer where the world of letters 
 gained a brilliant writer. 
 
 "Herman Scheffauer, the young writer, now of Lon 
 don, was a protege of Bierce s, was with him when the 
 forest fire devastated our land and the surrounding coun 
 try. The fire did not burn below the line of our redwood 
 timber, so the cottages on lower Loma Prieta Avenue, 
 where Bierce lived, were safe. As soon as they could, 
 our friends made their way through the fire, for the de 
 stroying element raged in the mountains for nearly a 
 week ; and when we together reached the ruins of the 
 Monte Paraiso cottage, I was utterly exhausted, and cry 
 ing, too, and I leaned against the only chimney that was 
 left standing of the whole house. Mr. Bierce, always 
 sympathetic, had thrown his cape, a remnant of his sol 
 dier-days, around me, for my clothes were in tatters ; and 
 Scheffauer took the accompanying picture, which Bierce 
 said reminded him of the ruined homes in the South in 
 war time. In every way did this much-dreaded, much- 
 maligned man show his sympathy; and of the writing 
 
36 JOSEPHINE CLIFFORD McCRACKIN 
 
 material he brought to me after the fire, I still keep en 
 velopes and paper to remember him by." 
 
 Of the fire itself, Mrs. McCrackin wrote a graphic 
 account, which appeared in the Wide World Magazine 
 for May, 1902. Expecting to sell the ranch, she and her 
 husband had removed to a cottage which they built, in 
 tending to spend their last years in quietude and com 
 fort. But the sale was halted in some way, hence they 
 had personally to see after the harvesting of the grapes, 
 apples and other crops. Mrs. McCrackin had been to the 
 fruit house to see how the Chinamen were getting along, 
 and as she returned home she noticed smoke rolling and 
 wavering in the wind on the north ridge of a nearby 
 mountain chain, though several miles away. Her hus 
 band poo-hooed the idea of there being any danger, so 
 she retired to rest as usual, but not to sleep. It was not 
 until after three in the morning that she dropped into 
 an uneasy slumber, only to be awakened before dawn to 
 a sense of coming danger. Above the uproar of the 
 storm she at last heard the voice of a neighbor: "For 
 heaven s sake, wake up ! You ve lost everything. The 
 whole country s on fire! Quick, for heaven s sake, or 
 you ll burn in your beds !" 
 
 Opening the door, "Heavens ! The sight ! The terror 
 of it" she wrote "seemed to freeze the blood in my 
 veins; but I did not faint I knew I must not lose my 
 senses. The blinding, flashing, glaring flames shooting 
 up into the sky, higher than my eyes could follow; the 
 clouds of smoke, muddy, turbulent waves rolling above 
 sudden leaps of fire ; the hideous roar and crackle it was 
 all simply awful. There was nothing but fire and glare 
 and smoke as far as my eyes could see, and I could think 
 
JOSEPHINE CLIFFORD McCRACKIN 37 
 
 of nothing my mind was a blank. . . . Monte 
 Paraiso fire-swept the buildings in ashes! I watched 
 a lot of men, looking like demons in the glare of the fire 
 brandishing axes, swinging brush hooks, wielding long 
 shovels, whipping the flames and beating the ground 
 with boughs and branches in their desperate efforts to 
 beat back and subdue the fast-encroaching enemy. But 
 I was stunned. I felt no interest in their proceedings. I 
 seemed perfectly indifferent. 
 
 ". . . Then I saw the chain of fire-fighters slowly 
 retreating; it was daylight now, and one after the other 
 they came nearer to the house. It was safe, they still 
 told me ; but I must be calm. Would not some of them 
 have a cup of coffee, I asked. But they all said, Not 
 now, pretty soon/ " 
 
 The cause of their delay was soon apparent. They 
 had assured Mrs. McCrackin too soon. The men scram 
 bled on the roof of the porch at the back of the house, 
 A little later she saw them jump to the ground, and at 
 the same moment she heard a hissing sound behind her. 
 "I turned in terror, only to see flames leaping up into the 
 crown of the very tree against which I was standing, 
 while at the same moment, the stable, belching flames 
 from its interior, burst asunder with the sound and force 
 of an explosion. . . . 
 
 "I gave up everything for lost! In a moment I had 
 untied our horse from the tree, in the branches of which 
 the fire-fiend was already making havoc, and rushed 
 round to the front of the house in order to make my 
 escape down the road. The fire, however, had reached 
 the road before me, setting ablaze everything on either 
 side and cutting off this natural avenue of retreat. 
 
SS JOSEPHINE CLIFFORD McCRACKIN 
 
 "Where should we go which way turn? North, east 
 and west were all barred by fire, and our only chance 
 was to get through on the south, though the tall firs on 
 the land of our neighbor were already on fire. Some of 
 them, being strangers to the locality, grew bewildered, 
 and I could not make myself heard in the wild uproar of 
 the destroying flames. Making a dash for some bars in 
 the fence that could be let down, I motioned to the men 
 which way I wanted to go. We had plunged through the 
 vineyard only a short distance when the wind, with a 
 sudden swirl, brought up flames and smoke from the 
 very direction in which I was heading. A little to the 
 west lay the only avenue now open, but this was barred 
 by a stout line fence, on which the men at once got to 
 work. The fire was now crackling in the trees above us, 
 and I was half stifled with smoke and flying ashes. Hud 
 dled together here, I suddenly missed Sancho [her pet 
 dog] from our crowd, and though I shouted myself 
 hoarse, it was of no avail; perhaps he was already dead. 
 
 "When I saw the fence give way I put Billy s bridle 
 into the hands of the men, while I rushed through the 
 opening first of all. My false courage had left me, and 
 I ran screaming, but always straight on, away from the 
 fire, through orchards and vineyards, scaling or breaking 
 down fences as I came to them. What I saw when I 
 turned my head only drove me on the faster the same 
 blinding, glaring ocean of fire, the waves of flame rolling 
 high as the tree-tops, in which fiery serpents seemed to 
 be hissing in rage and fury, and clouds of suffocating 
 black smoke. Every now and then pieces of burning 
 wood came hurtling through the air, murky with smoke, 
 and made still hotter by the rays of the sun. 
 
JOSEPHINE CLIFFORD McCRACKIN 39 
 
 "Presently I came to a fence which I could neither 
 climb nor break down, and I ran back to the highway, 
 where, in the few houses that stood here, the women had 
 all their possessions bundled up, ready to move, while 
 the men folk were away fighting the fire. None of these 
 women succeeded in stopping me, but when I reached 
 the bottom of the next hill I sank exhausted on the 
 steps of a veranda, where friendly arms were laid around 
 me." 
 
 Soon she saw the men who had been so unselfishly 
 working to quell the fire at her house. "We could save 
 nothing. We tried hard to save the piano, and Mr. Bur- 
 rell badly burned his hands trying to roll it out, but it 
 burned up under the trees outside. We can do no more, 
 and the Meyers have sent an urgent message for help, so 
 we must go on there." 
 
 At last she was able to reach the spot on the road from 
 which cries of admiration had always sprung from visi 
 tors and travelers as they passed by. "I gave but one 
 look toward the scene of desolation and ruin, where only 
 an hour before had stood our tree-sheltered, flower- 
 decked Forest Nook. Nothing was left but the pitiful 
 stumps and blackened bodies of the great spreading ma- 
 drones; the tall firs lay dead among smouldering ash 
 heaps ; the fire-crisped leaves on the charred, half-burned 
 branches of the oaks were falling, one by one, to the heat- 
 baked ground. 
 
 " All go/ the old Chinaman had sobbed a little while 
 ago. All go/ I repeated after him, but I did not sob I 
 could not" 
 
 And when later they were able to go to the larger 
 ranch house of Monte Paraiso, it "was not easy to find 
 
40 JOSEPHINE CLIFFORD McCRACKIN 
 
 the road, for the whole stretch of the country was now 
 one blackened region, with rills of fire still running 
 through it. We found, however, that we had only to 
 follow the trail made by the half-burnt bodies of rabbits, 
 foxes, skunks and wild-cats, who had evidently made for 
 the open road when driven from their lairs by the fire. 
 Birds, partly consumed by the flames, had dropped in 
 their flight and lay thick strewn along the land. Every 
 now and then I had to stoop hastily to crush out the 
 flames that came lapping up the edge of my skirt as I 
 picked my way along. Sancho, poor beast, would howl 
 dismally when his foot accidentally stirred up a bed of 
 hot coals, and he limped worse than ever. 
 
 "Alas for Monte Paraiso and its groves and gardens! 
 The melted glass from the tall windows lay in lumps 
 where the frames had dropped from their settings; there 
 were a few melted door-knobs and nails by the thousand, 
 but no vestige of the building they had come out of. 
 Only the one big chimney, all-sufficient for the sunny 
 clime we lived in, marked the place where the house had 
 stood. The ramshackle building called the fruit house, 
 the oldest on the ranch, had been left by the fire in mock 
 ing irony. As for the rest, barn, stable, Chinaman s 
 house, wagons, ploughs, harness, hay all go. J 
 
 It is an ill wind that blows nobody any good, and this 
 great forest fire and the consequent destruction of scores 
 of acres of giant redwoods called attention to the fact 
 that these monarchs of the forest were fast disappearing. 
 Having had her heart wrenched at seeing her own glori 
 ous trees laid low, Mrs. McCrackin wrote a rousing 
 article in the Santa Cruz Sentinel of March 7, 1900, call 
 ing upon the people of the state to awake and save the 
 
JOSEPHINE CLIFFORD McCRACKIN 41 
 
 redwoods. Her letter was copied everywhere. It was 
 made the text of addresses and harangues here, there, 
 and everywhere, nearly all of which highly favored her 
 suggestion. Andrew P. Hill, a tree enthusiast, a fine 
 photographer and an artist in oils, had found near the 
 coast in Santa Cruz country a "Big Basin" filled with 
 these giant redwoods, and he and Mrs. McCrackin began 
 to work together to see if this "basin" of majestic trees 
 could not be saved for the people forever. Hugo de 
 Vries, the eminent Holland scientist, in his "To Cali 
 fornia," published in 1905, in Haarlem, Holland, thus 
 speaks of Mrs. McCrackin s endeavors and their results : 
 
 "Up to March, 1900, the world was threatened with the 
 loss of the Sempervirens forest. It was almost too late. 
 The Big Basin, up to that time, was the only forest which 
 had not yet been touched by lumbermen, but the cost of 
 lumber then was so high that lumber companies already 
 were considering the value of these wonderful giants. 
 
 "For several years past the forest had been owned by 
 a lumber company, and when all the surrounding country 
 had been stripped of its growth, this company did not 
 hesitate to move their saw mill to the oldest, the most 
 beautiful, the richest part of this basin. All was in readi 
 ness, and the only thing they waited for was the order to 
 commence. 
 
 "It was at that time that the danger bell began to ring. 
 The Californians commenced to realize that they were 
 bordering the loss of one of Nature s greatest wonders, 
 which has become the fame of the state of California, 
 and which has added so greatly in the state s wonderful 
 development. 
 
 "It was Mrs. Josephine Clifford McCrackin who called 
 
42 JOSEPHINE CLIFFORD McCRACKIN 
 
 our attention to this danger mark, by writing an article 
 in the Santa Cruz Sentinel, pointing to that calamity. 
 Everyone at once realized what would be the outcome 
 unless effective steps were immediately taken. Mrs. 
 McCrackin received assistance and co-operation from all 
 sides, and by circulating photographs, etc., the wide 
 awake citizens soon had a thorough understanding of 
 the true state of affairs, and the trees were saved. * 
 
 Largely under Mrs. McCrackin s influence the Semper- 
 virens Club was formed, Sempervirens being the specific 
 scientific name of the giant redwood sequoia semper- 
 virens the everlasting redwood. The object of the club 
 was to save the redwoods of the Big Basin, containing a 
 greater number of giant redwoods on a given space than 
 any other spot in California or in the known world. The 
 object of the club appealed to the local pride of every 
 organization in the state the Native Sons, the Native 
 Daughters, the Pioneers, etc., and in due time 3,800 out 
 of 14,000 acres were purchased by the state, named the 
 California Redwood Park, put under the administration 
 of a non-political commission and a warden appointed 
 to give it adequate care, attention and protection. Every 
 year since its acquisition the Club has officially visited 
 the park. On its first visit it was honored with the pres 
 ence of Dr. Hugo de Vries, who in European scientific 
 circles has long occupied the same position that Luther 
 Burbank here holds in the estimation of the scientists 
 and the general public. 
 
 As one result of her work for the redwoods, Herman 
 Scheffauer wrote the following exquisite tribute which 
 he dedicated to her : 
 
JOSEPHINE CLIFFORD McCRACKIN 43 
 SAVIOR OF THE SEQUOIAS. 
 
 The Titans of the forest, to the east winds sprung forth 
 
 from the sea. 
 Give them, O worthy mongst women, their thanks and 
 
 their greetings for thee! 
 When, under their ancient, overarching arms, your feet 
 
 shall bestir the grass, 
 Bright dews from their boughs shall be shaken on your 
 
 reverent head as you pass. 
 From their roots, clutching deep in the earth, to each 
 
 patriarch s head in the skies, 
 The race of these giants had vanished, as the race of 
 
 mortals dies; 
 Coeval with Earth and defying Time, they had perished 
 
 by the blade, 
 If never your pitying heart and hand the hand of the 
 
 vandal had stayed. 
 Therefore, in the forest silences, in the tongue of the 
 
 noblest trees, 
 A name is whispered with love to the winds in their 
 
 twilight symphonies. 
 They that are older than Egypt or Ind and shall outlive 
 
 the Ultimate Man 
 The deathless sequoias immortal shall hold that name 
 
 like the spirit of Pan. 
 Tis for this that the bearded Titans to the east wind 
 
 have sprung forth from the sea, 
 Give them, O worthy mongst women, their thanks and 
 
 their greetings for thee ! 
 
 Nor was her work for the redwoods the limit of her 
 beneficial endeavor. Filled with that love that only great 
 natures feel for the smaller brothers and sisters of the 
 
44 JOSEPHINE CLIFFORD McCRACKIN 
 
 forest and the air, and appalled by the reckless slaughter 
 of songbirds on all sides, she sent forth, in 1901, a num 
 ber of clarion notes of warning and then organized the 
 first bird-protection society of California, entitled "The 
 Ladies* Forest and Song Birds Protection Association," 
 of which she is the honored president. With pen and 
 voice, everywhere in the state, when the way is opened 
 for her, this whole-souled lover of the birds is found 
 working in their interest, and thousands of people in 
 California owe their first introduction to humanitarian 
 principles, as far as birds and animals are concerned, to 
 what Mrs. McCrackin has said or written. 
 
 In 1904 Mr. McCrackin died, and this woman of noble, 
 generous impulses, of dignified family, of varied fortunes, 
 was suddenly thrown upon her own resources. For 
 there was a heavy mortgage on Monte Paraiso, and she 
 was incapable of running the ranch and making it pay. 
 But with that unquenchable spirit of freedom and inde 
 pendence that had always led her to triumph over the 
 worst of obstacles, she moved to Santa Cruz and took up 
 the burden of gaining her own livelihood. 
 
HER RED HAIR 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 A shrill scream from the locomotive, a series of spas 
 modic jerks, and the train came to a sudden halt. A 
 rush of passengers to the side of the car on which outside 
 could be heard the swift running of the train men, and 
 then a crowding to the door and platform, to investigate 
 the cause of the stoppage and learn the probable duration 
 of the delay. As one and the other of the passengers 
 sauntered back to his seat, after a little while, the "hot 
 box" which had caused the trouble was mentioned in no 
 friendly manner, as almost every individual on the train 
 would seem to have been hindered and delayed by it in 
 the carrying out of some most important piece of busi 
 ness, which was t.o have been transacted immediately 
 upon the arrival of this train in San Francisco. 
 
 One person, however, seemed to be perfectly unaf 
 fected a young woman, sitting rather toward the end 
 of the car, which she had not left at all while the rest had 
 rushed out, or stretched their necks from the platform 
 steps, when the train had stopped. She had not even 
 crossed to the other side of the car, but remained where 
 she was, gazing steadily out of the window, over a coun 
 try entirely new and strange to her, for she and her com 
 panion had boarded this train a few hours since, at a 
 station where the Eastern train crossed this line. 
 
 Her companion, a gentleman in faultless traveling suit 
 and followed by the colored porter from the Eastern 
 
46 JOSEPHINE CLIFFORD McCRACKIN 
 
 train, loaded with wraps and handbags, looked younger 
 at first glance, than the lady with him; and handsomer, 
 people would have declared, than she. Seating himself 
 opposite her in the small space left by traveling-bags 
 and rugs, he had deliberately surveyed the other occu 
 pants of the car, bestowing, last of all, a most critical 
 look upon his mate. To say that disapprobation was ex 
 pressed in the colorless, aristocratic face with its straight 
 nose and insolent, disdainful lines about the mouth, 
 would be using a very mild term; for the features grew 
 sharp and the eyes wrathful, as they rested upon the 
 half-averted head and graceful shoulders of the lady. 
 
 "What in the name of all that is ugly, have you done 
 to yourself now?" he asked angrily. "What is that 
 shabby dress for? Did you borrow that hat from a scare 
 crow? Have you lost the lace scarf that I bought you?" 
 With each sentence his voice grew higher, and his nos 
 trils quivered with passion as he went on. "And where, 
 in the devil s name, is your hair what have you done 
 with it? Just today, when it is of the utmost importance 
 that you should display that accursed red mane of yours, 
 you must needs go hide it under that abomination of a 
 Quaker bonnet. Was ever a man irritated and angered 
 by an obstinate piece of femininity as I am ; it would try 
 the patience of a saint. And what will Dick Lockhart 
 think when he comes to meet a dowdy-looking thing like 
 you? But you shall pay for it oh!" He ground his 
 teeth with rage while tossing around the various satchels 
 and valises, in a rough way beside him, as though they 
 could feel the abuse he gave them. 
 
 The lady in the meantime had sat rigid and cold. Her 
 lips, only lightly closed when first he spoke, had been 
 
HER RED HAIR 47 
 
 pressed more and more firmly as he went on with his 
 angry tirade, till at last her face had really assumed a 
 shade of obstinacy with which he had charged her. Only 
 once, when he had alluded in such uncomplimentary 
 terms to her hair, had she turned her eyes upon him, 
 the eyes of a creature hurt and grieved beyond reconcilia 
 tion and forgiveness, and after that she had remained 
 motionless, till the slamming of a door advised her that 
 her companion had left her, to seek consolation in the 
 buffet or the smoking-car. Then life had come back to 
 her inanimate form, and she looked furtively this way 
 and that, to see whether the little scene just enacted had 
 found spectators in the car. But she was quickly re 
 assured on this point ; the few passengers in the car after 
 taking the measure of the new-comers upon first enter 
 ing, had forgotten them again before the flood-gates of 
 the man s wrath had opened upon her. 
 
 Slowly and by almost imperceptible degrees the 
 change in her outward appearance had continued after 
 this by denuding her throat of the little white collar she 
 wore, drawing off her delicate gloves, and removing a 
 gleaming gem or two from her fingers. All these small 
 objects she placed carefully in the most elegant of the 
 traveling-bags marked with a monogram and the name 
 of a large city in the Southwest hiding it, after closing 
 it again, under a heap of wraps and mufflers, on the seat 
 which the gentlemen had occupied. Then drawing 
 toward her a worn, unsightly valise, she placed it beside 
 her, laying across it an old, faded shawl. 
 
 And there she had sat through long weary hours, the 
 abused Quaker bonnet drawn well down over her eyes, 
 the naked hands half-hidden under the shawl. Once or 
 
48 JOSEPHINE CLIFFORD McCRACKIN 
 
 twice, as the train halted at some way station, she had 
 cast keen glances toward the door, opened to admit or 
 let out passengers ; and more than once had she grasped 
 the shabby valise as if to leave the car with it. But al 
 ways a look of indecision and despairing helplessness had 
 come into her face, and the hands had fallen irresolutely 
 away from the bag. 
 
 But now, while passengers were moving from seat to 
 seat, utilizing the temporary stoppage for communicat 
 ing to each other their railroad views in general and the 
 running of this train in particular, while all eyes were 
 turned in the direction where the offending "hot box" 
 was known to be, a quick decision seemed to inform the 
 still figure with sudden life, and quietly rising in her seat 
 she lifted the small valise lightly in her hand, threw the 
 shawl over it and walked steadily to the rear end of the 
 car. Stepping to the side of the platform remotest from 
 the "hot box," she made sure that none of her fellow 
 passengers were loitering here, then swiftly dropped 
 from the steps to the ground and walked briskly to where 
 the faint glimmer of a footpath could be seen, which led 
 into a clump of live-oaks, with an undergrowth of wild 
 shrubs that reached in some places clear to the limbs of 
 these low-growing, spreading trees. Walking with easy, 
 swinging step, as free from haste as from lingering, she 
 had reached and passed the edge of the thicket before 
 the clanging of the bell and the grinding of the wheels 
 told her that the train had started. 
 
CHAPTER II. 
 
 Then she could conquer her mad desire to run at the 
 top of her speed no longer. Hampered by her load, light 
 as it was, she ran with such wild haste that the rush of 
 air seemed to catch in her throat and cut as with knives 
 while it entered her lungs. Her heart leaped up till it 
 strangled her, and flames seemed to dart and shoot be 
 fore her, as if her brain were on fire and the flames were 
 breaking out of her eyes. But she struggled on, panting, 
 half-blind, with trembling limbs, and feet that stumbled 
 against the roots and rocks obstructing the narrow trail. 
 
 She had reached a little rill of water now, so small here 
 that a small plank spanned it, but broadening its bed, a 
 piece farther on, so as to require the heavy bridge across 
 which the train had but now thundered. Utterly ex 
 hausted she threw herself beside the tiny stream, clasp 
 ing her hands over her beating heart and closing her eyes 
 to shut out the blood-red glow she saw before them. 
 But it was only to gain breath, not to rest, that she had 
 paused ; the next moment she was up again, and with one 
 eager, straining look in the direction from whence she 
 had come to assure herself that she saw no dreaded 
 form approaching, she hastened on blindly following the 
 trail to where it might lead. Now she heard the bell 
 ringing on its approach to some town and she was 
 tempted to turn back for the sound seemed to come from 
 the direction toward which she was hastening; and it 
 was only when coming suddenly upon an opening in the 
 trees she saw the path branching off in the opposite line 
 
50 JOSEPHINE CLIFFORD McCRACKIN 
 
 to where the smoke from the locomotive arose, that she 
 felt reassured and ran on. Not far, however; a sudden 
 dizziness came, her burning cheeks blanched, and only a 
 most determined effort saved her from a faint. But her 
 hair, the heavy braids loosened in her swift run, came 
 tumbling down over back and shoulders a mass of silk 
 with the sheen of gold in its dark brown waves. A light 
 wind blew soft tresses across her bosom and over her 
 face. With angry impatience she raised her arms to 
 gather up the loosened masses of hair, while for the first 
 time the tears sprang to her eyes. 
 
 " That accursed red mane " she apostrophized the 
 heavy braids as she tugged and twisted at them as if she 
 would pluck them out by the roots. " That accursed 
 red mane " she repeated with eyes ablaze and and in 
 dignation ringing in her voice; then the hot tears fell 
 again, and rocking to and fro in helpless despair she 
 moaned "oh! what have I done, and what shall I do? 1 
 
 A crackling in the underbrush started her, and she 
 went on again, always directly away from where she had 
 last seen the smoke of the locomotive arise. She lost the 
 trail and struck it again, without knowing it, for she 
 could see where the thicket lifted and the live-oak grew 
 no longer. 
 
 Then at last she drew breath and looked around her. 
 Stopping where she could see a wagon-road in the dis 
 tance, she made her despised hair still more secure under 
 her bonnet, brushed the leaves from her woolen dress, 
 folded her shawl neatly over her handbag, and assuming 
 an air of tranquility she was far from feeling, she walked 
 toward the road and instinctively turned to the right. 
 It was a country road, perfectly open at this point, but 
 
HER RED HAIR 51 
 
 bordered by fences, a piece farther on, and houses visible 
 in the distance. To her left, far off, she could see the 
 outlines of what seemed a very moderate-sized town 
 undoubtedly the place where the train had last stopped. 
 Turning her back hastily on this view, she walked with 
 steady steps along the road till she reached a rustic 
 fence which soon changed its character and became a 
 neat white picket paling, surrounding grounds both 
 spacious and tasteful. The center piece was a house, 
 well-covered with the roses, the clematis and the smilax 
 Californians are so proud of flinging into the faces of 
 their Eastern cousins. In a different frame of mind it 
 might have struck her that there was something odd 
 about this home, a new half, apparently all bay-window, 
 plate-glass and turret-roofs, and the old half, vine-cov 
 ered, with common-sized windows and plain cottage roof. 
 But had she been in more placid mood even her attention 
 would have been drawn away from all this by the sounds 
 that came from the interior of this pretentious pile the 
 cries of a child, which from a fretful wailing had grown 
 into a persistent and distressful sob. 
 
 It was not the lusty, naughty screeching of a healthy 
 little brute; but a continued, pitiful cry, that went 
 straight to her woman s heart and made it ache to take 
 the little one to her breast. She stood still and listened. 
 The cries did not cease, and she could distinguish that 
 they came from the less elegant side of the house. Both 
 parts of the house looked coldly and with an air of ex- 
 clusiveness upon the world outside, but that was evi 
 dently life in the older wing. With beating heart she 
 opened the gracefully-designed gate and traversed a 
 gravelled walk that led to the house. As she approached 
 
52 JOSEPHINE CLIFFORD McCRACKIN 
 
 she could see signs of childlife about the premises; and 
 an evident lack of neatness and order made itself felt. 
 A copy of Mother Goose had been squeezed in between 
 the slats of the window-shutters ; a decapitated doll-baby 
 lay sprawling on the well-built but badly swept vestibule 
 floor, and a rocking-horse had broken its neck in trying 
 to make the descent of all the steps at once. A single 
 glance showed her all the details ; it was plain that there 
 were more children here to take care of than the one 
 
 whose waitings still tore her ears and heart, and . 
 
 She did not stop to think out her thought, but resolutely 
 approached the closed portal through which came the 
 cries of the little one, fainter now and more plaintively. 
 
 Startling the echoes and herself with the reverbera 
 tions of the heavy knocker, she paused with bated breath 
 to listen to the patter of quick feet which almost in 
 stantly appeared. A moment later she helped push back 
 the heavy door, and looked down on a small, stout speci 
 men of humanity, a girl of about four, who gazed keenly 
 at her for a second before lifting up her voice and calling 
 back over her shoulder : 
 
 "Papa, papa! She s dot red hair! It s our new dirl, 
 shure!" 
 
 Then, turning hurriedly back she seized our heroine 
 by the hand and dragged her along the hall, charging her 
 to "make haste and take my little buzzer; he c y, c y, c y 
 all the time and papa can t make him hush up." 
 
 Dropping her satchel down against the wall, and 
 throwing her hat on top of it, she followed her mentor 
 into the room where "little buzzer" lay in a child s crib 
 over which a broad-shouldered man was bending, trying 
 vainly to soothe the distress of the occupant. Without 
 
HER RED HAIR 53 
 
 further ceremony the four-year-old pulled her father 
 manfully by the coat-tails, urging him to come away and 
 let the new girl take the little brother. 
 
 Lifting the child from the crib, the new girl gave one 
 look into the pinched, drawn face, and exclaimed in ac 
 cents of the deepest pity: 
 
 "Why, he s hungry ! Poor little chap, no wonder he s 
 crying." 
 
 The man looked on in helpless surprise. 
 
 "Hungry!" he repeated, "why, that can t be. Bridget 
 must have fed him before she went to town. Surely I 
 saw his little basin there just now, and it was empty." 
 
 Miss Four-year-old again broke forth. 
 
 "No, no, papa; baby was asleep when Bridget went 
 away, and Bobby ate the baby s dinner." 
 
 Bobby, who had sat unmoved through this contro 
 versy, absorbed in transferring the "animals two by two, 
 the Elephant and the Kangaroo" from his Noah s Ark 
 to the little table in front of him, answered stolidly in the 
 affirmative when the question of having diverted the 
 baby s dinner to his own purposes was put to him di 
 rectly. The starving infant in the meantime might have 
 cried itself to sleep hungry, had not the little girl once 
 more come to the rescue. 
 
 "Bridget put some more dinner on the stove for baby ; 
 she said the little pig would eat this." Evidently the 
 young lady was quoting "Bridget" verbatim et literatim, 
 but no attention was paid to the offensive epithet. 
 
 "Where is the kitchen?" asked the stranger, looking 
 around for a wrap to throw over the child, still feebly 
 wailing in her arms. 
 
54 JOSEPHINE CLIFFORD McCRACKIN 
 
 The little girl tugged at the remains of what had been 
 a costly India shawl, tangled up in the multitudinous 
 coverings piled on the crib ; the father coming to her aid 
 with the half apologetic remark that he would have to 
 look after his men, but would return immediately. As 
 he passed out of the door through which she had entered, 
 her youthful guide proceeded to draw aside a portiere 
 which hung over the entrance to what was evidently the 
 sleeping-room of the children, from whence they crossed 
 a little porch and reached the kitchen by a short-cut. 
 
 The child in her arms had ceased its wailing and 
 watched with longing eyes the short preparation neces 
 sary for the satisfying of its hunger. The faithful 
 Bridget, whoever she might be, had left an appetizing 
 bowl of broth on the cook-stove, and the child was soon 
 crowing over its contents as it lay comfortably bedded 
 in the lap of its new-found friend. 
 
 "What s your name?" The question, although pro 
 pounded by childish lips, seemed so brutally abrupt that 
 it startled both the woman and the little one in her lap, 
 but she replied with quickly regained self-possession, 
 "Annie, and yours?" 
 
 "Bee-a-twis," she informed her proudly, but they call 
 me Trixy." 
 
 "That is a very pretty name indeed; and what is the 
 name of your little brother here?" Annie continued her 
 inquisition. 
 
 Trixy struggled hard to articulate something which 
 was plainly beyond her power, till at last she ejaculated 
 the two distinct syllables "De Cobb I" 
 
 "De Cobb," repeated our friend a little amused at the 
 
HER RED HAIR 55 
 
 odd name. But Trixy, red in the face with exertion, 
 protested : 
 
 "No, no not De Cobb, Daycob." 
 
 "Yes, to be sure, Jacob," assented the girl. How very 
 stupid in me not to understand the name. And you call 
 him Cobby do you not?" 
 
 "I always call him that," affirmed Trixy. "Can I have 
 that?" she asked as she pointed to what was left of the 
 broth. 
 
 "Certainly." Annie was quite bewildered to think that 
 she should be looked upon as one having authority there. 
 
CHAPTER III. 
 
 While Trixy was busy with spoon and fingers, Annie 
 thought it no harm to take notes as far as might be. The 
 dimensions, furnishing and finishing of the kitchen were 
 all on a generous scale; but the incongruity that had 
 obtruded itself in the other portion of the house, even 
 in the brief glimpse she had had of it, seemed to repeat 
 itself here. From china-closet to table-drawer, a 
 strange mixture of superfine and coarse homely things, 
 seemed to exist. Beside the most delicate hand-painted 
 cake-basket and sugar bowl to match, there stood a 
 common white cream jug, and in among the remains of 
 a dainty fish-service stood crowded a lot of hard fea 
 tured, staring, glaring crockery. In the table drawer 
 were pearl headed, silver bladed knives, hobnobbing with 
 stout blackhandled rural cutlery. Silver and pewter 
 spoons were on perfect equality here; and the finest, 
 most sensitive cutglass seemed to stand in awe of the 
 coarser grain of the tumblers and pitchers surrounding it. 
 
 The child in her lap or at least its clothing showed 
 the same marked disharmony. A little sacque of the 
 finest silk velvet, woefully crumpled and creased, had 
 been drawn over the dress of common calico, badly made 
 and a world too wide for the meager bit of humanity it 
 enfolded. Wide as the garment was, however, it did not 
 half clothe the child, for its lean arms seemed unnaturally 
 long, and protruded hungrily from the sleeves, making 
 the thin hands look like claws, and matched in ugliness 
 only by the sharp, bony nose in the narrow face. Even 
 
HER RED HAIR 57 
 
 the head was mis-shapen, and not the most glowing 
 fancy, not the most ardent mother-love, could have found 
 anything beautiful or lovely in the child s exterior except 
 its eyes, which were dark and soft, and had in them the 
 appealing look which we see in the eyes of a lost dog. 
 
 A glance from the window showed her that a fog had 
 drifted in, obscuring the sun which had shone so brightly 
 on her flight from the cars. She shuddered ; not so much 
 from cold as from the recollection of her breathless jour 
 ney. But a pair of shining eyes had been steadfastly re 
 garding her; and with an instinct of watchfulness, born 
 perhaps of the constant vigilance she maintained over 
 the "little beggar," Trixy exclaimed with much concern : 
 
 "Cold, Annie? I ll det some kindlin s and you make 
 a fire in the room. Bridget said you would when you 
 came." And hustling around like an old housewife of 
 fifty, Trixy filled her apron with "kinlins," while Annie 
 was still pondering the question of how Bridget had 
 known that she would build a fire in the sitting-room of 
 the mansion tonight. 
 
 But she followed Trixy back into the room, laid the 
 child in its crib while Trixy ran back to the kitchen for 
 a piece of cake to fill the mouth wide open and pouring 
 forth a series of howls of the "ozzer buzzer" who had at 
 last become weary of Father Noah s menagerie. She 
 soon started a cheerful blaze in the broad, open fireplace. 
 Then she took up the child again, which reached out its 
 long scrawny arms to her and cooed and crowed softly 
 when Annie seated herself near the fire with it, smiling 
 its gratitude and fairly glowing with content. Trixy 
 had climbed up on the couch beside her, and the "ozzer 
 
58 JOSEPHINE CLIFFORD McCRACKIN 
 
 buzzer" was enjoying his cake at least such portions of 
 it as were not scattered over the carpet. 
 
 Traveling down the length of the room, her eyes 
 lighted up as they rested on a handsome grand piano, 
 close up to which was pushed a plain deal table on which 
 stood dishes and a saucepan, and children s toys all in 
 the wildest confusion. On the piano were deposited 
 articles of dress, shoes and socks of the children, and, 
 conspicuous above everything else, a gentleman s tall 
 silk hat, with a broad band of crepe around it. 
 
 The chairs, some airily and elegantly fashioned, and 
 covered with brocade silk and plush; others plainly im 
 portations from the kitchen, and verandas were littered 
 with more articles of clothing, ranging from a coarse 
 kitchen-apron to the black broadcloth dress-suit of a 
 gentleman. The cushion which Trixy had pulled up to 
 the fire, was fit to grace the boudoir of the most fastidi 
 ous dame ; but the stool she dragged out from under the 
 lounge for Annie s feet to rest on was a homely wooden 
 one and cheaply made. 
 
 The little boy s lower extremities were clothed in silk 
 attire, while an apron of the coarsest gingham covered 
 waist and arms. Trixy herself wore an apron so small 
 and tight that her fat arms looked like well stuffed sau 
 sages; while her stockings dangled loosely about her 
 sturdy, well developed legs. In short, the room and its 
 inmates would have conveyed the impression that each 
 child, as it arose each morning, dived into the various 
 piles of clothing and wore for the day whatever it hap 
 pened to fish out. 
 
 Still the house, as far as she could see it, had an air of 
 comfort and plenty about it, and only a hand seemed 
 
HER RED HAIR 59 
 
 lacking to bring order out of chaos. Had Annie not been 
 so entirely engrossed by her own communings she might 
 have tried to read the riddle of these strange surround 
 ings; as it was, her thoughts centered in the one ques 
 tion : had she found shelter here dared she hope a home, 
 or must she go forth again to find a place to lay her 
 aching head for the night. The early spring day was 
 closing, and the firelit room was so bright compared to 
 the fog and drizzle outside. Oh, if she could but stay. 
 
 Just then two w-arm little hands clasped themselves 
 about her neck, and Trixy pushed her face close up to 
 hers, and to the manifest discomfort of the "little buz 
 zer," who protested to the utmost of his weak ability. 
 
 "Say!" she opened conversation in a persuasive tone, 
 "You s dot red hair ain t you? And you must be cross 
 eyed, for Aunt Tildy said so. What s the matter with 
 your eyes? They ain t so " and her eyes underwent the 
 most fearful gymnastics in order to produce a squint. 
 
 Poor Annie ! Her heart sank as she realized that she 
 was not the new girl with the red hair and the squint 
 that was expected here. But, happen what might, she 
 \vould not usurp the place, coveted, perhaps, by some 
 one as much in need of a home as she herself. So when, 
 at this moment she heard a step in an adjoining room, 
 and the master of the house made his appearance under 
 the portiere in the doorway, she arose hastily to meet 
 him, with the little one still in her arms. 
 
 "From your little daughter I understand that you were 
 looking for a new girl today and I must tell you that I 
 am not the one you were expecting. I started out only 
 today to hunt work and yours was the first place I came 
 to. You were led into the mistake by the color of my 
 
60 JOSEPHINE CLIFFORD McCRACKIN 
 
 hair and I discovered it only through the child s close 
 observance of my eyes which are not crossed." 
 
 She said it hastily but in all sincerity; the man s firm 
 lips, however, relaxed into something of a smile as he 
 answered: "The fact is that my little girl s grand-aunt 
 had promised to send us a new girl today, but as she did 
 not come, you are welcome to stay if the place suits you. 
 Bridget, the cook, has gone to town to make some pur 
 chases; when she returns she will instruct you in your 
 duties and tell you what wages you get." 
 
 She felt so thankful ; should she make him a courtesy 
 and say "thank you, sir"? Would it be the proper thing 
 to do in her position? Fortunately he had already left 
 the room before she had decided; and she hugged the 
 little one closer to her breast, to express her gratitude. 
 
 Not long afterward she heard the sound of wheels out 
 side, and after a flutter of terror which she could not 
 quell, the tones of a cheerful, resolute voice convinced 
 her that there were no grounds for fear of pursuit, and 
 after a short conversation held outside by this voice and 
 the one already known to her, a tall, stout Irish girl, with 
 dark eyes and kindliness written all over her wholesome 
 face and figure, came into the room. 
 
 Still, Annie could not but feel the searching glance 
 upon her face as she addressed her. 
 
 "And ye re not the gerrul Mrs. Ault sent here, Mr. 
 Winters does be telling me. Well ye re welcome here, 
 for I need a help, and the children is hanging to yez as 
 if they liked yez. All but Bobby; and I ll warrant he ate 
 his little brother s dinner after I went away and has 
 never left his chair nor his Noah s Ark since." 
 
HER RED HAIR 61 
 
 And sure enough, Master Bobby was back in his chair 
 by the low table set out with the animals ; and the laugh 
 they had at his expense seemed to establish friendly 
 relations between the two women at once. 
 
 "You stay here wid the childers till I call ye to sup 
 per," Bridget decided to Annie s delight. "You must be 
 tired, for Mr. Winters says you walked out here from 
 the cars ; after supper we ll settle about your wages and 
 your work." She pronounced it "wor-ruck," but the 
 sound was pleasant to Annie s ears, all the same. 
 
 Bobby, however, was not so firmly settled in his seat 
 as his friend had supposed him to be ; and after a series 
 of preliminary sniffs and snuffles he broke out into one 
 of his most terrible yells, just as his father entered the 
 room from the hallway. 
 
 "What is it, Bobby? Trixy, my girl, what does he 
 want? Get it for him quick!" The resignation in his 
 tones, and the alacrity with which he moved forward, 
 told a story that Annie understood at once; as the new 
 girl, however, she could do nothing just yet but wait to 
 see what part she was expected to take in these little 
 domestic dramas. Her presence was entirely overlooked 
 by both father and daughter in their anxiety to pro 
 pitiate the household tyrant. 
 
 "He wants his marbles," Trixy announced breathlessly, 
 after listening intently to the disconnected words shot 
 out between yells, and already she was diving for marbles 
 under chairs, lounge and table. 
 
 But the cherub yelled all the louder when she laid 
 them down before him and Trixy, as interpreter, soon 
 informed her father that he wanted his twa big marbles. 
 
62 JOSEPHINE CLIFFORD McCRACKIN 
 
 "But where are they?" he asked apprehensively; and 
 Trixy, after a hasty survey of the room, with unerring 
 instinct struck out for the piano, climbed from the chair 
 to the table, from the table to the shining surface of the 
 instrument, pulled the tall hat with the crepe band 
 toward her and simply overturned it. With a little 
 scream Annie covered her ears as two large sized marbles 
 rolled out and woke rumbling echoes inside of the piano 
 before they dropped to the floor. No one heeded her and 
 it was only when both marbles were placed in the fat fist 
 of Master Bobby that he stopped his roaring, and his 
 humble slaves drew a breath of relief. 
 
 In the meantime Paul, the young German who was 
 coachman, butler and stable-man on the place, besides 
 being Bridget s aid and factotum, was helping in the 
 kitchen after his outside work had been performed. His 
 patroness was entertaining him with a description of 
 their new girl with the red hair. 
 
 "She was never brought up to service," she concluded 
 in her resolute, decided manner, "but she s a good gerrul, 
 and I don t care where she comes from." 
 
 "Now, Bridget," her young aid protested, "you take 
 strange people into the house like that, and we ll all wake 
 up some morning with our throats cut." 
 
 "And sure and waren t ye a stranger yerself, ye young 
 Dutchman, when ye came here asking for work?" 
 Bridget turned the tables on him. And Paul on the in 
 stant changed back into the German peasant-boy of three 
 years ago, setting his right hand slowly in motion 
 scratching among the shock of yellow hair behind his 
 capacious ear. 
 
HER RED HAIR 63 
 
 But peace was soon restored, although Bridget, to 
 punish her naughty protege a little more, seated Annie 
 at the table when supper was ready, and ordered Paul 
 to do the waiting instead of herself. For the life of him 
 he could see nothing about the woman with the colorless 
 face, the downcast eyes and the hard twisted red hair, 
 to become enthused over; especially as she w r ore a dress 
 so shabby that Bridget would not have worn it in the 
 kitchen even ; and the boy told the honest truth when 
 he reported that he did not think her anything like so 
 good looking as Bridget herself. 
 
 "You don t understand, me b y," Bridget informed 
 him, mollified in spite of herself by the compliment, "it s 
 a heart broken look she has in her eyes, though I grant 
 ye she s not a beauty." 
 
 The head of the house was the only one who had no 
 comment to make, there was simply a great relief writ 
 ten on his face when supper passed without any outbreak 
 on Master Bobby s part. And when after leaving the 
 table, he stopped by the crib of his youngest and found 
 him asleep with a smile on his face, the wrinkle between 
 his eyes seemed less deep, and he took one of the lamps 
 and retired to his own room, without so much as a look 
 at the new girl who had taken such a load off his shoul 
 ders and his mind. 
 
 But Bridget made amends by the cheerful smile she 
 bestowed upon her when, having put her charges to bed, 
 she came back to the kitchen for further orders. 
 
 "Well, Annie/ she said, "if ye ll just take charge of 
 the children and kind o straighten things out around the 
 house a bit, I ll (she spoke it Oill) excuse you from 
 kitchen work at present. That is," she added hastily, 
 
64 JOSEPHINE CLIFFORD McCRACKIN 
 
 "I mean for you to straighten and sweep up this side of 
 the house" indicating with a toss of her head the rooms 
 Annie had seen in the course of the afternoon ; "the other 
 part is not in use now." 
 
 Annie expressed her readiness to obey orders, and 
 then asked if Bridget did not want her to put the feathers 
 on the bonnet which the kitchen queen was trying to 
 decorate becomingly. 
 
 "Dade thin; ye may if ye wish," was the ready re 
 sponse; and in a little while there was built up a thing 
 of beauty which Bridget went into raptures over, and 
 Paul himself was forced to admire. 
 
 "Why you re a milliner, Annie; a fine one that s 
 what ye are." 
 
 "Yes," the girl assented after just a second s hesitation, 
 "I have learned the trade." 
 
 "And can ye make ridicules too?" asked Bridget ex 
 citedly. "For I can go to town now, since you ve come, 
 and to church of a Sunday, and a body do like to look 
 respectable. I ve got a beautiful piece of velvet that I d 
 like made up into one av them handbags that the ladies 
 do be carrying now ; do ye just stop till I get it." 
 
 And digging a bunch of keys out of some mysterious 
 corner of the kitchen cupboard, she vanished into the 
 prohibited side of the house, it seemed to Annie, to re 
 appear, after a time, with what proved to be a piece of 
 plush of the exquisite blue of the German cornflowers 
 and of finest texture. 
 
HER RED HAIR 65 
 
 "That," decided Annie at once, "should be embroidered 
 in silk, with wheat ears just the shade of the wheat 
 among which cornflowers grow in Germany." 
 
 At last Paul was moved. 
 
 "Oh ! You have seen them the blue cornflowers and 
 the red poppies in the wheat fields in my country." 
 
 "Yes," she assented in some confusion, "I was there 
 with with a family. I have no silk, Bridget," she con 
 tinued, "but if you let Paul pick out the right color some 
 time when you are in town, I will work it for you." 
 
 And the three parted for the night, the best of friends 
 and with the utmost confidence in each other. 
 
CHAPTER IV. 
 
 The fog of the previous night had vanished; the sun 
 shone brightly when Annie awoke and she could not but 
 listen to the blithe singing of the birds as she dressed 
 hurriedly before "the childers" should awaken. Paul and 
 Bridget had had their breakfast when she reached the 
 kitchen; but Bridget expressed not the least displeasure 
 at the tardy appearance of the new girl. 
 
 "Oi m glad enough to get the childers off me hands," 
 said she with a sigh of relief as she placed breakfast on 
 the table for them. 
 
 Nevertheless Annie felt that she had been remiss in 
 her duties; she ought to have done her sweeping before 
 the children were up and she was anxious to make 
 amends. She had a happy knack of furnishing the chil 
 dren with employment and amusement by turns and she 
 left them contented on the kitchen porch while she seized 
 broom and dust-pan to go to work. 
 
 Beginning at the front door, she swept the wide hall 
 through which she had come yesterday, and saw now 
 what she had not noticed then two large, dark, hand 
 some doors opposite to the plain, low door by which she 
 had entered the room. There was something weird and 
 gloomy about this interdicted portion of the house, 
 though ; and she was glad when she had reached the door 
 at the end of the hall, which she might open and see day 
 light and sunshine again, she hoped. She was not dis 
 appointed; but so thoroughly startled that she dropped 
 broom and dust-pan with a crash and a clatter, and 
 
HER RED HAIR 67 
 
 leaned forward with clasped hands over the balustrade 
 running around the gallery or veranda on which the door 
 opened. She was looking straight before her into a realm 
 of enchantment a scene from fairyland, unexpected as 
 it was bewildering. 
 
 A second look convinced her that it was a spacious 
 green-house into which she was looking, a little distance 
 off, but so arranged, its tall, wide doors thrown back, 
 that the eye looked across billows of brilliant-hued 
 flowers into a sea of green. As if drawn by a magnet 
 she tip-toed down the steps, across a pavement of great, 
 square flags, and into the portal of the conservatory, 
 utterly oblivious to the fact that the pavement was 
 bounded, on her right, by the continuation of the gallery, 
 on which gave the door of the dining-room, of Mr. Win 
 ter s room and a window of the kitchen. On her left the 
 flagged walk was bordered by a strip of velvety lawn, 
 on the other side of which could be seen the driveway. 
 Between the lawn and the conservatory stood an airy, 
 graceful structure, half garden-pavilion, half office room ; 
 and the portico in front was built to extend out far 
 enough to secure shade in summer and shelter in rainy 
 weather for the space in front of the office. 
 
 But Annie saw nothing of these details; her hungry 
 eyes feasted once more. Then all of grace and beauty 
 had not fled from the life whose threads she had yester 
 day severed so determinedly from the past. The charm 
 of what she saw before her would reconcile her to her lot 
 as nothing else could. A great wave of thankfulness 
 surged through her heart as she stood spellbound a 
 moment, before venturing farther into the glass-house. 
 The stately bells of the gloxinias seemed to nod her a 
 
68 JOSEPHINE CLIFFORD McCRACKIN 
 
 welcome ; the royal coloring of the fuchias, the soft pink 
 of the begonias, the intense dark blue of the salvia patens 
 hovering, like a bird of rich plumage, above the rest of 
 the flowers all were as heaven-sent gifts to her. A 
 stephanotis, climbing along the glass roof, and filling all 
 the air with its heavy perfume, intertwined cordially 
 with the scarlet passi flora; but its fairer, more delicate 
 sister, robed in purest white, met the rare waxy blossoms 
 of the Hoya carnosa in its journey upward from the 
 earth. In the center of the rotunda beyond, and in front 
 of the wall of ferns, which formed a half circle, rose a 
 clump of rocks overgrown with cactus, bearing flowers 
 of the most fantastic shapes and the most glowing hues, 
 and the silver shower thrown by the fountain, seemed to 
 borrow the colors of these tropic blooms as the sun fell 
 through the glass dome and lighted up the spray. 
 
 Little did she heed that what she gazed upon had con 
 sumed enormous sums of money in its construction and 
 gathering together. For it was the pride of John Win 
 ters to exhibit to the people from the older States, who 
 came to visit his nurseries as one of the show-places of 
 Central California, these ferns, natives of the cool, shady 
 canyons in the mountain-chain within view of his gar 
 dens, as also the collection of the great, ugly, ungainly 
 cacti with their wonderfully brilliant flowers which had 
 been gathered up from the dry, arid desertland of South 
 ern California. 
 
 How long she had been there she never knew ; but she 
 tore herself away at last and tiptoed back, daring to look 
 neither to the right nor the left. Snatching up broom 
 and dust-pan, she continued her labor, happily ignorant 
 that two pair of eyes had watched her Bridget from the 
 
HER RED HAIR 69 
 
 kitchen window and Mr. Winters from his office. The 
 former with evident satisfaction, as if this act of the new 
 girl confirmed a theory in regard to her; the latter with 
 a certain degree of professional pride, sated, however, 
 with constant gratification. Bridget drew her head back 
 from the window, and her employer left his office by a 
 door that led directly into the grounds. 
 
 With a brighter look in her eyes than had shone there 
 for many a long day, Annie continued to shake rugs and 
 dust woodwork, as though her life depended on this task. 
 Suddenly she heard wheels crumpling on the gravel in 
 the drive-way, and her first impulse was to fly upstairs 
 and "peek" through the window in her room. But the 
 vehicle was already abreast of her, and she felt no fear 
 either of the old white horse or the two women it was 
 drawing along in an equally ancient buggy. The "whip" 
 proved to be an old lady with sharp nose and piercing 
 eyes ; and her passenger a raw-boned female with orange 
 hair and green eyes looking daggers at each other. Be 
 fore the old lady could alight, Bridget was on the ground, 
 with Cobby on her arm. Bobby held fast by her good 
 right hand ; Trixy kept well behind her. 
 
 "I ve brought the new girl, Bridget," said the old lady 
 affably, with a motion toward the other occupant of the 
 buggy. 
 
 A large-sized wink from Bridget s eye had summoned 
 Annie close to her, and she now drew Cobby to her, 
 saying in her most decided manner as she did so : 
 "This is our new girl, thank you, Mrs. Ault." 
 "Yes," continued Bridget, "she came here yesterday. 
 Here, Annie, take the children in the garden; Paul will 
 show you the new roses. Trixy, you point out the way." 
 
70 JOSEPHINE CLIFFORD McCRACKIN 
 
 She had flung an old hat after her, much as she had 
 flung Cobby into her arms, and with a "shoo-ing" wave 
 of the arms she directed the older children to go with her. 
 
 Annie, her heart beating in her throat, heard only a 
 contemptuous "Ah!" after the expressive "Oh!" and 
 dreading, she hardly knew what, she started off, piloted 
 by Trixy as usual. 
 
 Paul was not far off, and threw down his spade at 
 once. 
 
 "Did your aunt come?" he asked Trixy, to which this 
 precise young lady replied : 
 
 "She s turn; she s my dandaunt." And seeing her 
 father in a distant field, where a number of men were 
 digging up trees and packing them for transportation, 
 she was about to raise her voice and call him, when Paul 
 quickly laid his broad paw over her face, warning her to 
 "stop her noise, Bridget said so." That settled it, and 
 the young lady followed silently where Paul led the way. 
 
 This was only a short distance, in fact it was the out 
 ward curve of the glass wall of the rotunda, which was 
 followed in the graceful sweep by a broad border of roses. 
 Roses of every shade and tint from the glowing scarlet 
 of the Jacqueminot, the velvet of the Dusky Creole, to 
 the satin sheen of the pink L,a France and the waxen 
 white of the Lamarque. The fawn and crimson of the 
 Safrano; the deep coppery color of the Richardson; the 
 more delicate yellow tints of the Salfatera all were 
 there, together with innumerable roses of whose names 
 she had never heard, of whose beauty she had never 
 dreamed. 
 
HER RED HAIR 71 
 
 "How is it possible," she asked more of herself than 
 of her companion, "It is barely the beginning of spring 
 and all these roses in full bloom." 
 
 "That don t make any difference in California," Paul 
 explained, with the nonchalantly proud air of one who 
 held a controlling interest in California climate, "the 
 roses always bloom with us." 
 
 And Annie, grateful for all the kindness that had come 
 to her so unexpectedly, wondered if the roses would ever 
 bloom in her life again. 
 
 But Paul had had "one ear on the lookout" as Bridget 
 would have said, for the female voices that rose and fell 
 in what seemed quite a lively controversy, held on the 
 flag-pavement in front of the long gallery. That Mrs. 
 Ault did not cross this gallery to enter the house, Paul 
 felt pretty sure ; so when the voices became hushed he 
 led Annie quietly back to the house. 
 
 Bridget looked ready to explode with wrath as she sat 
 vigorously fanning herself with the check apron on the 
 veranda steps. 
 
 "O ll tache the ould beldame, bedad, comin round here 
 to boss me. Wants me to remimber that Oi m only 
 Bridget, the cook; an shure it s proud Oi am av bein 
 that same. Mistook that one for Marie Jones/ siz she." 
 Bridget puckered up her generous mouth as if she meant 
 to whistle, in her effort to imitate the high, thin voice 
 of Mrs. Ault. " She s got red hair, siz Oi. Oh ! but 
 Maria Jones eyes are crossed/ siz she. " Well, now, 
 sez Oi, there s no positive necessity for a gerrul to be 
 cross-eyed that lives in this place. " And as her remarks 
 had been addressed to her as much as to Paul, Annie 
 
72 JOSEPHINE CLIFFORD McCRACKIN 
 
 agreed cordially that red hair was bad enough without 
 the addition of a squint in the eye. 
 
 Though Bridget s rough plumage was smoothed out 
 again, she did not forget to mention the incident to Mr. 
 Winters when he came in ; and Annie could not help but 
 notice the gloomy look on his face. Annie, however, did 
 not find one spare moment to speculate on the cause of 
 the gloom and trouble written on her employer s face, 
 nor on any other problem. 
 
 Whenever Cobby was asleep or "good," she devoted 
 herself to the task of making into garments for the chil 
 dren the material which Bridget had bought in town that 
 day, in anticipation of the new girl s coming. Very dili 
 gent and conscientious was Annie, and more thankful to 
 Bridget, under Providence, than she dared tell, for this 
 place she had found. Early and late she worked, spend 
 ing the hours after the children had been put to bed, in 
 the kitchen with Bridget and Paul, sewing or embroider 
 ing, cheerful always and joining heartily in the laugh 
 which Bridget knew so well to turn on Paul. But Paul 
 bore no ill will toward her ; on the contrary, when Annie 
 had finished that famous reticule he was the first to go 
 into ecstacies over it. When he had bought the yellow 
 silk to embroider the wheat ears with, he had seen some 
 red silk the exact shade of the wild poppies that grew 
 together with the blue cornflowers in the wheat fields 
 in his Fatherland, and Annie had designed and embroid 
 ered these too, to please him. The young Dutchman s 
 eyes sparkled and his cheeks glowed while contemplating 
 the work when it was finished. 
 
HER RED HAIR 73 
 
 "Ach Gott ! I think I hear the lark flying up from the 
 corn field now" and while he spoke he heard the joyous 
 trill of the bird at his elbows. 
 
 Annie s eyes kindled for a moment, and she was happy 
 again, and joyous as the trill she sent aloft, but even as 
 Bridget and the boy regarded and applauded her, the 
 light died out of her eyes and a hopeless, grieved look 
 crept back into them again. 
 
 Bridget, however, had carried her new reticule and 
 bonnet to church once once, before Cobby began to com 
 plain and grow weaker day by day, without showing any 
 symptom of sickness that could be laid hold of and bat 
 tled against. He had no pain, no ache, but he clung to 
 Annie day and night, and fell back into his distressful 
 way of wailing if ever she was out of his slight. The 
 physician from the neighboring burg, who had known 
 Cobby from the hour of his birth, was notified, and spent 
 much time and thought on his little patient s case, and 
 at last hunted up Mr. Winters one day in his office by the 
 greenhouse. 
 
 "My visits will do no good here," he declared. "The 
 child is ailing, yes, but he is not ill. You know," he con 
 tinued slowly, as if treading on delicate ground, "that 
 Cobby s case is a little peculiar, and that, besides, he has 
 not from the hour of his birth really had the care and 
 attention needed handicapped as the poor fellow came 
 into the world. He seems to feel and the instincts of a 
 child are unerring that he has found someone to love 
 him and nurse him, and he is going to exact the care now 
 that he has hitherto always lacked. The young person 
 you have on the place here is patient and capable, and 
 little Cobby sticks to her like a leech. If she pulls him 
 
74 JOSEPHINE CLIFFORD McCRACKIN 
 
 through he will be stronger than before. In case any 
 alarming symptoms should develop you had better let 
 me know ; otherwise your son is in good hands." 
 
 With a sigh of relief the father arose, together with 
 the Doctor, promising himself to say a word of thanks 
 to the young person in charge of the child. 
 
 So far he had not taken notice whether this person 
 was young or old; he loved his children dearly; but, 
 man-like, he had so enjoyed this season of exemption 
 from family cares that he had been entirely satisfied 
 with Bridget s assurance of their well-being under the 
 new girl s care. 
 
 The sun s rays fell aslant as he parted with Dr. Bently 
 at the gate, and slowly retraced his steps to the house. 
 The doors were all open, but a portiere hung across the 
 sitting-room, and he entered with noiseless step for fear 
 of rousing the patient whom the Doctor had left asleep. 
 Standing in the shadow of the heavy curtain, his gaze 
 rested for a moment on the figure coming toward his 
 part of the room, for the face of the woman was turned 
 toward the window through which broad views of the 
 foothills of the Coast Range were seen. The man caught 
 his breath. Was that their new red-headed girl? The 
 hair was brown, he decided first; no it was auburn 
 there was no denying that ; but it had a shimmer of gold 
 where the sun kissed it as she slowly passed the window. 
 The hair had been hurriedly twisted into a tight knot, 
 but the strands escaping here and there, lay in curls on 
 neck and bosom. The face was colorless save for the 
 lips ; and under the dark brows and lashes it was natural 
 to look for the brown orbs of red-haired people, but in 
 stead he recognized eyes of the deepest violet blue, with 
 
HER RED HAIR 75 
 
 an expression in them of one who has been grieved and 
 wounded past reconciliation or forgiveness. 
 
 To his honor we will acknowledge that Mr. Winters 
 felt like a sneak-thief while making these observations, 
 for the girl did not at once discover him ; her eyes were 
 still dazzled from the bright light falling in through the 
 window. So our hero advanced boldly, as if he would 
 have relieved her of the burden in her arms. But little 
 Cobby, his head resting on her shoulder, only tightened 
 the hold which his thin, long arms had about her neck, 
 wailing out his protest against his father s outstretched 
 hands. 
 
 "Is he not becoming too much of a burden for you?" 
 he inquired. 
 
 "No," she replied, "Cobby is very good ; I do not al 
 ways walk around with him, I sit by the window a good 
 deal of the time." 
 
 "But he has been sick now for so long," he urged ; 
 "are you not getting tired and worn out? Who would 
 take care of the children if you too became ill?" 
 
 There was gratification in the half smile that passed 
 over her face. 
 
 "There is no danger," she assured him. "Bridget has 
 dispensed me from all other work ; and Cobby and I sleep 
 late into the morning." 
 
 But Cobby felt his right being interfered with, and 
 with a little fretful cry he urged his nurse on. The father 
 stood by the window undecided. He had come with the 
 
76 JOSEPHINE CLIFFORD McCRACKIN 
 
 intention of expressing his satisfaction and a vague idea 
 of promising their new girl an increase of wages for her 
 unflagging devotion to the sick child. But how could 
 he? So, like a wise man, he said nothing, and, like a 
 gentleman, he bowed to Annie as he withdrew ; and then 
 hunted up Bridget. 
 
 "Do we pay that that girl wages enough?" he in 
 quired of Bridget. 
 
 "Dade and it s not the high wages she s after," said 
 Bridget, "it s a home she s wanting don t you see!" 
 
 "Oh! she told you did she?" her employer asked her 
 with more interest than he thought he felt. 
 
 "Not a bit of it," replied Bridget with fine contempt 
 for a man s blindness. "Haven t ye eyes to see?" She 
 pronounced it "oyes" but her master always understood 
 her; so it could not have been that that made him look 
 so puzzled for a moment. But Bridget turned to the 
 stove to baste the meat, and Mr. Winters felt that this 
 was equal to turning him out, so he went 
 
CHAPTER V. 
 
 When Cobby had recovered so far that Annie could 
 resume her ordinary duties about the house, Bridget by 
 some queer reasoning of her own felt that she had earned 
 a holiday, and she planned "a whole day off," to be spent 
 with some friends at Centreton, the next village. 
 
 In the course of preparations Bridget said: "There, 
 Annie, me gerrul, but this ridicule is too foine to be 
 packin a bit o cake into me friend s children/ 
 
 And Annie, with the air of Archimedes proposing to 
 lift the earth out of its orbit if any one would furnish 
 a convenient standing-place outside, made answer: 
 "Give me the cloth, and I ll make you another reticule." 
 
 Again Bridget dived down among the cups and plates 
 for the mysterious bunch of keys which seemed to un 
 lock the still more mysterious other side of the house. 
 A bundle of silk patches was brought up as trophy this 
 time, and a bunch of artificial flowers which Annie pro 
 nounced too fine for the hat which Bridget wanted them 
 to grace. A compromise was made to the effect that 
 Annie trim the old hat with silk to match the reticule, 
 the fine flowers to go on another new bonnet which 
 Bridget was to buy during her visit to town. 
 
 Still, it must be admitted that although "bunnits" and 
 "ridicules" constituted the Irishwoman s chief pleasures 
 in life, her ruling passion was to bestow patronage. And 
 having patronized Paul into general favor she now felt 
 it her duty to patronize Annie. 
 
78 JOSEPHINE CLIFFORD McCRACKIN 
 
 "I ll be giving the gerrul a chance tomorrow," she in 
 formed Mr. Winters on the eve of the day off, "to show 
 what she can do. I ll be after having Paul take me to 
 town in the morning, and in the evening I ll find some 
 one to ride back with me as far as the Corners, and from 
 there I can just walk home. I m wanting a whole day 
 off, and I ll be getting it that way." 
 
 And a glorious sight was Bridget in the morning, with 
 new hand-bag stuffed with cake, new-trimmed hat and 
 ulster made smart by Annie s deft fingers. 
 
 "Now, me gerrul, I m giving you a chance; let s see 
 what you re made of," she said as she climbed into the 
 cart with Paul. "Do everything just as I told ye and 
 ye ll have no trouble." 
 
 But she could not do just as she had been told to, and 
 she did have trouble. The day was so perfect, the air so 
 clear, the sun so bright, that everybody with his wife 
 and daughter, owning a ranch within a radius of twenty 
 miles, seemed to have decided that this was just the time 
 to visit the great Nursery, to select trees for this year s 
 planting, or to contract for the next year s supply. Not 
 only that Mr. Winters was kept from a trip that he had 
 to make into the neighborhood, but Paul too, upon his 
 return was immediately set to work to make up the huge 
 bouquets which he so hated to see the women carry off 
 out of the conservatory. And these same women in 
 vaded the house and the kitchen, though Mr. Winters 
 had anticipated their desire for water to drink and chairs 
 to rest in, on the lawn by the green house. It became 
 embarrassing to Annie; she was only the hired girl and 
 could not take it upon herself to ask them intcTthe house ; 
 
HER RED HAIR 79 
 
 and her morning s work lay untouched while answering 
 questions and pointing out directions. 
 
 When the last wagon-load of visitors vanished through 
 the tall gateway, Annie lifted little Cobby from the baby 
 carriage where he had been "good" all morning, kissed 
 him, fed him and laid him back again before beginning 
 preparations for a hasty lunch to set before Mr. Winters 
 and Paul. It was well for Annie that the ranch hands 
 and gardeners were boarded at the house of the foreman, 
 Mr. Carter. Trixy, helpful and housewifely, did a thou 
 sand little things with the best of intentions, while Bobby 
 sat through it all, unmoved and untouched at his little 
 table, which had been placed for the summer on the 
 flag-pavement close to the glass front of his father s of 
 fice. As usual the inmates of Noah s Ark were drawn 
 up in line before him and if their ranks were less com 
 pact now, one hardly noticed the deficiency the table 
 was so well covered with orange-husks, raisin-stems and 
 nut-shells. He had devoted himself so manfully to the 
 stowing away of "California s choicest products," that it 
 was doubtful whether he had breath enough left to call 
 for more. Still, as a matter of form his father brought 
 him to the table with him, where he astonished them 
 all by the quantities of solid food he packed on top of the 
 tid-bits he had laid in for a foundation. 
 
 After lunch, the dishes washed and replaced where 
 Bridget liked them, alone with the children, Annie felt 
 justified in retiring to her room after seating Cobby in 
 his little chair on the lawn, where Trixy was busy gath 
 ering flowers for the "little begger s" delectation. She 
 felt justified, too, in owning to a slight, a very slight 
 headache, and in loosening the heavy coils of her bur- 
 
80 JOSEPHINE CLIFFORD McCRACKIN 
 
 densome hair. With all her senses on the alert to catch 
 the first indication of a change in the calm atmosphere 
 now surrounding Trixy and her charge she began to 
 brush the shining, wavy mass of hair that enveloped her 
 like a mantle, feeling the pain grow less as soon as her 
 head was relieved from the tightly twisted roll into 
 which she had persistently squeezed her hair ever since 
 she had been in her new home. 
 
 Suddenly and without warning Cobby s cries of dis 
 tress and fright broke on her ears, and flinging the brush 
 aside she flew to the child s rescue, crying as she ran. 
 
 "Trixy, Trixy ! Don t hurt Cobby poor little Cobby" 
 and catching him to her, his long, thin arms stretched 
 out beseechingly, were soon clinging around her neck, 
 and she soothed him into quiet calling him "Annie s 
 own little Cobby," and brushing away the ugly beetle 
 which his sister had evidently pressed upon him, to his 
 great terror. 
 
 "Naughty Trixy !" she exclaimed, "how can you fright 
 en your little brother so. Come now and carry this hor 
 rid bug away from here ; clear away from the grass-plot, 
 throw it into the road there." She turned to see that the 
 order was carried out and stood face to face with Mr. 
 Winters. 
 
 She grew hot, and her eyes darkened with an inex 
 plicable feeling of anger against him. 
 
 "I I beg your pardon but I thought you were away, 
 or or I should not should not ." She had put the 
 child gently back into its chair, and hastily imprisoning 
 her flowing hair with her hands, she turned to flee, when 
 the child s cries brought her back, with a fresh deter 
 mination written on her face. About to pick him up out 
 
HER RED HAIR 81 
 
 of his chair to carry him with her, Mr. Winters calm 
 voice suddenly put an end to her endeavors. 
 
 "Leave him where he is, Annie," he said kindly, "and 
 never mind your hair. No, I was not away," he con 
 tinued, "I was detained just as I was ready to start; so I 
 remained. But as to your hair" he smiled as he went 
 on pleasantly, "there is no apology needed. My little 
 girl is evidently much pleased with it, to judge from the 
 way she is making free with it." 
 
 Annie murmured something about having had a head 
 ache, to which he replied, "That is not surprising, from 
 the way you twist your hair up into that ugly wad you 
 make of it." 
 
 Annie took no notice of his answer; perhaps because 
 Trixy had succeeded in disentangling two strands of 
 her hair, which she held in her hands like lines, shaking 
 and pulling them, clucking with her- tongue and calling 
 out: 
 
 "Ge-up, So l-Top ; get up here, So l-Top !" 
 
 "My daughter is taking great liberties with your flow 
 ing locks/ " laughed Mr. Winters, "she must have driven 
 this unruly steed before." 
 
 And Annie explained that always, at some time during 
 the course of the day, she gave way to her desire to let 
 her hair hang loose, if for ever so short a period ; and as 
 she generally had the children in her room with her, 
 Trixy had gotten a habit of playing horse with her 
 which harmed no one, and which they both enjoyed. 
 
 "What does she call her horse?" Mr. Winters inquired. 
 "No doubt you suggested a name to her." 
 
 "Yes ; an appropriate one : Sorrel Top. But she can 
 not pronounce it plainly as yet." 
 
82 JOSEPHINE CLIFFORD McCRACKIN 
 
 "Sorrel Top!" he repeated much amused: "You do 
 not seem to be proud of the color of your hair." 
 
 "No;" a humorous smile flitted over her face. "My 
 stepmother had three black-haired daughters, and I was 
 impressed with the misfortune of possessing a shock of 
 red hair quite early in life." There was a ring of bitter 
 ness in her voice as she ended, and the old grieved look 
 crept back into her eyes again. 
 
 Trixy had grown tired of driving a steed that would 
 not "gee-up," and to poor Cobby s horror had picked up 
 the beetle from the dust and had once more laid it in his 
 lap. Together with the little beggar s outcry, there 
 sounded a smart slap on Trixy s hand, which this young 
 lady accepted with the utmost composure. Again Mr. 
 Winters laughed, and Annie for a second was covered 
 with confusion, then she said stoutly. 
 
 "I am sorry if you disapprove of it, but it makes my 
 blood boil to have the helpless child frightened out of its 
 wits." 
 
 "You did quite right, Annie," he answered; "but Trixy 
 had some slight excuse for picking up everything in the 
 shape of bugs and beetles that she meets. I think you 
 will find some where among her belongings, a butterfly- 
 net of the most approved pattern, and moreover you need 
 not be surprised if she should some day bring in a snake 
 or two for your inspection and acceptance. You see, 
 while my uncle, the old Herr Jakob Auf der Weise, was 
 visiting us, there was nothing that so delighted him as 
 the knack she had for finding and capturing bugs and 
 beetles for his collections and the praise and pettings she 
 got from him have kindled an unquenchable ardor in her 
 breast for the pursuit of her entomological studies under 
 
HER RED HAIR 83 
 
 difficulties. For it is not the first time that Trixy has had 
 her fingers slapped for the same offense." 
 
 "A martyr in the cause of science at her early age? 
 She should be encouraged really ; and I will arrange a 
 little case for her specimens, if she will only not molest 
 Cobby with her horrid catches/ Annie promised readily. 
 
 "It is mistaken kindness on her part, I am sure; but 
 none of us mortals are free from erring in our love/ If 
 there had been bitterness in Annie s tones awhile ago 
 when she spake of her red hair; the sadness that sounded 
 in the words of the tall, strong man was no less profound. 
 Involuntarily she raised her eyes to the face of her em 
 ployer hardly a handsome face, but with energy and 
 self-respect written on it though not devoid of a softer 
 expression. 
 
 Perhaps the desire to dispel the gloom on his face 
 prompted her to say: 
 
 "The gentleman you mentioned must be the same 
 whom Bridget speaks of as old Rev. Afterwe s; and she 
 feels herself half-German, I think, when she pronounces 
 the name." 
 
 Mr. Winters laughed heartily; but Annie, suddenly 
 recollecting herself, took Cobby in her arms and in em 
 barrassment badly concealed she declared that Bridget 
 had bidden her have the fire lighted and the oven heated 
 for her baking, by the time she got home. 
 
 "And I am paid such very good wages/ she continued, 
 "that I am anxious to give satisfaction so as to keep my 
 place." 
 
84 JOSEPHINE CLIFFORD McCRACKIN 
 
 He looked up in bewilderment a moment then the 
 wrinkle deepened between his brows and he said coldly: 
 
 "By all means girl," and turning on his heel he re-en 
 tered his office. 
 
 When Bridget returned, the fire was lighted and the 
 oven hot; but she seemed in no hurry to make use of 
 either. As everything in this house seemed incongru 
 ous, it was not surprising that Mr. Winters should come 
 into the kitchen for the mail-matter which Bridget was 
 supposed to have brought. Indeed, in many matters 
 Bridget did the ordering and Mr. Winters the obeying; 
 and as far as Annie could see, he never lost by either in 
 respect or comfort. If, for instance, Bridget decided that 
 there was no time to set the table for the master and 
 "the childers" in the dining room, this "master" was sim 
 ply told to come into the kitchen, where the table was 
 laid for the master, his man-servant, and his maid-ser 
 vants, as also for his children. 
 
 "He s the easiest man to do for that you ever saw, the 
 master is," Bridget had confided to Annie some time ago. 
 "He never grumbles; and he do be satisfied with any 
 thing I set before him." 
 
 As a general thing Bridget spoke of him as Mr. Win 
 ters; though sometimes she forgot her American inde 
 pendence so far as to call him "the master." Paul, how 
 ever, since he could not address him as the "gnadige 
 Herr," referred to him always as "the boss." 
 
 On this particular evening then, Mr. Winters himself 
 proposed that they all take supper in the kitchen, to which 
 Bridget agreed instantly, though the proposition was 
 made before she had her bonnet removed or her newest 
 hand-bag in safety from the meddling fingers of the chil- 
 
HER RED HAIR 85 
 
 dren. There was an ominous flush on Bridget s face, and 
 a general air of "spoiling for a fight" about her, which 
 Annie could not understand and which filled her with 
 great apprehensions to be increased directly, to positive 
 fear. Taking up the papers which Bridget had brought, 
 Mr. Winters asked from sheer force of habit evidently. 
 
 "No letters, Bridget?" in an absent way. 
 
 "Sorry a letter, sir?" replied Bridget, punctiliously po 
 lite in her own estimation. These words, however quiet 
 ly spoken, were like the dam that breaks suddenly; and 
 the deluge following the break could not have been more 
 angry and sweeping than the long repressed w r rath of 
 Bridget. 
 
 "No sor, no letters, sor," she went on, "but ye don t 
 seem half so much put out about it as that meddlin ould 
 wig-stock in the postoffice whin I axed her for the mail. 
 No letter/ sez she, with her pryin ould eyes a squintin 
 at me new bunnet, only papers today. You people at 
 the Nursery don t get many letters these days; what s 
 the matter with yez." Well, mum/ sez I, quite polite 
 and respectful like, we have so much to do at the Nurs 
 ery mindin our own business that we don t get toime to 
 write letters d ye see? That s hard, particularly for 
 you/ sez she, a smiling through them false teeth of hers. 
 But/ sez she, you haven t inquired for letters for that 
 new hired girl of yours/ sez she, and I don t know what 
 her name is. No, nor Oi/ sez Oi; (Bridget was getting 
 more excited.) She don t seem to write any letters 
 either/ sez she. Perhaps she can t read or write any 
 more than meself/ sez Oi. Good afternoon to ye/ sez 
 Oi, and walked off and left her, and she dyin to hear 
 
86 JOSEPHINE CLIFFORD McCRACKIN 
 
 A dizzy terror took possession of Annie. Then the 
 postoffice people knew of her and had possession of her! 
 The police had perhaps been notified already and the offi 
 cers would come and drag her off. He had always told 
 her that the law was on his side; he could have her put 
 into prison perhaps, if he succeeded in capturing her. 
 Good God ! What was she to do ? Run away again, now 
 that darkness was setting in! Where would she go? 
 She had felt secure here ; or at least she had been so occu 
 pied that she had been able to thrust back all trouble 
 some thoughts of her past life, and she had made no pro 
 vision against possible detection or for flight. And 
 what would Bridget say if a policeman were to come up 
 suddenly put his hand on her shoulder and say "You are 
 my prisoner!" She started up at the thought, and Cobby 
 opened wide his dark eyes to look inquiringly into her 
 face. They were the eyes of his father her employer 
 and oh ! what would he say? It was evident they already 
 looked upon her as baggage to be carted off to the near 
 est police station when the prison van should come for 
 her ; for in all their conversation about her, they had not 
 once taken notice of her. 
 
 She had not even heard all they said, for Mr. Winters 
 had left the room unobserved by her. And now the door 
 opened again; were they coming for her already? No; 
 it was only Paul and he went up to Bridget with a grin 
 spread all over his broad Dutch face and asked 
 
 "So Mrs. Ault was mad was she? The olle Hexe! 
 It was only because you hired Annie without asking her 
 permission " A sound between a sigh and a laugh in 
 terrupted his speech ; and both he and Bridget turned to 
 
HER RED HAIR 87 
 
 where Annie was seated with Cobby in her lap her face 
 in a blaze, but trembling in every limb. 
 
 "Why, Annie/ exclamed Bridget, "Are you sick? I 
 had quite overlooked you, I was that mad at the meddle 
 some old thing. Don t you be afraid of her, gerrul, while 
 I m around," she continued after a momentary pause, 
 surprised at Annie s silence. 
 
 Poor Annie could not speak, however, for fear of going 
 into a fit of crying. She was only a woman ; and the re 
 lief of finding that it was Trixy s "dand-aunt" who had 
 incensed Bridget by her meddling, was so great that she 
 could hardly keep from falling around the neck of the 
 honest Irish woman. 
 
 She put Cobby to bed, and coming back more collected, 
 the three spent the evening together again in content and 
 quiet happiness. 
 
CHAPTER VI. 
 
 Through all these weeks the process of straightening 
 up the house, which Bridget had laid such stress on, had 
 not progressed very rapidly. And since Cobby had now 
 quite recovered and the weather was delightful, Paul 
 agreed to take the three children with him to a distant 
 part of the ranch where he was to inspect a young plan 
 tation of seedling grapes thus giving the two women 
 time to go to work on the sitting-room together. Pack 
 ing Cobby carefully into the baby carriage, Annie next 
 helped to mount Bobby on Paul s shoulders where he put 
 his short legs around the young German s neck and 
 made himself still more secure by digging his fat fists 
 into his straw-colored hair. Thus they marched off, 
 Trixy bringing up the rear with her butterfly net on her 
 shoulder and a little tin bucket to put horned toads in, 
 or any other "varmint" she might capture. Then the 
 women went indoors, bustling and busy both of them, 
 with the firm determination to put in a day at hard 
 labor. 
 
 To this day the clothing and wearing apparel had not 
 all been removed from the different articles of furniture ; 
 but now Annie was rapidly disposing of the articles 
 under Bridget s direction. At last the piano was cleared 
 entirely of its burden of hats, shoes, umbrellas and chil 
 dren s toys, and Annie, after carefully dusting the out 
 side, raised the cover and yielded to the temptation of 
 touching the keys. 
 
HER RED HAIR 89 
 
 "Oh! Bridget," she cried beseechingly, "may I? 
 Please." 
 
 Bridget, closely inspecting a bundle of papers she 
 could not read, turned at this touching appeal. 
 
 "May you what? Play the piano? Shure ye may if 
 ye can." 
 
 And Annie, running her fingers over the keys, found 
 that the instrument though a little out of tune, had a 
 magnificent tone ; and Bridget soon stood beside her, 
 dust-cloth in hand, and mouth and eyes wide open in 
 astonishment. 
 
 "Why, Annie gerrul who would have thought it! 
 Can you sing, too?" 
 
 "Yes," said Annie without hesitation ; and she intoned 
 one of the Aves that she felt sure Bridget must have 
 heard in church. She was not mistaken, for she touched 
 her on the shoulder, directly saying, breathlessly: 
 
 "Annie you re a Catholic?" 
 
 To which the girl replied, "No, Bridget; but I have 
 both played and sung in your church, at high mass and 
 at vespers." 
 
 Bridget looked at her searchingly a moment ; then she 
 said, "You ought to be one. But go on with your music." 
 
 Which she did to such good purpose that while she 
 forgot herself in the reproduction from memory of some 
 old church music, Bridget drew h^r rosary from her 
 pocket, and kneeling by the piano she became absorbed 
 in her devotions as though she were kneeling in some 
 corner of the church of her faith. 
 
 It is hardly necessary to say that the morning s work 
 was not done when Paul returned with the children, but 
 Bridget cared little for that. With an air of triumph 
 
90 JOSEPHINE CLIFFORD McCRACKIN 
 
 she told Paul that she had heard that piano played on at 
 last, and that Annie had done the playing. 
 
 "No " said Paul in astonishment, "can she do every 
 thing?" 
 
 "She can sing, at least. Do you know she sang so 
 beautifully I thought I was in church/* pursued Bridget. 
 
 "And didn t she begin at once to pray to all her Saints 
 that they might pray her soul into heaven?" asked Paul 
 of Annie. 
 
 But Bridget herself replied: 
 
 "The which, av course, is not necessary for the loikes 
 av ye to do. Didn t Luther promise that all the Dutch 
 should walk straight into heaven wid their wooden shoes 
 on?" 
 
 In the afternoon when Cobby was asleep, they meant 
 to start in again on their work. Standing by the crib to 
 see that her pet was soundly asleep, Annie said softly 
 
 "Do you know, Bridget, that while Cobby was so sick 
 I used to think that his dead mother was longing for him 
 and trying to draw him to her " 
 
 "Annie!" Bridget interrupted her harshly with anger 
 in her voice. 
 
 "Oh I beg pardon " stammered Annie. "Is she not 
 dead ? Forgive me I had no right to ask " 
 
 "You had a perfect right to ask the question, Annie; 
 Cobby s mother is dead fast enough. But as for her 
 wanting any of her children to come near her unless they 
 were frizzled and fur-belowed as she always was herself 
 it sounded so foolish in ye to say it that I did not know 
 whether to laugh or get mad." 
 
 "Bridget!" It was Annie s turn now to ejaculate her 
 companion s name in horror, and she said nothing more. 
 
HER RED HAIR 91 
 
 But Bridget silently left the room to return directly, with 
 the mysterious bunch of keys, and simply saying "Come/ 
 she led the way through the hall and stopped in front of 
 one of the tall, fine doors. Annie s curiosity was aroused, 
 and an involuntary exclamation of surprise passed her 
 lips as she crossed the threshold of one of the interdicted 
 rooms. 
 
 Tall mirrors ; luxurious furniture daintily upholstered ; 
 silken hangings covered with filmy lace; carpets that 
 deadened every foot-fall in their velvet pile ; marvelously 
 beautiful chandeliers hanging from artistically decorated 
 ceilings; mantles and chiffoniers bright with little gems 
 of art and objects of vertu she could instantly conjure 
 up a delicate fairy-like creature that flitted through these 
 rooms and from them into that other realm of enchant 
 ment, the conservatory. 
 
 And a delicate fairy-like creature she had been accord 
 ing to Bridget s story "Fay Lilian" her admirers had 
 called her the gilded youth of San Francisco, dangling 
 after her when she was already Mr. Winters wife. In 
 deed they had only discovered her after he had lifted 
 her out of obscurity and made her his wife. Glad enough 
 she had been to capture John Winters, the wealthiest 
 man in his neighborhood, when she first came to Califor 
 nia with a widowed mother and an older sister to live 
 with her aunt, Mrs. Ault, the postmistress at Centreton. 
 The old house in the large nursery grounds had seemed 
 quite grand to her then ; but she soon outgrew it and ca 
 joled her husband into buying a fine house in town. Then 
 began a course of pleasure-hunting and dissipation un 
 heard of in the annals of San Francisco society. Fairy 
 feasts were arranged in which appeared the Fairy Queen 
 
92 JOSEPHINE CLIFFORD McCRACKIN 
 
 in a blaze of diamonds and very little else, if Bridget s 
 statements could be believed, crowds of admirers had the 
 young married woman, while the older sister looked in 
 vain for a match as advantageous as the younger sister 
 had made. Trixy s birth had put an end to festivities for 
 a brief space of time, much to the chagrin of the older 
 sister, who upbraided Mrs. Winters for depriving her of 
 a whole season s pleasure. As soon as possible Trixy 
 was placed in the hands of servants and nurses, and 
 again the mad chase began not after pleasure alone, but 
 a husband for "Con." Mr. Winters, in the meantime, 
 had awakened to the fact that he too was only a husband, 
 a creature whose worth was weighed by the "heft" of his 
 purse. 
 
 At this period Bridget had first come into the Winters 
 household, as a loan from his sister, Mrs. Higginson, 
 whose cook and faithful handmaiden she had been ever 
 since she came to California. Then Bobby arrived, and 
 again Miss Constancia was furious at her sister s incon- 
 siderateness. But after a brief period the old life was 
 taken up again, in spite of Mr. Winters earnest protest 
 and his assertion that he was on the verge of bankruptcy 
 through his wife s insane extravagance. As a matter of 
 fact it was his sister who came to his aid financially in 
 time to prevent his creditors from forcing him to assign. 
 But she did it under the condition that he take his wife 
 and family back to the home at the Nursery across the 
 bay; and he then built this addition to the old house 
 and brought part of the furnishing of the city house 
 here. The house in the city was sold, though his petite 
 wife tore her yellow-dyed short hair and writhed on the 
 
HER RED HAIR 93 
 
 floor in a paroxysm of rage and hysterics, when she 
 learned the fact. 
 
 She had been moved to this place not a day too soon, 
 however, for Cobby was born, to the surprise of his own 
 father, even ; for no one had known of her condition, and 
 the poor little mite of humanity was made to suffer for 
 his mother s persistent effort to escape the cares and in 
 conveniences of maternity. But she paid the penalty 
 with her life. 
 
 Her mother, sister and aunt spoke in no low tones of 
 the tyranny that had made the poor martyr s life a bur 
 den, and the brutality that had caused her death. Only 
 once had the mother come to the house since then. She 
 wanted the piano, w r hich Lily had promised to Constan- 
 cia in case of her death. And surely, she argued, he could 
 have no use for it, as its tones could only remind him of 
 joys forever fled from his life ; while Constancia had use 
 for the piano. John Winters had replied that no painful 
 memories could be brought back to him by the sound 
 of the piano, as his wife had never touched the keys for 
 him ; and that Constancia could not play. 
 
 Not long afterwards Constancia called. She wanted 
 her sister s diamonds ; she had been promised them in 
 case of her death. John Winters told her that the dia 
 monds were no longer in his possession; he had sold 
 them to pay the poor women who had labored with the 
 needle to deck his wife in finery for which he thought he 
 had paid before she wore it. Neither mother or sister 
 had ever come again ; but Mrs. Ault had kept a general 
 supervision "looked after the motherless children, left 
 helpless in the hands of an ignorant Irish woman, who 
 assumed all the airs of the mistress of the house." Which 
 
94 JOSEPHINE CLIFFORD McCRACKIN 
 
 meant, in plain English, that it was just as well to keep 
 an eye on the children, as the father was known to be 
 still wealthy. 
 
 When the two women left the rooms to their old soli 
 tude, and Annie stepped out on the gallery again from 
 where she had seen the conservatory that first moment 
 after coming here, many thoughts were crowded through 
 her brain. She understood now the deep fold between 
 his eyes, that gave the gloomy look to her employer s 
 face. 
 
 Sometimes, however, a gentle look would come into 
 his face ; as for instance just now, when he was stroking 
 his full, brown beard with a hand well shaped but almost 
 as brown. He was watching his little daughter as she 
 approached Annie, carrying an envelope, tray-fashioned, 
 on which something was laid that she presented with a 
 happy smile to her beloved Annie. 
 
 "It is a horned toad, a very small one, Annie ; don t 
 get frightened at it, for it is perfectly harmless in spite 
 of its name, which is Moloch Horrodus in Natural His 
 tory. Trixy found it this morning, and is dying to have 
 you admire it." 
 
 Annie stepped forward laughing, and with the deter 
 mination to pick up and admire the creature even though 
 it were a rattlesnake. But instead of this she gave a 
 low cry of terror, growing pale as death and staggering 
 up to the nearest pillar for support. 
 
 Mr. Winters came hurriedly out of his office he had 
 spoken to her through the open door and looked in 
 amazement into her colorless face. 
 
 "Poor Annie I am sorry," he said. "I had no idea 
 that the thing would frighten you so." 
 
HER RED HAIR 95 
 
 Annie struggled desperately to control herself. "I 
 beg your pardon, sir," she said falteringly, "a working 
 girl like myself should be ashamed of herself for growing 
 faint at sight of a toad; it is only because because I 
 had never seen one like it before. 
 
 The fold between Mr. Winters brow grew deeper. 
 "Come, come, Annie," he said, "why do you keep up that 
 farce of a working girl with me?" 
 
 "Then you know who I am?" Her face had flushed 
 painfully, and her hands trembled as she laid them on 
 her beating heart. 
 
 "No," he answered more sternly than he had spoken 
 yet, "I do not. You have a secret to keep ; keep it. I 
 shall not pry into it, but do not attempt to deceive me by 
 pretending to be what you are not ;" and he walked past 
 her into the house. 
 
 Trixy stood expectant; was she to be slapped or 
 petted? Making sure that her employer had left the 
 courtyard, Annie called Trixy to her, and under pretence 
 of helping her look for the baby-toad, which had gone 
 perdu in the interval, she secured the envelope on which 
 the horned toad had been presented to her. 
 
CHAPTER VII. 
 
 Was it only fancy or did her employer really watch 
 her more closely after this. As for herself she neither 
 gave him nor Bridget any grounds for complaint, but the 
 old sense of security had left her, and she always dreaded 
 to see Paul go for the mail. While listening to Bridget s 
 story that day, the longing had taken possession of her 
 to go to him and lay her hand only once on the hand of 
 her employer and assure him that she would die, if it 
 were necessary, to make amends for the grief and the 
 heart-ache that one of her sex had caused him, a good, 
 true man, she felt, if ever one lived. How she blushed 
 now to think he saw in her only an adventuress, without 
 name, without standing or character. And still they 
 were all so kind to her, and the children clung to her 
 with such affection that even Bobby had laid aside the 
 surly, blase indifference with which he had been wont 
 to regard everything that was not connected with Noah s 
 Ark, ginger-snaps and sugar cookies. 
 
 Spring had grown into summer; humming birds with 
 plumage of liquid amethyst and amber, ruby and emer 
 ald, fluttered and buzzed in and out of the conservatory. 
 The lark rose up from the green fields in the early dew, 
 the robin, the linnet and the little blue finch piped and 
 twittered and trilled all the day long; and sometimes 
 early, sometimes late, the mocking bird flew across from 
 its haunts in the foothills to feast on the worms and 
 grubs that the men working in the nursery grounds un 
 earthed with their spades. As the season moved on 
 
HERIRED HAIR 97 
 
 Annie often gazed across the valley into those same foot 
 hills, where the sun had left its hot kisses on the earth 
 till it grew parched and brown from their ardor ; but the 
 fields and farms lying as if sown broadcast, and the 
 clumps and groves of trees clothed in undying green, 
 made a very attractive picture. All through the summer 
 a langorous, dreamy atmosphere hung over these hills, 
 softening the hard outlines of the features which the Cal- 
 ifornian stamps on the face of nature when he attempts 
 to cultivate it as a ranch. 
 
 On the other side of the valley rose a more majestic 
 mountain-chain, its giant redwoods visible at this dis 
 tance only as dark masses clothing its rugged sides, 
 where blue shadows gathered in deep canyons never 
 lighted by the sun. Now she had learned to love the 
 country around her and the people, too. Yes, she knew 
 it; it would break her heart to be thrust out of what 
 seemed almost an earthly paradise to her, so free from 
 the strife, the bitterness, the humiliations of her past life. 
 How long would it last, she asked herself every morning 
 anew. 
 
 And one day had it come now the time that she felt 
 must come sooner or later? She noticed that Mr. Win 
 ters, though kinder to her since the day he told her to 
 keep her secret, than ever before, had grown restless and 
 gloomy by turns. He had several interviews with 
 Bridget, who had evidently his full confidence as he had 
 her sympathy, for she declared to Annie after these in 
 terviews, that the master was the best man in the world, 
 and that no man s kindness had been more abused and 
 taken advantage of; that he was about to lose thousands 
 
98 JOSEPHINE CLIFFORD McCRACKIN 
 
 and thousands because he had had faith in a man who 
 had had faith in a woman. 
 
 And was he again to suffer through the fault and 
 wrong-doing of a woman, Annie asked herself. But she 
 was not left much longer in suspense ; for one day, when 
 Bridget had gone over to Centreton again, and Cobby 
 was lying asleep, Trixy came to say that papa wanted to 
 speak to Annie. With a great throb at her heart she pre 
 pared herself for the worst, never dreaming that the man 
 who had sent for her was preparing himself for the 
 worst, too. Stroking his beard, as he did when he was 
 excited or agitated, he paced his office, pausing now and 
 then to mutter to himself, "Let this be the test ; this shall 
 be the test." 
 
 Had her sight been clear when she entered the office, 
 she might have been startled at what she could have 
 read in his eyes, which had anything rather than a for 
 bidding expression in them. 
 
 "Annie," he began kindly, "I must speak to you on a 
 subject that is painful to me " 
 
 Her head swam ; should she cut the matter short, turn 
 around and walk out of the house before he could send 
 her? 
 
 "I have become financially embarrassed" this was 
 music to her ears "and I fear I can no longer afford to 
 pay wages to two " 
 
 "But I want no wages!" interrupted Annie eagerly 
 of which Mr. Winters made a note, mentally, remember 
 ing the day when she had pretended she was anxious not 
 to lose her place, because she was getting such good 
 wages, 
 
HER RED HAIR 99 
 
 "You have been so good to my children, they love you 
 so dearly " 
 
 "Oh! do not separate us," she pleaded; "I will work 
 early and late ; I feel now that I have not done half 
 enough and can do a great deal more " 
 
 "Stop, my girl," he interrupted her, "I feel that you 
 have a right to my confidence in this matter before de 
 ciding on your course, and I will explain. In my old 
 home in the East, I had a friend, younger than myself, 
 the son of a man greatly beloved by my father. The boy 
 was handsome, but effeminate and delicate; and when 
 his father found that he was dissipating at college, he 
 took him back home. This break in his career, as the 
 boy called it, he never forgave his father for; and when 
 in course of time he seemed unwilling or unable to settle 
 down to any calling or pursuit, he always blamed his 
 father for it." 
 
 "I have been long away from the old home," Mr. Win 
 ters continued, passing his hand over his face, as if to 
 clear away the mist of many years, "my sister and I have 
 long lived in California, and it is but seldom we hear 
 from there. The friend of whom I speak had also quit 
 our quiet old New England town; his father s fortune 
 was soon spent, but I heard later that he had married, 
 out West somewhere, a young lady of independent 
 wealth. He was talented in various ways; had rare abili 
 ties as an artist, was fond of music and understood it; 
 so that I was not greatly surprised when he wrote me, 
 some time ago, that he had been to Europe to engage 
 the requisite talent and proposed to come to California 
 and put on the stage at San Francisco a number of 
 operas in a manner that would ensure an artistic as well 
 
100 JOSEPHINE CLIFFORD McCRACKIN 
 
 as financial success. But he needed money a great deal 
 of money which he could readily procure if he could get 
 the names of two or three well-known Californians on 
 the bonds that were required of him. He had allowed 
 his heart to run away with his head, he said; he had 
 married a poor girl, but she had a remarkably fine voice 
 and some histrionic talent. 
 
 "I could not well refuse his request, and fearing no 
 falsehood I could foresee no danger. Several months 
 ago I was startled by a communication from him in re 
 gard to this wife of his. After having spent the last of 
 his fortune upon this woman whom he had taken to 
 Europe to cultivate her voice ; and after having lavished 
 upon her, not only money, but all his heart s love and 
 devotion she had deserted him gone with a handsomer 
 man upon the very threshold of her fame, and on the 
 eve of a great financial success. They had reached San 
 Francisco, it appears, and after crossing the Bay to 
 gether, she had turned from him, in the crowd on the 
 wharf, and was seen entering a carriage together with 
 a man, the carriage being driven off at mad speed as soon 
 as the stranger had entered it. He suspects an old lover 
 who had followed her from home. Be that as it may; 
 the treachery and heartlessness of the woman has ruined 
 my friend and will come very near ruining me finan 
 cially; for it seems that an assignment has been made by 
 Fulton here is a letter " he drew it from his pocket, 
 laid it on the desk before him and was struck dumb when 
 suddenly Annie approached, glanced at the letter and 
 said unhesitatingly in a firm tone: 
 
 "That is not Harry Fulton s handwriting." 
 
CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 For a moment he looked at her in amazement. What 
 could she know about the friend of his youth? Was she 
 in her right mind? 
 
 "What do you know about my friend, Harry Fulton," 
 he asked with a strange fear at his heart. "Who are 
 you?" 
 
 And her answer came clear and sharp: "I am that 
 man s wife! He lies when he says that I deserted him 
 to follow some other man. He lies when he says that I 
 ever loved another man; he lies when he says that he 
 married me j poor, and lavished wealth and affection on 
 me oh ! my God " Her voice had risen in her passion 
 and her ire till it rang again; but the reaction came all 
 too soon, and she would have fallen had he not supported 
 her to a chair. 
 
 "You poor child," he said gently laying his hand on 
 hers ; but she flung it aside. 
 
 "Don t touch my hand !" she cried ; "I am that man s 
 wife, I tell you ; and if he did not quite succeed in making 
 of me the base contemptible thing he meant to, I escaped 
 so narrowly, and felt the degradation so keenly, that I 
 cannot bear your hand to touch me." 
 
 A new light shone in John Winters eyes. "But you 
 can tell me, Annie can you not, about your trouble and 
 your sorrow." 
 
 "Willingly," she assented, "for I have lived the life of 
 a condemned culprit ever since I saw Harry Fulton s 
 
102 JOSEPHINE CLIFFORD McCRACKIN 
 
 handwriting on the envelope I took from Beatrice that 
 day." 
 
 "Ah!" he said, "now I understand." 
 
 "The one circumstance that made me feel comparative 
 ly safe," she went on, "was that the letter was addressed 
 to your name, San Francisco; and was post marked in 
 New Orleans. It was barely possible, I thought, that you 
 might not recognize me from the description, in spite of 
 my red hair; for it never once occurred to me that you 
 could know the man. The fact of its coming from New 
 Orleans gave me some hope of his remaining there for 
 want of funds to come back here. You know, of course, 
 that he has become dreadfully dissipated and that for 
 tune never smiles on him at cards." 
 
 "I feared as much," said John Winters musingly, "and 
 for that reason this document " pointing to the letter, 
 "gives me some uneasiness. It is an assignment of the 
 claim which the bond I signed gives him on me. But 
 you, at least, are safe from him after this, poor child. A 
 sad life he must have led you, the scamp." 
 
 "But I have escaped from oh ! from untold misery. 
 And I thought once that I loved the man; did love him, 
 perhaps." 
 
 "Harry was fascinating, I know," said Mr. Winters. 
 "But where and when did you first meet with him." 
 
 "It was after the death of my father," Annie began, 
 "he died before I was eighteen, leaving a widow, my 
 stepmother, with three daughters. My fortune derived 
 from my mother, but my stepmother was given charge 
 of everything, myself included. We had hardly laid 
 aside our mourning, before she insisted that I get mar 
 ried, being the oldest, and there not being money enough 
 
HER RED HAIR 103 
 
 to provide for us according to our standing in society. 
 I ventured to suggest that my mother had left me enough 
 to live on, to which she replied that my father had not 
 left her enough to live on, and that I could not be so 
 selfish as to live in luxury while my sisters were starv 
 ing. If I married the man who was then on the carpet, 
 I should need none of the money my mother had left me, 
 and she might hope to exist on the interest. Marry the 
 man I would not, but I sang at the old Cathedral in St. 
 Louis, was paid for it, and brought the money home to 
 show my stepmother. But she laughed at the idea that 
 I could think to provide for myself with anything so un 
 certain as an engagement to sing in a church choir. 
 
 "As I was not watched closely so long as I kept myself 
 well out of the way, I devoted the next six months to 
 going through an apprenticeship at Madame de Faun- 
 feder s millinery establishment, securing thereby a per 
 fect torrent of abuse for myself and a fit of hysterics for 
 all of our five hundred friends, who said they always 
 knew there was something vulgar about that red-headed 
 girl. In fact, it was all laid to my red hair ; the difficulty 
 I had in finding a suitable husband (as if I were hunting 
 for one), the dislike which my stepmother felt for me 
 the coldness with which my friends turned from me." 
 
 "That beautiful Titian hair on your head, Annie?" 
 asked Mr. Winters. 
 
 "That accursed red mane, as Harry Fulton called it 
 later on. When I first met him he was captivated by 
 my beauty, my grace, my magnificent hair in short by 
 the figure of my bank account" she laughed bitterly at 
 her own joke. Then she continued, "Just how my step 
 mother and he arranged, I don t know ; but we went to 
 
104 JOSEPHINE CLIFFORD McCRACKIN 
 
 Europe on our wedding-tour, and while there he gener 
 ously proposed that my exceptional voice be cultivated, 
 for which he paid enormous sums out of my money. 
 But the sums he lost at the gaming-table were still larger, 
 and it was not long till he told me we had spent every 
 thing we had." 
 
 "We never went back to my old home ; from New Or 
 leans it seems he opened correspondence for the pur 
 pose of bringing out a play an opera a something 
 in which that accursed red mane of mine, as he now 
 called it, could be turned to some use. I was helpless, 
 and oh! so miserable; not a soul in the wide world to 
 turn to for advice or aid. But I was determined to elude 
 him 11 
 
 "But Annie, with the magnificent voice you have (for 
 I have heard you sing) why should you have so strug 
 gled against singing in concert or opera?" Mr. Winters 
 interrupted her. 
 
 "I should not have objected to either, for I think I 
 have a vein of an artist in my composition. But from the 
 letters which the manager, Lockhart " 
 
 "Richard Lockhart! There was never a greater vil 
 lain than Dick Lockhart in the world; and stop yes, 
 to be sure, he is the manager of some third class place of 
 entertainment where dramas are represented in which 
 the personal charms of the ladies are of vastly greater 
 importance than either voice or artistic training." 
 
 A flush mounted to the very roots of her hair as Annie 
 went on. 
 
 "Ah! now you understand. I had fully made up my 
 mind to die rather than go on this stage. The train 
 that brought us out here was unfortunate from the start. 
 
HER RED HAIR 105 
 
 First a collision, then a two days delay on account of 
 snow, and lastly a break of some kind about the car- 
 wheel, which detained the train here long enough for 
 me to make my escape the day I first found my way to 
 this house. While we were at the hotel, snowbound, I 
 saw a poor woman, the mother of one of the servants, 
 pass through the hall; and telling her daughter that we 
 were show people/ and that I wanted just such a make 
 up, I got the dress, the shawl and the quaker-bonnet 
 from her; paying her well for them but none too much 
 for the good they have done me. And will you keep me 
 in your service now, since you know who I am?" she 
 asked humbly. 
 
 "You will be safer with me than anywhere else," he 
 replied. "I owe you a great debt of gratitude, and ask 
 you to forgive me for having wronged you as that 
 man s wife. He told so plausible a story. But come to 
 think of it, he never once mentioned Lockhart; and the 
 name does not appear in this document, either; which 
 shows that his conscience was not clear." 
 
 "And is the amount you lose very great? * Annie asked 
 in much concern. "Believe me, I shall try to atone as 
 much as possible, if Bridget will not grow angry at my 
 crowding her out." 
 
 "Don t fear!" he put in hastily. "She goes back will 
 ingly to my sister, and says that you are fully capable of 
 attending to the children and the household too. And 
 it will be a great saving, you know," he added hypo 
 critically, "for I pay Bridget twice the wages you get." 
 Then he wished he hadn t said it, for Annie looked sur 
 prised, and the fact was that he had no idea what wages 
 Bridget allowed Annie. 
 
106 JOPSEHINE CLIFFORD McCRACKIN 
 
 The days were now spent principally in making up 
 reticules for Bridget, and trimming hats and bonnets for 
 her, not to forget the making up of a dress which Bridget 
 declared was "the finest she iver had." Bridget on her side 
 had her hands full trying to define to Annie and Paul both 
 where the duties and tasks of the one ended and the oth 
 ers began. But they agreed not to disagree over the dis 
 tribution of labor, and Bridget set sail for San Francisco 
 with flying colors and hat-strings streaming in the 
 breeze. There were no tears shed, though everybody 
 missed Bridget more than they were willing to tell, and 
 it was well that both Annie and Paul had an extra share 
 of work to do at present. 
 
 Letters came frequently from Mrs. Higginson with 
 messages from Bridget ; had Annie done so and so in the 
 kitchen and in the household! And would Paul please 
 to do this or that about the poultry-yard or in the cow- 
 stable. It was evident that the home at the Nursery was 
 in her thoughts constantly, and Annie made the remark 
 to Mr. Winters that his sister must be easily pleased, 
 for Bridget seemed to be only half with her. 
 
 "My sister," he said, "is a jewel, though set in a home 
 ly setting." 
 
 One day he told Annie that it was necessary for him to 
 visit the city, should he send for Bridget, or was she not 
 afraid alone, Paul sleeping in the house, of course. She 
 gave a troubled look into his face. 
 
 "I fear it is this dreadful annoyance which I brought 
 on you, that calls you to the city," she said sadly. "What 
 can I ever do to repay your kindness and make you 
 forget the trouble and loss I have caused you." 
 
HER RED HAIR 107 
 
 With an irresistible impulse he caught both her hands 
 in his. 
 
 "I am more blessed than I can tell in having you with 
 me ; have you not guessed my secret, Annie, any more 
 than I once guessed yours? I love you, darling; and if 
 that man should dare come here to claim you, I I be 
 lieve I would strike him dead." His face blanched with 
 the intensity of his passion. 
 
 Annie gently drew her hands from his clasp. 
 
 "But I am that man s wife," she said firmly, "and al 
 though his wife in name only, I can never be the wife 
 of another while he lives. I cannot forget my marriage 
 vow; for I believe what God has joined together, man 
 cannot put asunder." 
 
 "Ah ! do not deal the death blow to all my cherished 
 hopes," he pleaded. "Is there no voice in your heart 
 that speaks for me? Have I, blind fool, misinterpreted 
 the softer light that has come into your eyes, the hap 
 pier expression on your face?" 
 
 "Do not torture me," she begged piteously. "What 
 should have sustained me in my hours of darkest despair 
 if not the consciousness of wanting to do what was right 
 before God? And should I swerve from the narrow path 
 now, thorny though it has grown because a broader, 
 lighter path leading into an earthly paradise, opens be 
 fore me? Do not make my duty harder; let me rest 
 while I may from my weary pilgrimage awhile yet." 
 
 "My house will be yours, Annie, as long as you will 
 lend it the sunshine of your presence. Never fear, my 
 poor child; I will struggle to still the beating of my 
 heart. Rest with me; I will not again disturb the tran- 
 quility of your present life." 
 
108 JOSEPHINE CLIFFORD McCRACKIN 
 
 He kept his word to the letter though he could not 
 keep his eyes from following her hungrily as she left his 
 presence, or crossed his path in house or garden. For 
 her sake he tried to be happy, in her presence at least, 
 though the gloom on his face which had once so touched 
 her tender heart, had deepened since the day he had 
 avowed his love for her. 
 
 One of the duties devolving upon her since Bridget s 
 departure, was the furnishing of cakes, salads, butter, 
 cream or anything else that the ladies of the different 
 congregations in Centreton and the neighborhood might 
 desire for their church entertainments. Baptist, Catho 
 lic, Methodist or Presbyterian all were welcome; the 
 Nursery was represented at their fairs and socials in the 
 shape of some delicacy or another. 
 
 So when Annie saw the apparition of a tall, spare man, 
 with benevolent expression and hands and feet very 
 much in evidence, approaching one day, she instantly fell 
 to speculating upon what the reverend gentleman would 
 prefer for his church entertainment. 
 
 The garden in front of the house, through which she 
 had passed on the day of her arrival, and the hall door 
 by which she had entered, were very rarely used, the big 
 bronze knocker had never resounded through the house 
 since. There was a wide gateway opening on the road 
 just below the garden; and as the gate was never closed 
 in the day time, everybody came in through it, walked 
 up the driveway and crossed the flag-pavement in front 
 of the gallery. 
 
 It was here on the veranda that Annie was seated, 
 shelling peas, as the figure described came around the 
 corner of the house and crossed the flags. Cobby was 
 
HER RED HAIR 109 
 
 close beside her on the floor, holding in his arms a rag 
 doll, very much as Annie was in the habit of holding 
 him. Bobby, whose social instincts had become greatly 
 enlarged and improved, was driving Trixy in a little go- 
 cart laden with all the animals from the old Ark, much 
 dilapidated; and an air of peace and contentment per 
 vaded the atmosphere. 
 
 "Is this Mr. Winters housekeeper, Miss?" asked the 
 gentleman. 
 
 To which Annie promptly replied: "Mr. Winters 
 housekeeper is in San Francisco at present. I am the 
 kitchen girl and my name is Annie." 
 
 "Ah! indeed!" said the gentleman as if she had 
 given him much food for reflection. "But surely you 
 have some other name, Mrs. or Miss " 
 
 "Smith," she supplied the missing name, leaving her 
 interlocutor to add Miss or Mistress according to taste. 
 "I have been instructed by Bridget, however, as well as 
 by Mr. Winters, to furnish you gentlemen of the church 
 anything you might desire for your entertainments," 
 Annie went on; "cake, salads, or whatever you may 
 choose to name." 
 
 "Ah very kind in Mr. Winters an excellent man; 
 and I hope I may succeed in the errand of mercy upon 
 which I have come this morning. These children or 
 phaned by the death of a most devoted, tender mother, 
 does not their forlorn condition appeal to your womanly 
 sympathies? If you are a Christian, would you not con 
 sider it your duty to so reconcile the members of this 
 very worthy family that either Mrs. Ault, a most estima 
 ble lady or their aunt Constancia should become an 
 inmate of the house and the guardian and teacher of 
 
110 JOSEPHINE CLIFFORD McCRACKIN 
 
 these children. Think of their being left, at their tender 
 age, without a really competent guide ; for she, whom you 
 call the housekeeper, Bridget, although of suitable age, 
 is an ignorant, uneducated woman, a Catholic ; while you 
 are" 
 
 "Not a Catholic," Annie interupted this long har 
 angue, but the other went on to say. 
 
 "Just so, precisely, as I was saying while you are 
 hardly old enough to live alone in the house of a single 
 man. When, therefore, I beg that you may throw your 
 influence and persuasion into the scale with ours, so that 
 it may tip in favor of those who have a better right here 
 than you, I am only asking you to do what will be a 
 benefit to you, and a help in establishing your good 
 name." 
 
 Annie s face had grown red and white by turns during 
 this tirade; but she had been taught reverence for the 
 cloth in her earliest youth ; and after her first astonish 
 ment, she controlled herself sufficiently to ask if it were 
 the gentleman s desire that the object of his visit should 
 be communicated by her to her employer. 
 
 "Plead with him in this good cause, for the sake of the 
 orphaned little ones," the clergyman urged. 
 
 To which Annie replied that it was not her place to 
 argue with the employer upon his family affairs. She 
 had been hired to cook for the family, to care for the chil 
 dren ; to receive messages during her employer s absence 
 and deliver them upon his return. 
 
 Paul, coming to the office for the order book at this 
 juncture, hastened back to where he had left Mr. Win 
 ters in the nursery grounds; but when this gentleman 
 reached the house, Annie s visitor had departed. Look- 
 
HER RED HAIR 111 
 
 ing into her troubled face he could give a pretty good 
 guess at what had transpired; it did not need many 
 words from Annie. 
 
 "Why will you not give me the right to protect you 
 against insult and calumny," he asked in anger and in 
 dignation. 
 
 Later in the evening when Paul came in with the milk 
 bucket, he said, referring to her visitor of that day, 
 
 "Ach Gott, Annie ; danah Rommit aber was ; something 
 will come after this, sure." 
 
CHAPTER IX. 
 
 What did come after this was Mr. Winters sister, Mrs. 
 Higginson. And she came unheralded, as the other vis 
 itor had come, but she found Annie on the kitchen floor, 
 scrubbing, her dress tucked up and heavy shoes on her 
 feet. Cobby was swinging in a hammock on the kitchen 
 porch a hammock of Annie s own construction, out of 
 which he could be neither shaken nor tumbled by the 
 other "childers." These others were characteristically 
 employed Trixy picking up chips to build the fire with, 
 Bobby eating an extra chunk of gingerbread on the 
 porch steps. 
 
 "Just as Bridget described her, red hair and all"; this 
 was Mrs. Higginson s greeting, though she addressed 
 it to herself. 
 
 "This is Mrs. Higginson, then," was Annie s reply, 
 "and I hope you left Bridget well." 
 
 "Finish the floor, my girl," said the old lady, just as 
 Bridget would have said it; "I can find my way upstairs 
 alone." 
 
 Mrs. Higginson was many years the senior of Mr. 
 Winters, and when they met she greeted him as a mother 
 would greet a son, though she always called him 
 Brother John, and he called her Sister Jane. Though 
 thin and angular there was a certain dignity about Sister 
 Jane, not incompatible, as Annie found, with a large de 
 gree of "comfortableness" that seemed to radiate from 
 her wherever she went. She was in the kitchen with 
 Annie and she was in the office with Brother John; she 
 
HER RED HAIR 113 
 
 had the two older children with her on the lawn, and 
 she was with Paul in the nursery garden, admiring the 
 order in which he kept the grounds. She was neither 
 watching nor prying, but she had a way of seeing what 
 she wanted to see, without seeming to see it. 
 
 One day as brother and sister were looking through 
 some papers in the office, Mrs. Higginson spied Annie 
 through the kitchen window that looked on the gallery, 
 working over some refractory butter till her face was 
 red with exertion. 
 
 "Some men would have sense enough to marry a 
 woman that left her hair in its natural color and didn t 
 wear powder on her face an inch deep," remarked Mrs. 
 Higginson. 
 
 To which Mr. Winters replied a little impatiently: 
 
 "Some men have sense enough not to reach out for 
 what they cannot get." 
 
 "That s nonsense, Brother John." 
 
 "That s very sound sense, Sister Jane." 
 
 But full of sense as this conversation was, it came to 
 an end right there ; and Mrs. Higginson s visit came to 
 an end soon after. She gave Annie a hearty smack on 
 the cheek, when she left. 
 
 "You ve been a mother to those children, God bless 
 you !" she said. "Bridget did not say one word too much 
 about you." 
 
 In the evening Paul confided to Annie that he had 
 driven Mrs. Higginson to the post office before taking 
 her to the train, and the olle Hexe, Mrs. Ault, had gotten 
 a piece of Sister Jane s mind. 
 
 Annie had never again dared to ask in regard to the 
 matter that was of so much interest to her. It grieved 
 
114 JOSEPHINE CLIFFORD McCRACKIN 
 
 her to see her employer s handsome sun-browned face 
 grow thin; it was not financial trouble alone that was 
 weighing on him, she knew that ; for his sister was will 
 ing and able to help him. From something that was said 
 in her presence she knew that Mrs. Higginson was try 
 ing to fathom the mystery of the assignment of the claim, 
 though it was evident she did not know the relation in 
 which Annie stood to the scoundrel whom she had known 
 as a small boy. 
 
 A number of letters and telegrams passed back and 
 forth between sister and brother, after Mrs. Higginson s 
 visit, and then, one day, John Winters told Annie that 
 he must leave her for how long he could not tell. 
 Should he send for Bridget? Did she want any other 
 help or company? 
 
 His speaking eyes hung upon her after asking these 
 questions without waiting for an answer. 
 
 "It may be that that there will be trouble; I cannot 
 yet get to the bottom of this assignment business, and 
 I will let no man slander or traduce an innocent woman." 
 "Oh! Annie!" he burst out again, "how can I go and 
 leave you so? Why will you not give me the right to 
 shield you from further wrong to protect you to 
 avenge you?" 
 
 She shook her head sadly, and again she said : 
 
 "I am that man s wife. And though, while I live he 
 shall never lay his hand on me again, I am still his wife, 
 before God, and my conscience." 
 
 "And must I sit forever lonely on a cold hearthstone ?" 
 he asked in despair. 
 
 "A hand other than mine may some day kindle again 
 the flame in your bosom and on your hearthstone," she 
 
HER RED HAIR 115 
 
 made answer; but she covered her face with her hands 
 and her frame shook with convulsive sobs. 
 
 He drew the hands tenderly from her face and passion 
 ately kissed away the traces of tears on them. 
 
 "Then I am not indifferent to you at least, I thank 
 God for that" ; he said fervently. 
 
 The summer had passed, and after the first rains, the 
 skies seemed brighter, the air clearer, the roses more 
 fragrant, the wealth of bloom in the garden greater than 
 before. There were days, to be sure, when the fog drift 
 ing in from the distant Bay, lay heavy on the earth as on 
 Annie s heart: she had decided that she must not remain 
 here. For long days she walked through the house, 
 through the garden and through the conservatory 
 which she still loved for the inexpressible pleasure it had 
 given her the first time she saw it. She wandered from 
 one spot to the other, bidding all farewell. After restless 
 days and nights spent in weeping, she had decided she 
 must leave the place that had been more like home to her 
 than she had known since her mother s death. But leave 
 it she must. 
 
 One thing, however, she had quite determined ; Cobby 
 should go with her, him she would not leave here. Her 
 plan was to unbosom herself to Mrs. Higginson, and beg 
 of her on bended knees, to let her come to live at her 
 house with Cobby, while Bridget should go back to take 
 care of the home at the Nursery. She would tell Bridget 
 everything, too. Oh ! she well knew the big heart the 
 Irish woman had. 
 
 Still, misgivings would come. She brought nothing 
 but trouble to John Winters home and to himself, how 
 could she expect that they should care whether her heart 
 
116 JOSEPHINE CLIFFORD McCRACKIN 
 
 broke or not, when she turned her back on the home she 
 had found here. She was well-nigh distracted with her 
 own thoughts; and when Paul came to tell her that he 
 would have to leave by the earliest train the next morn 
 ing, and would have to remain over one night in 
 San Francisco, she was half tempted to tell the honest 
 fellow to prepare Bridget for her coming. 
 
 It was arranged that Mrs. Carter, the wife of the fore 
 man on the ranch, remain with Annie over night, Mr. 
 Carter to do "the chores" in Paul s place. 
 
 With feverish impatience she waited for Paul to re 
 turn; she dreaded and yet longed to hear from the man 
 she loved and whose heart she was so cruelly lacerating. 
 
 When Paul came, he brought her a book which she 
 had long wanted to read, and which Mr. Winters told 
 her in a note he sent with it, he himself had read first. 
 She took the volume to her own room before she opened 
 it ; even the wrapper she kissed. Had not his dear hand 
 put this newspaper around the book? The newspaper, 
 old as it was, had to be read, too; and she smiled at her 
 own folly as she glanced over it. 
 
 Then suddenly a scream rang through the house. Paul 
 came running, and the children howled simultaneously, 
 while Annie, quickly recovering, though hysterical, de 
 clared between laughing and crying that Paul would 
 have to take a telegram to the office at once. 
 
 Thinking it an answer to something contained in the 
 letter, he had a horse at the door by the time she had the 
 telegram written, 
 
CHAPTER X. 
 
 All through the day Annie was thoughtful but happy ; 
 she kissed Cobby to his heart s content, called him "An 
 nie s own Cobby," and held him by both hands in his 
 first attempt to walk. And still the hours seemed to 
 drag along on leaden feet. But the night passed, she 
 would not have long to wait ; and she took care to be in 
 the sitting room, with all the children well out of the 
 way, when John Winters came hurrying in. Her heart 
 smote her when she saw his hollow eyes and his dishev 
 eled appearance; but his face lighted up with sudden 
 happiness when she sprang forward to meet him. 
 
 "Annie !" he cried, as he folded her in his arms, "have 
 you relented? You have glad news for me, dearest?" 
 
 "No," she replied, "it is sad news, for it is news of a 
 death. But it sets me free " and she returned the kiss 
 he pressed on her lips. 
 
 Then she pointed out to him the paragraph in the old 
 newspaper, speaking of the killing of Harry Fulton in a 
 gambling den in New Orleans. He had been an Im- 
 pressario, the paper went on to say correct as papers 
 always are but his wife s desertion had driven him to 
 dissipation. His friends, fearing the worst, had taken 
 charge of his affairs some time before his death, alleg 
 ing that he was not capable of transacting business for 
 himself rationally. 
 
 "Bridget must come," he said the moment he stopped 
 reading. 
 
 "At once," added Annie. 
 
118 JOSEPHINE CLIFFORD McCRACKIN 
 
 "And we must be married directly," he went on. 
 
 "There s no hurry/ she retorted saucily. 
 
 "You are never to contradict me," he said with great 
 severity, and she replied "no," with equal humility. 
 
 Then they laughed like children, in their new-found 
 happiness, and never noticed that Paul, with his eyes 
 bulging out of his broad, good-natured face, retreated 
 from the door as speedily and softly as his clumsy boots 
 would permit. When he got well outside he slapped 
 alternately his right leg and his left, as he ran laughing 
 around the corner of the house and never stopped till 
 he was safely in the cow-yard. Once landed there he 
 slapped the fat sides of Brown Bess till she remonstrated 
 by tossing her horns and throwing up her heels. 
 
 "Ach Gott," he said soothingly to his four-footed 
 friend, "wie mich das frent wie mich frent? What will 
 the olle Hexe, Mrs. Ault, say; and Bridget ach Gott ja 
 Bridget!" 
 
 Then he ran his ten fingers through his shock of straw- 
 colored hair till each hair stood out at right angles from 
 his head, and in this conditon he returned to the house. 
 
 No matter how hard he tried to control his features 
 he laughed out aloud when he found that Annie had 
 forgotten to salt the potatoes and insinuated that in his 
 country it was just the other way; when the cook was 
 in love the victuals were too much salted ; and Mr. Win 
 ters said approvingly : 
 
 "Paul, if Bridget were here she would call you a broth 
 of a boy/ " 
 
 Then Paul learned that "the boss" was going back to 
 San Francisco tomorrow, to send Bridget over in his 
 place ; and Paul only said "Aha Bridget." 
 
HER RED HAIR 119 
 
 Such a meeting as it was between Annie and her faith 
 ful friend! Mr. Winters, although he had explained all 
 the circumstances to his sister, had left it for Annie to 
 tell Bridget as much as she saw fit; and almost the entire 
 day of her return was consumed in telling her all. That 
 Paul learned a good deal of it before the day was over 
 was only natural and not objectionable to Annie, for she 
 had a sincere liking for the young German and he had 
 been a steadfast friend. 
 
 When Mr. Winters returned and brought an invitation 
 from his sister to Annie, she felt she must go, but, she 
 asked, how could she leave Cobby? 
 
 "And his father," asked Mr. Winters, to which Annie 
 answered that his conceit would keep him from missing 
 her, and Mr. Winters rejoined that Annie didn t have her 
 red hair for nothing. 
 
 It is not necessary to say how badly Mr. Winters bore 
 Annie s departure and absence ; and it required the exer 
 cise of all the authority his sister had ever had over him, 
 to compel him to submit to the separation. 
 
 When he was allowed to come to the city at last, 
 neither Bridget nor Paul were informed for what purpose 
 it was; but when he had gone nearly a week, Mrs. Hig- 
 ginson came over and informed Bridget, who informed 
 Paul, that "the boss" and Annie were married and had 
 gone on their "tower." 
 
 Mrs. Higginson had not come alone; the elderly man 
 who came with her closely inspected every room in the 
 house, submitted a long list he had made out to Mrs. 
 Higginson, and this lady gave him carte blanc to put in 
 the house every bit of furniture, upholstery and carpeting 
 which he had marked down. 
 
120 JOSEPHINE CLIFFORD McCRACKIN 
 
 To Bridget she said that Constancia, whose ambitoin 
 had taken quite a tumble since her husband s death, had 
 accepted the hand of a San Francisco laundry-man, and 
 that the entire furniture of the other half of the house 
 the grand piano included was to be given her as a wed 
 ding present. Mrs. Higginson had seen Mrs. Ault on 
 her way from the city, and the things would be removed 
 at once, as the whole house would be refurnished before 
 Mr. and Mrs. Winters returned to their home. 
 
 Busy days were those at the Nursery. Mrs. Higgin 
 son had engaged so much extra help that Paul and 
 Bridget did little more than stand around and admire 
 each new carpet as it was laid, each new article of furni 
 ture as it was placed. 
 
 "And d ye moind, Dutchy," said Bridget, nudging 
 him, "there s to be two rooms furnished and set aside for 
 me missus when we come to spend summer here; and 
 there s to be an extra sweet of rooms furnished in our 
 house in town for Mr. and Mrs. Winters when they come 
 to see us in winter." 
 
 When all was ready Mrs. Higginson returned to San 
 Francisco, leaving Bridget to welcome the couple home. 
 Now at last Paul found an opportunity to "spread him 
 self," as Bridget said. To do him justice he had both 
 taste and judgment in his line; the decorations were 
 really handsome; and the flowers composing the bou 
 quets the children carried and were to present, were well 
 chosen for the occasion. 
 
 To be sure, no one knew that Trixy had prepared an 
 extra surprise different from the one Bridget had planned 
 for Annie. For when Mr. and Mrs. Winters approached 
 the house Bridget threw the front door open and Cobby 
 
HER RED HAIR 121 
 
 toddled out, unaided, though a little "groggy on his 
 pins," murmuring "Mamma, mamma, mamma!" and An 
 nie, stooping, caught him lovingly in her arms. 
 
 "Mamma s own Cobby," she whispered; "Mamma s 
 very own." 
 
 Mr. Winters in the meantime having duly shaken 
 hands with Paul and Bridget, had not noticed how Trixy 
 had loaded Bobby down with both bouquets while she 
 drew from a clump of dahlias standing near, a beau 
 tifully striped little garter snake, caught fresh that morn 
 ing, and held fast, around the neck, with the young lady s 
 brand new hair ribbon which Bridget had vainly hunted 
 for. Dragging the reptile after her, she approached 
 "Mamma" with her lips screwed up for a kiss ; and while 
 she raised Trixy in her arms for the caress, the snake 
 writhed and wriggled frantically in the air, striving 
 vainly to find a foothold somewhere. But Annie bore 
 the sight of the snake with much more fortitude than 
 she had displayed when this same young lady had pre 
 sented her with a baby horned-toad on an envelope, some 
 time ago. 
 
 At last the young wife had her hands free for the faith 
 ful Bridget, who congratulated and wished joy to Mrs. 
 Winters. 
 
 "No, no " remonstrated this lady with her arm 
 around the Irish woman s shoulders, "I must always be 
 Annie to you." 
 
THE COLONEL S YOUNG WIFE 
 
 It was late in the afternoon when the mail-rider clashed 
 into camp alone, on a crowbait of a horse, with bridle 
 of hair-rope, plainly an Indian outfit, and neither horse 
 nor rider seemingly pleased with each other. 
 
 Both officers and men of Fort Greengate had been 
 watching for Murphy and Doyle with more or less open 
 ly expressed uneasiness and the Colonel stepped forward 
 at once as the man threw himself from his bony steed. 
 
 "Where s Doyle?" he asked, sharply. 
 
 "Wid me dead Kitty, Colonel, and along of his own 
 horse and the three of em dead together." And without 
 the slightest regard to discipline or politeness, Murphy 
 turned his back on his commanding officer, hid his 
 sweaty, dust-begrimed face against the lea*n neck of the 
 wretchedly tired horse and sobbed. 
 
 Among the men who had crowded around, many an 
 uncovered head was seen. There was momentary silence 
 and then Sergeant Brown, in obedience to a nod from the 
 Colonel, approached his comrade; Murphy turned, sa 
 luted the Colonel and handed over to the Sergeant the 
 package of mail he had brought. 
 
 "There s a letter or two there for the Colonel s wife," 
 he said to the Sergeant, "do you give them to her at 
 once; you know how anxious she always is to get her 
 mail." Then he advanced to make his report, the Colonel 
 calling to one of the men : 
 
 "Have the cook prepare the best there is for Murphy, 
 and now, come with me, my man." 
 
THE COLONEL S YOUNG WIFE 123 
 
 In order to lose no time the Colonel listened to Mur 
 phy s report on their way to the Adjutant s office, and 
 before the man had finished the directions to the spot 
 where the mail-rider and his escort had turned out in 
 their attempt to escape the unlooked-for attack, the blare 
 of the bugle rang out over the tents and adobe-quarters 
 of Fort Greengate, telling of the preparations making to 
 pursue the murderous Apaches at once. 
 
 Fort Greengate was an important post, and Colonel 
 Tremayne had been placed in command of it because it 
 was a difficult task to reduce the hostile Indians who had 
 grown rampant while the fort had been abandoned dur 
 ing the war, without offending those Indians who really 
 were, or wished to pose as friends of the white man. 
 And Colonel Tremayne, selected by the department com 
 mander for this post, though owing his rapid advance 
 ment more to distinguished services than to seniority, 
 was not a young hotspur fresh from West Point. 
 
 Not till the detail was ready to leave camp did the 
 Colonel permit himself to think of his own affairs and 
 of the young wife to whom he must bid adieu for the first 
 time since her brief sojourn at the post. Hurriedly ap 
 proaching his quarters, he drew aside from the doorway 
 the blanket which served to keep out the glaring sun, 
 while it admitted any breeze that might be passing. 
 The room he entered was comparatively dark, for the 
 window without sash, of course, had also been hung with 
 some dark, heavy material, drawn clear across the open 
 ing. Pausing a second, he discovered the figure which 
 his eye sought, stretched upon the bed, the face resting 
 on the arms crossed upon the pillow. He stepped to the 
 
124 JOSEPHINE CLIFFORD McCRACKIN 
 
 couch, gently raised the head and kissed the tear-wet 
 face. 
 
 "Come, my pet," he said with a tremor in his voice, 
 "you must not cry like that. A soldier s wife must be 
 brave ; do not grieve while I am away, it will only make 
 my duty harder." 
 
 But sobs alone answered him; the little hands tried 
 hard to hide the tear-stained face, and kissing her hair, 
 her hands and her forehead, he laid her light form gently 
 down and hastened out without looking back. 
 
 The brisk bugle notes cut the air again, and the young 
 wife sprang up, flung back the curtain and looked out. 
 Colonel Tremayne s form towered above all men of his 
 command; the slouch hat and rough dress could not 
 make an ordinary-looking man of him, and well might 
 any woman be proud to call him her own. But the young 
 wife wrung her hands as she gazed after him. 
 
 "False!" she cried passionately. "False to me and 
 false to that other woman! How could he find it in his 
 heart to disgrace me so? Traitor yes, traitor to both." 
 She clinched her little fists; but even as the column fast 
 receded from sight, her mood grew softer and she called 
 out sadly: "Adieu, my dream of bliss and happiness! 
 Now comes my punishment, for I, too, have been false to 
 my first love and will soon lie within a grave as lonely 
 and neglected as the one in which lies that poor boy." 
 
 She drew a letter from under her pillow and without 
 unfolding it, she repeated to herself : "And water stands 
 in the neglected grave where it has sunken in from the 
 winter s frost and the thaws of spring." 
 
 "I must go," she said with sudden determination; "go 
 ere the woman carries out her threat. She is right. How 
 
THE YOUNG COLONEL S WIFE 125 
 
 could I believe that I had won for my own the man who 
 belongs to another woman heart and hand? But it will 
 kill me, oh, it will kill me !" and the poor, helpless woman 
 pressed her hot fingers to her aching head. 
 
 In the meantime the men had crowded around Mur 
 phy as soon as he was free, and not only had the cook 
 produced the best he had, but Murphy s friends had pur 
 chased almost the entire stock at the sutler store, prin 
 cipally oysters, lobsters, sardines and tobacco. All these 
 delicacies were spread temptingly on the rough table in 
 the company cook house and benches and seats were at 
 a premium here. Those who could find none squatted 
 down along the adobe wall or stood leaning up against 
 this support. While Murphy was appeasing his right 
 eous appetite, they conversed among themselves, but 
 when Murphy struck a match to light his new pipe with, 
 every eye became fastened on him at once. 
 
 "D ye see, boys," he began, "the night before we left 
 Tucson I dreamed that me mother, dead and wid the 
 saints these ten years, came to me and she says, says she, 
 Tat, me boy, it s a hard road ye ve got to travel, and she 
 shuk her head and was gone." 
 
 A solemn pause, and then he continued : "I didn t tell 
 Doyle about it, but I thought he looked kind o down in 
 the mouth himself when we left camp. We stopped at 
 the Water-holes about sundown, got our supper and 
 rested our horses till 3 o clock this morning, and never 
 saw sign of an Indian, look as sharp as we might. After 
 we had passed the Cienega, along about 9 o clock, we 
 had just concluded to rest before we reached the sand 
 hills, when all at once the whole d d plain seemed alive 
 with Indians. Such yelling and howling, such flying of 
 
126 JOSEPHINE CLIFFORD McCRACKIN 
 
 shot and arrows you never heard in all your life. Where 
 they came from I don t know ; but it seems to me there 
 wasn t a bush or a weed three inches high that a full- 
 grown Injun, pony and all, didn t rise up behind. We 
 put spurs to our beasts though it wasn t needed; once 
 they heard the yells they flew like the wind. Purty 
 soon the redskins got into line, and I knew there was no 
 escape for us in flight for they commenced to hem us 
 in you know the way the red devils do, circling round, 
 single file, each giving a shot in passing, and the first of 
 them ready to attack us in the rear while the last one 
 was firing at us in front. Tom, says I, we ll have to 
 make breastworks of our horses me poor Kitty, I can t 
 kill her. Nor I my sorrel, says Tom. But it s got to 
 be done, says I, and quick. And I sprang to the sorrel s 
 head as Tom jumped down and caught Kitty by the 
 bridle and they fell almost together; and the Injuns were 
 on us in good earnest by that time. The very first shot 
 that Tom fired brought down a redskin, but he must 
 have been tied to the horse, for he never fell to the 
 ground, though I swear I saw his carcass swinging on 
 the other side of the horse. By this time they were 
 howling like mad, and things were getting redhot. I 
 tell you !" 
 
 He rested his hands on his knees a moment, laid down 
 his pipe, and continued : 
 
 "But they got their revenge for that worthless brute. 
 Every devil in the pack took deliberate aim at poor Tom 
 from that moment, and Tom knew it, too. Says he : 
 They ll get away with me first, says he, and he d hardly 
 said it, when his carbine dropped and all he said was, 
 God help you, Pat/ " 
 
THE COLONEL S YOUNG WIFE 127 
 
 The trooper picked up his pipe again, looked at it medi 
 tatively, and said: "Now I don t quite understand 
 what followed. You know where the trail comes in from 
 Calabasas there; between the sand hills? Well, I 
 thought I d spied something coming along there, but I d 
 said nothing for fear we both might be disappointed if it 
 was more Injuns instead of some of the settlers there, or 
 maybe some of the men from Camp Hallen. But when 
 they picked Tom off, I just cast my eyes that way, and 
 here there was a whole war party of Injuns come 
 swinging round that last curve in the hills. Of course, 
 they could see at a glance that there was only one poor 
 wretch left to kill off, and for that reason only one of 
 them raised his rifle, took good aim at me and brought 
 down a redskin flying past with his gun leveled at me 
 ready to shoot. Such yelling and shouting, and racing 
 and ra rin as there was then! But the shot that was 
 intended for me and killed the Injun, must have struck 
 the horse somewhere, for he leaped clear over me, and as 
 he lost his Injun I just grabbed him by the lariat rope, 
 swung myself on, and left them to fight over the mishap 
 all they liked. But I can t make it out; come to think of 
 it, that they kept up the firing behind me, but neither 
 bullets nor arrows came my way. When the Colonel 
 gets back I must report it to him, for it s mighty queer 
 in my opinion." 
 
 The whole crowd went into details, each particular 
 phase of the attack was compared with other attacks and 
 fights in which the soldiers had been engaged ; but this 
 thing of one Injun killing another instead of the white 
 man he had aimed at was a new feature entirely in Indian 
 fights. 
 
128 JOSEPHINE CLIFFORD McCRACKIN 
 
 After awhile the sun went down on Fort Greengate, 
 and the Colonel s young wife was not yet to be seen. 
 Her horse, anxious for his evening s run, had come whin 
 nying up to the Colonel s quarters, for the side saddle was 
 kept there, and it was the Colonel s boast that his wife 
 could saddle her horse as well as the best trooper could 
 doit. 
 
 Later still, Sergeant Brown passing along, laid hold of 
 his mane and led him away, knowing that his mistress 
 was quite ill from the shock of being left alone in camp 
 for the first time. He knew it, because Mrs. Wood, the 
 laundress of Fort Greengate, had told him so. She had 
 waited on the Colonel s lady, according to his directions, 
 but she found she had cried herself to sleep like the child 
 she was. Bless her heart ! 
 
 Water call, Stable call, and Retreat had all sounded, 
 and still the curtains hung close about the door and win 
 dows of the Colonel s house. But the Colonel s wife 
 was not there. 
 
 The doctor, coming from the hospital tent, where he 
 had half a dozen cases of Arizona fever, had extended 
 his walk in the cool of the evening. Outside the lines 
 he came suddenly upon a figure moving wearily toward 
 him, the Colonel s young wife. Her face scarlet, her hair 
 hanging loose over her neck and shoulders, and she was 
 weeping softly to herself like a lost child. To all appear 
 ances she did not see him, and the doctor s first impulse 
 was to make his presence known, but his conviction was 
 that he had another patient with malarial fever, and gent 
 ly accosting her, he held out his hand in greeting. But 
 she only looked at him with dull, unseeing eyes. 
 
THE COLONEL S YOUNG WIFE 129 
 
 "I am going to his grave," she said : "His poor, neg 
 lected grave, sunken in from the frosts of winter and the 
 thaws of spring and standing full of water." 
 
 "Certainly we ll go there," said the doctor soothingly, 
 "and we ll plant flowers on his poor, neglected grave; 
 roses and forget-me-nots, to be sure." And he drew 
 her hand through his arm and led her silently back to 
 the post; But through his mind there ran stories of a 
 handsome, dissipated young lieutenant, a cousin of the 
 Colonel s, to whom they said she had been engaged. The 
 father had broken off the match and Elsie, they said, 
 had been quite willing to marry the older cousin when 
 she became convinced that he loved her and was to be 
 Colonel of the 106th cavalry, but then "they" will talk, 
 in camp and court alike. 
 
 Passing by the tent of the laundress, the doctor gave 
 signs to follow them and directed the woman to put the 
 young wife to bed, while he sent to the hospital steward 
 for the soothing draught he wanted to give her. Then 
 he came back once more just before taps, found Mrs. 
 Tremayne asleep in bed and Mrs. Wood snoring on an 
 improvised couch beside her, and went home himself to 
 sleep the sleep of the just. 
 
 What consternation there was the next morning when 
 neither the Colonel s young wife nor her horse could be 
 found within the precincts of Fort Greengate, it is hard 
 to describe. But the officer, left in command by the 
 Colonel, immediately detailed six picked men, under Ser 
 geant Brown, to follow the poor lady, who, according to 
 the doctor s statement, had left camp in the delirium of 
 fever. 
 
130 JOSEPHINE CLIFFORD McCRACKIN 
 
 Across the burning plain, in the meantime, dashed the 
 frenzied creature, who was flying from fancied disgrace, 
 and who meant to make atonement by kneeling at the 
 grave so reproachfully charged to her fickleness. On she 
 sped, the horse could race no faster than her thoughts 
 and wishes flew. Whither she went she neither knew 
 nor cared, so long as every leap of the horse left more 
 space between her and the home she must never again 
 claim. The sun scorched her face and blinded her eyes, 
 for she had no hat to draw down over them ; if she had 
 had one when she left the post she must have lost it 
 since. 
 
 There must be a veil in the pocket of her saddle, she 
 now remembered, and she tried to check the mad gallop 
 to which for hours she had been urging her horse. But 
 she found she could not control him ; no horse could be 
 held with an Indian on either side of him in pursuit. 
 
 Near sundown that day the Colonel, with men and 
 horses worn and jaded, returned to Fort Greengate. 
 They had buried Tom Doyle and marked his grave. 
 Poor Kitty and Tom s sorrel had been covered with sand 
 and what straggling brush could be found, though the 
 coyotes would soon scratch them out again and hold 
 high jinks on the fallen steeds. 
 
 Wichard, the guide and scout, who could read "Indian 
 signs" better than any white man in the territory, had 
 declared that two tribes, hostile to each other, had had a 
 tilt here on this spot. He went so far as to say that the 
 two mail riders had been attacked by the Coyoteres, while 
 these in turn had been "jumped" by the Mescalero 
 Apaches. 
 
THE COLONEL S YOUNG WIFE 131 
 
 To the doctor had fallen the lot to break the news of 
 his young wife s straying from camp to the Colonel. 
 His brown cheek grew ashen while he listened, and the 
 officer he had left in command hastened to tell of the ex 
 pedition sent out early in the morning, adding that every 
 enlisted man, as well as every officer in the garrison, 
 had begged permission to join the column which would 
 doubtless leave Fort Greengate at daybreak tomorrow. 
 
 "Tell them that I thank them all," he said huskily, 
 "and that I shall need some of them tomorrow." But 
 when he reached his quarters he hunted keenly for any 
 note or scrap of writing which his young wife might 
 have left, in spite of what the doctor had said about her 
 going away in the delirium of fever. While so engaged 
 Wichard, the guide, came to report to him the conclu 
 sion he had arrived at since seeing Murphy on his re 
 turn. He said positively that the man s life had been 
 saved by the Mescaleros, who had come up to the Coyo- 
 teres with hostile intent. As the friendly Mescaleros were 
 among the best governed of all Apache tribes, while the 
 Coyoteres were vagrant, as well as hostile, it was quite 
 probable that the Colonel s lady, as well as Sergeant 
 Brown and his little band, were perfectly safe; for the 
 Coyoteres, so lately punished, would not take the war 
 path again in the near future. 
 
 There was reason in what the scout said the Colonel 
 knew it; and after the doctor and some of the officers 
 had come to bid their commander good night, the 
 wearied man sought and found an hour s repose before 
 the expedition started out. Leaving camp before sun 
 rise, the cool air fanning his aching brow, the sorely- 
 tried man strove to assume a look of cheerfulness, trust- 
 
132 JOSEPHINE CLIFFORD McCRACKIN 
 
 ing to a kind Providence that this feeling might grow in 
 his heart apace. Wichard and one of the junior Lieuten 
 ants were in advance of the column, and the Colonel knew 
 that no "sign" would be overlooked; and involuntarily 
 he relapsed into the painful thoughts he had tried so 
 hard to banish. Why had she gone? Where had she 
 gone? To think of her wandering over this dry, cactus- 
 strewn plain, sick and delirious, perishing of thirst, and 
 no one near to hear her pitiful cry for water. Or, per 
 haps well, his conscience was clear, he told himself, but 
 she, foolish child had she really loved him? He would 
 do justice, he vowed to himself in this dread hour, even 
 though it broke his heart, if only he could find her safe 
 and unharmed. 
 
 He drew a deep breath had his vow been heard? His 
 prayer answered? 
 
 An irrepressible commotion ran through the ranks as 
 Wichard was seen to throw up his arm suddenly, and the 
 Lieutenant whipped out his field glass. The Colonel was 
 beside them in an instant, and almost simultaneously a 
 shout went up from a hundred throats, a shout that was 
 against all rules and regulations, but for which their 
 commander never took his soldiers to task. A shout in 
 answer, weaker by a good many lungs, but just as detri 
 mental to discipline, rang back on the air, and pretty 
 soon Sergeant Brown, waving a lady s hat, instead of his 
 own, disintegrated himself from a whirl of dust, Indians, 
 cavalry men and a mass of wildly-plunging horses, and 
 approached the Colonel, who had galloped forward to 
 meet him. 
 
 "She s safe, Colonel !" Another serious offense against 
 etiquette and discipline, but no one noticed it, and the 
 
THE COLONEL S YOUNG WIFE 133 
 
 Colonel clasped his hands for the second as in silent 
 prayer, and then the men cheered their comrade and the 
 news he brought. 
 
 While a halt was ordered, and the soldiers dismounted, 
 the Sergeant reported that toward sundown yesterday 
 they had met three Indians, who had waved a white flag 
 and the madam s hat, in token of their peaceful mission. 
 They said they were Mescaleros, friendly to the whites, 
 and had a message from their chief to the Big Captain 
 of the white soldiers; that the wife of the Big Captain 
 was in their lodge ; that they were good Indians and 
 wanted the Great Father in Washington to know it. The 
 Sergeant, thinking it no harm to use a ruse de guerre in 
 order to reach the Colonel s wife, had intimated that he 
 himself was the Big Captain ; but the spokesman of the 
 Indians had pointed to the chevrons on the Sergeant s 
 arm and had drawn, with his finger, the shape of a 
 shoulderstrap, with the rude semblance of an eagle, on 
 the Sergeant s shoulder. 
 
 Wichard was called up to interpret, and he repeated 
 after the Indians what the Sergeant had already under 
 stood them to say, adding that they seemed anxious for 
 the Big Captain to meet their Chief. So the Sergeant 
 was sent back to the post with his men, and the long 
 column took up the line of march again. A hot, tiresome 
 march it was for man and beast alike; in the middle of 
 the day the torture of the scorching sun overhead and 
 the burning sand under foot, grew almost intolerable. 
 Many a canteen swung empty from the saddle, and many 
 a wistful look was sent in the direction of the Colonel, 
 who sat lost in thought on his jaded horse. At last 
 Wichard approached him to say that they were nearing 
 
134 JOSEPHINE CLIFFORD McCRACKIN 
 
 a water-hole in the low hills before them and that he had 
 convinced himself of the good faith of the Indians, so 
 that no ambush was to be feared. 
 
 "To be sure/ he said, in answer to the guide s ad 
 dress, "I have been miserably selfish to forget the men 
 and their horses." And the Lieutenant issued the wel 
 come order to halt and dismount when the water-hole 
 was reached. 
 
 After an hour s rest the march was resumed, and in 
 time the tents and wickiups of an Indian encampment 
 came in sight. It was easy enough to distinguish the 
 tent occupied by the chief, but when Wichard advanced 
 with the Colonel to act as interpreter, the Indian at the 
 entrance intimated that Colonel Tremayne must go in 
 alone. Without a moment s hesitation he entered, and 
 the blanket doing duty as tent-flap was dropped be 
 hind him. 
 
 Before him stood a tall, brown warrior, tricked out in 
 the finest of Indian finery a chief, beyond doubt, though 
 his head was bare of the eagle feathers which they wear 
 so proudly. For the length of a second they stood, look 
 ing eye into eye; then the Indian chief slowly stretched 
 out his hand and the other started back, thunderstruck. 
 
 "Branson!" he exclaimed. "You? Here?" 
 
 "You need not fear to touch my hand, Tremayne," said 
 the chief bitterly. "No white man s blood has ever sul 
 lied it. My Indian braves know that if they ever become 
 hostile to the whites, mine must be the first life they 
 take." 
 
 "No, indeed, old fellow, I was not afraid to take your 
 hand," protested the Colonel, seizing both and pressing 
 them. "I was simply startled out of my senses." 
 
THE COLONEL S YOUNG WIFE 135 
 
 "Let me tell you about your wife first/ the other went 
 on. "She is fast asleep in the next tent, and the old 
 squaw waiting on her says she must not be waked up out 
 of that sleep. But you may take just one look at her, 
 then return." 
 
 Eagerly enough the Colonel availed himself of the per 
 mission; and his heart throbbed hard and fast as he 
 looked upon the form of his wife, slumbering gently on 
 her couch of robes and blankets, while an old Indian 
 woman, crouched at her side, fanned the sleeper with 
 slow, steady motion. 
 
 "How can I ever thank you, Branson," he said, re 
 turning to the chief s presence. "Nor is it the first time 
 you have played providence for me, I believe ; it was you, 
 no doubt, who saved one of my men the other day." 
 
 "Yes, my tribe is on the war path against the Coy- 
 oteres, and we were hunting them when we came unex 
 pectedly on your two fellows too late to save the other 
 one." 
 
 "But, in the name of God, Branson, what are you doing 
 here, and how came you here ? You you committed sui 
 cide in New York harbor, from Fort Columbus before 
 the war was over; your body was found, if I remember 
 right." 
 
 "I was glad to hear of it," admitted the dead man. "It 
 was the fitting end for a man who had proved himself 
 a false friend, perfidious husband, recreant to his trust. 
 But I was not base enough to make the coward s plea 
 The woman tempted me ! I bore my disgrace as I had 
 borne my disappointment alone and in silence." 
 
 He leaned his elbows on the rude table, and buried his 
 face in his hands. 
 
136 JOSEPHINE CLIFFORD McCRACKIN 
 
 "Poor fellow" his friend said it with profound feel 
 ing. "Is there no way out of this trackless wilderness 
 back to a better life for you ?" 
 
 "None," came the answer, steady, but in muffled tones, 
 "as I have made my bed so must I lie upon it. May the 
 end of all things earthly come soon for me Amen! 
 Now let us speak of yourself," he continued, shaking off 
 the gloom that had settled on the two old friends. "Do 
 you know why your petite wife undertook that wild 
 ride?" 
 
 "She was sick " began the husband. 
 
 "Bah," said the other contemptuously. "Our army 
 surgeons are never asked in the course of their examina 
 tion, Cans t minister to a mind diseased/ " 
 
 "What can you mean?" The brave soldier trembled, 
 perhaps for the first time in his life. 
 
 The other handed him a paper he had taken from out 
 of a fur robe and bade him read it. "The old Indian 
 woman found it in your wife s clothing. I have read it, 
 and may be able to explain some things you do not un 
 derstand in the letter." 
 
 The letter was tear-stained and crumpled and written 
 in a cramped foreign-looking hand, and it read : 
 
 "You think yourself the wife of Colonel Tremayne, 
 poor little insignificant thing, of whom he used to speak 
 as one adoring him. To be sure you have played your 
 cards well. My Allan tells me he is not wealthy. I go 
 to Europe again to win wealth and fame and in that time 
 you throw over poor Lieutenant Tremayne and make 
 love to my husband. Take heed, I am on my way to 
 your garrison. I bring my marriage lines and I will dis 
 grace you. Go, fickle-hearted, false woman, go to kneel 
 
THE COLONEL S YOUNG WIFE 137 
 
 by the grave of poor Lieutenant Tremayne, who died 
 broken-hearted for you. I have seen his lonely, neg 
 lected grave, sunken in from the frosts of winter and the 
 thaws of spring; and water stands in the grave as if the 
 heavens had wept tears of sorrow over him who died of 
 your inconsistancy. Flee ere I reach Fort Greengate and 
 tear the mask off your face and assert my rights to the 
 place beside my husband. For this time only I sign my 
 self as 
 
 "BLANCA DE LA STRADA." 
 
 The Colonel could find no words in his bewilderment. 
 
 "But I was never married before," he protested. "Who 
 is this woman?" 
 
 "That I can tell you," answered his old comrade. "She 
 is an Italian, big black eyed, a singer of some note, with 
 whom your cousin was madly in love at one time, while 
 stationed in New York harbor during the war. That he 
 married her under your name and rank I have no doubt, 
 speaking of you, I presume, as the cousin Lieutenant. 
 That he persuaded her later to go on a trip to Europe, I 
 do not doubt either. Reckless as he might be, he knew 
 he could never bring that woman into army circles. I 
 can understand, too, how easy it was for her to trace 
 Colonel Tremayne, though I don t quite understand how 
 the scamp could have mentioned your little wife to her." 
 
 "My wife " began the Colonel, a little unsteadily, "is 
 so much younger than I am ; she knew my cousin." 
 
 "Ah, that accounts for it," interrupted the other, anx 
 ious to save his friend s feelings. "I never knew where 
 the fellow brought up. What does she know about his 
 grave? Where did he die?" 
 
138 JOSEPHINE CLIFFORD McCRACKIN 
 
 "He was assigned to Fort Riley at the close of the war, 
 grew disgracefully dissipated, was cashiered and shot 
 himself at Topeka." 
 
 "That is where this letter is from/ observed Branson. 
 "I presume the lady had gone to Fort Riley to locate 
 you. Can you not fancy Old Pike, who is in command, 
 giving information to this lady?" he asked with a grim 
 smile. 
 
 A troubled look sat on his old comrade s face. "How 
 shall I convince my wife?" he asked. "Just because she 
 is so perfectly unsophisticated herself she has taken all 
 these theatrical phases seriously and in earnest." 
 
 "Besides, there being some truth in the letter," Bran 
 son put in, perhaps because he wanted a just share of the 
 trouble laid on young Mrs. Tremayne s pretty shoulders. 
 "But you can explain at once," he continued, pointing 
 to the old woman who had stuck her head into the tent. 
 "Your wife is awake now." 
 
 A heart-rending cry was heard as the Colonel disap 
 peared in the tent, and the next moment his wife lay 
 weeping on his breast. 
 
 "Oh, my husband," she cried, "for you are my hus 
 band, are you not? You do not belong to that other 
 woman, do you?" 
 
 "Am I the man to fall in love with painted stage 
 queens, you foolish little girl?" he asked. 
 
 "But she knows your middle name," persisted poor 
 jealous little Elsie, "and you never would tell me what 
 the A* stood for in your name." 
 
 "My cousin s middle name was Allan not mine. Look 
 here," he said, drawing some papers from his breast 
 pocket and unfolding one for her to read. "A soldier s 
 
THE COLONEL S YOUNG WIFE 139 
 
 life is an uncertain one, and I have tried to provide for 
 my little wife s future in case of my death. What name 
 do you read there?" 
 
 "James Adam Tremayne ; but why would you not tell 
 me the name?" 
 
 "Adam is not a romantic name," he said shamefacedly, 
 "and I knew you would think it very commonplace." 
 
 She was laughing through her tears now, and declared 
 herself ready and anxious to go home at once. There 
 was a tap outside and on being admitted, Wichard said 
 the doctor had entrusted him with a bottle of medicine 
 for madam, in case she should become faint on the way 
 home. 
 
 "I ll take it, Wichard," she said merrily, "in place of 
 that nasty old draught he fixed for me the other night. I 
 distinctly remember knocking it out of the laundress* 
 hands, but she was afraid to tell the doctor." 
 
 As the medicine was port wine of the kind Uncle Sam 
 keeps in his apothecary, and as the cobwebs had all been 
 cleared out of the young wife s brain, it was more potent 
 in restoring health and cheerfulness than the dissipated 
 sleeping draught had been. 
 
 Since there was a late moon they started as soon as the 
 horses were sufficiently recruited, the Indian chief, with 
 a number of his tribe, escorting them. At daybreak they 
 parted, and Branson and Tremayne, who had ridden far 
 in advance of the column, clasped hands for the last time. 
 Wichard had scanned the chief closely, though Branson 
 had had the foresight to be the Indian chief again, even 
 to the headgear of eagles feathers and the paint on face 
 and forehead. No one knew what it cost the pseudo- 
 Indian to restrain the instinctive movement of head and 
 
140 JOSEPHINE CLIFFORD McCRACKIN 
 
 hand in passing his friend s wife; but he felt the eyes of the old 
 scout on him, and he only nodded as he passed along. 
 
 In the cool of the evening, just before retreat, they 
 saw the post before them alive with men waving their 
 hats and cheering till the echoes rang, and as the Colonel 
 uncovered his head to respond to their greeting, a tear 
 stood in his eye. There were men there whose locks 
 were already showing silver threads, while their faces 
 were young and their strength in its prime. They were 
 the men with whom he had stood shoulder to shoulder 
 in line of battle, when the roar of cannon and thick- 
 flying musket balls had made a hell around them, but 
 they had never flinched nor wavered. And these men 
 now gathered about their old commander and his young 
 wife greeting them as if the rules and regulations of the 
 Unites States army had never been written or revised. 
 
 Months later, a single Indian rode boldly into Fort 
 Greengate. He proved to be one of the three who were 
 bringing madam s riding hat as a peace pledge to the 
 camp that time. Wichard was on hand directly he 
 knew he should have to act as interpreter. The Indian 
 brought the tidings that their chief had died three suns 
 ago; the arrow of a treacherous Coyotero had laid him 
 in the dust, and he had been bidden by his chief long 
 since to announce his death to the Big Captain whenever 
 it should occur. 
 
 Wichard, the Colonel shrewdly suspected, was plying 
 the Indian with questions on his own account, in the 
 course of the interview, regarding their mysterious chief. 
 But the Indian was on his guard, and only the Colonel, 
 outside of his own braves, knew the secret of their dead 
 chief. 
 
THE END OF THE SONG 
 
 In the days of my youth in my soldiering days I 
 was accused of being both sentimental and romantic. 
 The recital of a touching incident could move me to tears, 
 and I always preferred a sad song to a gay one. Per 
 haps it was the streak of romance in my composition, 
 that made the idea of accompanying the command to 
 which the lieutenant was attached, so attractive. I car 
 ried it out, at least, and found the surroundings of Fort 
 Bayard, New Mexico, which the California troops had 
 been garrisoning till we arrived, as wildly romantic as 
 heart could wish. 
 
 Of the troops of Regular Cavalry, called "the Rifles" 
 more often than Third Cavalry, even as late as the close 
 of the Civil War, many of the Fifth Infantry, U. S. A., 
 marching with our command, most men were raw re 
 cruits. Out of the ranks of our own soldiers, we had been 
 allowed to pick three men, an orderly, a cook and a waiter, 
 which was very good for a simple lieutenant and his 
 wife ; but this was under the ancient order of things, and 
 out in the wilderness. And besides, I was the only lady 
 in camp, and there was no other white woman, except 
 the company laundress, for a hundred miles around. So 
 the commanding officer overlooked many things, which 
 would have been unfavorably passed upon under other 
 circumstances. 
 
 All of our three men were Germans, and I soon saw 
 that they would presume upon my being of German 
 birth, if not checked in time. That is, they laid all kinds 
 
142 JOSEPHINE CLIFFORD McCRACKIN 
 
 of requests and petitions before me, which were to be 
 insinuated to the lieutenant at a favorable opportunity. 
 One request they made, I granted at once. Among the 
 Infantry was one more German, a green one, just out 
 from the native heath, and not yet able to speak English. 
 The "dough-boys" treated this poor fellow rather too 
 roughly, they said; especially a big Irish sergeant, who 
 made life almost unbearable to the poor man. 
 
 Charlie Bochterle submitted this to me one day when 
 he came to clear off the table, though he was cook. 
 Pinkow repeated the tale when he brushed up around 
 the dining tent, a little later ; and Reichard, the orderly, 
 ventured on saying something about it to the lieutenant 
 himself. But the lieutenant had no right to interfere, 
 and wanted to know nothing about how they treated 
 recruits in the Infantry camp. However, I was cour 
 ageous as any soldier those days, and I surprised the 
 commanding officer one day by a request for an addi 
 tional man. There was a German among the Infantry 
 recruits, I told him, who knew all about raising vegeta 
 bles, and I was very anxious to procure seeds and have 
 a garden, for there was but little chance of a post-garden 
 being started in the near future. So permission was 
 given Mohrman to make himself useful in the Cavalry 
 camp, after he had drilled with the Infantry in their 
 camp. 
 
 The poor fellow was suffering with homesickness. I 
 never knew so heart-broken a man. I think he would 
 have died if he had not been allowed to hold communion 
 with our three men, who were the only Germans beside 
 himself. The commanding officer had other things to do 
 than watching to what use I had put the new man ; but 
 
THE END OF THE SONG 143 
 
 between the other three Dutchmen and myself, we gave 
 him employment enough to keep him on our side of the 
 camp. 
 
 For Fort Bayard was only a camp at that time. 
 Though it was said that these troops had been sent to 
 build the fort, it was really not built until later, when I 
 had already left New Mexico, and the army. At this 
 time, just after the war, the Indians had gained ground 
 all over the Territory, so that the miners and other white 
 settlers had pretty well abandoned it. The California 
 troops had had a brush with "poor Lo" more than once, 
 before we came here ; and the fight had always been over 
 Uncle Sam s cattle, which the Indians wanted the worst 
 way. At one time the herders had seen a number of men 
 with an officer ride up to inspect the cattle under their 
 care, so they thought, but when the officer threw up his 
 forage cap, there was an unearthly yell, and the men 
 turned out to be Apaches, and only one herder came 
 back to camp to tell the tale. At another time the horses 
 as well as the cattle were stampeded at night, and only 
 one dead horse was recovered by those sent in pursuit. 
 However, there was a larger force now, and we pro 
 posed to eat the army beef ourselves, for it was very 
 good. 
 
 Mohrman, who had marched with the command, com 
 posed of Infantry and Cavalry together, across the plains 
 from Fort Leavenworth, had not thrived on this little 
 walk. But the hardest labor required of him now was 
 to assist Charley in the cook tent sometimes; more fre 
 quently, however, he spent his time cleaning and brush 
 ing the lieutenant s clothes and looking after our sad 
 dles, mine more particularly, for it always seemed to 
 
144 JOSEPHINE CLIFFORD McCRACKIN 
 
 require some little attention. I had never realized what 
 a lot of clothes the lieutenant must have, judging by the 
 amount of cleaning that was necessary; but I fancy the 
 brass buttons of Mohrman s three comrades sometimes 
 needed polishing, too. 
 
 His favorite place was the space between the cook tent 
 and the two tents opening into each other, which served 
 us for quarters. The front tent represented dining room 
 and reception hall, and through this we passed into the 
 adjoining tent, which was sitting room and bedroom. 
 Intrenched here, between our cook tent and the living 
 tent, he was well out of sight and seemed perfectly con 
 tent, if not positively happy. 
 
 After a few days of this new life, I heard him occa 
 sionally sing snatches of German songs, under his breath, 
 as if in doubt of the suitableness of his proceeding. 
 After a few days more he sang a little louder, and then 
 one day, while polishing brass buttons for dear life, he 
 forgot all about his surroundings, I presume, and sang 
 out with his full voice, and his whole heart in the song. 
 
 I was in the tent, reading, and I kept as still as a 
 mouse, for he was singing something quite new to me. 
 It had always been a matter of pride with me, that I 
 knew every folk and soldier-song written in the German 
 language, from "Morgenroth" down to "Tanneboom, O 
 Tanneboom, wie grun sind deine Blatter!" But this was 
 something I had never heard before, and it was good; 
 even touching and tender, when it came to the end of the 
 song. There must have been sixteen verses of it, but I 
 should not have objected to twenty-six of them, for each 
 had the same refrain : 
 
THE END OF THE SONG 145 
 
 "Mein trenes Lieb 
 Mein trenes Lieb !" 
 
 The peculiarly sad, long-drawn notes of the North 
 German folk song in the first stanza, "My Own True 
 Love," seemed to intensify and grow more insistent in 
 the last cadence, "My Faithful Love." 
 
 The commanding officer had objected to my riding out 
 with the lieutenant, of late, as the Indians had become 
 troublesome in the neighboring country, and he could 
 not permit as many men to leave the camp as he 
 deemed necessary for our escort. There had been more 
 men detailed as herders of cattle and horses, since the 
 Apaches were known to be prowling around again. So 
 it came that I sat sewing or reading in the tent day after 
 day, listening to Mohrman s singing, and always wait 
 ing impatiently for my favorite song, which I was deter 
 mined to learn by merely listening to it. After retreat, I 
 could hear the men singing in their quarters, and they, 
 too, sang "Mein Trenes Leib, Mein Trenes Leib," each 
 of them, no doubt, thinking of some Gretchen or Kathe- 
 rine far away. 
 
 I feel quite sure I should have learned it in a short time 
 had not the listening lessons and the song had such a 
 sudden end. 
 
 The Apaches, one fine afternoon, did succeed in stam 
 peding the herd, and killing one herder. A detachment, 
 partly Cavalry, part Infantry, was hot in pursuit long 
 before the sun went down; and when the troops came 
 back next day, one man carried his saddle, for his horse 
 had been killed under him ; one man sat on his horse, 
 wounded, supported on either side by an Infantryman, 
 
146 JOSEPHINE CLIFFORD McCRACKIN 
 
 and one man never came back at all. That was Mohr- 
 man. But he was reported as missing, not killed. 
 
 The wounded man was sent to the hospital tent, a 
 fresh detail picked, and again the clatter of horses hoofs 
 and the tramp of men was heard, as the little command 
 started in search of the missing man. Early the next 
 morning they found him. He must have died of the 
 arrow still in his breast, on the night of the day he left 
 camp, but the coyotes had not molested the body, and 
 the poor fellow was brought in and given a soldier s 
 burial. Our three men, Charley, Pinkow and Reichard, 
 asked permission to sing at his grave, and as the place 
 of burial was not far away, I could hear it all, the muf 
 fled drum, the fife toned down somehow, to accord with 
 it, and later on the singing of poor Mohrman s comrades, 
 the song of the true love, the faithful love, waiting pa 
 tiently for his return. 
 
 From the hospital tent came the sobs of the wounded 
 man, it was not far off, and I remember thinking how 
 he was spending all his strength crying over Mohrman 
 and his song. As for me, I had thrown myself on my 
 bed, crying bitterly, though not so loudly as the wounded 
 soldier. I had my head in the pillows to choke my sobs ; 
 but the man in the hospital tent fairly howled at the end 
 of the song, at the end of the refrain borne on the breeze 
 to us again and again 
 
 "Mein trenes Lieb, 
 Mein trenes L,ieb !" 
 
DRUMS 
 
 That bright May day, months ago, while looking from 
 my window on the procession which had formed to 
 wreathe with flowers of remembrance the graves of 
 heroes fallen in the war of the rebellion, all sorts of queer 
 thoughts kept running riot in my head. They were 
 memories rather than thoughts, and were called into life 
 by the beat of the drum. 
 
 Not only that the martial music of the drums was such 
 that it might have aroused the fallen braves from their 
 gory beds, but the sound recalled to my mind other 
 drums I had heard, beaten in different localities and 
 under a variety of conditions. Those broad fields of 
 glory, the Soldiers Cemeteries, sprang up before my 
 eyes, and I heard again the fife and drum that led the sin 
 gle file of soldiers who bore a sleeping comrade to his 
 last repose. How many times, when out for an after 
 noon s drive in the vicinity of St. Louis, during the dark 
 days of Civil War, did we meet such a cortege 
 impressive from its very simplicity. But of the poig 
 nancy of grief and the depths of sorrow which these lit 
 tle squeaking fifes, accompanied by the beat of muffled 
 drums, will express, no one can have any idea, unless he 
 has heard for himself. 
 
 How differently the drums, unmuffled, and in resonant 
 tones, sounded when heading a new regiment that passed 
 through the streets on their way from Benton Barracks 
 to their first battlefield. Clear and sharp the fifes piped 
 out their shrill notes, and the drummer boys lustily beat 
 
148 JOSEPHINE CLIFFORD McCRACKIN 
 
 their drums, as if they had no thought for the bullets that 
 would soon whistle about their ears, and lay them low 
 on the field. The most striking object in a photograph of 
 the Antietam battlefield, taken soon after that fierce 
 fight, was the lifeless form of a drummer boy, amid the 
 slain, his poor dead arms still bent as if holding the drum 
 sticks his drum, broken, lying a stone s throw away. 
 
 With what deafening rattle the innumerable drums 
 were beaten in the grand parade at the close of the war, 
 in Washington, when Sherman s "bummers" the bona 
 fide article brought up the rear of that almost endless 
 cavalcade ! Darkies and bummers, mixed, riding or driv 
 ing before them mules and donkeys, on which were 
 perched live specimens out of Noah s Ark, from a rac 
 coon to a Thomas cat! Such screeching of parrots and 
 crowing of game cocks, such bleating of young lambs 
 and chattering of old monkeys, were never heard before 
 nor since. They were all war trophies, and so many 
 proofs that the drummer boy had "beaten" his way 
 through the South with success. 
 
 No beating of drums ever excited the same feeling as 
 the sound of the "long roll" through the streets of Wash 
 ington on the night of Lincoln s assassination. To those 
 who were already asleep when the news of the tragedy 
 became known which it did about two minutes after the 
 dread deed had been done the sudden alarm must have 
 been fearfully startling. Even to myself, who happened 
 to be only a block or two away from Ford s Theater, one 
 of a numerous party, this sounding of the general alarm 
 had something terrifying, though apprised of the mur 
 der a moment before by a bare-headed, wild-eyed indi 
 vidual, who rushed into the house, and threw open the 
 
DRUMS US 
 
 parlor doors without the ceremony of knocking or asking 
 permission to enter. 
 
 A hollow mockery is the drumming of the little band 
 at the head of recruits or regular soldiery on the march 
 to a frontier post. Wearily they plod along through 
 sand, dust, or mud, with the rain pouring or the sun blaz 
 ing down on their drooping heads. Pretty soon a village 
 or settlement comes into sight, and instantly the noisy 
 taps of the drum sticks and the ear-splitting squeals of 
 the fife seem frantically to assert and insist that "there s 
 nothing half so funny, nor so full of harmless glee, as the 
 roving joyous life of a bold soldier boy." 
 
 Entirely different these same drums sound when the 
 post or the camp has been reached, and the brisk tattoo 
 seems to say, "Well, we re in an Indian country, and 
 we ve all got scalps to lose, but we ll keep a sharp look 
 out for Lo by day and by night." "Taps" have a more 
 quieting, reassuring sound; they say, "All safe, lights 
 out; good night." In the morning when the sun rides 
 high above the mountain that looks down on the plain, 
 and guard mount goes forward in camp, the drums seem 
 to call out volubly to the rugged heights, "We re all here 
 yet, and we all mean to stay, though a soldier s life in 
 these parts is not so very gay." 
 
 What sort of a noise the drum makes when it sounds 
 the call for battle when fighting begins in earnest, I don t 
 know ; I never made strenuous efforts to get near enough 
 to learn. As a fear-inspiring instrument, the drum may 
 be named when in the hands of a small boy, about Christ 
 mas time. 
 
 One of the finest poems of its kind in our literature is 
 Bret Harte s "Reveille," and in that he gives the roll of 
 
150 JOSEPHINE CLIFFORD McCRACKIN 
 
 the drums as forcefully as Poe gives the jingle and 
 clangor of the bells in his immortal poem, "The Bells." 
 
 Hark ! I hear the tramp of thousands, 
 
 And of armed men the hum; 
 Lo ! a nation s hosts have gathered 
 Round the quick alarming drum, 
 Saying, "Come, 
 Freeman, come! 
 
 Ere your heritage be wasted," said the quick 
 alarming drum. 
 
 "Let me of my heart take counsel : 
 
 War is not of life the sum ; 
 Who shall stay and reap the harvest 
 When the autumn days shall come?" 
 But the drum 
 Echoed, "Come! 
 
 Death shall reap the braver harvest," said the 
 solemn-sounding drum. 
 
 "But when won the coming battle, 
 
 What of profit springs therefrom? 
 What if conquest, subjugation, 
 Even greater ills become?" 
 But the drum 
 Answered, "Come! 
 
 You must do the sum to prove it," said the 
 Yankee-answering drum. 
 
 "What if, mid the cannons thunder, 
 Whistling shot and bursting bomb, 
 When my brothers fall around me, 
 
 Should my heart grow cold and dumb?" 
 But the drum 
 Answered, "Come! 
 
 Better there in death united, than in life a 
 recreant, come !" 
 
 Thus they answered, hoping, fearing; 
 
 Some in faith, and doubting some, 
 Till a trumpet-like voice proclaiming, 
 Said, "My chosen people, come!" 
 Then the drum, 
 Lo! was dumb, 
 For the great heart of the nation, throbbing, 
 
 answered, "Lord, we come!" 
 
 From Bret Harte s Poems, by Permission of Houghton, Mifflin 
 & Co. 
 
DRUMS 151 
 
 The drum, as an educator, is spoken of by Heine in his 
 Book le Grand. 
 
 "Parbleu!" he says, "how much do I not owe to the 
 French drummer who was quartered at our house; who 
 looked like a devil, but was good as an angel at heart, 
 and beat the drum so excellently well. It was a small, 
 mobile figure, with a terrible black mustache, from 
 under which the red lips pouted fiercely, while the black 
 eyes darted hither and thither. Little boy that I was, I 
 stuck to him like a burr, helped him to brighten his but 
 tons till they shone like mirrors, to whiten his vest with 
 chalk for Monsier le Grand was anxious to please 
 and followed him to the parade and guard-mount. There 
 was nothing then but glitter of arms and merriment 
 les jours de fetes sont passes. Monsieur le Grand knew 
 but little broken German, only the principal expressions 
 bread/ kiss/ honor ; but he could make himself very 
 well understood on his drum. If, for instance, I did not 
 know what the word liberte meant, he beat the Mar 
 seillaise/ and I understood him. Did I not know the 
 meaning of the word egalite/ he played the march, 
 Ca ira ! ca ira ! Les aristocrats a la lanterne/ and I com 
 prehended. 
 
 "Once he wanted to explain to me the word T Alle- 
 magne/ and he drummed that all too primitive tune 
 which we hear at country fairs, where they have trained 
 bears to perform, Dum, dum, dum/ It made me mad, 
 but I understood him. * * I speak of the palace gar 
 den at Dusseldorf, where I often lay on the grass and 
 listened devoutly when Monsieur le Grand told of the 
 deeds of war of the great Emperor, beating the marches 
 which were drummed during those actions, so that I 
 
152 JOSEPHINE CLIFFORD McCRACKIN 
 
 vividly saw and heard it all. I saw the passage over the 
 Simplon, the Emperor in front, behind him climbing 
 the brave Grenadiers, while the startled birds croaked 
 overhead, and the glaciers thundered in the distance; 
 I saw the Emperor in his gray cloak at Marengo ; I saw 
 the Emperor on his horse at the battle by the Pyramids 
 nothing but powder, smoke, and Mamelukes there; I 
 saw the Emperor at the battle of Austerlitz. Hui! how 
 the bullets whistled over the smooth ice plane. I saw, 
 I heard the battle at Jena dum, dum, dum; I saw, I 
 heard the battle of Eilau, Wagram but really, I could 
 hardly bear it any more. Monsieur le Grand drummed 
 so that my own tympanum was almost destroyed. 
 
 "While seated on the old bench in the palace garden, 
 dreaming myself back into the past, I heard confused 
 voices behind me, deploring the hard fate of the poor 
 Frenchmen who had been dragged, during the Russian 
 war, to Siberia, and held there as prisoners for years, 
 although peace had been proclaimed, and who were only 
 now returning home. When I looked around I saw 
 them, these orphan children of glory. Through the rents 
 of their tattered uniforms peered naked misery; in their 
 weather-shrunk faces lay sad, deep-sunken eyes; and, 
 though maimed, limping and feeble, they still kept up a 
 kind of military gait, and, strangely enough, a drummer 
 with his drum staggered along at their head. With a 
 secret shudder, I remembered the story of the soldiers 
 who fell in battle during the day, rose up again at night, 
 and, with the drummer at their head, marched toward 
 their native town. 
 
 "Truly, this poor French drummer seemed to have 
 climbed, half decayed, out of his grave; it was only a 
 
DRUMS 153 
 
 shrunken gray shadow, in a dirty, torn capote, a deceased 
 yellow face with a huge mustache, which hung deject 
 edly down over his shriveled lips. The eyes were like 
 blackened tinder, in which gleamed but a few remaining 
 sparks; but by a single one of these sparks did I recog 
 nize Monsieur le Grand. He recognized me, too, and 
 drew me down on the grass beside him, and there we sat 
 again, as in former times, when he taught me French 
 and modern history on his drum. It was still the old 
 familiar drum, and I could not wonder enough how he 
 had protected it from the Russian grasp. He drummed 
 again, as he used to, only without speaking. But if his 
 lips were closely silent, his eyes spoke all the more, light 
 ing up victoriously as he played the old marches. The 
 poplars beside us trembled as the red Guillotine March 
 resounded. The struggles for liberty, the old battles, all 
 the mighty deeds of the Emperor he drummed as of yore, 
 and the drum seemed to become a sentient being, glad of 
 the chance to express its inward delight. 
 
 "I heard again the thunder of the cannons, the whis 
 tling of the bullets, the din of battle; I saw again the 
 death bravery of the Guards, the fluttering of the ban 
 ners, the Emperor on his horse ; but a sad tone gradually 
 crept into the most exultant roll. From the drum there 
 came sounds in which the wildest joy and the deepest 
 mourning were strangely mingled ; it was a march of vic 
 tory and a funeral march at once. Le Grand s eyes were 
 ghostly wide open, and in them I saw nothing but a 
 white field of ice and snow, covered with the dead; that 
 was the Battle of Moscow/ 
 
 "I had never thought that the old, hard drum could 
 yield such wailing notes as Monsieur le Grand now drew 
 
154 JOSEPHINE CLIFFORD McCRACKIN 
 
 from it. They were beaten tears, and they sounded 
 softer and softer, and, like a dull echo, broke the sighs 
 from Le Grand s breast. And he himself grew weaker 
 and more ghost-like; his withered hands trembled with 
 the cold, he sat as in a dream, only stirring the air with 
 his drum sticks, and seemed to listen to voices afar off; 
 and at last he looked at me with a deep abyss-deep 
 imploring look. I understood him ; and then his head fell 
 on his drum. 
 
 "Monsieur le Grand never beat a drum again in this 
 life. Nor did his drum ever more utter sound. It should 
 serve no foe of freedom for a slavish tattoo. I had very 
 well understood the last imploring look of Le Grand. I 
 drew the sword from my cane and thrust it through the 
 drum at once/ 1 
 
PENITENCIA 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 "Morgen muss ich fort von hier, 
 Und muss Abschied nehmen." 
 
 Altes Lied. 
 
 The clank of spurs fell on the listener s ear, and she 
 cast a furtive look out of the window. Two figures were 
 crossing the parade-ground, but neither was the form for 
 which she had been watching. 
 
 One was Major Wharton, militaire in looks and bear 
 ing, grizzled, florid, sharp of eye. The other, whose uni 
 form and shoulder-straps designated him lieutenant, and 
 whose sash, crossing the breast from the right shoulder 
 to the left hip, proclaimed him officer of the day, was 
 senior lieutenant of B Troop, Captain Cushing s Com 
 pany. His head was bowed and his eyes bent to the 
 ground, or we should have seen that they were quiet and 
 determined in expression, with a shadow of regret lying 
 in their dark-grey depths. 
 
 He towered half a head above his commanding officer, 
 and his carriage was soldierly though not elegant. 
 Thick, short-cut, reddish-brown hair and a heavy mus 
 tache of the same color did not add to his beauty, though 
 it finished the look of character that distinguished him. 
 
 The woman who watched gave but one look, then 
 swiftly retreated from the window. It was evident she 
 did not want to be seen any more than the others wanted 
 to see her, and the wave of red that had covered her face 
 a moment, swept by without being seen by any eye. But 
 
156 JOSEPHINE CLIFFORD McCRACKIN 
 
 a few minutes had passed, however, till she crept to the 
 window again, and this time her expectations were real 
 ized more than realized, if any one might judge from 
 the quick gesture with which she threw up her clasped 
 hands, only to let them drop again as in despair. 
 
 "Under guard !" she said below her breath. "Then the 
 sentence is dismissal from service and Guilty as 
 charged/ " 
 
 These two figures had now reached Captain Cushing s 
 quarters, and while the soldier saluted his superior, the 
 captain entered the room, to meet the blazing eyes and 
 contemptuous frown of his wife. He shrank within 
 himself and tried to set his soft, round chin and irreso 
 lute mouth into firmer folds. 
 
 "The court-martial has closed its sessions, I see; and 
 you know in advance what the sentence will be?" she 
 asked, while her quivering nostrils belied the unnatur 
 ally quiet tone of her voice. 
 
 Her husband had not succeeded in nerving himself for 
 the struggle, and he blurted out like a school-boy, 
 whipped and defiant: 
 
 "Cashiered, by G d, as I knew I should be, the mo 
 ment I saw the fellows of the 108th come into camp and 
 with young Richards as judge advocate. They all hate 
 me, and I knew they would crowd me into a corner and 
 jump on me. * 
 
 "It is not true!" she cried indignantly, "every officer 
 on the detail was friendly to you, and would have ac 
 quitted you of every charge if it had been possible." 
 . He had sunk into a seat and seemed ready to give way 
 to a burst of anguish. 
 
PENITENCIA 157 
 
 "Geraldine," he entreated, "the sentence, you know, 
 goes to the War Department first. Your father had so 
 many friends in Washington " 
 
 She did not let him finish the sentence. "None of 
 them will intercede for a forger, a falsifier of records, 
 depend on it; and I would not ask them." She drew 
 herself up, a queenly figure, dark eyes flashing under 
 clear-marked brows, a mass of blue-black hair resting 
 like a coronet on her well-poised head. At her refusal 
 the ruffian-element asserted itself in the quaking creature 
 before her, and with a coarse oath he laughed bitterly : 
 
 "You were h 1 bent on marrying an army officer, and 
 you got him." 
 
 "My father s daughter might have expected at least to 
 marry a gentleman," she flung back at him tempestuous 
 ly. "Poverty I would have shared with you ; misfortune 
 I would have helped you to overcome, but disgrace you 
 must bear alone as best you can." 
 
 Turning sharply she swept out of the room, snatched 
 up a hat and hurried along the row till she reached the 
 quarters of Major Wharton, who rose quickly on her ap 
 proach and threw wide the door to admit her. 
 
 "My poor child," he said gently, "come let me take 
 you to Mrs. Wharton." 
 
 "No, no !" she implored, "not now, Major ; you know I 
 cannot bear to be pitied. I want to speak to no one but 
 you of this disgraceful affair; help me, I beg of you, to 
 get away from here before the sentence comes back from 
 Washington, approved." 
 
 "Where will you go? What will you do? Are you not 
 again acting hastily? Your father is dead " 
 
158 JOSEPHINE CLIFFORD McCRACKIN 
 
 "Thank God he didn t live till now," she murmured. 
 Then she broke out passionately, "Am I to wait till Ran 
 dall is drummed out of camp ? I know him now and will 
 not take that risk. No ; let me go tomorrow, at daybreak, 
 before the other ladies are astir. My plans are made. I 
 go to California, to Cousin Ella, and from her house to 
 any place where I can earn a living for myself." 
 
 "Has it come to that?" asked the Major in surprise. 
 "Has Cushing run through with everything?" 
 
 "Lost it at the gaming table before we left Washing 
 ton," she affirmed quietly. 
 
 "How fortunate that you are so immensely clever," 
 the Major said, after a moment s pause. "You can turn 
 your musical talent to account now, or you can teach 
 languages or drawing and painting. Your father was so 
 proud of your talents and accomplishments." 
 
 "But he never dreamed that I should have to seek a 
 livelihood by them," she interrupted bitterly. 
 
 "It will not be so hard for you in Los Angeles, where 
 there are still friends of your father s," the Major said 
 soothingly. 
 
 "Ella is no longer there; they have removed farther 
 north." 
 
 "Then you will find at least her and her good husband 
 in a new place," continued the kindly old man, deter 
 mined to place things in the best possible light for her. 
 
 The notes of the bugle came gaily in the window at 
 this moment, sounding garrison signal; and directly a 
 merry, rollicking drum or two joined in the call. The 
 stamping and whinnying of horses struck into the 
 clamor, and then the sharp, short order of some sergeant 
 
PENITENCIA 159 
 
 seemed to direct affairs to their proper routine and set 
 tlement. 
 
 Once more the tall lieutenant, with the sash across his 
 breast, passed over the parade ground ; but perhaps Ger- 
 aldine had not seen him, for her hands were clasped to 
 her face. 
 
 "For the last time," she said sadly, "tomorrow I shall 
 be far away, and never again will I hear drum or bugle 
 never again mount Black Prince for a gallop over the 
 plain. What will become of the horse? Do not leave 
 him in Cushing s hands he will beat him to death out of 
 hatred for me!" Her fortitude gave away at last and 
 she sobbed aloud. 
 
 "Why not let me sell him to Winstead before you go?" 
 asked the Major; and with a startled look in the direction 
 where the tall lieutenant had passed out of sight, she an 
 swered, hastily: 
 
 "Let him try the horse tomorrow on the scout which 
 his troop is to make; but let me now know that I will 
 be on my way to the railroad before they return." 
 
 "So be it," the Major agreed, and then the details were 
 settled for the morrow, upon which she was to leave 
 Fort Hardinge and the army. 
 
 Before the ambulance, which was to bear her off, 
 drew up at the quarters, Geraldine had seen B Troop, 
 with Lieutenant Winstead on Black Prince, start out on 
 the scout. She was already in traveling costume, and 
 she drew down her veil as if he could have seen the tear- 
 stained face at this distance. Tierney, the driver of the 
 ambulance, had orders to stop at Major Wharton s quar 
 ters. While Mrs. Wharton hastened out to embrace 
 Geraldine and comfort her, Mammy Kedgwick, a contra- 
 
160 JOSEPHINE CLIFFORD McCRACKIN 
 
 band relic of the Civil War which had not long been 
 over at this time stowed away a number of bundles and 
 packages under Tierney s direction, in the ambulance. 
 
 The other ladies had all sent the most loving message, 
 and poor Geraldine sobbed out her thanks that they had 
 not come to look upon her in her grief. Alas! She, 
 the imperious, self-willed, but warm-hearted beauty of 
 the little frontier garrison, to pass thus from the scene 
 of her triumphs and her happiness. Then the ambu 
 lance, drawn by six stout mules, dashed off as lightly as 
 though the heaviest heart under the morning sun had 
 not been its burden. As they passed out of the post, 
 Geraldine saw how well the Major had provided for her 
 safety an escort of twelve mounted men would conduct 
 her to the nearest railway depot. 
 
 An early halt was made that evening at a little 
 Government station, kept, as usual, by a discharged sol 
 dier, and she still had the same sense of safety, of exclu- 
 siveness, perhaps, which seems to exist within the circle 
 drawn by an invisible cordon around Uncle Sam s army 
 and every one belonging to it. But next day, when the 
 line of the railroad was reached, and the train came rum 
 bling up, Geraldine realized that she was alone in the 
 world, and no longer "of the army." She kept up a brave 
 front, though, and when the sergeant saluted as she 
 stepped from the ambulance to board the train, she spoke 
 with her steadiest voice. 
 
 "Present my compliments to Mrs. Wharton and the 
 other ladies, when you return to the post, sergeant; and 
 I thank you and your men for all your kindness and at 
 tention on the journey." 
 
PENITENCIA 161 
 
 Then she sat through the next hours as in a dream, 
 and when she knew that stable call, water call, feed call 
 had gone, she looked out over the desolate landscape, 
 with so hopeless a face that the conductor, thinking to 
 cheer a homesick traveler, attempted to point out some 
 object of interest to her. The unconscious mingling of 
 bewilderment and resentment which her face suddenly 
 expressed, induced him to forego his benevolent inten 
 tion, and he allowed her to remain in her intrenchment 
 of solitary hauteur for the rest of the trip. 
 
CHAPTER II. 
 
 "Jaehes Hoffen das immer irnmer, 
 Schluchzend erstirbt in der Thranen Thau." 
 
 Resa. 
 
 The little inland city to which Cousin Ella had moved, 
 was known, late in the sixties and early in the seventies, 
 to the pleasure-loving element, consisting of opulent 
 Americans, who followed in the footsteps of the vanish 
 ing Spaniard, so far as love for sumptuous feasts, fine 
 horses, and general enjoyment was concerned. Business 
 was left to those who had still their way and their dollars 
 to make; the wealthy class lived simply to enjoy 
 what no other State in the Union offered; cloud 
 less, balmy days in the depths of winter, landscapes in 
 which the wonderful and the beautiful were strangely 
 blended, and where there were verdure and fragrance 
 from the valley to the seacoast, at all seasons. 
 
 A picnic had been arranged in honor of Geraldine s 
 arrival, though, truth to tell, she was in anything rather 
 than festive mood. The most intimate friend of Cousin 
 Tom, a Mr. Hollis, who drove the finest team in the 
 whole procession, had been entrusted with the guest of 
 honor, partly, perhaps, because he claimed this conces 
 sion as being the eldest among the men. The dapple- 
 grays he drove had been reared on his ranch, where many 
 fine horses were bred. Not that the Hollis lived on this 
 ranch of theirs, however. Not by any means; he lived 
 anywhere and everywhere ; she lived all the year in Paris, 
 and their friends said they lived very happily apart. 
 
PENITENCIA 163 
 
 Ella and her jolly husband had charged Mr. Hollis to 
 do all he could to rouse "poor Jerry" up to something 
 like life she was so dreadfully unhappy and homesick. 
 She did indeed look pale and sad, but her face brightened 
 as she watched the dapple grays. Her companion in the 
 meantime watched her. 
 
 "You are fond of horses, Mrs. Gushing?" 
 
 "Am I ?" she asked in reply ; " did we not belong to the 
 cavalry?" Then her face fell, as she heaved a weary 
 sigh. 
 
 "Are you still homesick for that desolate frontier out 
 post on the bleak, dreary windswept plain?" he asked. 
 
 She was up and in arms at once. "But it is not dreary 
 anywhere, when you are in the army; it is lonely and 
 desolate here, though. How can it be lonesome at the 
 smallest frontier post with the call of the bugle, the beat 
 ing of the drum and the tramp of soldiers all day long. 
 If I had been offered a fortune to quit all I held dear in 
 life, I should have rejected it ; and now now I must live 
 all my days among uncongenial surroundings, to earn 
 just my daily bread." 
 
 "Poor child." He said it with deeper compassion than 
 perhaps he had ever felt before, but it was well she did 
 not see the dangerous warmth that crept into the usually 
 cold eyes of the man beside her. 
 
 "Surely Ella and Tom are kind to you, are they not?" 
 he asked. 
 
 "Kind!" she echoed. "They are self-forgetful in their 
 kindness and I often wish they were harsh to me, so that 
 I might fly into one of my fits of passion and forget my 
 misery a little while." 
 
164 JOSEPHINE CLIFFORD McCRACKIN 
 
 "In other words," he put in, smiling, "the greatest 
 kindness one could show you now, would be unkind- 
 ness." 
 
 "Exactly," she laughed. "Come to think of it, though, 
 I got, the other day, what I asked for. At my request 
 Ella has told her friends of my desire to obtain pupils, 
 or a position in some school; and Mrs. Bingham, who 
 once lived in Los Angeles, called the other day, and I 
 was introduced. She eyed me all over, and then said con 
 descendingly : "This is the one that is looking for 
 pupils; it is?" Of course, we all know she was once a 
 wash-woman, but she has money now. Without winc 
 ing, I replied that I could teach music, drawing or the 
 languages, and Mrs. Bingham went on to say that she 
 understood we had once lived in Los Angeles, in the 
 neighborhood of the old Cathedral, but she thought no 
 really nice people had ever lived there. I said that re 
 tired army officers were glad to live anywhere outside of 
 the poor house, and before I could draw breath again 
 she asked me to play something for her. Chopin s Noc 
 turne was on the piano, and you can fancy how I played 
 it with my shaking fingers; and I did not dispute her 
 opinion when she said it was evident that my taste in 
 music had grown a little rusty. Perhaps Uncle Sam did 
 not furnish army ladies with pianos, she said, and I an 
 swered that the quartermaster department objected to 
 sending out costly instruments to any post beyond the 
 Raton Mountains, as they could not well be packed on 
 mule-back, and that was the only means of transpor 
 tation now." 
 
 Mr. Hollis laughed. "Mrs. Bingham is coming here 
 today ; will there be a renewal of hostilities ?" 
 
PENITENCIA 165 
 
 "Quien sabe ? I am always ready for a brush with the 
 enemy. My father used to say, Jerry is a soldier s child ; 
 and to thank poor papa, I learned to play Soldaten-Kind 
 for him on the piano, as soon as I was old enough to ap 
 preciate his defense of my shortcomings and my failings 
 of temper. 1 
 
 As the dapple grays had made several little detours, 
 the arrangements for lunch were well under way when 
 they reached the picnic grounds. The younger ladies, 
 the working bees, as Mr. Hollis styled them, were all 
 busy, and some had already blackened fingers and heated 
 faces to show for their work ; while some of the gentle 
 men were charged with having used profanity when the 
 cork-screw would not work with the promptness and 
 celerity inherent in this little instrument when manipu 
 lated by Californian fingers. 
 
 Geraldine, as guest of honor, was not classed with the 
 working bees, so the severity of her plain black dress 
 was not even relieved by a little apron. But "poor 
 Jerry" felt as grand in her simple frock as did Mrs. Bing- 
 ham in her fashion-plate apparel; and Mr. Hollis knew 
 that there would be a renewal of hostilities when he 
 caught the sniff of disdain with which Mrs. Bingham 
 allowed a platter of sandwiches to pass, from which 
 Geraldine had selected one spread with cold ham. 
 
 "I am surprised to see Mrs. Gushing ready to eat a 
 plain ham sandwich," she snickered in her unpleasantly 
 nasal tones. "For I thought army belles lived on ice 
 cream and caramels only." 
 
 "Dainty creatures " assented Geraldine, laughingly. 
 "No," she continued with sudden inspiration, "it s very 
 
166 JOSEPHINE CLIFFORD McCRACKIN 
 
 little ice cream they get, though an occasional box of 
 caramels does reach us." 
 
 "Perhaps the quartermaster does not furnish ice cream 
 when it has to be packed on mule-back over the moun 
 tain passes," the other lady observed loftily. 
 
 "It is not the quartermaster s business at all," said 
 Jerry, looking wise and sober, "but the commissary 
 trains that are sent out to the frontier posts with these 
 delicacies, are regularly waylaid at Fort Riley, and the 
 commanding officer there as regularly confiscates the ice 
 cream under the shabby excuse that the hospital steward 
 needs it for the sick soldiers. So that army belles are 
 glad enough to get bacon and hard tack to eat, though 
 to be sure, the bacon is much finer than the richest peo 
 ple could buy outside the army." And the little, milk- 
 white teeth dug themselves into the despised ham 
 sandwich with much apparent relish, while Cousin Ella 
 quickly found some other topic of conversation. 
 
 There was much animation displayed in a friendly 
 contest over the absorption of the largest quantity of 
 lunch, and while the younger ladies refilled coffee cups, 
 the gentlemen were re-enforced as to bottles by the most 
 experienced of their number. And while ladies were flit 
 ting back and forth, the gentlemen rising and subsiding, 
 no one noticed that Mrs. Cushing had left the circle. 
 Cousin Ella alone missed her, and she tried vainly to 
 catch her husband s eye, but Tom Borden, the thumb 
 of one hand in the armhole of his vest, was holding his 
 wine glass up before his eye with the other, and she 
 knew that if she aimed a bread-ball at him, he would ask 
 out aloud: "What is it, dear?" 
 
PENITENCIA 167 
 
 Her eyes wandered around the board till Mr. Hollis 
 met and held them. He understood her appeal, slowly 
 arose and w r hile wandering away deliberately lighted a 
 cigar, which he threw away as quick as he got out of 
 sight of preying eyes. Then he made his way to where 
 he heard a little stream purling and singing on its way 
 over the rocky bed, and he had not long to look for the 
 object of his search. In an attitude by no means ex 
 pressing triumph or defiance, with bowed head laid 
 against a rock, and arms clasped above it, it was rather 
 the pose of a Magdalen, in which he found her. He had 
 an opportunity of studying the lines of the motionless 
 form, and the beauty of the head with its wealth of dusk 
 hair, dressed low in the neck today, in a heavy, wavy 
 coil. The whole shape was mirrored in a clear pool, and 
 Mr. Hollis, anxious to obey Cousin Ella s unspoken be 
 hest, to bring Jerry back at once, made a little pebble to 
 crunch under his foot, so that Geraldine believed he had 
 only just come. She raised her head and looked at him 
 with startled eyes. 
 
 "What?" laughed Hollis, "in an attitude of penitence 
 and regret after having routed the enemy with eclat." 
 
 "The attitude in which the rest of my days will be 
 spent, then." The light and sparkle had gone out of her 
 eyes and her face was pale. 
 
 "And you have left the gay world as represented by 
 the picnic crowd, to enter on this life of penitence at 
 once, here where the w r aters of the Penitencia flow." 
 
 "Is that the name of this little stream?" she asked. 
 
 "Yes," he assented, glad to have roused her from her 
 apathy, "it is one of the pretty Spanish names found all 
 through this country." 
 
168 JOSEPHINE CLIFFORD McCRACKIN 
 
 And before he knew what she was about, she had 
 stooped to dip up the water from the pool at her feet, and 
 throwing the silver spray over head and breast and 
 shoulders, she repeated the name. 
 
 "Penitencia !" she cried, "Penitencia this, then, shall 
 be my name henceforth and forever." All my life has 
 been made up of hasty actions and bitter repentance, of 
 regret for what might have been, and hopeless longing 
 for what could never be; and my portion for all time 
 to come will be only what my new name speaks of 
 Penitencia !" 
 
 Mr. Hollis had seized her arm. "You are beside your 
 self, Geraldine; why do you allow so small a reptile as 
 that malicious woman to sting you into madness? Go 
 back to Ella, at once, she is uneasy about you, as I was 
 too ; for you are wayward, Geraldine, and I am sufficient 
 ly your friend to tell you so." 
 
 It was only a day or two after the picnic that Tom 
 Borden came home with a letter postmarked Fort Har- 
 dinge. How her eyes lighted up with a sudden hope, 
 and how wan her face grew when Tom said it was from 
 Major Wharton, who wrote in regard to papers to be 
 served on Captain Cushing at the post. He assured Mrs. 
 Gushing that she need have no fear of trouble from 
 Randal. 
 
 "What else does he write?" she asked, and Tom 
 handed her the letter to read, which she soon laid aside, 
 trying to hide her disappointment from herself. 
 
 Then she told Cousin Ella that she thought it safe now 
 to go to San Francisco and look for a position at some 
 school, since it was not likely that Randal would contest 
 her suit for divorce. 
 
PENITENCIA 169 
 
 "Will you get a divorce, really, Jerry?" asked Cousin 
 Ella. 
 
 "I have no sentimental scruples on the subject/ re 
 plied Geraldine in a tone that was not pleasant to hear. 
 "There is no law on earth that can prevent me from get 
 ting a divorce." 
 
 "None on earth," her cousin admitted a little sadly. 
 
 She soon found a school in San Francisco; little 
 Madam Britzka was happy in the acquisition of this new 
 instructor to complete her staff. Mrs. Gushing had come 
 highly recommended, had passed her examination with 
 credit, and soon became the idol of her pupils, who 
 raved over her great black eyes as every lieutenant fresh 
 from West Point had always done. Madame Britzka 
 was pleased with the "air noble" that environed the new 
 teacher; and Geraldine found residence at a boarding 
 house where fashion was somewhat tempered with com 
 fort. No one became nearer acquainted with her than 
 to notice her entrance to the common dining hall, garbed 
 always in plainest black, her hair dressed high on her 
 head, as severely classic in looks as she was distant in 
 manner. They thought her proud and arrogant, but she 
 was only heart-broken and unhappy. Aimlessly she 
 wandered through the far-out quiet streets, after school 
 hours, and when the fog hung like a pall, and the wind 
 drove sand, and dust, and pebbles into her eyes, she said 
 bitterly: "The bleak, dreary, windswept plains, indeed. 
 God let me go back to them or let me die !" 
 
 One morning Madame Britzka broke into the class 
 room with an important air. "You have visitors in the re 
 ception room, Mrs. Gushing," she announced, "two. gen- 
 
170 JOSEPHINE CLIFFORD McCRACKIN 
 
 tlemen, militare oooh!" and she straightened her back 
 and curled long fierce mustachios. 
 
 Geraldine s eyes grew bright and a sudden glow came 
 into her face as Madame Britzka took the book from her 
 hands to take her place. Her heart throbbed wildly as 
 she approached the room, and then stood still as she 
 crossed the threshold and took Major Wharton s out 
 stretched hand. 
 
 It was well that Mrs. Wharton was not there, for 
 women can read a woman s emotion ; but Geraldine was 
 really glad to see the Major, and she greeted Mr. Hum 
 phreys, the junior lieutenant of B Troop, with effusion. 
 But in her heart there was a great cry, for a sudden hope 
 had sprung up there only to be swept away again. 
 
 The Major congratulated her on being so pleasantly 
 situated, and went on to say that he was on a tour of in 
 spection of the different posts in the Department of the 
 Pacific, Mrs. Wharton had remained in Washington, 
 where he had been ordered to report first. Winstead was 
 to have acted as his aid, but just before leaving, his pro 
 motion to the captaincy of B Troop had come out, and 
 he had to remain at Fort Hardinge with his company. 
 
 When she reached her boarding house in the evening 
 a positive horror seized her, and she hesitated, with her 
 foot on the marble step, as if it were a prison she was 
 about to enter. She dragged herself wearily through the 
 long hall and up to her room, and no one heeded her 
 absence from the dinner table or made comments on her 
 non-presence at breakfast; Mrs. Gushing was so eccen 
 tric. But poor Geraldine passed a long night on the 
 floor beside her bed, her head hidden, and weeping fit to 
 break her heart. 
 
PENITENCIA 171 
 
 Weary and desolate she took up the burden of life 
 again on the morrow, a burden to which were added 
 the little pitiful cares now, for gloves, and dresses and 
 shoes, which she sorely needed, for her black clothing 
 had grown shabby. She had rented a grand piano for her 
 room, and after buying what music she wanted, there 
 was little left to buy clothes with. 
 
 It was on a Saturday morning that the hall boy tapped 
 at her door to say a gentleman was waiting for her in the 
 parlor. Again that wild hope surged up in her heart; to 
 die as suddenly when Mr. Hollis rose to greet her. 
 
 "You !" She said it so coldly and contemptuously that 
 he drew back in anger. 
 
 "You were looking for some one else?" he asked. 
 
 "Yes," she answered with savage frankness. 
 
 "And it was a bitter disappointment to find me instead 
 of him?" 
 
 "It was," she said disdainfully. 
 
 "You are the quintessence of candor and frankness, 
 Mrs. Gushing," he took up his gloves which he had laid 
 aside with his hat. 
 
 She swept him a courtesy. 
 
 "I have received compliments on that score all my life 
 long," she replied laughing, and her mood changed at 
 a stroke. "Come, let me play for you ; but if my taste in 
 music should seem a little rusty to you, remember it is 
 the fault of this old rattle-trap. I have rented a good 
 instrument for my own use, but it is in my room up 
 stairs." 
 
 Mr. Hollis was charmed ; he was fond of music, though 
 not of the Ben Bolt style, and when Geraldine closed the 
 piano she had her reward for her amiability. After hav- 
 
172 JOSEPHINE CLIFFORD McCRACKIN 
 
 ing delivered kind messages from Tom and Ella, he an 
 nounced that he had brought two of his finest saddle 
 horses to San Francisco, and if Mrs. Gushing would ride 
 with him for an hour that afternoon, his groom would 
 have the horses at the door by 4 o clock. 
 
 "You have brought your habit with you, I ll be bound," 
 he added. 
 
 "It may be like my taste in music, a little rusty," she 
 laughed, "but it is in my trunk, sure enough, though I 
 did not think I would ever have use for it again." 
 
CHAPTER III. 
 
 "Am liebsten mocht ich sterben, 
 Dann war s auf ein mal still." 
 
 Uhland. 
 
 It was not the last ride they took together. Something 
 of the old light came back into Geraldine s eyes, some 
 thing of the former color into her cheeks, when she was 
 on her horse. There was something both tender and 
 joyful about her, during these rides, that brought her 
 nearer to this man Hollis than she had realized at first; 
 these were the only bright hours in her now dreary ex 
 istence, and she enjoyed them with mingled bitterness 
 and pleasure. Often, on her return to her solitary apart 
 ment at her boarding house, she would throw aside hat 
 and habit with the determination never to see Mr. Hollis 
 and his horses again; but with a sneer at herself she 
 would ask: "Who cares ?" 
 
 One other Saturday she had returned from her ride, 
 and while Mr. Hollis was giving some direction to the 
 groom, Geraldine entered the vestibule, where two chil 
 dren were at play. She had often noticed the cherub-like 
 beauty of the little, toddling boy, and she stopped today 
 for the first time to speak to him. He held out both his 
 fat fists to her, but as she stooped over to kiss him, the 
 eight-year-old sister in charge, pulled him hastily aside. 
 
 "Come away, Freddy," she exclaimed most ungracious 
 ly, and then with a disparaging look at Geraldine s old 
 black habit, added in explanation : "Mamma says she 
 don t think you re very spectable nohow, cause you 
 ain t hardly got no good clothes to wear." 
 
174 JOSEPHINE CLIFFORD McCRACKIN 
 
 "Your mamma is perfectly correct, in premises and 
 conclusion; and you may take that for your informa- 
 tion," and she laid her whip across the young one s 
 shoulder to such good purpose that a howl from the 
 girl and terrified cries from the boy filled the hall with 
 discord. 
 
 In an instant Mr. Hollis was beside her. "What have 
 you done?" he asked in vexed tones. 
 
 "I have burned my ships behind me," was the reckless 
 reply, but her flaming cheeks grew white as snow. 
 
 "Go to your room, instantly," said Mr. Hollis in his 
 quick, determined way, for doors were opened in every 
 direction, and hurried footsteps flew along the stairs. 
 He drew his watch. "In half an hour, to the minute, 
 there will be a carriage at the door ; you can stay here no 
 longer." And he turned to go, without the ceremony of 
 farewell. 
 
 Late that evening, after dinner, Mr. Hollis called at 
 the Blank Hotel and sent up his card to Mrs. Gushing. 
 When the lady had signified her pleasure to receive the 
 visitor, one of the older servants preceded him to Mrs. 
 Cushing s apartments, threw open the door and retired, 
 bowing. 
 
 It was a very pretty picture that presented itself to 
 the gentleman s view a large, handsome, brilliantly- 
 lighted room ; and the figure just stepping out from the 
 curtained arch of a window recess, seemed the proper 
 occupant for the place. In evening dress of pale pink, 
 yellow tea roses in her black hair and lying on her 
 black hair and lying on her snowy bosom, Geraldine was 
 beautiful as he had never dreamed she was. 
 
PENITENCIA 175 
 
 "Superb !" He could not repress the exclamation, but 
 warned by the quick contraction of her brow, he added 
 quickly, "I had no idea that tea roses grew to such per 
 fection anywhere but in the hot interior of California/ 
 
 Geraldine s eyes sparkled as she turned to the mantle- 
 shelf and exclaimed: 
 
 "Here are more of them ; he must have plundered the 
 entire country at your behest. They are beautiful, and 
 so delicately fragrant." 
 
 "You like my choice of roses, then?" he asked. "And 
 did I select the rooms you like, or is my taste a little 
 rusty, in this direction." 
 
 "On the contrary, you must possess Aladdin s lamp, 
 else how could everything be complete, even to the piano 
 when you had hardly an hour for your task." 
 
 "In San Francisco," he replied, "I find that twenty- 
 dollar pieces form a very good substitute for Aladdin s 
 lamp. And since you approve of my taste in furnish 
 ings, allow me to say that your taste in dress has not 
 grown rusty. Was this in the trunk with the despised 
 riding habit?" 
 
 "It w r as. You must bear in mind that Fort Hardinge 
 was a three-company post, and there was assembly 
 occasionally, which was not called together by the bugle. 
 There were more elegant dresses there than mine, though 
 I was belle at the post for two seasons." 
 
 It was delightful to see her face now, animated and 
 rosy, with no trace left of the storm that had swept over 
 it, earlier in the day. If the genial mood would only 
 last, thought her listener. 
 
 She rang for tea after a while, and Mr. Hollis enjoyed 
 the air of home which the apartment wore and which 
 
176 JOSEPHINE CLIFFORD McCRACKIN 
 
 Geraldine s presence seemed to shed over it. Then she 
 opened the piano and in a spirit of mischief she played 
 the Nocturne which Mrs. Bingham had condemned as 
 too slow; and later, when she sang, he lost himself in 
 dreams as a lovelorn youth might have done. But he 
 aroused himself to think of the fiery temper, of the un 
 governable spirit which even he, with his many millions 
 could not subdue, and which he stood in constant 
 dread of. 
 
 She whirled around on the music stool laughing and 
 gleeful, when he applauded her song, and she turned to 
 the key-board once more and grew quickly absorbed in 
 her play. Then a look came into her face that puzzled 
 him, and when the last chords died slowly away she 
 closed the instrument and walked across the room. 
 
 "A mighty martial strain* was in that music," he said 
 in honest admiration. "What is the name of the march." 
 
 "Soldaten-Kind," she made answer, looking away from 
 him, into the broad mirror on the mantle by which she 
 was standing. 
 
 "You play Liszt, Schubert and Wagner, too. What is 
 your favorite music, though?" 
 
 "The fife and drum and the bugle. I d gladly die to 
 have the fife and drum play at my funeral as they play 
 at the funeral of the poorest soldier in the ranks." And 
 flinging up her hands with the gesture of despair that 
 seemed to be out of place in that glittering surrounding, 
 she dropped her face on the cold, white marble of the 
 mantle and burst into a passion of tears. 
 
 So the storm had broken, and he knew how fiercely 
 the tempest would rage. He felt guilty standing there 
 and watching her in her wild anguish; he deemed it 
 
PENITENCIA 177 
 
 wiser, too, to vanish from the scene, and he left her, as 
 he had done earlier in the day without the ceremony of 
 
 farewell. 
 
 * * * * 
 
 The season at Santa Cruz had fairly opened, and the 
 beach was gay with groups of chattering, laughing peo 
 ple, who watched the actions and antics of the other 
 people who were in the surf. Geraldine was with neither 
 of these, but sat apart from the throng. Though she had 
 not yet been in the surf this morning, she was already 
 known as a brave swimmer on the beach, for she was 
 reckless, to the horror of the swimming masters. 
 
 Since the day she left the boarding house, where her 
 shabby clothes had been sneered at, she had not known 
 the lack of fine apparel, and even her bathing dress was 
 made of corded silk. But Geraldine had never been in 
 ordinately fond of dress, and she looked none the hap 
 pier in her silk attire. 
 
 Her bare arm was resting on the log beside which she 
 was reclining, and her face was turned full to the sea, 
 upon which the great, sad eyes rested. As the surf came 
 in with its irresistible power and its hoarse roll of thun 
 der, she wanted to shout out under the wild uproar 
 
 "Break break break ! 
 On thy cold grey rocks, sea " 
 
 But when the waves retreated with their musical 
 splash, they sang back to her in little tremulous rip 
 ples: 
 
 "For the tender grace of a day that is dead, 
 Will never come back to me." 
 
 It grew maddening at last always the same song : the 
 very waves seemed to mock her, and she would listen to it 
 
178 JOSEPHINE CLIFFORD McCRACKIN 
 
 no longer. There was so strange a fascination in it 
 though, that she could not leave, and she heard nothing 
 but what the waves said; she did not hear the quick, 
 regular footsteps approaching, and not till a shadow fell 
 upon her did she look up. A pair of dark eyes were gaz 
 ing at her, and warm, strong hands were stretched out 
 to her. A sudden joy transfigured all her being. 
 
 "Winstead," she said, as she drew him down beside 
 her. 
 
 "Mrs. Borden frightened me so ; she said you would not 
 come to her, but had gone to the seashore for your shat 
 tered nerves. But you do not look sick you are hand 
 some as ever " his very heart was in his eyes. 
 
 "And you," she said in low, tender tones, "look just as 
 I have seen you in my dreams, a hundred times." 
 
 "Then I may hope, Geraldine, for you know why I 
 have come." 
 
 She flung his hand from her as her face grew ashen, 
 and she rose from his side with a bound. Why did she 
 stand so still, the man was wondering? Was she listen 
 ing to the discordant cries of the sea-mew that seemed 
 suddenly to hover close around them. 
 
 "Geraldine," he said, but she interupted him with a 
 quick laugh. 
 
 "But that is not my name now," she made answer, 
 "my name is Penitencia." 
 
 "Penitencia!". She had drawn a folded paper from 
 the belt of her dress, which she gave him. "It is a letter 
 that reached me this morning," she went on ; "it will ex 
 plain why I changed my name. While you read I will 
 take my last swim in the surf." 
 
 He was dazed and undetermined, but she stamped her 
 
PENITENCIA 179 
 
 foot in the old imperious manner. "Read, I tell you, 
 read/ she repeated, and he mechanically unfolded the 
 paper, while she made her way lightly to the water s 
 edge. 
 
 Then he read the letter, once, twice, as in a nightmare, 
 and with a cry he started to read again. But the cry 
 seemed to be taken up by a thousand voices, and when 
 he looked up he saw a great concourse of people gather 
 ed just where he had seen Geraldine last; and running 
 forward he saw both swimming masters far out in the 
 surf. The instinct of the soldier, to rescue and aid, were 
 strong within Hugh Winstead, and he threw off his coat 
 and boots almost without knowing it. But not till he met 
 one of the swimming masters struggling back to the shore 
 with a lifeless body hanging limp on his arm, did he 
 know whom he had vainly tried to save. 
 
 In the old cemetery, not far away, they made her grave, 
 and on the cross that marked it, was but the onejword 
 
 PENITENCIA. 
 
DESDEMONA 
 
 "But, Gregoria -" 
 
 "Ciertamente, mi querida." 
 
 "I am going out walking " 
 
 "Si, senora." 
 
 "And alone!" 
 
 "Yes, my lady." 
 
 And with each affirmative pronounced by the maid, 
 the mistress grew more confident of her own defeat. 
 Gregoria, after conscientiously fastening the last button 
 in the elegant walking boots, surveyed with a look of 
 pride the pretty little feet resting on the velvet cushion ; 
 while the eyes of her mistress roved slowly around the 
 room, much as a bird might look about him in his gilded 
 cage. 
 
 "Tell me your dream again, querida," urged the attend 
 ant spirit, in a coaxing voice, passing her hands lovingly 
 over the feet of the lady before rising from her kneeling 
 posture. "You can not go walk this morning because 
 your new bonnet no come home. Meeses Milliner for 
 get, my lady," she continued. 
 
 Gregoria had been taken to Washington by Mrs. 
 Colonel Graham, when the Colonel had been ordered 
 from his post in New Mexico to appear before the Retir 
 ing Board, very much against his will, for he wore only 
 the silver leaf of the lieutenant-colonel on his shoulder, 
 and naturally preferred to be retired on colonel s pay. 
 Gregoria, a Mexican, the daughter of parents who had 
 been killed by the Apaches before Colonel Graham could 
 
DESDEMONA 181 
 
 rescue them, was no mean adept at playing lady s maid 
 when she grew up; and while in Washington acquired 
 not only great skill in hair-dressing and the finer 
 branches, but learned from the maid of Lady Arbuthnot, 
 a friend of her mistress, the fashion of addressing her, 
 too, as she heard "my lady" addressed by her maid, to the 
 great amusement of the two ladies. Her present mis 
 tress, the orphaned daughter of Colonel Graham and 
 who had grown up, one might say, on the back of the 
 sturdy, dark-visaged Mexican had never been so ad 
 dressed by her until after her marriage to the millionaire- 
 merchant, by whose name, Watson, Gregoria could not 
 be made to call her mistress, for the Colonel was dead, 
 and there was no one here who wore uniform or of whom 
 the girl stood in awe. She had tyrannized over her little 
 mistress from the time she was brought half dead, 
 thrown across a trooper s saddle, into Fort Craig; and 
 she still wielded her scepter over her, though she would 
 have laid down her life for her willingly, then as now. 
 
 The eyes of the mistress beautiful eyes of golden 
 brown, with a wistful, longing look in them that was 
 pathetic to behold had strayed out through the window 
 into the bright sunshine, which had inspired her with 
 the desire for a solitary ramble through the crowded 
 streets of the city that morning. 
 
 "I have been thinking what a strange dream it was," 
 said the lady thoughtfully; "and if I were as supersti 
 tious as you, Gregoria, I should try to find some meaning 
 in it. But I did not dream about myself ; that is the only 
 queer thing about it. I saw and knew all these things, 
 but they did not happen to me. Even the walk through 
 the strange thoroughfares I saw them all and would 
 
182 JOSEPHINE CLIFFORD McCRACKIN 
 
 recognize them; but it was not I that walked there. I 
 see again the steep, narrow street which led out of a 
 busy thoroughfare not any of the streets I have ever 
 passed through, but a street far remote from Kearny, 
 Market or Montgomery Street, teeming with life, but 
 not the life of these other streets. The little, narrow 
 street was perfectly clean, with planked sidewalks and 
 planked driveways; but no vehicles could travel above 
 the first street that intersected it, and there were steps on 
 the sidewalk that one ascended in order to reach the 
 street next above. But the two corner stores, just 
 before the rise began, were particularly noticeable; the 
 one was a grocery store, small but well kept, and many 
 people were going in and out, and everything seemed 
 cheerful and thriving. The other corner the right hand 
 corner as you went up, looked entirely different. This, 
 too, was a one-story house, but the storeroom stood 
 empty. It had been a small florist establishment, for 
 there were still remnants of the wire frames for floral 
 designs, and one or two broken baskets on the counter; 
 and in the little show window there stood, half withered, 
 a bouquet which had evidently been made for a grave 
 decoration. The flowers looked so neglected and for 
 gotten that they made an inexpressibly sad impression 
 particularly as the place adjoining this little florist shop 
 was an undertaking establishment, and it fronted on a 
 wider street, of which I saw nothing farther in my 
 dream." 
 
 "After ascending the five or six steps in the sidewalk 
 that led to the higher lying street, one was quite agree 
 ably surprised by the broad, quiet terrace that one 
 stepped on to. Opposite to the end of the little narrow 
 
DESDEMONA 183 
 
 street for it did end here stood a new-looking house of 
 three stories, with a wide entrance door, and a number 
 of signs on either side of the door." 
 
 "What they say, querida?" asked Gregoria, impa 
 tiently, when her mistress, with closed eyes, leaned back 
 in her chair. 
 
 "I am trying to remember/ she answered with an 
 effort. "Yes I see it now. There was one sign that 
 read: Finely furnished room for offices or housekeep 
 ing ; another bore the name of a doctor; and a dress 
 maker s sign was there; two or three teachers of 
 languages, and a dancing-master. Just opposite to the 
 entrance door was a wide staircase, clean, well-kept and 
 carpeted, with brightly polished banisters, leading up 
 to the second story. Reaching the head of the stairs 
 there was a door just across the hall; a dark-colored, 
 handsome door with elaborate lock and door-knob, and 
 when it opened one looked right straight at the only 
 window in this large, high-ceiled room. From this win 
 dow could be seen trees in the garden below it was on 
 the edge of town and the house had not been long built. 
 Between the door and the window, in the center of the 
 room, stood a large, square table, dark-colored, too, 
 and brightly polished. There had been a cover, or rug, 
 on the table; but some one had snatched it off hastily 
 to throw it over a couch that stood against the wall near 
 the table. Or rather to throw it over the man who lay 
 on this couch dead; over his head and face and chest. 
 But one hand, white, with long, slender fingers, was vis 
 ible, and it held a paper with something written on it." 
 Again she paused, with her eyes closed; was she trying 
 
184 JOSEPHINE CLIFFORD McCRACKlN 
 
 to read what was traced on the paper? But her maid 
 broke the silence. 
 
 "How he look? You see his dress? 
 
 "I did not see him," her mistress protested. "I did not 
 dream that I was there. But the man was tall, and he 
 was dressed in a full suit of canvas the dark brown 
 duck clothes they wear when they go hunting or fishing. 
 The feet were narrow and well shaped and covered with 
 fine boots, not shoes. Near the couch, her back to the 
 door, her face to the window, stood a woman, looking 
 intently at the form on the couch, and clasping her hands 
 in mute agony. But she did not belong there ; she was in 
 walking dress. She wore a light wrap of some kind, and 
 on her head was a dark bonnet with a bright yellow rose. 
 When the woman turned and went down over the broad 
 staircase there were two people hiding under its shadow, 
 and a woman was trying to smother her sobs, while the 
 man whispered brokenly, He told me to come at ten 
 o clock this morning, but make no sign till eleven, no 
 matter what I might see/ 
 
 "And you want go out walking, alone, after such a 
 vision, my lady?" asked Gregoria in horror. 
 
 Mistress and maid had both become so absorbed in 
 the recital of the weird dream that they were quite 
 startled by a low tap on the door. James announced, 
 "The Misses Starr," and without awaiting an order Gre 
 goria rushed downstairs to show up the young ladies 
 personally, glad of the pleasant interruption to their 
 gloomy fancies. 
 
 Most affectionately were the two young ladies greeted 
 by their somewhat older friend. Their father, Colonel 
 Starr, had been a classmate of her own father at West 
 
DESDEMONA 185 
 
 Point, and having been retired from active service had 
 chosen San Francisco for his residence. When Gre- 
 goria had relieved the young ladies of their wraps, they 
 looked around the room for some new addition to its 
 really tasteful and artistic furnishing, but discovered 
 only a slender cut-glass vase, small but costly, on the 
 beautifully inlaid escritoire, which in one breath both 
 girls pronounced lovely. Their mother, too, had once 
 given her opinion in regard to some of the art treasures 
 in the little boudoir. The millionaire-husband, having 
 purchased two paintings for this room, wanted the lady 
 to say what she thought of them one a scene from 
 "Othello," where Desdemona listens in wrapt attention 
 to the recital of the hair-breadth scapes of the dusky 
 hero; the other a Madonna by Defregger, the Madonna 
 of Consolation. With a keen appreciation of the eternal 
 fitness of things the lady had decided, with a slight em 
 phasis on the possessive pronoun, "Very appropriate 
 for your wife s room." 
 
 There was new music to be tried. Gregoria had already 
 opened the piano and the sweet face of the hostess had 
 gained a tinge of color and a touch of animation in the 
 pleasure of entertaining her guests, when there came 
 another tap at the door and the servant entered with a 
 card. 
 
 "Shall be pleased, James. Come girls." She handed 
 the card to Anna, the eldest, who, reading aloud : 
 
 "Major Sutton, Roy Carleton," ran lightly down the 
 stairs, followed by her sister, Isabel. 
 
 Their hostess walked slowly after them, still and 
 white, but with her heart a-flutter, a whirl of memories 
 surging through her brain and a wild longing for her lost 
 
186 JOSEPHINE CLIFFORD McCRACKIN 
 
 youth and her short dream of bliss to come back. Roy 
 Carleton! Ah me! She was a girl again, light-hearted 
 and happy, dashing across the breezy plain, the hand 
 some young officer by her side to be the one dearer to 
 her than all the world else. How the horses bounded 
 along under their light burden neck and neck till a 
 strong, shapely hand could seize the slender fingers in 
 the little gauntlet and arrest the speed of the horses, 
 turning his own so that he could look into the animated 
 face of the graceful girl on her milk-white steed. Oh, 
 the freedom of the wide, wild plain, and the home-coming 
 from the glorious rides! In an instant the luxury and 
 stateliness of her grand house sank into oblivion, and 
 the white shelter of the tent the homely mud walls of 
 adobe quarters the dug-out the barracks, rose up 
 before her, alluring and enticing beyond expression. To 
 be free free and by his side. 
 
 And then James held the door open and she stepped 
 across the threshhold. 
 
 Major Sutton had taken possession of the two young 
 girls. "Twin stars of beauty, bursting on my dazzled 
 sight!" he exclaimed. "Come forward to the light, my 
 dears, and let s count the new wrinkles you ve got since I 
 saw you last." And he drew them to the window at the 
 other end of the room, where little indignant shrieks and 
 ejaculations told of the critical examination going on 
 there. 
 
 But she, who had crossed the threshold last, stood by 
 the closed door a moment, speechless, and making a piti 
 ful effort to gain control over herself. 
 
 "Roy !" was all her trembling lips could utter. 
 
DESDEMONA 187 
 
 He bent over a little hand, cold as marble ; and, hoarse 
 with emotion, he murmured, "Eva my love my love !" 
 
 She drew her hand from his clasp. "I did not know 
 of your coming, Roy; why did you come? It will kill 
 me ! Oh, if I had only died long ago before before " 
 
 "My poor child God pity you ! God pity us both ! It 
 was not well to barter you away for this man s gold; it 
 was hard and cruel." He gazed at her with darkening 
 eyes. "Sutton and I were ordered quite unexpectedly 
 to report at the Presidio, and I could not rest till I had 
 looked upon your face once more." 
 
 Major Sutton had finished his inspection ; pronounced 
 Anna s nose covered with freckles, on Isabel s forehead 
 plain traces of toilet powder, and the two beginning to 
 look like the hopeless old maids they soon would be 
 unless old Sutton married them. 
 
 "What both?" they asked in one breath; and the 
 old bachelor declared that he again stood before the diffi 
 culty that had always prevented him from getting mar 
 ried they all wanted him, and he could marry only one. 
 
 Before the merriment had subsided there was happily 
 a new incident to draw the attention of the company 
 from Eva s pale face and the frowning brow of Captain 
 Carleton. The door swung back and Gregoria s form 
 appeared in the frame, and she announced with solemn 
 dignity that madam was served with wine and "bissek- 
 queet" in the little morning room. She was greeted with 
 a peal of laughter, and the Major sprang forward to 
 shake her by both hands. 
 
 "What, Gregoria, still in command here?" 
 
 To which the dusky household tyrant replied, in the 
 sonorous voice of her race, "A brava soldier never aban- 
 
188 JOSEPHINE CLIFFORD McCEACKlN 
 
 done hees post," a sentiment the Major applauded, clap 
 ping his hands and nudging the Captain to do the same. 
 But Gregoria had stepped up to greet El Capitan with 
 the freedom she had always been granted, and inquired 
 after old friends in his troop. 
 
 "Did you make Morton a Sergeant, Teniente?" she 
 asked. She had known the Captain when he was but 
 junior lieutenant and she dropped back into the old form 
 of address. 
 
 "Morton does not want to be made Sergeant ; they are 
 not all proud, like yourself, Gregoria," the Major an 
 swered in Roy s place. 
 
 "Morton is my orderly and is here with me," the Cap 
 tain informed her; "he, too, will come to see you, I am 
 sure, Gregoria." 
 
 Morton was the soldier whom Captain then Lieu 
 tenant Carleton had carried out of range of Apache 
 arrows when they had been ambushed on a scout at one 
 time. Morton s horse had been shot under him, the 
 trooper s leg broken in the fall, making him helpless. 
 In stooping over him, the young officer had been struck 
 on the side of the face by a glancing ball, which had left 
 its mark without detriment to the good looks of the 
 stripling. Morton, however, had been transferred and 
 retransferred since then, from troop to troop, as his com 
 mander rose in rank, so as to be near the man to whom 
 he owed his life. 
 
 They had adjourned to the cozy little apartment in 
 which the wine and "bissekqueet" had been set forth, and 
 Gregoria having banished all other servants, was care 
 ful that the guests should have no cause to complain 
 of her attendance. Conversation never flagged; there 
 
DESDEMONA 189 
 
 were passages at arms between Major Sutton and the 
 two young girls; gay laughter and good-humored if not 
 brilliant repartee. Before the hostess fairly realized the 
 fact, she had been made to promise that she would 
 chaperon a party to a theater performance two days 
 hence, Mr. Watson to be of the party if he choose. There 
 was a very good troupe at the California" and whatever 
 they played would be sure to be acceptable, so that the 
 girls were in high glee, and Eva s approbation was so 
 ably expressed by Gregoria that no one noticed her lady s 
 silence. 
 
 At last the Major proposed that all three ladies come 
 out for a promenade ; but the hostess excused herself on 
 the plea that she must remain to preside at her husband s 
 luncheon. And while Gregoria attended the visitors to 
 the door, noting with secret dread the set whiteness of 
 the Captain s face, her mistress lay on her knees, her 
 head buried in the brocade of the first chair she had 
 reached in her boudoir, sobbing out the misery and 
 despair she had kept in check while her friends were 
 with her. For once the barriers were broken and the 
 flood-gates opened, and Gregoria, who, to tell the truth 
 was "peeking" through the key-hole, though the door 
 was not locked, thought it best to put no restraint on her 
 querida s passionate grief, but let her cry her sorrow 
 out. 
 
 At the late lunch, at which Mr. Watson always ex 
 pected to see his wife preside since he was an early 
 riser and took breakfast without her Gregoria again 
 was the only attendant, not because there were no other 
 servants but because she had so ordered it. Gregoria s 
 word was law, and although her rule sometimes galled 
 
190 JOSEPHINE CLIFFORD McCRACKIN 
 
 Mr. Watson, he knew he could never shake it off. He 
 had tried it once, and she had simply said, "I go My 
 lady go, too," and the millionaire husband knew she 
 meant it. Though perfectly respectful in her demeanor, 
 especially before company, Gregoria had not the least 
 fear of the man before her eyes. Why, he had not so 
 much as a Sergeant s chevrons on his sleeve; so what 
 did he amount to? He could not even put her into the 
 guard-house, as Sergeant Cook had once done at the 
 post in New Mexico. She had been a girl of twelve then, 
 her querida five years younger, and she had constructed 
 a little cart, with the aid of the Commissary Sergeant, to 
 haul Eva around in, since she was too big to carry huck- 
 a-puck. Her master had cautioned her once or twice not 
 to come near the parade ground at guard-mount; but 
 she had come thundering up with her little cart in spite 
 of his warning, till the Colonel gave the Sergeant a pre 
 concerted signal one day and Gregoria was seized and 
 ignobly carried off to the guard-house, which was only 
 a tent at the time. But it was the guard-house all the 
 same ; and while Gregoria was inside howling like a pack 
 of coyotes, but afraid to go near the canvas walls of the 
 prison, Eva sat outside, at the back of the tent, crying 
 fit to break her heart, and beating against the canvas 
 with both little fists in rage and despair. 
 
 At luncheon, between the changing of the plates, the 
 visitors of the morning were discussed; and although 
 the dark, stealthy eyes of the master had directed a low 
 ering glance at her mistress when Captain Carleton s 
 name was mentioned, Gregoria, with an audacity which 
 only she possessed, had followed up the news by the 
 information that Mr. Watson would accompany her lady 
 
DESDEMONA 191 
 
 to the play her lady to wear the beautiful lavender silk 
 with the pearls which the affectionate husband had lately 
 presented to the wife. Mr. Watson was easily persuaded 
 into giving his consent to everything Gregoria proposed. 
 This luncheon hour, he knew from experience, could be 
 made extremely pleasant, or just the reverse, by 
 Gregoria. It was the only time when they were strictly 
 en famille, for there was always company at dinner, and 
 he liked to think that his lovely young wife enjoyed his 
 company while it lasted. At dinner, while the grand 
 butler held sway, Gregoria was less oppressive; but at 
 breakfast and lunch he was completely at her mercy. 
 
 Captain Carleton had sent a very pretty theater bouquet 
 of lilies-of-the-valley for Mrs. Watson, while Major Sut- 
 ton presented the two Misses Starr with pink and white 
 camelias. The party attracted a great deal of attention 
 at the play; the two young ladies were handsome and 
 distinguished looking, the gentlemen with them were 
 pronounced soldiers in spite of their black suits, and Mrs. 
 Watson, pale and fragile looking, was Mrs. Watson; 
 while her husband was an object of note on account of 
 his millions and his pretty wife. 
 
 Captain Carleton s eyes sought the face of the poor, 
 rich man s wife more than once; lilies-of-the-valley were 
 her flowers, as the stately camelia belonged to the young 
 girls beside her. Infinitely more touching, to his mind, 
 was the drooping little lily; but the world looks with 
 greater admiration upon roses and camelias. The eyes 
 of the husband, however, had spied the look that sought 
 his wife s face, and the glowering, suspicious expression, 
 that was natural to the man, grew deeper and harder as 
 he watched the sensitive creature flush and pale beneath 
 
192 JOSEPHINE CLIFFORD McCRACKIN 
 
 his scrutiny. How he hated Roy Carleton from the very 
 first! What business had he to come to his house the 
 costly cage he had built for the shy little bird he had 
 bought no, captured. If it were not for that cursed 
 black Indian at home, with her devilish impudence and 
 her fierce determination, he would make short work 
 with that handsome Captain and all the rest of his wife s 
 friends who clung to her for her father s sake he said 
 to himself. Oh, he could break and tame Eva easily 
 enough if it were not for that hateful Mexican ! 
 
 In the meantime the orchestra had given as overture 
 Scheffel s "Trompeter von Sekkinger" "Behut Dich 
 Gott, es war so schon gewesen," and the Major turned to 
 Mr. Watson with the grumbling remark : 
 
 "I ll bet you every last man in that band is a German ; 
 they are never so happy as when they can make people 
 miserable with their doleful music." 
 
 And Roy Carleton had turned to Eva with a look that 
 said: "Do you remember?" She did remember, for she 
 asked: "Do you sing much now?" 
 
 The answer was low and only Eva s ears caught the 
 words: "Never, since " 
 
 Then the play progressed and every one was absorbed, 
 or could pretend to be. But Eva would not stay for the 
 last act; she said it made her nervous; and the intense 
 pallor of her face made her statement convincing. Roy 
 had been beside her for some time; she felt the jealous 
 eyes of her husband on her and the lips of the soldier 
 curled in bitter contempt. 
 
 "Othello in real life," he said, with a sneer; "a charm 
 ing side play to Othello on the stage. Alas for Desde- 
 
DESDEMONA 193 
 
 mona! I do mistrust thee, woman, and each word of 
 thine/ " 
 
 "Roy," she pleaded with white lips, "do not be so 
 cruel. Kill me. I will gladly die by your hand, but do 
 not torture me." 
 
 And in defiance of the stealthy black eyes under the 
 beetling brows, he looked long and tenderly into the 
 death-sad face beside him. "It would take so little to 
 kill you, poor Desdemona ; and if we were both dead and 
 in the same grave " 
 
 "Even that can not be now," she said, drearily. 
 
 He laughed a hard, desperate laugh. "You are mis 
 taken in that; the church that sanctions your marriage 
 tie says only, Till death do this twain part. You would 
 be mine after that and for all eternity." 
 
 She looked helplessly into his handsome face. 
 
 "Be merciful, Roy," she implored; "do not make my 
 life more wretched still." 
 
 Turning from her with a fierce effort at self-control, he 
 said huskily, "Never again, poor child, never again shall 
 you complain of my being cruel to you, for whom I 
 would gladly lay down my life. Good night, love, and 
 good-bye." 
 
 Mr. Watson was but too glad to accede to his wife s 
 request to go home. Her expensive toilette had been suf 
 ficiently admired. He knew that nearly half a column 
 would be devoted to descriptions and comments upon 
 their party in the morning s paper, and he could sleep 
 very soundly on this prospect. 
 
 Major Sutton alone called the next morning. The per 
 formance had been such a success that Othello would be 
 produced again within the week. Captain Carleton, he 
 
194 JOSEPHINE CLIFFORD McCRACKIN 
 
 said, would call later to pay his devoirs. But he did not 
 come; only Morton came a day later with a verbal mes 
 sage from the Captain, and a large bouquet of dark blue 
 violets completely hooded in a white paper cover. Gre- 
 goria delivered the violets wrapped up as they were, and 
 then descended with Morton to the lower regions; and 
 while they talked over the days of "auld lang syne" we 
 may be sure that he was treated to the best and choicest 
 in the larder of the house of Watson. 
 
 When, the following morning, the mistress expressed 
 her desire to be robed in her street dress, the maid asked, 
 without a single objection, at what hour the carriage was 
 to be ordered, upon which she was told that her lady was 
 going out for a walk alone. The bonnet which had not 
 been delivered on time, was now brought out a very 
 pretty creation of black lace, and objectionable to Gre- 
 goria only on account of the dark purple trimming. "You 
 stop at Meeses Milliner, mi querida," she urged, "and 
 mak her tak off the ugly purple feather. A peenk flower 
 is much better." 
 
 Eva promised obedience, hastening with feverish im 
 patience from the house, and stopping, undecidedly, on 
 the white flags in front. Then with sudden determina 
 tion, she walked briskly down the street, hesitating at 
 the next corner and on the point of turning back. But 
 she reached "Meeses Milliner" at last, told her to re 
 place the despised feather with something that could be 
 pinned on without removing the bonnet, and then be 
 came so absorbed in consulting her watch that she did 
 not notice what the milliner submitted for her approval 
 before pinning it on. When she left the establishment, 
 she stopped a passing street car, and upon alighting from 
 
DESDEMONA 195 
 
 it she found herself in a crowded thoroughfare, strange 
 to her, and with a different life flowing through it from 
 that of Kearny, Market or Montgomery streets. Stores 
 gaudy with bright calicoes and cheap finery, and glaring 
 signs of second-hand bargains in furniture and carpets. 
 Butcher wagons and grocery deliveries instead of coupes 
 and carriages; and unwashed children everywhere, as 
 though they thrived in this district of wooden sidewalks 
 and planked streets. 
 
 Passing swiftly along for a short distance, she turned 
 into a narrow but more cleanly street, and walked slowly 
 as the grade ascended. Looking to the right and left she 
 discovered on the next crossing a little store, vacant 
 now, which had evidently been a florist shop, for in the 
 show window there still stood a half withered bouquet 
 intended for a funeral decoration; and just around the 
 corner from this, on a street somewhat wider, there was 
 an undertaking establishment. She crossed the street; 
 on this corner there was a grocery store, prosperous look 
 ing and well kept; and she left it, too, behind her, and 
 began the ascent of a number of steps in the sidewalk, 
 for the street was so steep here that it was possible only 
 for pedestrians to ascend. Then she stood where this 
 narrow side street landed on a broad, terrace-like street, 
 a quiet, cleanly place, and just opposite to her was a new 
 three-story building with a broad entrance door and 
 signs of various import on either side of it. There was a 
 doctor s office in the building; and a dancing-master was 
 to be found here, teachers of music and the languages; 
 while a dressmaker or two had rooms in different parts 
 of the house. Then the landlord s sign announced that 
 finely furnished rooms could be rented for offices or 
 
196 JOSEPHINE CLIFFORD McCRACKIN 
 
 housekeeping, and altogether the place had a quiet and 
 respectable air. She entered the open door and began 
 the ascent of the broad, well-carpeted stairs till she 
 saw a door opposite her on the first landing. It was a door 
 of exceedingly dark wood, with an elaborate lock and 
 knob, which she turned and entered the room. There 
 was a window just across from the door and through it 
 she could see swaying trees in what had once been a 
 fine garden. Between her and the window stood a large, 
 square table, with a polished surface, from which the 
 cover had been removed and hastily thrown over the 
 face of a man who lay on a couch beside the table 
 dead. The couch was close against the wall, and the 
 table was in front of it, and she stood by the table with 
 her eyes fixed intently on the still form stretched upon 
 the couch, her hands clasping each other in mute agony. 
 
 The man who lay there was tall, his shapely limbs 
 covered by garments of coarse canvas of a dark brown 
 color, his slender feet encased in finest boots, not shoes. 
 The table cover was thrown over his head and breast, 
 but one arm was visible, and the waxen hand held a strip 
 of folded paper between long, well-shaped fingers. 
 
 Could she but read what was on the paper, she 
 thought ; but she must hasten from here before she gave 
 way to the dizziness coming upon her. She must not 
 faint, not faint, she said to herself; not faint, she re 
 peated, and she turned and fled before her strength 
 should give way. The door closed softly behind her, 
 and with noiseless steps she began to descend the stairs. 
 Below, in the shadow of the staircase, she could see two 
 figures hiding, and she heard the smothered sobs of a 
 woman, while a man s voice whispered brokenly: 
 
DESDEMONA 197 
 
 "He told me to come at ten o clock this morning but 
 make no sign till eleven, no matter what I might see." 
 
 Then she gained the street and walked rapidly, she 
 did not know in what direction. She missed the street 
 she had come on, but she found the crowded thorough 
 fare again after awhile; and while she stood on the cor 
 ner waiting for the approaching horse-cars, she saw Gre- 
 goria coming from an opposite direction. Without the 
 least surprise she addressed her, and Gregoria, unac 
 countably out of breath, managed to say: "Yes, my 
 lady, I go walking, too," before she lifted her mistress 
 into the car. Then the maid turned suddenly on her 
 mistress : 
 
 "Where you get yellow rose on your bonnet, my lady?" 
 she asked, sharply; and Eva raised her hand to her head. 
 
 "I did not know it was there," she said absently. 
 
 Once at her home Gregoria quickly removed her lady s 
 walking dress, excluded the bright sun, and left the 
 room. But she had placed a paper in her hand first, the 
 paper which Eva had seen in the cold, white hand she 
 had loved so. Unfolding it, she read, with the same un 
 natural composure she had felt through the whole of this 
 terrible morning; and as she read, the walls of her gilded 
 cage receded farther and farther, and the breeze of a May 
 morning was fanning her fevered cheek, and she sat 
 lightly in the saddle. Her horse was going at an easy, 
 even pace with his horse and he was chanting in low, 
 melodious cadences: 
 
 Some time, perchance, when this warm heart is cold, 
 These trembling fingers drop their treasures all 
 
 And growing fairest from the crumbling mould, 
 The violets o er me wave their azure pall. 
 
198 JOSEPHINE CLIFFORD McCRACKIN 
 
 When life for thee has lost its summer glow, 
 
 And in some idle hour old fancies stir 
 The embers of a flame which long ago 
 
 Love kindled for his willing worshipper 
 
 If then, too late repenting, you shall weave 
 Flowers of remembrance on my grave to cast, 
 
 My soul the offering shall with joy receive 
 And cancel thence the shadows of the past. 
 
 And when he had ended he had turned to kiss away 
 the tears from her cheeks. "Poor child!" he had said, 
 "how it would pain you to pain any one you loved." 
 
 "I would rather die," she had answered him in all 
 sincerity. And he was lying dead of the hurt she had 
 given him; and she had but now looked, dry-eyed, upon 
 his lifeless form. 
 
 Gregoria, out in the carpeted hall, walked noiselessly 
 back and forth. She had driven away the chamber girl, 
 whom she had found there busy sweeping and dusting, 
 and the girl in her hurry had left her broom. 
 
 Had her master already heard of the death the sui 
 cide Gregoria wondered. Would he come storming 
 home to confront his wife? He would not be admitted, 
 she was determined on that, and she cast a longing look 
 at the broomstick and rather wished he would come. 
 
 But she drew forth her beads and began to pray: 
 "Mother of Seven Sorrows, send tears to the hot eyes 
 of the poor child," and when she heard her sobs at last 
 she went to her, gathered her up from the floor and laid 
 her on the couch, sitting beside her, still telling her beads 
 in a half-loud monotone. 
 
 Early the next morning Gregoria stood by the bedside 
 of her mistress. 
 
 "Mi querida," she said softly, "Mr. Watson send me up 
 to tell you he want you go to theater with him tonight; 
 
DESDEMONA 199 
 
 and you must go." There was no answer, and repeat 
 ing, "You must go, querida," she left the room. Return 
 ing to her master she delivered his wife s message : "She 
 thanked him for his attention and would be delighted/ 
 
 "And what play they play, my lady would like to 
 know." 
 
 " Othello/ " was the grim reply. 
 
A PICTURE OF THE PLAINS 
 
 It may read like a very prosaic thing, the meeting of 
 two wagon trains say, a military outfit and a freighter s 
 train on the western prairies; but in reality there is 
 something so grand and majestic, so altogether roman 
 tic, about it, that, were I an artist I should want no 
 better motif, no more "taking" subject, for my brush 
 and pencil. The plains have often been likened to the 
 ocean vast, solitary, illimitable; and the billows that 
 rise and roll on the great water-mass are aptly repro 
 duced in the character of tfcese prairies, where for days, 
 sometimes, you see one little, gentle undulation after 
 another rise before you, and your half unconscious spec 
 ulation is always, "Shall I see anything after ascending 
 this solid wave?" Sometimes, too, quite a steep little 
 pitch drops down from a bank or a mesa; but when you 
 rise to the height of it, the same wide, open plain is again 
 before you. I cannot think of a more impressive scene 
 than I witnessed, years ago, on these plains, some ten 
 days out from Fort Union, New Mexico, on the way 
 back to the States. Our command was not a large one, 
 only troops enough to protect a train of from thirty to 
 forty army wagons, a few ambulances and carriages, 
 beside a number of volunteer soldiers, mustered out of 
 service, and availing themselves of General Alexander s 
 permission to travel under cover of his command. 
 
 It was early May. The brilliant tints of sunrise had 
 not yet died out of the sky, though all the earth was 
 flooded with golden light and warmth. The atmosphere 
 
A PICTURE OF THE PLAINS 201 
 
 was pure, fresh, and perfectly clear as it seems to be 
 only on these plains, and just in this region. We were 
 early risers, by force of circumstance; and when we 
 had been on our way but a little while, we saw in the 
 distance the serpent-like line of another train moving 
 slowly toward us. It came nearer and nearer, and our 
 wagon-master, having urged on his mule for a tour of in 
 spection, reported to the General that it was a merchant 
 train for Santa Fe, belonging to the firm of Spiegelberg 
 Brothers, of that place. There were about twenty 
 wagons, besides a light carriage drawn by two magnifi 
 cent horses, and the private menage of the travelers, 
 drawn, like our conveyances, by patient mules. By this 
 time the plain around us presented a lively appearance. 
 The wagon-masters and assistants of the two trains 
 made flying visits to each other, while the trains moved 
 slowly along at the usual snail s pace. Some of the mus- 
 tered-out soldiers of our command had messages and let 
 ters to send back to Santa Fe by the merchant train ; and 
 some of the freighter s employees had like favors to ask 
 of the teamsters going to the States in our outfit. Only 
 the respective chiefs of the two expeditions had no inter 
 course with each other. 
 
 De Long, our wagon-master, had informed the Gen 
 eral that two members of the Speigelberg firm were in 
 the carriage preceding their freight train, and we were 
 now so near each other that we could plainly see the 
 occupants of the elegant vehicle. But the military ele 
 ment and the civil do not affiliate very readily on the 
 frontier, though there is seldom a lack of courtesy or 
 politeness on either side. Singularly enough, the meet 
 ing of the trains took place just at one of the steep 
 
202 JOSEPHINE CLIFFORD McCRACKIN 
 
 pitches I have spoken of. The General s huge ambu 
 lance, with its four stout mules, commenced the descent 
 just as the airy carriage of the merchant princes, drawn 
 by the high-bred American horses began to climb the 
 little rise. And never have I seen so picturesque a scene 
 as that presented here on the barren plains. As the 
 first conveyances met, there was a simultaneous raising 
 of hats. The General had a massive figure, with eyes 
 of the clearest blue, calm and serene in expression; a 
 long, full beard of tawny yellow, and an air, so simple, 
 yet so stately, that even in the soldier s blouse and slouch 
 hat he wore, the man "made to command" could be 
 recognized. The two figures on the other side had some 
 thing of the airy grace which pervaded the whole 
 equipage. Of Jewish descent, with fine-cut features, 
 dark eyes, and richly curling hair dressed faultlessly, 
 even to light-colored kids on their hands they formed 
 the most decided contrast to our good General. All three 
 gentlemen bowed with equal courtesy, though varied 
 elegance of manner. On they passed, not a moment s 
 halt, not the slightest pause one ambulance after the 
 other, one freight team after the next. For half an hour 
 I leaned from the ambulance, and watched the white- 
 roofed army wagons, swaying heavily as the drivers 
 held back their six mules while going down the first 
 sharp pitch, and then rattling on merrily to even ground ; 
 the clumsy freight wagons creaking and groaning under 
 their heavy burden; the teamsters talking vigorously to 
 their straining animals while laboring up this sharp rise, 
 and cracking their whips triumphantly when they had 
 made it at last. Then came the mounted troops, and 
 the cooks and servants, perched on almost anything they 
 
A PICTURE OF THE PLAINS 203 
 
 could find in the baggage-wagons. This merry rabble 
 was not so reserved as the fine folks at the head of the 
 caravan, and many a noisy greeting was exchanged as 
 the wagons passed each other ; many a laugh-provoking 
 jest startled the field-lark from her lowly nest, and sent 
 her skyward with her joyous song. Far in the distance 
 loomed the Spanish Peaks, indistinct and shadowy, as 
 the phantoms which we chase in life and call by the 
 names we love the best Fame, Wealth, Greatness, 
 Power and like them seeming to recede farther and 
 farther the nearer w r e think to approach, till, worn and 
 fainting, w r e lie down to die in the desolate road through 
 the wilderness, where there is no drop of water to cool 
 our lips, no pitying tree to shelter from the scorching 
 sun. 
 
THE PRIEST AND THE SOLDIER 
 
 "And whin the ould Mexican died, he died saying 
 
 Cueva. " 
 "An* phwat does that mane, now?" 
 
 Sergeant Flaherty turned his face away, with an ex 
 pression that plainly said: "This is what a sergeant of 
 Troop O, teenth Cavalry, gets for lowering him 
 self to the social level of an infantry corporal." Then he 
 relented and replied: "Cueva means a cave, ye block 
 head. Have ye been six months in New Mexico and don t 
 know that?" 
 
 Corporal O Rourke was not thin-skinned in any sense, 
 and he questioned again, interestedly: 
 
 "An* did the fellow want to be buried in a cave?" 
 
 "Divil do I know," the sergeant made mollified reply. 
 "But have ye niver heard," he submitted mysteriously, 
 "that sometimes there do be money and treasures and 
 things buried in caves?" 
 
 At this moment both men jumped up and stood with 
 hands at salute, for Father Heney, coming from Officers 1 
 Row, crossed the parade ground in their direction. 
 
 "Now there s a saintly man for ye," remarked the ser 
 geant ; and the corporal added : 
 
 "An 1 they do say as how the major s daughter vows 
 that if ever she marries the lieutenant at all, it will be 
 Father Heney to perform the ceremony, no matter where 
 he be." 
 
 "He s going right back to Los Angeles they say; and 
 that he came all the way through Arizona to help the 
 
THE PRIEST AND THE SOLDIER 205 
 
 major s people find out about the son. They always 
 thought old Felipe, the thafe of the world, knew where 
 he was." 
 
 "An he died before the Father came." 
 
 "What good if he had been still alive? Unless he, or 
 some of his own, or of the other gang, had made an open 
 confession." 
 
 "That s so ; that s so, in a minute," assented the honest 
 corporal. 
 
 In another frontier post, more rock-bound, more deso 
 late even than Fort Layard, and nearly a hundred miles 
 away, the lieutenant spoken of by the two "non-coms," 
 First Lieutenant Oury Kirk, One Hundred and Seventh 
 Infantry, U. S. A. to be exact was at that very mo 
 ment sitting silent and alone, his duties done, his 
 thoughts traveling across the dry, sun-baked stretches 
 of dreary mesa and steep, cleft-riven rock piles that 
 formed "the country" between this, Fort Howie, and 
 Fort Layard. He himself was silent; not so the instru 
 ment he held in his arm, a Spanish guitar of finest work 
 manship and finish, and the chords he struck were of 
 such harmony, proving him such a master hand on the 
 instrument, that it was evidently not meant in derision 
 when they called him "Kirk of the tuneful guitar." And 
 if any further excuse for playing a guitar was needed, it 
 might be found in the fact that the young lieutenant was 
 very much in love and far away from the object of his 
 adoration. 
 
 Fort Howie was only a one-company post; the quar 
 ters but rudely constructed; and though officers, men 
 and horses were comfortably housed, this did not mean 
 much in a climate where overpowering heat was more 
 
206 JOSEPHINE CLIFFORD McCRACKIN 
 
 to be guarded against than the light cold; for Howie 
 was well on in Arizona, across the line from New Mexico. 
 In fact, it stood where the troops were as often called 
 upon to protect the scattering white settlers from the 
 depredations committed by civilized rogues as from the 
 attacks of the savage Indians. 
 
 It was, therefore, a case of quien sabe as to what was 
 
 the purpose of O Troop of the teenth Cavalry from 
 
 Fort Layard, that rode into Fort Howie on the evening 
 of the second day after our introduction to Lieutenant 
 Kirk, with Major Fothergill at the head of the company. 
 
 Not even after taps had sounded, and this young man 
 was alone behind closed curtain gray army blankets 
 hung over casement without glass with the younger 
 lieutenant who had come with the troop, was he en 
 lightened on this subject. The mystery seemed rather to 
 deepen. 
 
 "Miss Mildred was weeping bitterly when she bade me 
 good-by," Lieutenant Russell said to him, "and Mrs. 
 Fothergill hung on to the neck of the major dry-eyed but 
 pale as death. Bring certainty/ I heard her say, what 
 ever that might mean." 
 
 "About me I wonder?" asked his comrade. "Surely 
 Mildred has no doubts of my love for her or loyalty to 
 her," and his handsome face flushed with indignation. 
 
 "Oh, you silly ," his friend consoled him. "She 
 
 told me to give you the kindest messages, as there was 
 no time to write." 
 
 "And marching under sealed orders, are you?" mused 
 Kirk. 
 
 "So at least the major wishes it considered," was the 
 discreet reply. 
 
THE PRIEST AND THE SOLDIER 207 
 
 The major at this time was alone in his quarters, his 
 light out, in compliance with rules and regulations, 
 watching in the darkness the land around as far as he 
 could see it. His face was pale and set, as his wife s 
 had been at parting, but he brushed away a tear, as pain 
 ful memories crowded on him. He was thinking of his 
 eldest born, the brave, the gay, the reckless, as some 
 had called him. Reckless, his father knew, only in the 
 sense that nothing was too daring for him ; no scheme so 
 hazardous but that he would undertake it. And so it was 
 intrusted to him to bring to Fort Layard one year ago 
 a part of the funds left behind by the paymaster, in safe 
 keeping at the post from which he started out. Gold 
 and paper, a considerable sum, in a small unsightly keg, 
 iron-bound, though, and not an easy prey to would-be 
 robbers. Lieutenant Fothergill had asked but his own 
 orderly beside the driver of the four-mule ambulance, in 
 which the orderly sat beside the driver, both armed to 
 the teeth, the little keg to be stored under the back seat, 
 and the young officer was to ride ahead on his black 
 horse, on the return of the party, as he did the day he 
 left Fort Layard. 
 
 When the small outfit had not returned in a week s 
 time the supposition was that a longer and safer route 
 had been chosen. But when, in the course of the next 
 week, one of the ambulance mules crawled lame and half- 
 starved, into the post, with pieces of torn harness on its 
 body, the whole garrison turned out in search, and they 
 found the harness-mate to the mule, dead in its traces 
 and still attached to the ambulance, which lay on its 
 side, broken and shattered in a gulch, from which the 
 mules had evidently made vain efforts to drag it, And 
 
208 JOSEPHINE CLIFFORD McCRACKIN 
 
 neither the keg nor its contents could be found in spite 
 of the most diligent search. 
 
 There were those at the post and elsewhere, who were 
 unkind enough to shake their heads wisely and point out 
 how strange it was that the two wheelers should have 
 been left in their harness in the ambulance, and the two 
 leaders gone. The lieutenant had his own horse ; and the 
 two men who went with him, would thus have had a 
 mule apiece. And the lieutenant had insisted on taking 
 only his orderly beside the driver, in spite of all pro 
 tests. 
 
 It was queer, they said, yes, very queer. And by and 
 by these stories crept around the garrison and came to 
 the ears of the sorrowing father and grief-stricken 
 mother, and the proud-spirited girl who was the sister of 
 the missing young officer, released her fiance, Lieutenant 
 Kirk, and said that never would she become any man s 
 bride till her brother s name had been cleared of these 
 foul, unspoken charges. 
 
 With break of day the O Troop men, reinforced by a 
 detachment of the Fort Howie cavalry, in command of 
 Lieutenant Kirk, left the post and took up the dim traces 
 of what was supposed to be a wagon road. Travel in 
 wagon or ambulance was rare; and the sand that was 
 swept up from the desert to the very foot of the moun 
 tains by the winds of the plains, soon obliterated all signs 
 of wagon or horseback travel. 
 
 The little command skirted along close at the foot of 
 the rocky ledge that descended from the plateau on which 
 the rude fortifications lay, and though the mountain spur 
 grew monotonous, as all things do in Arizona, by its 
 tedious length, there was variety enough in its character, 
 
THE PRIEST AND THE SOLDIER 209 
 
 formation and coloring. Portions of it seemed faintly 
 tinted marble, in this early, rosy light of dawn some of 
 the rocks looked like crumbling rust, though millions 
 might have been quarried and coined out of their wealth. 
 Sometimes the blue and the dull green of a copper-bear 
 ing ledge might be followed for half a mile close to the 
 ground, and again a mountain of obsidian would rise 
 sheer from a base of hard, stubby, unproductive growth 
 of grass. And in crevices where a handful of sand had 
 been moistened by the winter s rain, the palo verde and 
 and mesquite had made a stunted growth, higher up than 
 the cactus, that had crept up from the desert below and 
 lay sprawling here, could reach its thorny arms. 
 
 As the sun grew hotter and the point of the rock ledge 
 had been reached, the fantastic, often gigantic forms of 
 the cactus could be seen on the sand waste inimitably 
 spread before the eyes of the soldiers and their old com 
 mander at the head of the column. His aide, Lieutenant 
 Russell, was speculating within himself whether the 
 "sealed orders," mythical as he thought them, would 
 carry them across the plain, for only one day s rations 
 had been drawn, and no extra ammunition issued. 
 
 In the meantime the eagle eye of the commander 
 seemed to penetrate every fold and cleft in the ever- 
 changing face of the mountain as they slowly wended 
 their way along the foot of it; and though both soldier 
 and miner learn by intuition to regard these hiding places 
 for Apaches with keenest interest, there was something 
 strained in the expression of Major Fothergill s face, and 
 not once did he address a cheering word to his aide, or 
 notice that the horses showed signs of being fagged. To 
 be sure, a halt had been called twice, and each time a 
 
210 JOSEPHINE CLIFFORD McCRACKIN 
 
 small squad had been sent in search of "Indian signs," 
 right in among the clumps of palo verde and mesquite in 
 some narrow chasm, and each time the men had been 
 questioned in regard to "solid ground under foot, or 
 anything peculiar in the appearance of the territory." 
 
 And now, at the point of rocks a halt was made, and 
 the major beckoned his aide and Lieutenant Kirk to his 
 side. 
 
 "We will turn to the right when we mount again," he 
 said, "and keep close to the base of these rocks. You will 
 report at once any peculiar formation, any striking fea 
 ture your men may discover in this ledge. And keep a 
 sharp lookout," he added with more sternness than 
 seemed necessary. 
 
 That they were not really supposed or expected to find 
 "Indian signs" was attested by the fact that the bugle sig 
 nalled the troop to remount. As they moved slowly on, 
 officers and men could not have pried more keenly into 
 every cleft and cranny of these rocks, if they had been 
 miners looking for the lost ledge or college professors on 
 vacation hunting for specimens for their collection. 
 
 Still the same monotony in vegetation, the same va 
 riety of formation obtained here, as the other side of the 
 rock ledge had shown; palo verde stunted and meager, 
 scraggy growth of mesquite above, sprawling, tangled 
 cactus at the foot. 
 
 Suddenly the horse of the trooper on the left, in the 
 foremost rank, sprang aside with a sharp start, and Lieu 
 tenant Russell was quick to see the cause. A hideous 
 grinning skull, with a tuft of hair still clinging to it, lay 
 bleaching on the sand, and almost at the same moment 
 a soldier on the right called Sergeant Flaherty s atten- 
 
THE PRIEST AND THE SOLDIER 211 
 
 tion to a remnant of the blue sleeve of a soldier s jacket. 
 As the command halted, Lieutenant Kirk saw his com 
 mander swaying in the saddle, big beads of perspiration 
 on his brow, from which his hat had fallen. 
 
 Half a dozen men were already clambering up the rise 
 in the direction from which a trail of faded rags of a uni 
 form seemed to lead outward. Then one of them turned 
 back quickly to report that behind the brush-covered 
 growth, from which a number of bleaching bones had 
 evidently been dragged by the coyotes, an opening in the 
 rocks could be seen. Lieutenant Kirk had only stopped 
 long enough to see that their commander, who stood 
 trembling by the side of his horse, had recovered, and he 
 returned at once with the man. Unheeding sharp thorns 
 and galling prickers, by which everything in Arizona 
 growth seems armed, Lieutenant Kirk forced aside the 
 brush that shrouded the entrance to the small cavernous 
 opening in a pile of dark rocks; and his straining eyes 
 first fell upon the gleam of a saber and then traveled 
 quickly back to where the light played on metal spurs in 
 cavalry boots, rotting from the rain and shrunken by the 
 sun. And was not that the yellow of the cavalry soldier 
 strap, unbleached in the dismal shelter of the cave? 
 
 The soldier stood aside while the lieutenant made in 
 vestigations, but when he heard Sergeant Flaherty ex 
 claim, "the major," he turned quickly to see his com 
 mander approaching, leaning on the arm of Lieutenant 
 Russell. And they were close upon him, painful as it 
 seemed for the suddenly-aged man to move. One step 
 more, and they had made the ascent. With a quick, 
 solemn gesture, Lieutenant Kirk threw up a warning 
 hand to ward off nearer approach. 
 
212 JOSEPHINE CLIFFORD McCRACKIN 
 
 "In the name of God, Russell," he cried with blanched 
 lips and shaking voice, "in the name of God, take the 
 major away." 
 
 And the soldiers closed in around the open cavern to 
 hide its grewsome contents from the eyes of their stricken 
 commander. 
 
 After a brief delay Sergeant Flaherty led his men 
 down again, and then Lieutenant Kirk reported to his 
 commanding officer: 
 
 "Lieutenant Frank Fothergill has been found, sir, mur 
 dered, evidently, and his body hidden in this cave. I 
 have every reason to believe that the two men on detail 
 with him were also murdered, and the remains partly 
 dragged from the cave by the coyotes. But I can iind no 
 trace of the government property in the cave where I 
 found these bodies lying." 
 
 The major had made an effort to steady himself 
 against his faithful horse, and as he removed his hat and 
 raised his eyes to heaven, his trembling lips murmured a 
 faint "Thank God." 
 
 "A soldier s honor above a soldier s life," seemed the 
 sentiment in every trooper s heart; and every hat was 
 doffed, every head was bent, and one young soldier, a 
 recent rookie, evidently forgot discipline to the extent of 
 bursting out, "Arrah and may the saints " 
 
 But a look from Sergeant Flaherty caused him to si 
 lently invoke the protection of the saints he had called on 
 all too loudly. 
 
 Sergeant Flaherty now took charge, while the two 
 young officers saw to it that a comfortable resting place 
 was made for their commander, and he, in turn, asked 
 them to come close to him. Whether he explained to 
 
THE PRIEST AND THE SOLDIER 213 
 
 them how and through whom he received finger prints 
 that led to the discovery just made, and the clearing 
 away of all foul imputations against his son s honor, no 
 one can tell, but the War Department probably knows it. 
 And it remained always a matter of speculation as to 
 what particular brand of outlaws belonged the mis 
 creants who murdered the three soldiers. And whether 
 the old Mexican who said only "cueva," because he had 
 become palsied, belonged to that or some rival band, was 
 never known to the world outside. 
 
 The man who had looked suddenly so old when the 
 shock of discovery first struck him, grew stronger in the 
 telling of devoted, unselfish efforts on the part of one 
 who stood aloof from the busy world, its empty honors 
 and its fleeting rewards, yet watched with never-slum 
 bering care over the welfare of his spritual children, of 
 the long, laborious journey undertaken in spite of age 
 and infirmities, so that no living creature should be 
 wronged, yet the dead be righted in their graves. Per 
 haps he knew that the dead had found no grave as yet, 
 and he wanted that their bones should rest in hallowed 
 earth. 
 
 For the present, however, these victims to duty were 
 to be left where they had been slain, and Lieutenant 
 Kirk signed to his sergeant how to place the remains 
 in the three rude graves hastily dug. When all was 
 ready the major was led to the grave of his son, by which 
 he knelt in fervent prayer, and as he knelt and humbly 
 and devoutly struck his cross, every son of Erin kneeling 
 by their comrades graves, blessed that old man and 
 made their cross as humbly and devoutly as did their 
 commander. The others bowed reverently, and then the 
 
JOSEPHINE CLIFFORD McCRACKIN 
 
 soldiers piled brush on the graves with a will and 
 weighted it down with pieces of rock from the ledge, to 
 prevent the coyotes from uncovering the bones of those 
 who had found temporary burial there. Then taps was 
 sounded by the bugler, and as the clear, long-drawn 
 notes floated softly out on the heat-quivering air, peace 
 and thankfulness came over the heart of the father who 
 had lost a son and the lover who had won a bride. 
 
 For we may be sure that when Lieutenant Kirk was 
 granted a brief leave of absence after a long, impatient 
 wait of three months time, he found his way quickly to 
 Fort Layard, and Mildred no longer refused to become 
 his own for life. Strange to say, O Rourke, corporal One 
 Hundred and Fifth Infantry, proved a true prophet, if 
 not a mind reader, for the major s daughter did indeed 
 make the condition that Father Heney should bless their 
 union and solemnize the marriage. 
 
 "But Father Heney is in Los Angeles," Lieutenant 
 Kirk protested, "and it will be so far around from there 
 back to New York and Washington for our wedding 
 trip." 
 
PAY DAY AT THE MINE 
 
 A lady s trunk seemed so out of place, in this wagon ; 
 as much so as the owner of the trunk herself. 
 
 The scraggy Mexican mules had an American driver ; 
 and he had taken this female passenger on at Girandara, 
 together with several kegs and sacks which had come 
 under escort from a flourishing town on the American 
 side. The Guajaca Mine employed all the Americans 
 that found their way out here ; deserters from camp and 
 fort, for a hundred miles around; horsethieves, broken- 
 down gamblers anything that did not like to hear the 
 screech of the American Eagle, but loved its image on 
 American coin. 
 
 The manager of the mine, the Superintendent, the Mex 
 ican called him, was an American himself, who had 
 brought with him a young wife, timid, shrinking, home 
 sick, but idolized by all the good-natured, black-eyed 
 Mexican women of the mining community. 
 
 A number of them were with her now, in the low adobe 
 house with rough board finishing, with glass panes in the 
 windows of this one room only; with bare walls, and a 
 floor on which were spread strips of the home woven 
 hurga for carpet. A few rawhide chairs; a rough table, 
 and a rudely constructed bedstead, on which rested, or 
 rather tossed, the young wife, soon to be a mother. She 
 could speak but a few words of Spanish, and she un 
 derstood still less of the language ; if she could have felt 
 hatred in her gentle heart at all, it would have been for 
 everything that surounded her in this dry, sun-baked, 
 
216 JOSEPHINE CLIFFORD McCRACKIN 
 
 inhospitable country, with the exception of these women, 
 whose love she felt, but whose ways and language she 
 could not always understand. 
 
 Though a piece of blanket had been hung over one of 
 the windows, to keep out the glaring light from the suf 
 ferer on her bed of pain, she could read ill-represed ex 
 citement in the face of the woman entering the room on 
 tip-toe; and she looked up with eager inquiry, hoping, 
 she hardly knew for what. There were whisperings and 
 subdued exclamations. 
 
 "A woman?" she asked. 
 
 "Yes ; a woman ; she had come on the wagon that had 
 brought the money to pay the long-due wages of the 
 miners." 
 
 "Who is she," asked the sick woman. But the Mexi 
 can raised her shoulders in disdain. "Quien sabe?" she 
 said; and then she added a word that the little wife did 
 not understand. 
 
 As the patient did not require immediate attention, the 
 last-comer remained, while the others, with ill-concealed 
 curiosity, slipped out of the room one by one. And one 
 by one they came back. The woman, they said, was gaily 
 dressed ; wore jewels and fine clothes. 
 
 "Who was she?" still asked the sick woman. And in 
 reply came the same shrug of the shoulder; the same 
 word added, which the little American did not under 
 stand. But the little episode helped to distract her, in 
 this God-forgotten country, where nothing ever happened 
 save a knifing among the Mexicans, or a shooting scrape 
 among the American miners. 
 
 And directly it struck on her ear that this stranger had 
 
PAY DAY AT THE MINE 217 
 
 light-colored hair yellow hair. Her dull eyes bright 
 ened. 
 
 "Yellow hair?" she asked, "and blue eyes?" 
 
 "No, black eyes; yet she was undoubtedly Americana, 
 
 but " and again the word she did not understand, 
 
 spoken lightly and contemptuously. 
 
 "An American?" She started up, wild with expecta 
 tion. "Bring her to me oh! bring her to me now; I 
 
 must see her, quick; oh! do bring her to me " she 
 
 pleaded. 
 
 A Mexican woman is above all things a woman ; warm 
 hearted, full of pity for her sisters, even for those who 
 have swerved from the straight and narrow path. The 
 heart-broken appeal of this poor child, who would soon 
 be mother to another child, moved them to tears; they 
 felt no resentment at the yearning expressed for the sight 
 of one of her own nation ; even though they had been so 
 devoted and loving to this tender little exile. 
 
 Silence fell on those remaining in the room, when one 
 of the women had been sent out to bring the stranger in ; 
 and then Donna Felipe, the oldest among them, sug 
 gested that possibly the Superintendent might be averse 
 to his wife receiving this strange woman in their house. 
 A pitiful look of apprehension came into the childish 
 face. 
 
 "Only this once," she pleaded, "only this once"; and in 
 a sudden spasm of pain, wrung her hands entreatingly. 
 
 Then Donna Felipe thoughtfully hung a heavy cloth 
 over the lights of the other casement Mexicans in that 
 country consider windows an unnecessary luxury, any 
 how and just then a tall, well-rounded figure stepped 
 
218 JOSEPHINE CLIFFORD McCRACKIN 
 
 into the the low doorway, an air of defiance somehow 
 showing in the looks and bearing of the woman. 
 
 Perhaps it was well that the eyes of the child-wife 
 were blinded with tears. But the strange woman who 
 had entered, saw only the white face and the hungrily- 
 outstretched arms of the woman in travail; and hastily 
 casting aside flaring hat and gaudy veil, she snatched up 
 the reclining figure and rested the drooping head against 
 her breast. 
 
 "Oh, sister, sister!" cried the helpless mite in broken 
 tones. "Sister, whom God has sent me in my hour of 
 need you must never, never leave me ; will you promise 
 to stay with me, always?" 
 
 "Always, poor child, as long as you need me." The 
 low voice was in singular contrast with the hard black 
 eyes now melting in hesitant feeling, and the lines 
 which passion and world-anger, perhaps sorrow, had 
 graven on the bold, proud face. 
 
 The name which the Mexican women had spoken, and 
 which the little innocent had not understood, was 
 branded on the woman s forehead. But when the Mexi 
 cans watched the furtive passes she made over cheeks 
 and lips and eyebrows with her handkerchief, they soft 
 ened toward her, and a low-breathed "misericordia" came 
 from their lips. How could they judge what misfortune 
 had driven this woman to her fall? A handsome woman 
 she must have been ; a better and softer look in her face 
 already since some of the paint had been wiped away; 
 perhaps she wished in this solemn moment that her 
 shame might all be wiped away as well. 
 
 Her hair, heavy and fine as silk, would have made her 
 a noticeable personage in any assemblage; but it was 
 
PAY DAY AT THE MINE 219 
 
 evident that her eyebrows had been penciled to a deeper 
 black, to make the contrast to her golden hair more strik 
 ing. 
 
 The little wife had quickly sobbed herself to sleep, and 
 when she woke, in sudden agony, the woman, who sup 
 ported her, asked in broken Spanish, that the husband 
 should be sent for. She knew full well that a physician 
 was out of the question, and would hardly be needed 
 where the elderly Donna Felipe was present. 
 
 Comforting the patient as she would a child, she still 
 threw impatient glances toward the door, and soon a stir 
 among the women announced the coming of the super 
 intendent. A man past his first youth, whose mien, natu 
 rally haughty, had grown stern with increasing years, 
 appeared upon the threshold, and had the yellow hair 
 of the strange woman suddenly turned into the fabled 
 serpent s, she could not have looked more like a Medusa 
 than at this moment. 
 
 Her fingers must have clinched the little hand she held 
 with painful grip; there was a moan from the sufferer; 
 but the man, who stood, petrified, just inside the door, 
 paid no heed. Like a magnet, the strange woman seemed 
 to draw him, though she had raised a warning, repellant 
 hand at his approach. 
 
 Womanlike, she had regained full self-possession first ; 
 and while his blanched lips formed one word "Con- 
 stantia" she pointed with commanding gesture to the 
 form that had glided from her arms to the pillow. 
 
 The man bent over his wife, but she shrank from him, 
 calling faintly for "Sister sister!" When she was 
 quieted again, Donna Felipe stood beside the bed while 
 the strange woman turned aside a moment to the super- 
 
220 JOSEPHINE CLIFFORD McCRACKIN 
 
 tendent. None heard her, or understood when she asked 
 abruptly, with a backward motion of her hand, 
 
 "That is not the woman?" 
 
 "No !" replied the man ; then, with a savage oath, "She 
 robbed me " 
 
 "As you robbed me" ; put in the woman coolly. "But 
 she robbed you of your money only ; while you took all 
 from me honor, and fortune and wifehood." 
 
 "Have you no home?" asked the man. 
 
 "None, since you drove me, a disgraced woman, from 
 yours." 
 
 "Your father " 
 
 "In spite of your plausible story he offered me a home, 
 which I would not accept" ; she replied with curling lip. 
 "Rather be spurned by strangers than live under the pity 
 and contempt of my father s second wife. And now let 
 me ask: How came you to lay your iron hand on this 
 girl, of whom you have made a plaything to beguile the 
 tedious hours of your enforced solitude? Bought her of 
 some poor man, who had smaller children to support, I ll 
 be bound. Ah ! that strikes home ; you have the grace to 
 blush." 
 
 "You ! What are you that you should dare " 
 
 "I am only what you made me ; you have my soul on 
 your conscience, as you will have that child s life on your 
 soul should she die this night. Now leave the room; 
 she dreads you as I loathe you." 
 
 She turned away, and he walked with unsteady steps 
 to the door, a man suddenly aged as with years. 
 
 The grey dawn came slowly struggling in; the dry, 
 sharp chill of the night battling with the first messen 
 gers of the dry, sharp heat of the day. 
 
PAY DAY AT THE MINE 221 
 
 The hangings had been removed from the casements, 
 and Donna Felipe was tenderly spreading a coverlet over 
 the motionless form lying stretched on the rude couch. 
 
 "Madre Doloroso!" she prayed, as she looked on the 
 still, white face. "May she straightly enter Paradise, 
 as do those who lose their life while giving life to a 
 child." 
 
 The Mexican women were on their knees ; the strange 
 woman no longer a stranger to them now stood among 
 them, with bowed head, with tear-dimmed eyes ; no trace 
 of paint or color on her saddened face ; yet with a look, 
 somehow, almost as defiant as the air with which she had 
 entered here the day before. She turned when she saw 
 the man enter the room hesitatingly, though looking with 
 longing eyes toward the bundle Donna Felipe held in her 
 arms. He had given but one shuddering look at the still 
 form covered from sight on the bed. 
 
 "She gave the child to me !" the woman spoke fiercely ; 
 a lioness defending her whelp might have shown set 
 white teeth like that. 
 
 "You have no home to give him," said the man with a 
 faint attempt at defiance. 
 
 "Is that a taunt?" Then quickly smothering her anger, 
 she said quietly: "My father will gladly give a home to 
 his daughter, repentant, and bringing with her your 
 child." 
 
 The stress of hatred she laid on the pronoun shook him 
 out of his lethargy. 
 
 "My child shall stay with me," he said angrily. 
 "Donna Felipe will tend him and take care of him." 
 
 "Your child shall go with me"; she replied determin- 
 
222 JOSEPHINE CLIFFORD McCRACKIN 
 
 edly. "Donna Felipe, see that all is ready for our jour 
 ney in this hour." 
 
 He stretched out his hand to touch the child. "Stop !" 
 she commanded. "Do not touch the child ; she gave him 
 to me!" 
 
 "Shall I never see my own child?" The spirit of the 
 once proud, reckless man was broken. "How shall I 
 know him, where shall I find him?" 
 
 "He will bear your name," she said, "and you will find 
 him always at my father s home." She took the little 
 bundle from the Mexican s arms. 
 
 "Pray attend me to the carrete, Donna Felipe," she said 
 as she swept from the room. 
 
 He laid a detaining hand on her arm, which she shook 
 off as if it were some loathsome reptile. "Will you for 
 give me " 
 
 But the eyes she turned on him so flashed and burned 
 with passion that involuntarily he stretched a protecting 
 hand toward the child. In a moment her flaming anger 
 was under control. 
 
 "Yes," she said with cold disdain, "I forgive you for 
 the sake of her child," she added softly, as she drew close 
 her veil, and passed out amid the murmured benedictions 
 of the Mexican women. 
 
THE WOMAN WHO LOST HIM 
 
 There were six passengers on the stage when it left 
 the Salinas that morning, five men and a woman. There 
 was one more passenger, a fascinating "drummer," but 
 he had taken the outside seat beside the driver when 
 it was found that the lady did not desire this elevated po 
 sition for California was still young enough and gallant 
 enough to stand back and give the first choice to any 
 representative of the fair sex, be she fair or not. For, 
 "a woman was a woman" even at this period ; and each 
 of the five men, as they climbed into the stage after the 
 lady had been helped in by the landlord of the hotel, who 
 was also stage agent, had asked that individual in dumb 
 show who this one might be. And each, upon perceiving 
 by the blank look and shoulder shrug, that the hotel 
 keeper was no wiser than himself on this point, turned a 
 discreetly scrutinizing glance on the female passenger 
 as soon as he and his overcoat and valise had been prop 
 erly placed and adjusted. 
 
 The lady herself seemed utterly unconscious of the 
 stealthy attention lavished upon her. The black veil that 
 covered her hat and face was neither dense nor heavy, and 
 she removed it in a little while with the evident desire of 
 enjoying the outlook upon the Gabilan Range, bathed 
 now in the early sunlight, which lay upon it in soft, 
 dreamy tints of pink and rose, a golden haze weaving 
 enchantment about the peaks and crags of the distant 
 mountain. 
 
 It was for the purpose of obtaining this view, proba- 
 
224 JOSEPHINE CLIFFORD McCRACKIN 
 
 bly, that she had elected to dispose herself in a corner on 
 the front seat of the stage, her back to the horses, instead 
 of occupying the back seat as the choicest. The middle 
 seat, swaying with every movement of the stage, was 
 occupied solely by the man who owned the largest share 
 of the country surrounding lands held formerly by 
 haughty Don and proud Senor, and which had passed 
 into the keeping of the man who had acquired them 
 anyhow, and taken possession with the same air of bon- 
 hommie and the brusque show of good nature which 
 characterized him in his dealings with all men. He had 
 come to California in the days that followed the age 
 pastoral, and which might justly be called the period 
 of spoliation, when the watchword and the battlecry of 
 the incoming American had been, "Get land; get land 
 honestly if you can but get land." He was supposed to 
 be a little lame in one leg; so everybody was willing to 
 give him the best seat and stand back for his comfort 
 generally; he was supposed to be a little hard of hearing; 
 so everybody leaned forward to make it convenient for 
 him to catch their meaning. 
 
 The back seat was occupied by two men alone the 
 wealthiest merchant in town and the big Dutch butcher, 
 Meyer. The theory was, in stage days, that the more 
 heavily the stage was loaded the more lightly it swung, 
 and so there were on the front seat two passengers be 
 sides the lady. All these five men, after one keen glance 
 at their fair fellow-traveler, had looked from one to an 
 other and finally concluded that she belonged to neither 
 of them. After settling this, came the question, "Who 
 is she then?" The wealthy dry goods man, with a red- 
 haired wife and nine children at home, assigned her, for 
 
THE WOMAN WHO LOST HIM 225 
 
 one moment, to the drummer on top of the stage; but 
 concluded, the next, that her quiet, sober dress stamped 
 her as not that kind of a woman. 
 
 The man in the floppy straw hat and rather unkempt 
 hair of indefinite color, sitting on the seat with the lady, 
 raised a pair of gentle brown eyes to her face for a mo 
 ment and then fell to drawing his fingers through whis 
 kers as long and unkempt as his hair. Something about 
 him spoke of fallen fortunes; and a dormant element of 
 combativeness that might be roused into activity at any 
 unexpected moment, could be read in the lines of his 
 sallow face. 
 
 Next to him sat a stranger from the city, no doubt, a 
 young man, neatly dressed, with natty hat, and kid 
 gloves peeping out of the breast pocket of his coat. But 
 this young man was a newspaper writer, reporter and 
 journalist, and he knew that the gloves worn in an ill- 
 judged and conspicuous manner would very likely prove 
 a bar to his gaining the confidence of his fellow-travelers, 
 and thus cut him off from knowledge and information 
 which he was anxious to gather as material to "work 
 up." For your real rancher looks with disfavor and mis 
 trust upon anyone wearing gloves as upon one who 
 might "smile and smile and be a villain still." 
 
 As the back of the gentleman on the swinging seat in 
 the middle was turned toward him, it was only natural 
 that if he entered into conversation at all, it would be 
 with the man on the same seat with him the Southern 
 man in the big straw hat. 
 
 They had been exchanging remarks on the weather, 
 the crops and the country, in a desultory, haphazard 
 way, the man of Southern looks being of the country, 
 
226 JOSEPHINE CLIFFORD McCRACKIN 
 
 spoke for the country, though he owned but a small slice 
 of it, compared to the holdings of the man occupying 
 the seat in front of them. The roads were rough, for the 
 heavy black adobe soil but recently dry after winter rains, 
 had not yet been ground into powder by the heavy, 
 grain-laden wagons; with their eight, ten and sixteen- 
 horse teams, that would traverse the country a little later 
 in the season. 
 
 The stage lumbered slowly along, and he of the straw 
 hat called the attention of the young man with the re 
 porter s note-book to points of interest near and far. In 
 the distant mountain chain it was the peak where Fre 
 mont and his men had been encamped ; nearer by it was 
 the spot where an incredible number of bushels of wheat 
 had been harvested to the acre; and when they ap 
 proached the lonesome-looking enclosure with a strag 
 gling eucalyptus tree here and there, rustling disconso 
 lately in the wind, above a number of scattered graves, it 
 was not difficult to guess that this was the last resting 
 place of the Catholics of Salinas valley, for a plain black 
 cross rose above the arched gateway. Drawn up by the 
 side of the road near this gate was a wagon with two 
 horses, the front seat alone being occupied. The occu 
 pant could not have been more than twenty; and had 
 not his every feature stamped him a Spaniard, his very 
 attitude stretched indolently but not ungracefully on 
 the seat, and the abandon with which he gave himself 
 up to the making of music on his harmonica, would have 
 proclaimed him as one of this race California born. 
 
 He was no mean performer on this unjustly despised 
 instrument; he drew tones from it as sad as earth, as 
 sweet as heaven tones that stirred the spirit with their 
 
THE WOMAN WHO LOST HIM 227 
 
 passion and made the tear start with their pathos. Every 
 sound was hushed in the stage, even the horses seemed 
 to step softly for fear of losing a single note, and the 
 lady in the corner was seen to draw out her handker 
 chief, flutter the dainty white flag a moment, and then 
 press it quickly to her eyes. 
 
 "What touching music," said the newspaper man, 
 breaking the silence as they passed. 
 
 "Heart-rending," affirmed the man from the South; 
 and no one smiled, for the sentiment was correct, though 
 the syllabication was somewhat extravagant. 
 
 Away in the far corner of the graveyard an old man 
 could be seen, kneeling, probably at the grave of someone 
 loved and lost; and Meyer, the big butcher, pointed out 
 the lonely figure to Colonel Dare, the big landowner. 
 
 "Old Higuera," said the Dutchman, "he pray by the 
 grave of his son, Vasquez." 
 
 "Killed with Vasquez, you mean " he was corrected. 
 
 "Yes, yes; he vas by Vasquez, dey say," he insisted. 
 
 "I don t believe it," the dry goods man commented, 
 "the body was brought here some time after the old man 
 and his son came here to live. This was an older son 
 that died." 
 
 "Dug him up somewhere else and planted him here 
 eh?" asked the Colonel facetiously; and the other con 
 tinued : 
 
 "The old man had a female of some kind in the wagon 
 with him when I saw him in town early this morning." 
 
 Colonel Dare could not have been so very hard of hear 
 ing after all, for this was spoken in an undertone, but he 
 instantly asked "Eh, what? A woman? What did she 
 
228 JOSEPHINE CLIFFORD McCRACKIN 
 
 look like hey? Didn t see? That s like you; if it had 
 been me now " 
 
 The dry goods man, as the husband of one wife and 
 father of nine red-headed children, had evidently ad 
 monished his friend to be on his good behavior, for the 
 Colonel checked his laughter and cast one careless look 
 in the direction of the lady passenger. But she was 
 neither sufficiently buxom of form nor rosy of face to 
 hold his attention. 
 
 "Higuera," he continued, musingly, "the family cer 
 tainly does not belong anywhere in this part of Califor 
 nia, I am sure they never owned any land around here." 
 
 Butcher Meyer exploded with laughter. "No, no, 
 Colonel, if dey own land, den you know dem sure ha 
 ha ho and deir land, too." 
 
 "Well, Dutchman, and if they had owned any fat cat 
 tle, then you would have known them and their cattle, 
 too," and the good-natured Colonel thought it was his 
 turn to laugh. 
 
 "But I bays for mine caddies," protested the Dutch 
 man. 
 
 "But who said I didn t bay for mine land, " the face 
 tious Colonel asked mockingly, and he himself intoned 
 the laugh that went all around the stage. 
 
 When the merriment had subsided, Butcher Meyer, 
 with an air of mystery and importance, hinted at some 
 thing he had heard in regard to the name Higuera not 
 being genuine, to which the Colonel lightly responded 
 that in crossing the plains to come to California names 
 did have a tendency to get slightly mixed, and after thus 
 giving expression to the liberal views he held on the 
 subject of masquerading under different names, the 
 
THE WOMAN WHO LOST HIM 229 
 
 Colonel dropped the subject. But to the ears of the man 
 from papertown "Vasquez" had a most alluring sound; 
 his most cherished ambition had been to compose a trag 
 edy modeled on the plan of Schiller s "Robbers," and the 
 name of the bandit thus casually mentioned opened so 
 brilliant a vista to his sanguine view that he was fairly 
 dazzled with the vast possibilities in store for him. He 
 turned trustfully to the man in the straw hat. 
 
 "You know something of the crimes and depredations 
 of this noted robber chief?" he asked with an air of gen 
 eral interest only. 
 
 To his surprise it was Colonel Dare who replied in his 
 roughly bantering, but wholly good-humored way, 
 "Don t for pity s sake start Finnerty on that subject; 
 might just as well set him to talking of what he had and 
 what he was before the wah. " 
 
 Finnerty laughed with the rest, though there was a 
 shade of regret in his mild brown eyes. 
 
 "But, Colonel," the Dutchman broke in, "me and Mr. 
 Finnerty bote has reason to complain of dat rascal, Vas 
 quez. He steal Mr. Finnerty s horses and almost break 
 him up, and he steals mine fat caddies and almost break 
 me up." 
 
 "Didn t bay for mine caddie eh?" asked the witty 
 Colonel, and a perfect shout of laughter arose from the 
 inside of the stage, so that the drummer on top made up 
 his mind to get inside the very next time the horses were 
 changed or watered. The Colonel, however, continued 
 more soberly: 
 
 "Well, Dutchman, I think Finnerty had a good deal 
 more reason to complain than you. They did worry 
 him pretty well. That span of sorrel Patchens would 
 
230 JOSEPHINE CLIFFORD McCRACKlN 
 
 have brought $10,000 anywhere, and I d have given 
 $5000 for the black Morgan to match mine." 
 
 "And Vasquez took them from you? How? Was 
 there an open battle with him ? Do tell me, please." The 
 intending author of the tragedy could no longer bridle 
 his thirst for knowledge, but the older Californians 
 smiled unmovedly at the inquisitive tenderfoot, little 
 dreaming how he meant to make California (and him 
 self) famous through her defunct horsethief and bandit. 
 
 "Well, you see it was really not Vasquez himself 
 
 who took the stock from me " the scribe s face fell. 
 
 "It was a young man who had joined the band that took 
 them." 
 
 "One of Vasquez s lieutenants, so to speak," the aspir 
 ing dramatist interrupted, with hope revived, and the 
 other continued: 
 
 "I was located some sixty miles south of this at this 
 time, had quite a range for my stock and had a Mexican 
 for a vaquero." 
 
 "The more fool you," the Colonel put in, sententiously, 
 but neither Mr. Finnerty nor any of the others saw any 
 thing offensive in the remark, and the Southerner began 
 again : "As long as they let my stock alone I said noth 
 ing, but when they took General Lee that is" hastily 
 "my fine black Morgan, I corralled my vaquero one 
 morning, shook him till his teeth rattled, and he con 
 fessed. He told me such a pitiful story, however, that I 
 did not try to get the stallion back ; I knew he would be 
 well taken care of by the man that got him." 
 
 "Well done for Finnerty," exclaimed the Colonel, 
 laughing angrily. "If we did not know him we might 
 
THE WOMAN WHO LOST HIM 231 
 
 suspect him of belonging to the gang and having fur 
 nished horses for them." 
 
 "When they came after my matched sorrels I got kind 
 o mad," continued Finnerty, unheeding, "but it was so 
 near the end then that I did not get time to do anything 
 about it." 
 
 "But the story what was the story your vaquero 
 told you?" 
 
 "Why you see it was about the young man that 
 took the horses." 
 
 "The young horsethief, you mean, Finnerty," the 
 Colonel again interrupted. 
 
 "Well he was the son of a man who had been robbed 
 of all his lands by the Americans Arano was his name, 
 and he had owned thousands upon thousands of acres 
 near Los Angeles. But a smart Yankee had come along 
 and taken possession of the land and the court had con 
 firmed the title, and the poor old man was turned adrift 
 with not a dollar between himself and starvation. 
 
 "You know how those things go; the Spaniards are 
 ignorant of our laws and some of them have not an acre 
 of land left, when they really never had the intention 
 of selling and never did sell to the men that now hold the 
 land." With a sudden jerk the narrator checked himself 
 and threw a deprecating look toward Colonel Dare, but 
 this little gentleman was just in the act of placing the 
 foot supposed to be a little lame in a more comfortable 
 position. 
 
 "Don t stop, Finnerty," he said with the most 
 audacious good nature, "you re not hitting me hard now ; 
 I never lived in Los Angeles, you know. Go right on." 
 
 "Thank you, Colonel," said the man from the South 
 
232 JOSEPHINE CLIFFORD McCRACKIN 
 
 in all sincerity, and continued: "So it stands to reason 
 that these old Spanish people have no great love for us 
 Americans. This case, however, was a particularly ag 
 gravating one. Young Arano had just been married to 
 a young lady, handsome, accomplished, raised in afflu 
 ence, to whom, supposing himself heir to his father s 
 wealth, he had pictured a life of luxury and en 
 joyment at his side. You can imagine what his feelings 
 were when he had not even the plainest home to take 
 her to. She was a descendant of the Oliveras, they say, 
 her mother Spanish, her father American." 
 
 "Englishman, Finnerty," corrected the Colonel. "Us 
 Americans may have taken their land from the Span 
 iards, but the English took their women/ 
 
 "And she refused to go back home and abandon her 
 young husband. He, the poor, foolish young fellow, un 
 dertook to drive the invaders (as he considered them) 
 from his father s lands at the point of a pistol, and 
 well, he was made to suffer for his rash courage. They 
 are a downtrodden race these Spaniards, and the people 
 who conquered them have despoiled them of their pos 
 sessions." There was a dangerous ring to the patient 
 man s voice, and a sudden flash in the kind brown eyes, 
 and the would-be dramatist, intent as he was on gather 
 ing material, seemed all at once to hear the distant echo 
 of a chorus of lugubrious negro voices : 
 
 "My Old Kentucky Home good-night!" 
 
 " And I have the deepest pity for them. Now, when 
 the poor young fellow made his escape from the jail 
 where they had put him where should he go what 
 should he do but join Vasquez? His young and beau 
 tiful wife my vaquero said she was beautiful." 
 
THE WOMAN WHO LOST HIM 233 
 
 "Your vaquero was the brudder of Mr. Arano, I guess." 
 The red-faced butcher thought it was his turn now to 
 quiz Mr. Finnerty. But the Southerner took the world 
 and himself seriously and answered: 
 
 "No, for he said the brother was much younger than 
 Francis Arano." Then in answer to a beseeching look 
 from the scribe, he continued where he had left off. "The 
 wife remained with the poor, stricken father, and never 
 saw her husband again. Young Arano had come to the 
 neighborhood where I was living south of here at the 
 time and he took my black Morgan to make his way 
 back to see his wife before leaving the country; for he 
 intended going with Vasquez to Mexico. I could not be 
 angry with the poor young fellow for taking the horse." 
 
 "Finnerty, did you ever steal a horse yourself?" broke 
 in the irrepressible Colonel, and Finnerty, meditatively 
 combing his long beard with his fingers, admitted: 
 
 "Well, Colonel, I did borrow a horse from my neighbor 
 in order to get away from you uns during the wah." 
 
 "Ever return the horse or pay for it?" 
 
 "You uns never gave me a chance," was the ingenuous 
 reply. 
 
 "I thought it was strange you had such a fellow feel 
 ing for a horsethief," the Colonel remarked ; and Finner 
 ty laughed with the rest till the tears stood in his eyes. 
 
 The stage had long since accelerated its speed, for the 
 mountain road it was beginning to traverse was not ham 
 pered by the clods of black adobe soil for which the 
 Salinas plains are famous or notorious as the case may 
 be. The views were becoming more grand as the Pass 
 was approached, yet there were no glimpses yet to be had 
 of the old town of San Juan with its older Mission, in the 
 
234 JOSEPHINE CLIFFORD McCRACKIN 
 
 valley below, where the stage as well as the horses were 
 to be changed. The day was growing warmer, the big 
 butcher, Meyer, had long since removed his coat, and 
 now sat fanning his face, big and red, and still quivering 
 with rills of laughter. 
 
 The Colonel seemed to have settled down to a nap in 
 good earnest at last, though a glancing look had swept 
 the face of the woman in her corner of the stage before 
 he had closed his eyes. "A stone image" he dubbed her 
 in his mind, for she had not even smiled at his witticisms. 
 The journalist, however, had seen how the clear gray 
 eyes, almond shaped, black fringed, beneath delicately- 
 arched black brows, had kindled when he himself had 
 been so moved by the pathetic outburst of the South 
 erner; and in the drama which he intended to construct 
 on the plan of Schiller s "Robbers" out of the Vasquez 
 material he had designed her as the Amelia of his play. 
 "For," he argued, "an Amelia must be sympathetic above 
 all things." 
 
 The lady s veil had long since dropped and he could 
 see the dark, full hair, wavy at the temples not curly. 
 "A bandit bride doesn t want curly hair," he said to him 
 self, "just this wave in the hair is the proper thing." 
 Then he fell to speculating what the lady s name might 
 be ; he wanted to give his heroine her name, too, as well 
 as her exterior attributes and mental qualities. In short, 
 his drama was making huge strides, and he felt it imper 
 ative to urge Finnerty to a conclusion while the aggra 
 vating Colonel slept. 
 
 "But the Colonel mentioned two more horses you lost 
 through the Vasquez band," he persisted in his blandest, 
 most attentive manner. 
 
THE WOMAN WHO LOST HIM 235 
 
 "Not only by de same band, but by the same young 
 fellow," put in the big butcher. He had never forgotten 
 or forgiven the five hundred head of "fat caddies" that 
 the gang had relieved him of. 
 
 "Well yes; my Patchen sorrels. You see, young 
 Arano had a close call; so much money was to be had 
 for the capture or the death of any of the band that every 
 loafer in the country took a shot at them; and one of 
 them hit my Morgan stallion. But Arano escaped. 
 Where he hid I don t know, but I really believe my 
 vaquero knew of his taking my matched sorrels." 
 
 The Dutchman laughed. 
 
 "Finnerty," he commented in a tone between bitter 
 ness and compassion, "a butcher like myself a man what 
 trabbles through the country with his $40,000 or $50,000 
 to buy up caddies, knows every man in the country, wed- 
 der he be a honest man or a horsethief. It s a blessing 
 everybody in dis country know you for an honest man, 
 udderwise he take you for a horsethief, you talk so foolish. 
 Somebody don t know you he think you horsethief, too. 
 Of course, your vaquero was a rascal, and everybody in 
 the country knows it but yourself." 
 
 "Well, but, Meyer," urged Finnerty in his most 
 propitiating manner, "I could not blame the young fellow 
 for wanting to get back to the woman he loved." 
 
 "Did he reach his wife," asked the dramatist, eagerly. 
 
 "Neither his wife nor Mexico," Finnerty shook his 
 head, sadly. "I have so often thought of his poor young 
 wife and his old father he never saw them again. You 
 see, the country was so thoroughly aroused, so many 
 people were out on the warpath against the band, that it 
 was impossible to break through the lines. It was only 
 
236 JOSEPHINE CLIFFORD McCRACKIN 
 
 some twenty-five miles below where I was then living 
 that the young fellow was killed ; just who had killed him 
 no one could say, and there was endless wrangling over 
 the blood money. Young Arano was found dying in the 
 thicket where he had dragged himself after receiving his 
 death wound, and all he ever spoke after this, was the 
 name of his wife. Inez Inez Inez/ he called out three 
 times and never spoke again. * 
 
 "How tragic !" exclaimed the scribe, adding mentally : 
 "Eureka ! I have found it, the name of the bandit bride !" 
 And when he noticed the woman leaning forward, her 
 face blanched, her brows contracted till they formed one 
 straight black line, her teeth set and her eyes ablaze, he 
 inwardly exulted. "Aha!" he said to himself, "heroic as 
 well as sympathetic; I must hold fast this character by 
 all means just the thing I want for my Bandit s 
 Bride. " 
 
 The face of the Southerner was almost as pale as that 
 of the woman in the corner, and the hand he mechan 
 ically drew through his beard was trembling. Without 
 knowing it he had so raised his voice that both the 
 Colonel and the dry goods man started from their slum 
 bers ; the former fell to putting his left leg in a more com 
 fortable position, the latter to rubbing his eyes and yawn 
 ing with all his might and main. 
 
 Far beneath them lay the ancient town, the walls of 
 the Mission Church of San Juan Bautista gleaming white 
 in the hot sun. The low adobe houses whitewashed, rose 
 embowered, wall encircled, with vines trailing over re- 
 mada and red-tiled roof had preserved sufficient of the 
 Spanish features to give to the little town the look of en 
 chantment which these places bear at a safe distance. 
 
THE WOMAN WHO LOST HIM 237 
 
 Few of the buildings only attain to the dignity of a sec 
 ond story, and one of these was a solid-looking structure, 
 part adobe, part frame the "hotel" at which the stage 
 was to stop. 
 
 The sheep ranges in the immediate neighborhood of 
 the town, still being green, the lower hills surrounding it 
 still clothed in verdure, it was not to be wondered at 
 that the journalist gazed with rapture on the scene as 
 the stage wound along the mountain side. It would not 
 be long now till San Juan would be reached, and again 
 all the inmates of the coach fell to wondering about the 
 solitary lady passenger. Would she stop? Would she 
 go on? Who would help her out? 
 
 "Not I," said the Colonel to himself, decisively, "let 
 Southern chivalry unload that stone image." 
 
 The dry goods man scanned her once more. She had 
 never been in his store, he knew; why should he bother? 
 His red-headed wife was given to jealousy, and the 
 Colonel well, the Colonel would have his joke, and 
 would be sure to bring it to her ears. The journalist had 
 long since decided that the Southerner would appreciate 
 the distinction of lifting the only lady from the coach ; 
 and he liked the Southerner and felt under obligations to 
 him. Butcher Meyer had not thought of the matter at 
 all; evidently he thought of nothing but "fad caddies" 
 as a general thing; and by this same token he returned 
 to his muttons. 
 
 "Dem plasted roppers," he said, more to himself than 
 to any one in particular. "If Finnerty had only caught 
 the young horsethief and got part of the reward." 
 
 "Thank you," interrupted Finnerty with marked cold 
 ness, "I am no thief catcher!" 
 
238 JOSEPHINE CLIFFORD McCRACKIN 
 
 "And pesides," continued the aggrieved man of beef, 
 "dey say dat young fellow had $20,000 in gold on him ; he 
 was going to take it to Mexico for Vasquez." 
 
 "Nonsense," laughed Finnerty, "how could he have 
 carried it? One of the sorrels was stolen by one of the 
 gang, and the other was shot under him." 
 
 "Yes, but the money might have been taken by the 
 men that found him and divided up among them don t 
 you see it? Vat you say, Colonel hey?" and he nudged 
 the doughty Colonel in the ribs to show on what familiar 
 terms he was with the largest landholder in the Salinas 
 valley. 
 
 "Yes, yes, Meyer ; I ll bet you the money he got for the 
 five hundred head of fad caddies was among the swag." 
 
 Everybody laughed, while everybody was putting his 
 things together preparatory to leaving the stage the mo 
 ment it should stop. 
 
 "But what could have become of it?" queried the dry 
 goods man, who got his things together more quickly 
 than the rest ; "they do say that his young lieutenant had 
 been given a large sum of money by Vasquez; he had 
 perfect confidence in him." 
 
 "But what could have become of it?" asked the South 
 erner. 
 
 The stage stopped with a jolt; the Colonel was given 
 ample time to climb out comfortably while the rest 
 looked on ; and to the Southerner s question the dry goods 
 man replied in an offhand manner: 
 
 "Oh well," as Meyer says, "those who found him 
 went snooks on the loot," and thinking that he, too, had 
 said something funny, he was surprised when he looked 
 into the Southerner s perfectly serious face. 
 
THE WOMAN WHO LOST HIN 239 
 
 This gentleman was making ready to descend after 
 him, while the journalist sat well back in his seat to 
 intimate that he would be the last to leave the vehicle ; 
 and he was startled beyond measure to hear the South 
 erner enunciate in his quiet tones: 
 
 "That cannot be so; for I am the man that found him." 
 As he sprang lightly to the ground he turned to lift out 
 the lady who had risen from her seat to follow him. For 
 one brief moment her dark, gray orbs met his honest 
 brown eyes, and he felt the pressure of her warm, soft 
 fingers. 
 
 Then for the first time she spoke : 
 "And I am the woman who lost him," she said. 
 
ONE DAY IN JUNE 
 
 It was a little aside from the main road that leads 
 through the mountains to Santa Cruz, and the homely, 
 comfortable house, with a broad porch running the full 
 length of the front facing the by-road, had originally 
 been built to accommodate the hands in the Hume saw 
 mill with board and lodgement. Now the mill had been 
 moved "furder down the gulch" in order to procure more 
 plentiful food for its greedy teeth, and Mr. Brown, erst 
 while bullwhacker in the employ of the company, had 
 been given this cottage as residence, since the boarding 
 house had followed the mill "furder down the gulch," 
 and Mr. Brown, by reason of increasing years and obe 
 sity, had been compelled to lay aside rawhide and black- 
 snake forever. 
 
 The Browns, or more correctly speaking, Mrs. Brown, 
 had nailed, and nailed, and knocked, and hammered 
 around till the old house had become the neat, cozy home 
 it was, and it quite looked the place for the schoolmarm 
 to board at and an occasional tourist to rest in for a few 
 days, while taking views of sylvan scenery and distant 
 coast glimpses. 
 
 The water trough in front of the house, with its over 
 hanging willow, seemed as indispensable now as in the 
 earlier days, and when Jim, or Bill, or Dick turned mill- 
 ward in the evening, having delivered their load of lum 
 ber at its proper destination, the horses always stopped 
 at the trough, and Miss Brown, fresh, rosy and a little 
 bit freckled, was always on the porch for a chat or a 
 
ONE DAY IN JUNE 241 
 
 flirtation. Sometimes Jim, Bill or Dick came back to 
 call, later in the evening, when they were made welcome 
 by Mother Brown, as well as the daughter. 
 
 It was Jim who was watering his horse at the trough 
 this evening, and making conversation with Miss Brown, 
 which conversation seemed of so absorbing a nature 
 that the man who came up the road on his wheel was not 
 noticed by either till he stopped near the trough and 
 addressed the teamster. 
 
 "Yep," was Jim s reply, "the road you left was the road 
 to Santa Cruz ; this yere one takes you down to Hume s 
 mill. But come closter," he continued facetiously, "an 
 give yer horse a drink. Mebbe you d like to tie up for 
 the night ; mighty good house this, and no other boarders 
 now ceptin the schoolmarm" with a squint of his 
 mischievous black eyes toward the house. 
 
 "Young lady on the porch just now?" asked the 
 stranger, for Miss Brown had vanished, presumably to 
 inform her mother of the new arrival. 
 
 "Naw that was old Pop Brown s daughter; don t 
 ketch her mopin over an ole book in a corner when we 
 fellers come round." 
 
 It seemed only the right thing to do for the stranger to 
 mount the low steps to the porch and take a cursory look 
 over the place he had been advised to "tie up" at, and he 
 went toward the open door of the hall, or sitting room, 
 whatever it might be termed. Just as he caught sight of 
 a slender, girlish figure, trying to catch the fading light 
 on the page she was reading, and of the stretches of green 
 slope climbing upward to a mountain crowned with dark, 
 sombre redwoods, as seen through the window by which 
 the girl was sitting, another door opened and Mrs, 
 
242 JOSEPHINE CLIFFORD McCRACKIN 
 
 Brown, ample of proportion, and with a motherly smile 
 on her broad face, stepped into the room. 
 
 It would be doing her an injustice to say that she scru 
 tinized her would-be guest very closely, so many had 
 stopped here, some with camera and sketch book, others 
 merely on the way to or from Santa Cruz, on wheel, on 
 foot or on horseback, and all, as far as she could see, 
 dressed in the same kind of grey clothes that this young 
 man wore. During the greeting the stranger had lost 
 sight of the figure by the window, and when he turned 
 again it had gone. Nevertheless, he walked up to the 
 window, and scrutinized closely and with much interest 
 the landscape he saw from there. 
 
 At the supper table he found the ladies already seated ; 
 there were no introductions ; but he seemed a man of re 
 sources, and he began a conversation with the pater 
 familias, which had for its theme the various beauties 
 and advantages which this portion of the Santa Cruz 
 mountains possessed over all other parts of it, turning 
 suddenly with an enthusiastic, "Don t you think so, too, 
 
 Miss " to the schoolmarm, seated opposite to him. A 
 
 pair of soft brown eyes, direct yet with half-timid ex 
 pression, were raised to his a moment as she supplied the 
 name he did not know "Watson"; and then were low 
 ered again with maidenly reserve. 
 
 These eyes had traveled questioningly across the 
 board once or twice to where the stranger sat, as though 
 something had drawn them there involuntarily ; but they 
 were drooped now while he said something flattering to 
 Miss Brown about the effect that the climate had on the 
 good looks of young ladies who had always lived here. 
 
ONE DAY IN JUNE 243 
 
 "Yes," affirmed Mrs. Brown, "my daughter Ma-Maud 
 was born and bred in these mountains." 
 
 Mr. Brown, in the meantime, had been watching his 
 chance to ask the stranger a question, the answer to 
 which did not reach the schoolmarm s ears ; but when he 
 told his wife, soon after, that Mr. Robertson would stay 
 for a day or two, the young girl thought she saw a 
 startled look on the stranger s face, which look changed 
 into an amused smile, before fading away. After the 
 supper dishes had been cleared away, came Jim, Bill and 
 Dick; but no one seemed surprised when the school 
 teacher took up her book again and began to read by the 
 light of the lamp on the dining table, which had been 
 moved back against the wall. No one addressed her, and 
 the company was most ably entertained by the Brown 
 family, without the aid of the young schoolmarm. 
 
 As the three young men from the sawmill sat with 
 their chairs tilted back against the wall, the newcomer 
 fell into the ways of the country at once by tilting back 
 his chair too; but the only available spot for this pur 
 pose happened to be where his eyes necessarily fell on 
 the young girl dressed in black that sat reading at the 
 table. It was only natural that Mr. Brown should in 
 quire how things were going at the mill, and he was as 
 sured that things were running smoothly. 
 
 "But, Jim," said Dick, "you didn t tell about the acci 
 dent Bob had at Krench s mill." 
 
 "What was it?" inquired the Brown family in one 
 breath. 
 
 "Why, Bob was gettin out a log on the skid-road, an* 
 the horse slipped and fell right onto him an broke his 
 leg above the knee." 
 
244 JOSEPHINE CLIFFORD McCRACKIN 
 
 "What did I always tell you, boys?" wheezed Papa 
 Brown, excitedly. "I tell you horses ain t no good haul- 
 in out logs ; oxen s the thing to do it with ; they wouldn t 
 be half so many accidents if they d stick to that." 
 
 "You see " Mrs. Brown turned to explain to the 
 
 "tenderfoot" (as the boys already had dubbed the 
 stranger), "my husband, Mr. Brown, is known for the 
 best ox-driver that ever handled logs in the whole coun 
 ty of Santa Cruz isn t it so, boys?" 
 
 "Thet s so;" from three distinct voices. 
 
 "And he told em, when they said he d better lay off 
 for good, since they were going to use horses now, that 
 there d be nothing but accidents and runaways on every 
 skid-road in the mountains. But they wouldn t believe 
 him ; now they ve got it. Why, my husband could make 
 them oxen pull the way no horses ever can pull. He 
 could almost cut em in two with the biacksnake, till 
 they d jest beller; but he made em pull, all the same. 
 Horses is no count on a skid-road ; you can jest take the 
 chain offen the log an beat em half to death with it, and 
 then you can t make em pull." 
 
 Miss Brown had been smiling for some time, and she 
 now burst into a laugh. "Look at Florence!" she ex 
 ploded. "Wouldn t you think she was going into con 
 niption-fits? Says she can t bear to see a helpless brute 
 abused ; says she d rather take the beatin herself." 
 
 Jim, Bill and Dick joined in the laugh, while Mrs. 
 Brown explained good-naturedly to the schoolmarm, 
 who, .as the stranger noticed, had grown pale and was 
 shivering as though the lash had struck her, that oxen 
 were made to work or get licked if they didn t ; and that 
 
ONE DAY IN JUNE 245 
 
 Mr. Brown had always fed his critters just as much as 
 they could eat. 
 
 "What might your name be?" asked Jim of our friend; 
 he felt better acquainted with him as having met him 
 first in the afternoon. 
 
 "Ted," was the pleasant reply. 
 
 "Come up here to look for a job?" 
 
 "Shouldn t object," was the laconic reply. 
 
 "Ever work in timber?" 
 
 "Some." 
 
 "Did ever you fall any redwoods?" Bill now took up 
 the catechism. 
 
 "No can t say I ever did, but I believe I could do it. 
 My dad was the boss faller over in the redwoods there, 
 
 for years ," he jerked his head toward the window 
 
 through which he had looked in the afternoon. 
 
 "Fallin redwoods is no joke," contined Bill, "I m no 
 slouch at fallin myself; but I believe the boss would 
 give you a job at fallin if you come over in the morning." 
 He winked at his two companions. 
 
 But he frankly took back whatever he might have said 
 in derision of the tenderfoot, when the young man did 
 go down to the mill in the morning, and in the course of 
 the day made rapid strides toward "fallin " a good-sized 
 redwood, which none of the others had wanted to tackle 
 alone. He got no job, however, as they were not "short- 
 handed" at the mill. Nevertheless, he staid on at the 
 cottage ; paying his board for a week in advance, he bor 
 rowed old Brown s gun and delighted Mrs. Brown by 
 bringing home a full game bag every time he went out ; 
 and Miss Brown was equally delighted with the bunches 
 
246 JOSEPHINE CLIFFORD McCRACKlN 
 
 of flowers he brought to her, for Ma-Maud was sup 
 posed to be very fond of flowers. The prefix of "Ma" 
 to her name proved to be quite unintentional, as he dis 
 covered one day when the old man called his daughter 
 "Matildy," and got an angry look from both mother and 
 daughter for his indiscretion. It was evident that 
 "Maud" had been adopted as a more fashionable name, 
 though they might have shunned that form of it had they 
 known it was really the more old-fashioned of the two. 
 However, Maud-Matilda was happy in the possession of 
 her new-fashioned name and the admiration of the gen 
 tlemen who came there. 
 
 The schoolmarm came in for very little of the young 
 man s attention, Ma-Maud told her mother with great 
 satisfaction; but it happened one afternoon that he 
 crossed the trail which led up from the bare, unattractive 
 school house to the higher lying Brown cottage. He was 
 in pursuit of game, he frankly averred, but it was evident 
 he had come from the direction of the forest-crowned 
 mountain that rose between the Brown cottage and the 
 bay, and which had attracted his attention that first day 
 of his arrival. He had really come up behind her and 
 had been studying her height, her walk and her carriage, 
 drawing comparisons, perhaps, between her and Maud. 
 She was taller than he had first thought; there was in 
 finite grace in her bearing, and she stepped as lightly as 
 though walking in the paved streets of a city. 
 
 There was a start and a flush when he stepped on a 
 crackling bush behind her, and she turned with more 
 pleasure than surprise in her look, he flattered himself. 
 After a few words of greeting he passed on again, and 
 she did not think it necessary or of sufficient importance 
 
ONE DAY IN JUNE 247 
 
 to mention the chance encounter to Matilda or her 
 mother. 
 
 Lounging in the house one day, when an early morn 
 ing fog had turned into a dreary rain, he suddenly asked, 
 with an air of a martyr being led to the stake : "Do you 
 want me to go down and carry the schoolmarm s rub 
 ber coat and overshoes to her?" 
 
 Maud Matilda and her mother both laughed. "You d 
 get small thanks," the mother said. "Why, she s that 
 high and mighty that Jim and Bill and Dick have just 
 quit entirely offering to escort her or wait on her in any 
 way. She s the proudest I ever saw." 
 
 "Wonder what she s proud of?" put in Matilda spite 
 fully. "You know pop is one of the school trustees, and 
 he heard that her people were as poor as church mice, 
 and she puttin on airs here, and grasping and greedy 
 into the bargain." 
 
 "How s that?" asked the young man. 
 
 "W^ell, sir; when she first came here she asked maw 
 if she couldn t have her board cheaper if she gave me 
 lessons after school hours. Think of that, will you?" 
 
 The young man seemed speechless with surprise and 
 indignation. 
 
 "An , Ma-Maud told her that her eddication was done 
 finished, thank you, an that she couldn t learn her noth 
 ing nohow." 
 
 "Ha a fitting reply and well expressed," he approved, 
 enthusiastically. 
 
 Hours later, when he had convinced himself that the 
 teacher had taken both rain-cloak and rubbers with her 
 in the morning, he looked keenly into her face while he 
 walked beside her a little piece, to trace, if possible, the 
 
248 JOSEPHINE CLIFFORD McCHACKlN 
 
 lines of greed and avarice in her features. It was the 
 same sweet, pensive face he had looked into on his first 
 arrival, the same soulful eyes that had a look in them 
 half shy, yet very earnest. A question arose to his lips, 
 but he closed them firmly, and he soon left her to walk 
 her way home alone. Late in the evening he, too, 
 reached the haven, with a well-filled game bag. 
 
 After this came bright sunny days again ; and one Sat 
 urday the young man, Ted, with his gun and game-bag 
 to hand, called out to the two young girls who were 
 "doing up" their joint room : 
 
 "If I could persuade a couple of young ladies to show 
 me the way to the top of the ridge over yonder, I should 
 try to shoot a grizzly up there." 
 
 "Come on, Florence, kss go!" cried Matilda; and be 
 fore she had time to decline the invitation, and while 
 Ma-Maud was "fixin up," Florence caught a beseech 
 ing look from a pair of dark gray eyes; so that when 
 Matilda came down, Florence was already drawing 011 
 her gloves. 
 
 "What with that old hat on ?" she asked Florence. 
 
 The teacher s delicate face flushed. "I could not well 
 put on my black bonnet," she said, simply; and then the 
 three started. 
 
 They soon left the school trail and began the ascent on 
 the opposite slope. The feet sank into green mosses, 
 and the ladies skirts were brushed by ferns and wild 
 flowers. White, pink, purple, blue and yellow, every 
 shade and color was represented in this carpet; ane 
 mones, triliums, violets, baby blue-eyes, pimpernel, jack- 
 in-the-pulpit ; while farther off, among moldering logs, 
 and in densest solitude, Florence recognized the rarer, 
 
ONE DAY IN JUNE 249 
 
 though less color-bright, orchids of the country. Above 
 them and around them sang the birds, robins, thrushes 
 and mockingbirds, first cousins to each other, little blue- 
 breasted birds that live in hills and valleys alike, and 
 the oriole, which lives and sings deep in the heart of the 
 mountains. How beautiful it all was. Once, when Flor 
 ence stood lost in thought and rapture, the young man 
 sprang quickly to her side. 
 
 "Let me help you over, Miss Florence," he said as he 
 took her hands in his and drew her up on a log, buried in 
 ferns and moss, which she had not even seen until now. 
 
 But he held her hands longer than there was any need 
 for, though it was some little time before Florence got 
 ready for the leap ; she felt so safe with the strong, tender 
 clasp of those other hands about her own. Matilda came 
 up with a bunch of posies stuck in her belt, and they be 
 gan to ascend the height, first through hazel bushes, 
 wild cherry trees, the native currant, gay with clusters 
 of pink bells, and the ceanothus, the lilac of California, 
 covered with blue, feathery flower-fronds. The tall, 
 slender fir grew above them, and soon the wide-spread 
 ing, stately madrone, proud of its dark green shiny leaves 
 and new dress of green and gold, seemed to claim admira 
 tion and homage to the exclusion of oak, laurel and pines. 
 But the fir alone had the breeze for a comrade, and their 
 sighs and whisperings were very sweet to listen to. 
 
 It is the lighter green and the ever-stirring foliage of 
 these trees that make the great, straight stem, and im 
 movable branches of the giant redwoods so much more 
 impressive when approached thus where they still stand 
 in all their somber majesty; and today again the city- 
 bred girl seemed overawed by their grandeur. She stood 
 
250 JOSEPHINE CLIFFORD McCRACKIN 
 
 for a moment as on the threshold of a temple, forgetful 
 of the dark, gray eyes that were following every change 
 of expression on her face. 
 
 The sun had grown oppressively warm, as it does 
 sometimes in California, even so early in spring. Sud 
 denly a light puff of wind seemed to bring a suggestion 
 of ocean with it, and turning to the East, Florence ut 
 tered a cry of delight, changing on the instant almost to 
 one of dismay. She had caught a glimpse of Monterey 
 Bay, and fair Santa Cruz, lying bathed in sunshine, 
 climbing from the bay shore up the green hills ; but she 
 had also seen, immediately below her, one of the battle 
 fields of which California has all too many, scenes of 
 slaughter and carnage, where the mutilated, blackened 
 limbs and trunks of giant redwood trees attest the bar 
 barism, the fury of man against his best friend, the shel 
 tering, fostering redwood tree, when he is bent on gain 
 and filled with greed. The young man winced when 
 Florence cried out with flashing eyes and flaming 
 cheeks : 
 
 "How can they oh! how can they! And while they 
 destroy the forest with fire and ax, every living creature 
 in it perishes helpless in the flames " 
 
 Maud Matilda, eminently practical, had been tittering 
 over Florence s "fine frenzy," and now broke out laugh 
 ing. 
 
 "Timber was made to be cut, I say, and they ve got to 
 burn out the underbrush before they can cut it, and that s 
 the long and short of it. But that baby," pointing to 
 Florence, "what did she do but pick up a little squirrel 
 that almost had its feet burned off, when they were burn 
 ing underbrush on one of the timber tracts last year, and 
 
ONE DAY IN JUNE 251 
 
 pack it in cotton and nurse it, and feed it with bread and 
 milk, and cry, like the baby she is, when the critter died ! 
 Well, I never; I thought I should die a laughing." 
 
 Tears had gathered in Florence s great brown eyes, 
 but the young man did not seem to notice her distress, 
 though his face worked strangely for a moment. Then 
 he declared himself ferociously hungry, and advised the 
 two young ladies to lead him back home in time for 
 lunch, so that he might not grow dangerous. 
 
 Looking across to the bay once more where the breeze 
 was curling the blue waters into little white waves, Flor 
 ence said dreamily: 
 
 "Just so we could look down upon San Francisco Bay 
 from the room in the turret at the east end of the house. 
 My mother so loved that window." 
 
 "And is your mother there now?" he asked quickly. 
 
 "No, oh, no," her voice faltered a little; "after my 
 father s death the house went to strangers. My mother 
 has a little home with her sister now, and I help take care 
 of her," she added, not without pride. 
 
 Again a queer look came into the man s face, and he 
 was evidently forcing back a word that rose to his lips. 
 But one of his quick, keen glances flew across to Flor 
 ence s face. 
 
 Had Florence ever been in touch with her landlady 
 and her daughter, she must have noticed a certain cool 
 ness and restraint on the part of both, which would have 
 found its explanation in certain confidences exchanged 
 between mother and daughter, just after the memorable 
 morning s walk. The outcome of these deliberations 
 was a "talk" rather forced on the young man, Ted, 
 
252 JOSEPHINE CLIFFORD McCRACKIN 
 
 though he accepted it gracefully and rather more grate 
 fully than they ever knew. 
 
 There must be some reason for his still "hangin* 
 round," the mother had. convinced herself after his efforts 
 to find a job had failed. He paid his board with scrupu 
 lous regularity, and a man with such shoulders and such 
 ready hands would be sure to find work somewhere even 
 if not right here. Considering all these things within 
 herself, Mother Brown thought it well to intimate that 
 her daughter had been brought up to be a helpmate to a 
 man who had only a cottage to offer, and the labor of 
 his hands, as well as to adorn the palace of a wealthy 
 man, should it be her lot to marry one. 
 
 "She ain t like some other girls I know of ; there s that 
 little schoolmarm now. What s she got to be proud of, 
 I d like to know, and I ve heerd her, with my own ears, 
 say she would rather die than marry a poor man. What 
 d ye think of that, now?" 
 
 "It s preposterous!" exclaimed the young man with 
 honest indignation. 
 
 He joined Matilda on the front porch where she was 
 engaged churning butter, and he told her with his bright 
 est smile that he was famishing for a glass of buttermilk, 
 and that he would promise to go out and kill something 
 for supper if he got it in time. 
 
 He did go out after lunch and shoot something, but 
 he hid gun and game bag before he waylaid the school- 
 marm on her way home. 
 
 "How can she be mercenary and calculating with that 
 soft bright light in her eyes?" he asked himself, half 
 aloud. 
 
 He had studied the approaching figure so intently that 
 
ONE DAY IN JUNE 253 
 
 he forgot his usual courtesy, and stared at her instead of 
 paying his respects or greeting her. Her face, timidly 
 happy, grew troubled. 
 
 "You are tired," he said quickly, as he took basket and 
 school books from her. "It is not an easy task for you, 
 the walk to and from the school, the school itself, and 
 these uncongenial surroundings." 
 
 She sighed deeply, "That is the curse of poverty." 
 
 "It is harder to bear for a woman to be sure, than for a 
 man. While we have health and youth we care little 
 whether we lay up for the future or not. But poverty 
 comes hard to you?" he asked as his keen gray eyes 
 searched her face. 
 
 There was an added look of sorrow on her down-bent 
 face and she clasped her hands with a gesture of despair. 
 
 "My father preferred death to poverty, and the last 
 wish he wrote down was that I might never know pov 
 erty through marrying a penniless man." 
 
 The gray eyes that seemed to fathom men s souls could 
 express tenderness and sympathy, too, and he asked 
 quickly, "Your father was " 
 
 "Abner Watson, the bankrupt suicide, yes." 
 
 "Poor child," he muttered, "poor child; and do those 
 people know about it?" he asked with a nod in the direc 
 tion of the Brown cottage. 
 
 "No; only Mr. Blank was told by the old friend who 
 got me the school." 
 
 "What a burden those slender young shoulders have 
 had to bear," he said it more to himself than to her, but 
 when she shyly glanced up, his eyes held hers in a long, 
 tender look. 
 
 He came home long after she had arrived there and 
 
254 JOSEPHINE CLIFFORD McCRACKIN 
 
 had put by her basket and school books; and that night, 
 when Jim, Bill and Dick again called, he no longer won 
 dered at the quiet black-robed figure sitting apart from 
 all with an open book in her hand. Only once did the 
 young girl look up hastily from her book. Ted had been 
 asked by Bill whether he had yet found a job at fallin 
 timber, to which the young man replied that he intended 
 starting out tomorrow to see if he could find some other 
 job. Ma-Maud and her mother were looking signifi 
 cantly at each other, so that neither noticed the startled 
 look on Florence s face, nor the reassuring glance that 
 flew back from the young man s eyes. 
 
 "I am coming back, though," he went on. "I think I 
 can get a job from a friend of the old man s; he s got 
 some timber, off in that direction." 
 
 Neither of the young lumbermen took much notice of 
 the gesture; they had agreed among themselves not to 
 take this chap seriously, more especially as he had shown 
 dangerous symptoms of being attentive to Maud. 
 
 The days dragged wearily along for poor Florence, 
 when he had gone away. To be sure, he was poor, and 
 he could never be anything to her ; but she kept listening 
 for a quick crackling of the brush wood on her way 
 home from school, and she missed the firm step that 
 passed over the porch into the sitting room and out 
 again, till it came to a sudden stop when she had been 
 spied, half-hidden in some corner with her book as a 
 shield against all attacks conversational and every other 
 kind. He had never sought her out in her corner except 
 in the presence of Matilda and her mother; but she had 
 never felt friendless or forlorn through all those weeks 
 that he had been an inmate of the Brown cottage. Her 
 
ONE DAY IN JUNE 255 
 
 cheeks grew pale with waiting. Again the redwoods 
 were her best friends, for she was constantly at the win 
 dow, where he had first seen her, looking across the slope 
 and up to the forest-crowned hill. 
 
 One day Pop Brown went on business to Santa Cruz 
 and came back so swelled up with news that he wheezed 
 and choked in his attempt to tell it all at once. 
 
 "What d ye think if I didn t see Ted Robertson in 
 town looking just too big and important for anything. 
 Wanted to dodge me fust off, I think, for he had some 
 real tony-lookin fellers with him. But I goes right up, 
 slaps him on the shoulder an sez I, Hello, Ted, an sez 
 he, why, here s Pop Brown/ an then he turned to an 
 other young feller an sez he, Mr. Bolles, this is Mr. 
 Brown, the gentleman as knows all about lumber and 
 the prices of it. Then he takes me aside, an he sez, 
 Pop Brown, this is just the best thing I ever struck; 
 that young man is an articheck, he s a schoolmate o 
 mine, an he s goin to give me a job on a fancy cottage 
 he s laid off to build right close in yer neighborhood. 
 Now, you give him advice in regard to where he s to get 
 the lumber, for he s a first rate fellow, and not at all 
 stuck up. Yes sir," continued Pop Brown, bridling 
 with importance, "that there city-articheck he come to 
 me an I jest told him what lumber to get and where to 
 get it, and he says he s coming to see the ladies, too." 
 
 "Well, I declare!" and "He he he he I know d 
 all along he was coming here again," were the comments 
 Florence heard in two different keys, but she herself said 
 never a word. She held her book, though, in such a 
 clutch that one would have thought there was immi 
 nent danger of its taking immediate flight if not held by 
 
256 JOSEPHINE CLIFFORD McCRACKIN 
 
 main force. When the others noticed her at last, Maud 
 went over the whole story again and had a most atten 
 tive listener in Miss Watson. 
 
 Within the week loads and loads of lumber, of shin 
 gles, of tongued and grooved "stuff," of surfaced stuff and 
 every other known kind of stuff used for building was 
 on the ground where the cottage was to stand, which, 
 from Pop Brown s description must have been up among 
 the forest trees bordering the redwood tract which the 
 two young ladies had visited together with Mr. Ted. 
 
 Day after day passed, and though Florence had so far 
 resisted Maud Matilda s importunities that they go up 
 there and see what was going on, her heart did draw her, 
 too, in that direction. But she conquered herself, though 
 on her walks to and from the school she always stopped 
 on the trail where it was crossed by that other trail that 
 had taken them up toward the mountain that day. Not 
 that she ever expected to see him walking rapidly toward 
 her again, with gun and game bag, or that she ever ex 
 pected to hear the undergrowth crackle close behind her 
 again but it did or was it only her imagination? A 
 deadly pallor lay on her face a moment and she staggered 
 so that only a strong, outstretched arm saved her from 
 falling. 
 
 "Poor little girl," said a pitying, soothing voice. "Did 
 you miss me, Florence?" He turned the flushing face 
 gently toward him. 
 
 "Every day of my life since you went away," came in 
 a whisper from her trembling lips. 
 
 "Be a brave girl now," he said cheerily, but he himself 
 cast an apprehensive glance in all directions. "I shall 
 
ONE DAY IN JUNE 257 
 
 arrive some time this evening, but you need not herald 
 my coming." 
 
 And he was gone so quickly that she thought it was 
 all a dream. And he came up to the door on his wheel 
 that evening just as he had done before, and there were 
 more "Well I declare s," and more "He he he he s" 
 as he crossed the threshold. After the first greeting was 
 over, Ma-Maud generously went to the foot of the stairs 
 and called up : 
 
 "Florence, come down and see Ted; he s come back 
 and he s going to stay." 
 
 But Florence declined to come, and Mrs. Brown ex 
 plained that she was such a puny thing had come home 
 with a headache in the afternoon. Next morning she 
 was told all the news; Ted and the "articheck" were to 
 board here, while for the ten other men a Chinese cook 
 and a tent had been provided. They seemed in a great 
 hurry about putting up the house, and Ted had said he 
 intended to work overtime all he could while the job 
 lasted. 
 
 He was as good as his word, for he was always at 
 work ; and the young "articheck" seemed just as busy 
 as any of the carpenters. The architect too was looked 
 upon with disfavor by Jim, Bill and Dick ; and Pop 
 Brown, they said, was "gettin too stuck up for any use, 
 to say nothin of the women folks." Ted tried to propi 
 tiate them, and partly succeeded with the aid of the 
 young architect, who was "Charley" with the whole 
 crowd. He said, one evening, that the owner of the 
 house had written about his housekeeper coming up with 
 the furniture, to fix up things and take charge until he re- 
 
258 JOSEPHINE CLIFFORD McCRACKIN 
 
 turned from the East, so that the house would be all 
 ready for him. 
 
 "And boys," he went on slapping Jim on the shoulder, 
 "tell you what we ll do. The housekeeper is a good wo 
 man, and when I was in town the other day I told her I 
 had some friends up here who wanted to see the house, 
 and that I d like to have a little spread to set before them 
 when they d climbed the hill. So she said to me that if 
 she could move in soon, and get the furniture in, that I 
 might invite all my friends and she would promise the 
 finest kind of a spread. See?" 
 
 "We too?" asked Mother Brown, indicating the entire 
 family with a sweep of her hand. 
 
 "Certainly; it was all arranged for you as a surprise; 
 that is why we have never asked the ladies to invite us 
 so far." 
 
 Matilda Maud seemed concerned about the school- 
 marm as usual, "You ll be gone away by that time, won t 
 you Florence?" 
 
 "Where would she go?" asked Mr. Bolles in evident 
 alarm. 
 
 "She goes home to her mother for the summer vaca 
 tion," explained Mrs. Brown. 
 
 "When is that?" asked Mr. Bolles again. 
 
 "In June," said Florence simply. 
 
 "Oh, well ; this picnic will be one day in June, in early 
 June; and you will stay till then? Thank you." 
 
 There was general satisfaction all around, and when 
 Jim, Bill and Dick went home that night they concluded 
 the "articheck" was not half bad, and it was well that 
 the young fellow Ted had been shown his place at last; 
 never had been anything but an underling, nohow. His 
 
ONE DAY IN JUNE 259 
 
 dad boss-faller in the redwoods over there and Bill 
 described a complete circle with his hand; "I ll bet 
 neither he nor his dad ever fallen a redwood in all their 
 life." 
 
 Work on the cottage was "rushed like mad," Mrs. 
 Brown observed, and neither Ted nor the architect ever 
 came over for lunch now, but took their bite with the 
 other men. Two more men had come from the city to do 
 painting and finishing, and the day for the picnic came 
 nearer. 
 
 Florence was always alone now, going to school and 
 coming back. That was what poverty meant, she said to 
 herself bitterly, to work and work always for enough to 
 keep one alive, and never a moment to spare for any of 
 the joys or pleasures of life. So she went wearily back 
 and forth, and Ted, poor fellow, saw the roses fading 
 from her cheeks again, but could say no word to comfort 
 her. 
 
 June had come, and it would be only a question of a 
 few days now till she went home to her mother and 
 she reproached herself for the sigh that escaped her as 
 she thought of it. One evening Mr. Bolles came home 
 earlier than usual, bringing the tidings that Mrs. Miller 
 had come, and all would be ready for their entertainment 
 at the ne\v house on Saturday next. Ted saw the color 
 creep into Florence s face, and he slept sounder that 
 night than for many a night before. 
 
 June in California, in the Santa Cruz mountains, is al 
 ways a dream of Paradise, and this day in June was more 
 perfect than the rest, if possible. The three knights of the 
 skid-road were on hand bright and early having "laid 
 off for a day" from mill-work and from teaming, in order 
 
260 JOSEPHINE CLIFFORD McCRACKIN 
 
 to do honor to the "articheck V invitation. Pop Brown, 
 with the partner of his joys and sorrows, had decided to 
 drive up by the rather rough road which the lumber 
 teams had worn into the mountain side. All the rest 
 walked; and as Ma-Maud felt the importance of having 
 the bossman for her escort, as well as the responsibility 
 of looking after the comfort and amusement of the other 
 three swains, Ted and the schoolmarm were left to their 
 own devices; they cut no figure in this show at all. 
 
 How Ted s face had lighted up when his eyes greeted 
 Florence. Florence, no longer clad in somber black, 
 but daintly beautiful in white organdie, overstrewn 
 with delicate lilac leaves and sprays, half transparent, so 
 that satiny shoulders and well-rounded arms shone 
 through. A white hat with black plumes sat lightly on 
 her dark hair ; and the young man thought he had never 
 before beheld so fair a vision. 
 
 Ma-Maud fluttered and wavered about in front of 
 them like some bird of gorgeous plumage of pink and 
 green, blue and yellow, all combined ; and the young arch 
 itect paid respectful attention to this combination of 
 colors, so much so that she never once thought of look 
 ing back for Florence. 
 
 Florence s thoughts went back to the day they had 
 walked here before. They looked again for the tiny 
 wild flowers, but they found instead the brilliant aquile- 
 gia, the cynoglossum, with its tall stalk supporting clus 
 ters of dark blue flowers ; the lovely harebell in tints of 
 pink and silver ; the big Solomon s seal representing the 
 lily-of-the-valley of colder climes, and the native crown- 
 imperial, the bell-hung fritellaria all shades of bronze, 
 of green and brown, mixed in the flowers. The mocking- 
 
ONE DAY IN JUNE 261 
 
 bird, the robin, the oriole, were all on hand again ; and far 
 away, like the sad refrain to some gay song, came the 
 plaintive cry of the mourning dove to its mate. 
 
 Florence stood with clasped hands. "This alone has 
 kept me from losing hope all through the long weary 
 months I have lived here. Goethe tells us that every day 
 of our life we must heed some little poem, or follow the 
 thoughts of some great master in music or the arts; and 
 this has been my poem and my reading for Nature was 
 before art, and it is poetry itself, always, if we will but 
 read it aright." 
 
 Ted seemed to awaken with a sigh. "Ah, yes; you 
 have lived a dreamy life here among these people who 
 would set Shakespeare and all the nine Muses to Tallin* 
 timber/ if they should ever venture into this neck o 
 woods." 
 
 "And they would put loggin chains on Pegasus and 
 make him snake out logs on the skid-road," laughed 
 Florence. 
 
 They had hold of each other s hands and were going 
 along like two happy children out for a holiday. 
 
 "Florence," he said suddenly, "we must not part again 
 we must belong to each other." 
 
 Her face fell, "O, Teddy we are both poor. I know 
 you are capable, both head and hands, but the poor work 
 ing man is always at the mercy of the rich. And they 
 would not let me keep my school if if I married." 
 
 Perhaps it was just as well that she did not see the 
 conceited smile with which he looked down u^on her 
 from his height of six feet. Within himself he said : "So, 
 so ; she has thought this thing over seriously ;" but aloud 
 he said: "The unfortunate circumstances surrounding 
 
262 JOSEPHINE CLIFFORD McCRACKIN 
 
 your father s death have made you morbid ; but I will try 
 to educate you out of your gloomy views, my little girl. 
 Let us hurry now ; I am anxious you should see the house 
 I have built." 
 
 He had led her around by a steep little pitch she had 
 not climbed the last time; but suddenly, when she 
 reached the top, there lay the little fairy castle, white and 
 shining under the waving, arching boughs of madrone, 
 of oak, of fir and laurel ; while on the north close-serried 
 ranks of giant redwoods promised brave shelter from 
 both sun and storm. 
 
 The others soon came up, and together they explored 
 farther. When they turned to the eastern entrance 
 Florence uttered an exclamation of surprise. The 
 veranda here ran close up to a turret, from which one 
 broad window overlooked the Bay of Monterey. 
 
 "It s like the old home!" she cried; and then she was 
 silent, for they were all there together, staring at her. 
 
 As they mounted the wide steps to the veranda, the 
 hall door opened and an elderly woman greeted them 
 cordially, and bade them welcome. The "articheck" with 
 Ma-Maud on his arm crossed the threshold first, draw 
 ing the three mill cavaliers after them. Just now Mr. and 
 Mrs. Brown arrived, and Ted offered his aid to them, 
 which prevented him from joining those in the house. 
 The Browns, too, entered, and found that good, kind 
 Mrs. Miller was ready and willing to show everything 
 in the house, even giving the prices of things, to Mrs. 
 Brown s unspeakable satisfaction. To be sure, the hard 
 wood hall, without carpet, did not meet with her ap 
 proval, though the mats and rugs went for something. 
 But the drawing room ! the velvet carpet, the furniture 
 
ONE DAY IN JUNE 263 
 
 covered with satin, the fine lace window curtains, the or 
 naments, the mirrors, the onyx stands and the grand 
 piano there was something worth looking at. 
 
 Then came the dining room, and the treasures here dis 
 played to them quite took away the breath of mother and 
 daughter. Cut class, hand painted china, silverware, 
 table linen it all needed close inspection, and Mrs. Miller 
 seemed to have lots of time. Bill, who had remained 
 in the parlor trying the tone of the piano and working the 
 pedals as he would the treadle of an organ, was evidently 
 enjoying himself to Mrs. Miller s content; but when she 
 heard Jim slowly climbing the stairs leading above, she 
 flew out of the dining room and captured the youth by 
 main force and with the sweetest smile. She could not 
 think of his going any farther until he had partaken of 
 a light collation, which would be served as soon as the 
 ladies had inspected the silver. And dinner would be 
 served later, as she must insist on the pleasure of their 
 company for the whole day. 
 
 Dick, in the meantime, had clambered up on the top of 
 the balustrade of the veranda, from whence he was about 
 to raise himself to the window ledge of the broad turret 
 window. But the heel of the gymnast was held as in a 
 vice suddenly, and the "articheck" called out cheerily. 
 
 "Hold on, Dick; the women are going to have some 
 chicken-fixins in the dining room, and we want our share 
 because Mrs. Miller will have a high-toned dinner in the 
 afternoon. She says we ve got to stay all day, and I 
 think it s a pretty good place to stay hey?" 
 
 Pop Brown himself was snoozing in a corner of the 
 drawing room, after a comfortable drink Mrs. Miller had 
 urged upon him. And while the entire lot of aborigines 
 
264 JOSEPHINE CLIFFORD McCEACKlN 
 
 was corralled in the house below, Ted, who had not been 
 missed any more than Florence, led this young lady up 
 stairs to point out to her, from the window in the turret 
 room, where the City of the Holy Cross was lying, 
 gleaming, light and fair, in the distance. 
 
 Florence could not wonder enough ; here again was the 
 large, wide window, draped above, and admitting two 
 arm chairs, a large one and a small one, into its depth 
 just as at home. 
 
 "And you like it?" asked Ted. 
 
 "It is like a dream," she said uneasily, holding the hand 
 he had pased over her hair. 
 
 "Good little girl," he said; but he no longer contented 
 himself with stroking her hair he bent over and kissed 
 her. 
 
 "Florence," he continued, "I m afraid I ve lied to you." 
 
 She sprang up. "Oh, Teddy, you do not love me?" 
 
 "Teddy," he repeated after her; "You speak the name 
 as if you liked it, and I am almost reconciled to my 
 mother for having given me the name. Theodore a fine 
 name for a double-fisted six-footer like myself." 
 
 "But you were not a six-footer when your mother gave 
 you the name. She may have considered you a gift of 
 God ; do you not say that women are a bundle of illusions 
 and sentimentalities." 
 
 "And your Teddy, I fear, is a bundle of prevarica 
 tions." He seated himself in the large arm chair, held 
 her close to him and pointed down to the long slope 
 where the great, black stumps and half-burnt trees made 
 a blotch on the landscape. 
 
 "I said once, within your hearing, that my father had 
 been the boss-faller in this redwood region, and I partly 
 
ONE DAY IN JUNE 265 
 
 spoke the truth. That is his work. To be sure he did 
 not fall the timber himself, but he had it cut, years ago, 
 and he sent me up here to see about cutting down this 
 other tract " 
 
 "O, Teddy," she could only repeat in a maze of dread 
 and wonder. 
 
 "If it had not been for a silly girl, who cries when she 
 sees a redwood fall, and wants grizzlies, rattlesnakes, 
 deer, wild cats, squirrels and the birds of the air warned 
 off the premises before the torch is applied to burn out 
 the underbrush, I should have carried out my father s 
 wishes. But when I had once looked into your eyes, and 
 when I heard old man Brown dub me Mr. Robertson, I 
 could not resist the temptaton of masquerading under 
 that name for awhile. I had told him I was John Rob 
 erts son ; but I am thankful he misunderstood me ; for I 
 wanted you to learn to love me as I loved you. When I 
 was satisfied of this I went back to my father, and he did 
 not hesitate to give me what I asked; the great tract of 
 redwood and this house to bring you to as my wife. Your 
 mother has promised my mother that she will live with 
 us here, for mother thinks you are too young to take 
 proper care of her boy. Can you be happy with her here?" 
 
 "Happy! Yes all the days of my life; but Teddy- 
 one thing alone troubles me now; those redwoods that 
 your father gave you will you surely never, never cut 
 them down?" 
 
 "I can t," he said solemnly. "I couldn t if I wanted to, 
 for I ve joined the Sempervirens Club, and I m pledged 
 to "save the redwoods." 
 
CAN DEAD MEN TELL NO TALES? 
 
 Some people see ghosts in broad daylight, but I saw 
 mine by lamp light, one summer s eve between nine and 
 ten o clock. 
 
 It was on the outskirts of the city, and we had lately 
 moved there because the street where we had been living 
 had become a business street and the rents had grown 
 too high for our slender means; and we just happened on 
 the place. 
 
 Only we two youngest were left in the home nest with 
 mother; my sister, about eleven, and myself two years 
 older; and no matter where mother went, we two were 
 always by her side. It was springtime, and we girls, 
 with an inborn love for trees and flowers and grassy 
 meads, besought mother to go into the country with us, 
 for the summer at least. The house agent to whom we 
 went, took our measure with a politely insolent air; 
 asked us, in a by-the-way kind of tone, where we resided 
 at present, and when mother gave him street and number, 
 and mentioned the name of one or two neighbors, he 
 dropped the insolent tone and grew benevolent and con 
 fidential. 
 
 Though mother hesitated, Mr. Tully knew what pow 
 erful allies he had in us two girls, and after describing the 
 large garden with trees and shrubs, he seized his hat and 
 said we had better see it before some one came who 
 wanted a suburban residence. It was long before the era 
 of electric roads or even street cars; but we were quite 
 satisfied with the big yellow omnibus that carried us out 
 till we had only a short distance farther to walk. 
 
CAN DEAD MEN TELL NO TALES 267 
 
 My sister and I were wild with delight when he 
 stopped at the gate in a tolerably high paling fence, di 
 rectly opposite to the entrance door of the house, a white 
 cottage with two windows on the right of the door north 
 of it and an odd little nook at this same end of the 
 house, which looked as if it ought to have been a corner 
 porch or a balcony, because the wall of another room, 
 back of the parlor, projected out just far enough to form 
 the correct angle. The flower garden in front was only 
 a narrow strip ; but lilac bushes and roses were full of 
 promise, and a border of daisies, violets and primulas in 
 bloom, ran along under the parlor windows up to the 
 fence which cut off the garden suddenly from the little 
 space I spoke of before, where I thought belonged a 
 porch or a balcony. This little piece, longer than it was 
 wide, was bare except for a scraggy snowball bush and 
 a piece of sickly ivy. 
 
 On the other side of the house, south of it, was a large 
 grass plot, with groups of poplar and locust trees, and 
 we girls were not so old but that we sighed for a swing 
 among these trees. Mother, however, was not so enthu 
 siastic over the place. I saw her shake her head once or 
 twice, when my sister and I were in the greatest raptures. 
 And what beautiful furniture there was in the parlor 1 
 Velvet carpet, and curtains of brocaded silk in dark 
 green, with a brighter tint here and there, and the furni 
 ture covered with dark green satin. On the mantle of 
 white marble were Parian vases, with bisque ornaments 
 between, as was the fashion those days. But there was 
 no broad mirror here, as there should have been; and 
 the pier-glass between the two windows was covered en 
 tirely with a thin pink gauze. 
 
268 JOSEPHINE CLIFFORD McCRACKIN 
 
 On the opposite wall hung three pictures in handsome 
 gold frames, the one in the center containing an oval, 
 a child s form. The face of its mother was of fresh, pleas 
 ing beauty ; the father s face had an ugly frown. Above 
 the center table hung a chandelier, and Mr. Tully re 
 quested that it should not be lighted. Mother assured 
 him that the room would be but little used, to my great 
 regret, for I thought it charming, in spite of the heavy 
 curtains that made it rather dark. 
 
 "But here," I said, "is another window" ; and I went up 
 to a long French window, over which the rouleau was 
 drawn to the very ground, and the curtain fell in extra 
 heavy folds. "We can open this and step right out on 
 the porch oh ! I know that is the place where the bal 
 cony ought to be." 
 
 But Mr. Tully had arrested my hand. "You must not 
 try to open it," he said hastily, "you see it is fastened 
 down. Come and see the rest of the house." 
 
 I was on my guard after this; I had seen mother s 
 brows contract, and one more prohibitory remark might 
 decide her against taking the house. The dining room 
 was equally pretty, was lighter and more cheerful, and 
 Mr. Tully made us girls understand that we could pull 
 things to pieces here if we wanted to. There were pleas 
 ant, cozy rooms enough for our own furniture to fill, so 
 that the bedroom in which the little child had died would 
 never be missed. 
 
 Mr. Tully, however, led us into this room, too, and the 
 first thing I noticed was a long French window, similar 
 to that in the parlor, and giving out on the same queer 
 space where the balcony should have been. Without 
 a word, mother saw to it that the windows were well 
 
CAN DEAD MEN TELL NO TALES 269 
 
 fastened, and after leaving the room, handed Mr. Tully 
 the key, requesting him to take it with him. Then she 
 requested that Mr. Tully should lock up the parlor also ; 
 but this brought violent protests. From myself in the 
 first place, from Mr. Tully in a milder form. He was so 
 glad to know his friend s house was in such good care, he 
 said, that he could not bear to deprive the young ladies 
 of the use of the parlor. 
 
 Early the next morning we took possession. Mr. Tully 
 was on hand; and before he left he pointed to a large, 
 pretentious-looking house, with a cupola, on the other 
 side of the street. This house stood back in well-kept 
 grounds, and the gate, with its tall posts, must have been 
 just in the middle of the block, as the street lamp stood 
 right in front of it; for although the street had only re 
 cently been cut through what had been the residence 
 grounds of one of the old St. Louis families, who owned 
 slaves enough to keep the extensive gardens in condition 
 the thoroughfare was, nevertheless, macadamized and 
 paved, and lighted by lamps for a block or two farther 
 down. Pointing to this house then, Mr. Tully said: 
 
 "Mr. St. Denis bought this place of the gentleman 
 who owned that, also. I will ask the old darkey who has 
 always been gardener here, to come over occasionally to 
 look after your flower beds. The mansion is at present 
 occupied as a fashionable boarding house, and Pompey 
 is a kind of major-domo on the premises. He s a free 
 nigger, but he knows his place." 
 
 Mr. Tully sailed across the street, after bidding us 
 adieu, and it was not long before Pompey stuck his head 
 in at the door, scraping his foot out behind, and tugging 
 at the front of his grizzled wool when he saw mother. 
 
270 JOSEPHINE CLIFFORD McCRACKIN 
 
 "Marse Tully said you done come here to live, Ma m," 
 he said, politely. "Anything I can do for you or the 
 young ladies?" 
 
 "Thank you, Uncle"; mother replied; "the men have 
 placed all the furniture." 
 
 "My name s Pomp, Ma m. I s a free nigger, and I laid 
 out these grounds for Marse Henry Gratiot, years ago, 
 and always took care of em ; and when Marse St. Denis 
 bought this place, I took care of it, too. Would the 
 young ladies like some fuchsias and heliotropes set out in 
 the garden here? I s got some over in the hot house." 
 
 Mother said it must have been a beautiful place when 
 the Gratiots lived here ; to which Pomp replied that they 
 had not lived here of late years. 
 
 "Marse Edward," he went on, "that is Mr. St. Denis, 
 kept this place for ever so many years; the Belvidere 
 did never you hear of it? A mighty fine place it was 
 while Marse Edward was landlord, and before the streets 
 were cut through and it was divided up. But the St. 
 Denises never lived in the Belvidere, the big house ; they 
 always lived in this cottage, you know. The madam 
 never went near the other house, in fact. We had a fine 
 French cook over there; she was an Irish woman, and 
 her old mother lives down the street here a piece now. 
 There were plenty of darkies, young and old, to wait on 
 the company, and I kinder looked after the whole lot of 
 em. I s a old man now, and I ll never see such times 
 again as we had here then." 
 
 Mother had listened attentively, but with contracted 
 brows, and when Pompey got through, she asked him to 
 look after things on the place a little, which seemed 
 greatly to please the kindly old negro. 
 
CAN DEAD MEN TELL NO TALES 271 
 
 The day was spent in setting things to rights in the 
 rooms we meant to occupy ; and in the cool of the even 
 ing we sat out on the front doorsteps. The garden here, 
 as I said before, was but narrow, and the gate was not 
 twenty feet away from the stoop; and as my sister and 
 I had been spending the day in making enjoyable discov 
 eries everywhere, we now looked around to see what 
 we could discover without leaving the doorsteps. 
 
 Suddenly I caught sight of a most striking figure com 
 ing up the pavement from the direction south of us, 
 opposite to the direction in which the omnibus had 
 brought us in the morning. The woman was tall, though 
 leaning on a stick or crutch for support ; quite handsome 
 she must have been in her younger days, though there 
 was something about her forbidding rather than com 
 manding. She looked imposing, however, in spite of a 
 frilled cap, a rusty black gown, and an old shawl twisted 
 around her shoulders. As she moved forward slowly, 
 evidently lame in one foot, I could hear her mumbling 
 to herself as very old people are apt to do. I called 
 mother s attention to the woman, who, in the meantime, 
 had come almost opposite to the gate. 
 
 Looking up, the woman started back with a cry of dis 
 may, but recovering herself quickly, she brought her 
 stick down on the pavement with a smart blow and 
 leaned on it with both hands, while she eyed us keenly, 
 but not impertinently. Her words, at least, went to show 
 that all impertinence was out of the question. 
 
 "Ah, woe is me woe is me !" she muttered to herself. 
 "And have I kept my trust so badly to my poor dead 
 child? Life in this house where only death should 
 reign!" 
 
272 JOSEPHINE CLIFFORD McCRACKIN 
 
 I had started up in fright, but mother held out her hand 
 to keep me quiet ; and the queer old woman, in a perfectly 
 rational manner, and with an accent that was just brogue 
 enough to make it pathetic, addressed mother: 
 
 "And sure then, my good lady, I m not out of my mind 
 as your children do be thinking; it is surprised I am to 
 see any one living in this house again." 
 
 "Why so?" asked mother, quickly. "We rented the 
 house for the summer and may remain through the win 
 ter, unless Mr. St. Denis should return from France and 
 come to live here again." 
 
 "Edward St. Denis come here to live again? Never 
 in that house never in that house!" And raising her 
 stick as if it had been the wand of an evil fairy, she 
 shook it at the house above our heads, muttering impre 
 cations in her weird way till I trembled with fear and ex 
 citement. 
 
 A moment later she had hobbled on past the house 
 and up the street till she turned the next corner. As a 
 child even I had been nervous although this word had 
 never formed a place in mother s vocabulary and 
 mother, to divert my thoughts, perhaps, proposed that 
 we, too, should walk to the corner of the street to see 
 where the queer Meg Merrilies had gone. In sauntering 
 along I saw that the piece of ground adjoining ours, was 
 merely a grassy field in an enclosure, without any build 
 ing on it, whatever. There were groups of trees, as on 
 our grass plot; and in the background I noticed a little 
 sheet of water overhung by a circle of weeping willows, 
 their heavy boughs almost touching the dark surface. It 
 was evidently part and parcel of the same estate on which 
 
CAN DEAD MEN TELL NO TALES 273 
 stood our cottage and the Belvidere, now a fashionable 
 boarding house. 
 
 "There is Meg Merrilies now," my sister pointed to her ; 
 "and she is leading a cow. No doubt she keeps her on 
 this grass." 
 
 "Meg Merrilies with the cow" was more sociable. In 
 response to our queries she said : 
 
 "I m a poor widow woman, and old; and all I have is 
 what my granddaughter earns and what I can get by 
 selling milk. But there are not many neighbors to sell 
 milk to, and I cannot work on account of my lame foot ; 
 so it s a struggle to make both ends meet." 
 
 She stood on the edge of the pavement leaning against 
 the cow that stood in the street, and I said how gentle the 
 cow was. The frown left the old woman s brow at last ; 
 and before we parted we had made two bargains with 
 her ; we were to be supplied with milk from her cow, and 
 Nora, her granddaughter, was to come every Saturday 
 and Monday to do washing and scrubbing at our house. 
 
 Nora proved to be a big, stout girl, though hardly as 
 old as I was. She was thoroughly good-natured and 
 childlike, and not above playing a game of marbles with 
 my sister, when her work was done. The fact is, they 
 soon acted like a pair of tomboys, stretched out on their 
 stomachs on a nice, level piece of ground near the back 
 porch, kicking up their heels and shouting with glee. As 
 for myself, I had never played a game of ball or marbles 
 in my life, and I generally sought the precincts of the 
 parlor that so enchanted me. It was simply perfect, I 
 thought ; I had never seen anything finer. Even the dim 
 light suited me as it sifted in through the heavy green 
 curtains, and I used to bury myself in a fanteuil that 
 
274 JOSEPHINE CLIFFORD McCRACKIN 
 
 stood directly opposite to the long pierglass. Not for the 
 purpose of gazing at myself, though, for the heavy center 
 table, with its gold embroidered cover, just under the 
 chandelier, stood between the glass and me; and the 
 glass, moreover, was covered with a thin pink gauze. 
 But I kept gazing all around the room, still discovering 
 some new beauty. The room was longer than it was 
 wide. Entering from the hallway the only entrance or 
 exit to the room now you looked straight against the 
 north wall, which was narrow and entirely taken up by 
 the fireplace and the French window nearest the front 
 wall of the house, in which were the two windows be 
 tween which the pierglass hung. 
 
 "But there ought to be a looking glass over the mantle- 
 piece, too," I mused; and my eyes traversed the small 
 space between the mantle and the long French window, 
 and then traveled over the corner till they reached the 
 wall close to the window on the left of the pierglass, 
 where they were caught by something I had never seen 
 there before, and which filled me with such horror that I 
 sprang up and made for the door. 
 
 As luck would have it, mother was just passing 
 through the hall, and she asked me what was the mat 
 ter. 
 
 "Look!" I burst out "Do you see that mark there? 
 It is just as if a man, struck to death, had leaned against 
 the wall for support and had fallen forward like this. 
 The paper is torn, and there is a smear of blood on it 
 is there not?" 
 
 Mother quietly approached the spot, looked at it at 
 tentively and then led me out of the room. 
 
 "You are always seeing ghosts," she said, impatiently. 
 
CAN DEAD MEN TELL NO TALES 275 
 
 "There is nothing there at all ; but this is the last of that 
 fine parlor." And she locked the door and put the key 
 in her pocket. 
 
 "Meg Merrilies with the cow" in common life called 
 Mrs. MacNamara, had fallen into a way of leaning over 
 our front gate of an evening on her way to bringing home 
 her bovine friend. We were always out on the front 
 door steps as soon as it was cool enough, and as the 
 street was as quiet as any country lane, we had many a 
 chat with her. The main thoroughfare from the town of 
 Carondelet lay one block to the east, and only occasion 
 ally did carriage or buggy pass this street, while foot- 
 passengers were still more rare. 
 
 According to Mrs. MacNamara s story there had been 
 more life here before the street was opened, when the 
 young bloods with their fine horses and dashing com 
 panions had thronged the grounds of the Belvidere es 
 tablishment. Laughter and song could be heard in the 
 shady walks all day long, and at night there were danc 
 ing and music not to forget the grand suppers served, 
 and for the cooking of which her daughter, their 
 "French" cook, had become famous. The daughter s 
 husband, Nora s father, had been porter and night 
 watchman and, as she hinted, had been Mr. Edward s 
 right hand, as her daughter had been devoted to Mrs. St. 
 Denis, though she had nothing to do with anything going 
 on in this cottage, where the family had always lived. 
 
 "And both Nora s parents are dead?" asked mother, 
 one day, when she spoke of Nora as an orphan. 
 
 "That s more than I know," the old woman answered 
 with a frown. "I buried my daughter a year ago, soon 
 after the St. Denises left for France. Mrs. St. Denis 
 
276 JOSEPHINE CLIFFORD McCRACKIN 
 
 faded away like a flower, after the death of her baby, and 
 my daughter rest her soul used to sit up with her at 
 night, after her hard day s work, just to keep the poor 
 lady from grieving her heart out, till they could get 
 ready to go. But as for Nora s father, bad luck to him! 
 he left the country before the St. Denises did." 
 
 In the meantime Pompey did not neglect us. He had 
 brought the heliotropes and fuchsias, according to prom 
 ise, and I had come into the front garden with him to see 
 him plant them. Deliberating upon the best place to put 
 them, I suggested the little odd corner I spoke of before, 
 the space where I thought a balcony should have been, 
 and upon which opened the nailed-down French window 
 in the parlor, and the corresponding one in the bedroom, 
 where the little child had died. 
 
 "This snowball bush will never thrive here," I argued ; 
 "nor that ivy, though this is the north side of the house. 
 Perhaps you did not spade up the garden this spring," I 
 suggested, with the smartness of my thirteen years. 
 
 "No, miss, no;" he answered in evident trepidation. 
 "Dunno nothing bout the garden in the corner here; 
 never planted them things thar; Marse Edward used to 
 have notions of his own." 
 
 "It is a pity," I went on, "that they did not build a little 
 balcony here ; it is just the nook for it." 
 
 "Was one thar, Miss; but Marse Edward pulled it 
 down, and Johnsing, Nora s father, he planted them 
 things thar." He seemed quite excited over it in his an 
 ger which I fancied he held against "Johnsing" for in 
 terfering with his gardening monopoly. 
 
 The fact of mother having locked up the parlor soon 
 came to the ears of Meg Merrilies, through her grand- 
 
CAN DEAD MEN TELL NO TALES 277 
 
 daughter, and the old woman seemed very much pleased 
 with this deed. 
 
 "It s right ye are, my good lady," she applauded moth 
 er s action. " Tis a fine room, but not the place for a 
 young girl to sit and dream in." And then it came out 
 that during Belvidere days that lovely room, in this 
 homelike cottage, had been a quiet little gambling saloon. 
 
 After this disclosure, I knew that the days we should 
 spend here were numbered, but did not think how few 
 they were. 
 
 It was while the air was heavy with the perfume of 
 jessamine, and the roses were still in full bloom, that we 
 sat one evening as usual on the front doorstep. At the end 
 of days when Nora had washed or cleaned up house for 
 us, she remained for supper and rarely went home before 
 bedtime. As it was after nine o clock, she was reluc 
 tantly tearing herself away from her tomboy playmate, 
 and stood behind my sister, her back to the house under 
 the parlor window. My sister, too, sat with her face to 
 the street, as did mother and I, but on the other side of 
 the doorway. There was no light in the house, but the 
 street lamp in front of the former Belvidere, now the 
 boarding house, across the way, made it quite light, and 
 there were more street lamps up and down the thor 
 oughfare for some distance. The night was still, and 
 we could hear the footsteps of the people that went to 
 the boarding house and from it. I was sitting in front 
 of mother, one step lower down, with my elbow on her 
 knee, and the start I gave caused her to look up and say, 
 apprehensively, "What s the matter?" 
 
 "Look, look " I whispered, "see that man with a 
 
278 JOSEPHINE CLIFFORD McCRACKIN 
 
 glazed cap on don t you see him? Oh, now, he is 
 gone!" 
 
 Mother had risen hastily, and looked with all her eyes 
 to where I pointed; but she only shook her head; she 
 had had her own trouble with me before. 
 
 "I see nothing," she said positively. "You fell asleep 
 and you were dreaming." 
 
 "No"; I said, just as positively; "Amy, Nora did you 
 not seen the man ? He came from there" I pointed north 
 "passed by the gate and walked about twenty steps, 
 and then he was gone." 
 
 But they both laughed at me. "You had gone to 
 sleep", my sister said. "If anyone had passed we should 
 have heard him if we had not seen him, unless it was a 
 ghost." 
 
 And as the word was spoken, Nora said, with a quick 
 start, "I must be going now; grandmother will be look 
 ing for me", and away she darted. 
 
 Mother wanted that we, too, should go in and go to 
 bed. But she found me suddenly, and not for the first 
 time, stubborn and intractable, for I did not know enough 
 to know that I was on the verge of a fit of hysterics. I 
 would not go to bed ; I would not go into the house ; no 
 no no ! I cried louder and louder. And here came help 
 for me. Mrs. MacNamara, every inch Meg Merrilies 
 again, hobbling up as if the wings of Mercury had been 
 fastened to her stick. Nora opened the gate for her, and 
 again she raised her wand and shook it at the house, 
 wierdly and threateningly. 
 
 "It s come at last at last!" she cried. "The place is 
 cursed! Murder was done here, and the house is 
 
CAN DEAD MEN TELL NO TALES 279 
 
 haunted !" Then controlling herself forcibly, she turned 
 to me. 
 
 "And was it that poor little baby s wraith ye saw," she 
 asked, "or was it the shadow of the murdered man?" 
 
 "The man !" I cried eagerly, "the man." 
 
 But mother interposed, laying her hand on my arm, to 
 lead me away, and she said in the most matter-of-fact 
 way, "Come, Mrs. MacNamara, don t make the girl be 
 lieve she has seen a ghost." 
 
 Meg Merrilies too laid her hand on my arm. 
 
 "Speak, girl, what was he like?" And mother herself 
 was carried away for the moment and listened intently 
 to what I said. 
 
 "The man was not very tall; his head was only well 
 above the fence, and he had on a glazed cap " 
 
 "But his hair?" urged the old woman breathlessly. 
 
 "There were brown curls under his cap," I answered,- 
 and she swayed to and fro, leaning on her stick as she 
 muttered to herself: 
 
 " Tis he tis he ; poor Tom Lavigne. And how was 
 he dressed?" she persisted; and without the least hesi 
 tation, I replied : 
 
 "He had on a short, loose coat, black; but his panta 
 loons were light gray cloth." 
 
 "But child," said mother, with one more attempt to 
 make the matter a commonplace one, "did you ever see 
 this man before?" 
 
 "Yes, mother ; I saw him in the looking glass the day I 
 told you about the smear of blood on the wall paper in 
 the parlor." 
 
280 JOSEPHINE CLIFFORD McCRACKIN 
 
 Then mother, too, turned pale, though she still said I 
 had been dreaming, and that Mrs. MacNamara was child 
 ish. Nevertheless, I carried my point, which was that 
 Nora stay with us overnight, and that we all four sleep 
 in one room together. How the others slept, I don t 
 know; but I fell at once into the deep lethargic sleep 
 which was always brought on by fright or excitement, 
 and which mother so dreaded to see. 
 
 In the bright light of the morning I was myself half 
 inclined to believe I had only dreamed about the man 
 with the glazed cap. As mother said nothing, I too, was 
 careful not to mention the subject, for oh! I did so love 
 that place and wanted to stay there. I noticed that 
 Pompey, when he came in the course of the day to see 
 if we wanted anything from downtown, was intercepted 
 by mother and did not get a glimpse of me. Brave as I 
 was all through the day, my spirits sank as night ap 
 proached, and when Mrs. MacNamara passed on her 
 way to bring home her cow, I asked her to let Nora come 
 over in the evening, to which she readily consented, 
 adding : 
 
 "And I ll be coming after her when it is time to go 
 home." 
 
 That was what I had wanted, to have them both there, 
 for I was beginning to feel horribly afraid. Mother said 
 she had letters to write and we had better stay in the 
 house ; but it was so uncomfortably hot that I would not 
 agree; so we all sat out on the doosteps again, and 
 when the grandmother came, Nora was told to bring out 
 a chair for her. The chair, I remember, stood so that 
 she could look down the street, toward the north, while I 
 
CAN DEAD MEN TELL NO TALES 281 
 
 kept my face turned southward I did not want to see 
 anything coming. 
 
 But I had to; in the midst of a conversation, unflag 
 ging as it was strained, I was forced to turn my head 
 and look down the street northward, and with a startled 
 cry I hid my eyes a moment in mother s lap. Only a mo 
 ment though, for the figure, which seemed to rise out of 
 the little dreary corner where the balcony had been, 
 when I first saw it, had not yet reached the gate when I 
 looked again, and while my eyes were uncontrollably 
 drawn upon it, the old woman s eyes were just as steadily 
 fixed on mine. 
 
 It was the same figure ; the head with the glazed cap 
 was just above the tall paling fence ; the face I could not 
 see ; but brown curls clustered about the head, and the 
 dress consisted of a loose, black coat, and pantaloons of 
 a light gray color. 
 
 Like one frenzied, I shook mother s knees. "Don t 
 you see it?" I asked again and again, taking no heed of 
 her replies or her attempts to quiet me. "There there ! 
 Now it is gone just as it went last night." 
 
 Both mother and Mrs. MacNamara tried to reason 
 with me, and they got me inside at last; but my screams 
 rang through the house, and Pompey appeared as 
 promptly on the scene as if he had known what was to 
 happen. Not only Pompey came, but the landlady of the 
 boarding house, and she insisted that we should all three 
 come to her house for the night. I clung to her at once, 
 and while Nora and mother were gathering up what was 
 needed for the night, I ran eagerly across the street and 
 was not satisfied till she had landed me in the second 
 story, in a little room clear on the other side of the house. 
 
282 JOSEPHINE CLIFFORD McCRACKIN 
 
 When mother came, Mrs. MacNamara came with her, 
 and as I declared myself satisfied only if all three re 
 mained by my bedside, the landlady listened as intently 
 to Meg Merrilies half-whispered story as did mother, 
 who thought me fast asleep. 
 
 Pompey had gone in search of Mr. Tully, and while 
 waiting for his arrival, she told of the life poor Mrs. St. 
 Denis had passed in that cottage, where, in spite of all 
 her pleading, her husband had established his gambling 
 den, deeming it safer than in any part of the Belvidere. 
 Of the young men who passed in and out of that part of 
 the cottage, Madame had seen but few ; but among them 
 was a French Creole from New Orleans, to whom she 
 could speak in her native tongue. Her husband had 
 watched them with an eager eye ; and when, soon after the 
 baby s birth, Tom Lavigne was missing, only those who 
 were most intimately acquainted with affairs at the Bel 
 videre, had any suspicion of foul play. The young man 
 visited the city only periodically, being clerk on a large 
 Mississippi river steamer; and often the gay cavaliers 
 who had played cards all the way from New Orleans up 
 to St. Louis, would come to this place to finish the game. 
 
 When his brother officers of the "Grand Turk" failed 
 in their search for him, they were convinced that he had 
 missed his footing on the gang plank some dark night 
 and had found his grave in the water. It was long before 
 the time when railroads were running, and it was noth 
 ing unusual for steamboats to lie at the St. Louis levee 
 for two or three miles up and down the river, not in one 
 line only, but two or three of them, anchored to each 
 other, reaching far out into the stream, and any corpse 
 might float undiscovered, for a number of weeks. 
 
CAN DEAD MEN TELL NO TALES 283 
 
 Nora s mother, on her deathbed, had begged her 
 mother to see that no one occupied the house. From 
 what she had learned through the ravings of the un 
 happy young wife, the woman believed that Tom La- 
 vigne had been decoyed into the parlor one night after 
 the others had left, had been struck down from behind 
 and the body hidden away in some corner near the house. 
 She insisted, indeed, that it was buried under the bal 
 cony, which St. Denis had pulled down under the flimsy 
 excuse that some one might watch at the French window 
 and discover the secret of the gaming table. Her delecta 
 ble son-in-law, Johnson, had no doubt been given ample 
 means to clear out, Mrs. McNamara thought; for 
 he went away before the St. Denises did. Neither she 
 nor Pompey had ever believed that Edward St. Denis 
 intended to come back to this place ; and she went so far 
 as to say that she believed the villain had murdered his 
 own wife long before this. 
 
 I dropped off to sleep at last, and slept soundly till 
 morning. There was already a carriage at the door to 
 carry us to the house of a friend living at the other end 
 of town. Early as we were, the guardians of the public 
 peace and safety were still earlier; and no matter how 
 closely mother tried to watch me, I learned before I 
 entered the carriage that they had found the body of the 
 murdered man. They had torn away the flooring of the 
 bedroom where the little child had died, and they found 
 the body where the ragged snowball bush and the sickly 
 ivy were growing above poor Tom Lavinge, and they 
 found the glazed cap in that unhallowed grave with him. 
 
ON THE STROKE OF XII 
 
 My belief that coming events cast their shadows before. 
 I have inherited from my mother, though she was neither 
 superstitious nor did she believe in ghosts as I do. The 
 episode I am about to write of here, she has related to me 
 more than once, adding always 
 
 "To me there has been something gruesome in the mid 
 night hour just on the strike of twelve ever since that 
 time." 
 
 And strange to say, mother, too, breathed her last just 
 on the stroke of twelve. 
 
 My grandfather, Colonel and Commandant of the old 
 Fortress at Ziegenhain, in Hesse, was not at all an aged 
 man when he died, my mother, his oldest child, being only 
 just in her teens. Father and daughter were devotedly 
 attached to each other, and when, in the winter of 1817, 
 a complication of heart and lung trouble grew upon him, 
 he used to say to his daughter, Lottchen 
 
 "Only have a little patience, child, when springtime 
 comes I shall get a long furlough and we will travel 
 travel clear into Switzerland and Italy." 
 
 His daughter, Lottchen my mother in the mean 
 time sat patiently in his room with him, reading to him 
 or writing for him, after he had received and dismissed 
 his Adjutant in the morning, offering her strong young 
 arm for his support when he grew restless and desired to 
 walk through the long galleries of the ancient pile of 
 rocks he lived in. For he was only confined to his arm 
 chair, as yet, and that only periodically, and his body 
 
ON THE STROKE OF XII 285 
 
 servant attired him, each morning, in the full uniform of 
 his military rank as scrupulously and carefully as 
 though the Herr Oberst meant to go straightway to the 
 Exercir-Platz. To be sure, Elard, a younger son, had 
 been sent home from the Cadet School at Hesse-Cassel, 
 but this was more as a mark of attention to his father 
 than that he was really thought to be seriously ill. 
 
 My mother, as I say, sat with her father through the 
 day, and after he had retired for the night his arm chair 
 was moved up to his bedside, and mother sat in it and 
 read or dozed till midnight. Shortly after twelve his 
 faithful valet and the old house mam selle came and 
 shared the watch between them till morning. In the 
 servants room, in the souterrain, an orderly was con 
 stantly in attendance. 
 
 The fortress, whatever its strength may have been, 
 was of great age and renown, and the residence assigned 
 to my grandfather had in olden times been a monastery, 
 the church lying only a little distance from it just across 
 the graveyard, in fact, upon which opened the windows 
 of grandfather s sitting room. Though an austere man 
 and a strict disciplinarian, he was greatly beloved by his 
 brother officers, and the next in command, together with 
 the Adjutant, relieved him of all regimental duties. 
 Mother said that the doctor was always the most jovial 
 of the comrades who tried to while away the tedious 
 hours for her father, though he must have known that his 
 Colonel would never leave these walls except with the 
 black pall over him. 
 
 The winter was an unusually severe one, and heavy 
 snow had fallen long before Christmas, covering the 
 earth with a cold white sheet. One night, after her 
 
286 JOSEPHINE CLIFFORD McCRACKIN 
 
 father had retired to his bed, and mother was sitting in 
 the big arm chair by him, she saw with alarm the hectic 
 flush on his cheeks deeper and more sharply defined 
 than ever before. But he seemed so much more cheerful 
 that they made the most minute plans for their proposed 
 journey in the spring. His breath came so easily tonight, 
 he said; he felt he was getting better he was almost 
 well. The doctor had told him, only three days ago, that 
 he would soon improve now, and here he was, ready to 
 travel, if only the snow would melt. 
 
 Then his thoughts traveled back to the past, and he 
 grew quite humorous. Did his daughter remember when 
 a little mouse of three she had escaped the vigilance of 
 the nurse and had climbed up into the hall window of 
 the old house at Braunschweig to watch for her father s 
 coming? That was during the time that Napoleon owned 
 the earth, and the Colonel had been Platz-Commandant 
 there under Jerome s rule, and he had returned from 
 parade one day, and had found his little daughter with 
 her feet dangling out of the second-story window shout 
 ing to her papa in high glee. And could she remember 
 how papa had said: 
 
 "Sit quite still, mousey, I am coming up there, and 
 we ll have a little game together" ; and did she remember 
 what the little game was, in which her mamma s slipper 
 played a part? 
 
 They laughed so heartily at the recollection, mother 
 said, that her father got to coughing, and when he leaned 
 back in his pillows exhausted, they were startled by the 
 firing of a number of shots, right under the window, it 
 seemed to both. Shots fired within the precincts of the 
 fortifications in time of peace near midnight what 
 
ON THE STROKE OF XII 287 
 
 did it mean? Mother sprang to the window, drew back 
 the curtain and looked out. Only the broad expanse of 
 snow on the graveyard was to be seen in the bright 
 moonlight ; only the shadow of a cross here and there, or 
 the branches of a foliage-stripped tree breaking the even 
 surface. But no living thing could be seen, no smoke of 
 powder, or gun barrel gleaming in the moon s rays, which 
 penetrated even the dark nooks and niches in the wall of 
 the old monastery church. 
 
 "Ring for the orderly," said her father, which she did, 
 and she took the little handbell, too, and stepped into 
 the corridor to awaken her brother in the next room 
 a tap on the wall in this building would hardly have suf 
 ficed to awaken any sleeper. 
 
 The orderly came, touched his cap, and stood stiff and 
 upright before his commander, but his features showed 
 no sign of excitement or alarm. 
 
 "Brockmann," said the Colonel, "what firing was that 
 a perfect volley, it seems to me?" 
 
 "Firing! Volley!" Brockmann s mouth stood open. 
 How could he dare to intimate that the Herr Oberst was 
 mistaken? 
 
 "Did you hear it, Brockmann?" 
 
 "Zu Befehl nein, Herr Oberst." 
 
 By this time Elard had come, in dressing gown and 
 slippers, yawning and rubbing his eyes. He asked : 
 
 "Shots? A volley? No." 
 
 Brockmann was ordered to reconnoiter, while Elard 
 watched from the window searching the graveyard. But 
 he reported that he found the snow undisturbed on every 
 side of the house, and neither footprints nor bullet marks 
 
288 JOSEPHINE CLIFFORD McCRACKIN 
 
 anywhere. So further investigation was postponed till 
 morning. Brockmann went back to the servants hall, 
 Elard to his bed. But the conversation between mother 
 and her father was not resumed; he lay back in his pil 
 lows, the flush still deeper on his cheeks. 
 
 Suddenly another volley of shots startled them both. 
 Her father raised up his head. 
 
 "Ring the bell," he commanded, sharply, "and look out 
 of the window quick !" 
 
 The same silence and immutability lay upon the grave 
 yard, and when Brockmann made his appearance there 
 was a look of terror in his eyes. 
 
 "Brockmann, I advise you to look carefully after the 
 trespassers this time," said his commander, "tomorrow 
 must clear up the mystery of this shooting." 
 
 The orderly well understood the implied threat, and 
 when he returned he was deathly pale. 
 
 "Have you discovered anything?" he was asked stern 
 ly, and his answer was: 
 
 "Zu Befehl nein, Herr Oberst" touching his cap. 
 
 "Do you mean to say that you did not hear the shoot 
 ing which the gnadige Fraulein and I both heard?" 
 
 And again his hand went up to his cap as he answered : 
 
 "Zu Befehl I did not, Herr Oberst." 
 
 He was told to retire, but be on the alert and answer 
 the bell at once if summoned, and father and daughter 
 again took up their watch. For it was a watch now, and 
 they did not have long to wait till a third volley rang 
 out, and before the sound had died away, the booming of 
 the big bell on the church tower, as it began to toll mid- 
 
ON THE STROKE OF XII 289 
 
 night, seemed to make the still air on the graveyard vi 
 brate and tremble. But no living thing could mother s 
 eye discover in the one moment that she peered out ; the 
 next moment she was recalled to her father s bedside by 
 a low moan, and when she sprang to his aid she felt that 
 she was too late. His face was ghastly, blood was oozing 
 out from between his colorless lips, and there were stains 
 of blood on the counterpane and pillow. Throwing up 
 his arms wildly above his head, he sank back, while 
 mother flew to the door, dropping the little handbell she 
 meant to ring, till she could hear it roll, tinkle tinkle, 
 from one stone step of the staircase to the next, and then 
 she beat frantically with both hands on her brother s 
 bedroom door, while the long, ghostly galleries of the old 
 monastery echoed with her cries for help. But there is 
 no help for the dead. 
 
 For eight days the body of her father lay in state at the 
 Commandantur. His older son, Reinier (he was the Min 
 ister of War in this little land of Hesse in after years), 
 came, too, from the Cadet School, and brothers-in-arms 
 came from near and far to pay the last sad honors to their 
 dead comrade. At last the day of the funeral dawned. 
 The ladies of the garrison were assembled at the house 
 of mourning, and they gathered closely around the 
 daughter of the dead chief when the heart-breaking 
 cadences of the funeral march came borne on the clear, 
 frosty air, and the cortege approached with all the pomp 
 and circumstance of military burial. 
 
 Flags furled and wrapped with crape; long lines of 
 soldiers marching in measured tread with arms reversed, 
 and officers with badge of deepest mourning on their 
 dress; the funeral car drawn by four black horses, and 
 
290 JOSEPHINE CLIFFORD McCRACKIN 
 
 close upon it the dead commander s favorite charger, 
 hung with sable trappings, and the saddle empty; then 
 more soldiers an endless column, and the muffled beat 
 of crape-wound drums, when the notes of the mourning 
 march were hushed. 
 
 Through blinding tears she scanned the God s-acre 
 now, in broad daylight, from the window, and, sur 
 rounded by loving, sympathizing friends, mother said 
 she had almost forgotten the strange occurrence of a 
 week ago. Among the officers who had come from other 
 garrisons, was a cousin of her father s, whom she had 
 always called uncle, a kind-hearted old gentleman, whom 
 she knew to be her guardian. Before the coffin had been 
 removed from the hearse to the grave, he had come in 
 to join the ladies, and he stepped to the window, with 
 his arm around his ward, while they lowered the remains 
 of her father into the ground. Through the closed sash 
 she could not hear what was spoken outside, but in the 
 midst of her sobs the rattle of musketry fell upon her ear 
 the volley fired over her father s grave. Another vol 
 ley came, and still another, and she knew then that she 
 had heard a week ago, the salute fired over her dead 
 father s grave, while he was still with her, and which he, 
 too, had heard, not heeding that it came as a warning 
 from an unknown Beyond. 
 
WHERE THEY FOUND HER 
 
 Westphalia, like Scotland, boasts of men who possess 
 the gift of second sight ; though Levin Schucking, in his 
 book, Das Romantische Westphalen, says that these 
 men are dying out, and the power to foresee is growing 
 very rare in old Westphalia. 
 
 It is not a source of pleasure to the men themselves, 
 this strange gift to foretell the death and burial of their 
 fellowmen, and they would willingly dispense with it if 
 they might. In my earliest youth I saw one of these 
 Spokenkeiker or Geisterscher, and I remember him very 
 well. A tall, ungainly man, was old Nolte ; with grayish 
 hair, a kind expression on his face, with light blue, melan 
 choly eyes, that stood out of his head with terror, people 
 said, when he had one of his visions, called Vorgesicht. 
 
 He was a baker by trade, and his apprentices said that 
 they had seen him, in the middle of the night, leave the 
 kneading trough without a moment s warning, and with 
 glazed eyes walk through the house to the street, and 
 there with straining eyes peer through the darkness, 
 moaning and wringing his hands as if in deepest grief. 
 Presently he would begin to count: "One, two, three," 
 sometimes up to ten, and more. 
 
 It was then that he counted the number of mourners 
 who followed the dead; and he knew who they were, 
 too; but he never could be made to tell. He would tell 
 the sexton, who was also grave digger, to prepare a grave, 
 either for a child or a grown person, as the case might 
 be ; he would tell the color of the horses that drew the 
 
292 JOSEPHINE CLIFFORD McCRACKIN 
 
 wagon with the coffin ; but if he knew, he never told who 
 was inside the dread casket. 
 
 I must explain that Petershagen, only a small village 
 itself, contained the parish church and graveyard; and 
 the country people of the other villages, Eldagsen, Doten- 
 hausen and Maaslingen, had to bring their dead here to 
 bury them. As there were no hearses in the rural dis 
 tricts, the coffin was loaded on to an open wagon, and the 
 mourners walked behind it on foot; and as there were 
 not many streets in Petershagen, the road to the church 
 and graveyard ran directly past old Nolte s house. 
 
 The ancient castle at Petershagen, on the Weser, part 
 ly renovated in the beginning of this century, had been 
 assigned as residence to my father, after he had quitted 
 the army at the close of the Napoleonic wars. He had 
 entered civil service in Prussia, and as surveyor and civil 
 engineer, was engaged in retransferring into German 
 measurement the land which during Napoleon s occu 
 pancy had been divided and cut up as best suited the 
 French. It was a labor of many years, and father had a 
 large staff of field help and office clerks, skilled geome 
 tricians and chainbearers ; and a part of the old building 
 was used for offices and bureaux, by them. 
 
 It was in the nature of my father s occupation that he 
 should be guest today at castle or manor house of the 
 proudest baron in the land, while the next day would find 
 him at the Hof or some Bauer, no less proud of his estate 
 and descent than the nobleman on his Edelsitz. For 
 these men, though we call them peasants, slightingly, 
 and who wear the dress of the peasant. of finest cloth, 
 with buttons of silver, to be sure, are as proud and 
 prouder than titled nobility; and their estates, or Bauer- 
 
WHERE THEY FOUND HER 293 
 
 hofe, are often in better condition and of greater money 
 value than those of their more aristocratic neighbors. 
 
 For myself, I have very pleasant recollections of the 
 Bauerhof at Eldagsen, where I spent one whole happy 
 day in my earliest childhood. It happened one morning 
 that father, rumbling along in our old caleche, overtook 
 Yette, the nurse maid, with his two youngest in charge, 
 and I, the oldest of the two, set up a howl to be taken 
 along to Eldagsen. Of course the Bauer and his sister 
 paid me every possible attention, and I was fed and 
 petted all day long. The sister had a face like an apple- 
 blossom, pink and white, and her name was Louise 
 which is abbreviated to Wieschen, in Low-German dia 
 lect, and pronounced Veeshen, and the last thing I could 
 remember that night was that as Veeshen laid me, fast 
 asleep, into the old caleche, her long, flaxen braids swept 
 my face as she stooped over me. 
 
 Perhaps the only living soul in the whole country who 
 had no faith in old Nolte and his weird power, was a 
 young man on father s staff, a skilled geometrician, who 
 laughed at everything he did not understand. He was 
 with father almost constantly, though he did not belong 
 to Westphalia. He came from the Rhein, and held lighter 
 views of life than the dull, though honest people on the 
 Weser. He gave more particular offence to the sexton, 
 who swore that in every instance the old baker had been 
 correct in his prophecy. 
 
 In the castle grounds, below the terrace, there was an 
 avenue defendu at least in summer time, when the ber 
 ries were ripe. It was a long walk, bordered by hedges 
 of gooseberries, currants and raspberries, and the female 
 servants of the family knew well enough that while they 
 
294 JOSEPHINE CLIFFORD McCRACKIN 
 
 kept my mouth and that of my little sister filled with 
 berries, my mother would never discover that it was 
 here they came for their gossiping. They met here one 
 afternoon, Wilmina, Marie and Yette; and the subject 
 they were discussing must have been of absorbing inter 
 est, for they forgot that little pitchers have long ears. 
 
 Busy as I was with the Danish gooseberries, I heard 
 the name of my dear friend, Wieschen, mentioned ; but it 
 puzzled me what they meant when they added, "She had 
 written that if he did not keep his promise, they would 
 have tp hunt for her some day where the water was 
 deepest." 
 
 I wondered what Wieschen could have been promised. 
 She had shown me her new cap with gold lace on it; her 
 amber beads, and her garnet cross. What more could 
 she want? At the Wulbrand s Hof nobody ever lacked 
 for anything, I had heard; so what did Wieschen mean 
 by hiding herself in order to get what she wanted? And 
 in the water, too. Before I could ask my questions old 
 Roemer, the gardener with the wooden leg, made his 
 appearance at the end of the walk, and the girls ran, drag 
 ging us with them. 
 
 The berry season was over, summer had passed, and 
 autumn had come into the land; and then, one day, the 
 rumor went that old Nolte had had a Vorgesieht. When 
 it reached the ears of Mohrhaus, the geometer, his black 
 eyes danced with mischief, and he called on the sexton. 
 
 "I have had warning to prepare a grave for a grown 
 person," the sexton said solemnly. 
 
 "From the Herr Pastor, or your crazy Spokenkieker?" 
 asked Mohrhaus. 
 
 "From Nolte. Come with me, so that you may be con- 
 
WHERE THEY FOUND HER 295 
 
 vinced at last. He does not like to speak these things to 
 strangers ; but he will speak if I ask him to tell you." 
 
 If Nolte s eyes had encountered the sight of a ghost 
 instead of the gay face of the young geometrician, he 
 could not have started back in greater horror. But Mohr- 
 haus only sneered. 
 
 "I want to hear about your funeral procession," he 
 laughed. "When will it arrive?" 
 
 "In three days from now," was the positive reply. "But 
 there will be no procession," the old man added sadly, 
 "not a single mourner will follow the coffin." 
 
 "Oh-oh!" laughed the young man again, "that means, 
 I suppose, that unless you really find some one to bury 
 within that time, you will simply put a straw man into 
 the coffin." 
 
 "Tell him what the horses are like that will bring the 
 coffin on the wagon," the sexton suggested to the old 
 baker. 
 
 "Yes, tell me what kind of horses will bring your dead 
 man," added the youth; "what are they like?" 
 
 "Ein Falber und ein Rappe," (a dun horse and black 
 one), was the impressive answer. 
 
 But Mohrhaus laughed the louder. 
 
 "Ein Falber und ein Rappe !" he repeated. "Upon my 
 word now that is the team the old German kings drove 
 in their chariots. Your dead man comes in majesty!" 
 
 The Geisterseher s patience was exhausted. 
 
 "Death always comes in majesty!" he cried in a ringing 
 voice. "And you, too, shall tremble before it ere three 
 suns have set!" 
 
296 JOSEPHINE CLIFFORD McCRACKlN 
 
 As Mohrhaus was to go on a surveying trip next day, 
 he made sure first, through the agency of the parish 
 clerk, that there was no one sick, or in immediate danger 
 of dying of old age, in the parish ; and he received from 
 him the promise, that if word should be sent to dig a 
 grave, he would go himself and see that no such horses 
 as the Spokenkieker had described should draw the 
 wagon. 
 
 On his return to Petershagen, the third day, he was 
 met with the informtaion that a funeral had been an 
 nounced to arrive from Eldagsen that day, but had not 
 yet come, though it was then late in the afternoon. 
 
 "Going to keep up old Nolte s reputation at all risks," 
 Mohrhaus said, and he started for the tavern, where he 
 expected to find the sexton. 
 
 The sun was fast approaching the west, and a rough 
 wind blew through the deserted streets; it seemed to 
 Mohrhaus that he heard the clatter of hoofs on the cob 
 blestones, as he came along, but he paid no attention 
 to it. 
 
 The tavern keeper informed him that the sexton had 
 just been summoned away, as the long-delayed funeral 
 had come at last. 
 
 Mohrhaus eyes twinkled, as he said: "Then I must 
 go to the graveyard at once, before they put the straw 
 man under ground." 
 
 The sun was about to go down when he reached 
 the gate of the cemetery; he met the parish clerk, who 
 told him that the funeral had come a lonely-looking cof 
 fin on an open wagon drawn by two horses a dun horse 
 and a black one. The wagon that left Eldagsen had been 
 drawn by a span of white horses; but they had become 
 
WHERE THEY FOUND HER 297 
 
 unmanageable, had torn the harness, broken the wagon, 
 and thrown the coffin to the ground. The man who 
 drove the wagon, and the man who followed, as solitary 
 mourner, had both been hurt; one of the white horses 
 had to be shot, the other had run away, and the old team 
 now in the wagon, had been picked up among the people 
 on the road. 
 
 "A likely story/ said Mohrhaus, and he pressed on to 
 where he saw a number of men gathered around an open 
 grave, his friend, the sexton, among them. 
 
 They had evidently removed the lid from the coffin, 
 or perhaps it had been broken by the fall. They all 
 seemed perturbed as the young man approached, and the 
 sexton seemed anxious to put the lid back. 
 
 "Are you trying to hide your straw man from me, sex 
 ton?" he asked with his ready sneer; and the sexton lifted 
 the lid away, with a sudden impulse, so that Mohrhaus 
 might see. 
 
 The last departing rays of the sun lay on the coffin; 
 and as Mohrhaus stooped down, there was a glint as of 
 gold, where the light fell on heavy flax-blond braids. For 
 it was Wieschen he saw in the coffin, and they had found 
 her where the water was deepest, in the little lake on the 
 Wulbrand s Hof. 
 
WHAT THE WHITE LADY TOLD ME 
 
 Every self-respecting old castle in the Fatherland has 
 its own ghost. In one it is the semblance of an infant, 
 lying at midnight, feebly wailing, on the broad flagstone 
 at the foot of the winding stairs in the tower, or on the 
 cold slab in front of the great entrance door to the 
 gloomy hall. In another it is the shriveled-up figure of 
 a little old man who comes and shakes his head, porten- 
 tiously whenever he finds conviviality and good cheer 
 where he intends to herald death or disaster; and again 
 it is the shadowy form of a female, trailing long dusky 
 robes behind her and wringing her hands as if in grief 
 or despair. 
 
 Other castles boast of skeletons dragging clanking 
 chains after them; but the really nice people disavow 
 ghosts of this kind, as too coarse and noisy. In the cas 
 tle of Petershagen it was the White Lady, so-called be 
 cause she wandered around in her grave-clothes, the 
 white linen shroud still bound around her head, and her 
 hands crossed on her bosom, as they had been in the 
 coffin. 
 
 Every nurse maid in the country knew the story of 
 the White Lady, and our Yette, being at the fountain- 
 head, as it were, was supposed to know more particu 
 lars than any of the others. That it was told to the young 
 ones in their charge as soon as they were supposed to be 
 old enough to get a good "creep" to their skin, and a 
 good raise to their hair, goes without saying; though 
 every individual nurse was naturally warned not to 
 frighten the children with ghost stories. 
 
WHAT THE WHITE LADY TOLD ME 299 
 
 The story as Yette told it, and, as it obtains to this 
 day, for aught I know, was that a few centuries before we 
 came into the world, the lord who then held sway at the 
 Burg, discovered one day that his lawful wedded wife 
 was becoming wrinkled in the face, and that her lady 
 companion was much more youthful and pleasing in 
 looks. The foundation of the old castle laid close to the 
 banks of the Weser, so that its walls are washed by the 
 river, and in spring time, when the waters grow turbu 
 lent in the narrow bed, the waves sometimes dash against 
 the mighty pile as if trying to sweep it from the face of 
 the earth. 
 
 The walls are eleven feet in thickness on this side, so 
 that the window sills are used for cozy chatting corners, 
 and the castle-lord, opening the casement wide, one day, 
 for his lawful lady to get a look at the mad waters below, 
 grew fearful lest she might become dizzy so near to the 
 edge of the sill, stretched out his hand suddenly and 
 set up a frantic yell that his dearly beloved wife had fallen 
 into the water. But the members of the household loved 
 this good lady, and some of the warriors bold rushed 
 out with staves and poles, and in their little skiffs bat 
 tled with the wild waves till they found the dead lady 
 with her clothes caught in some brush along the river s 
 bank. 
 
 And then came retribution to the wicked knight. It 
 availed him not that he married his old wife s young 
 companion, and there were scenes of revelry in the great 
 banquet hall of the castle night after night; the ghost 
 of his first wife, dressed simply, but I fear not becom 
 ingly, in her grave-clothes, and with her hands folded 
 meekly across her breast, was always there, interrupt- 
 
300 JOSEPHINE CLIFFORD McCRACKlN 
 
 ing tete-a-tetes between her false lord and her successor, 
 or gliding out among the guests assembled for carousal. 
 Flesh and blood could not survive the encroachments of 
 such flesh-and-bloodless, unbidden guest for any length 
 of time, but when the wicked lord and his new wife were 
 both dead, this reprehensible habit of rambling through 
 halls and corridors had so grown upon the White Lady 
 that she continued to walk, thereby frightening silly 
 nurse maids and nervous children out of their seven 
 senses. 
 
 I am very sure Yette had been warned by my mother 
 most emphatically not to frighten us two little ones with 
 ghosts in general, and the White Lady in particular; 
 and I had become hysterical and frenzied with fear be 
 fore she would consent to lead me, sobbing as if my heart 
 would break, to the door of mother s bedroom one night, 
 shortly after 12 o clock. In answer to Yette s knock 
 came mother s inquiry what was wanted, but Yette had 
 scarcely begun to explain that the child was unmanage 
 able "because the White Lady had told her," when the 
 door opened and mother said severely: 
 
 "Yette, I have told you for the last time now, never to 
 talk such silly trash to the children." 
 
 "Gnadige Frau may believe me, I never did," pro 
 tested Yette with all the vehemence of a bad conscience. 
 
 "Let the poor devil come in," father s sleepy voice 
 came from the depths of the great "Himmelbett," and 
 then, trembling with cold and excitement, I slipped by 
 mother and clambered up into the big, broad Turkish 
 divan in the corner of the room. Nothing remained to 
 do for mother but make a bed for me with pillow and 
 coverlet; and moving a screen up to shield me from the 
 
WHAT THE WHITE LADY TOLD ME 301 
 
 light that always burned in her room, she left me to my 
 own reflections. 
 
 To my dying day I shall remember the feeling of 
 safety and comfort I enjoyed; the room was large and 
 high, the walls covered with hangings of some dark red 
 shade, with golden markings running through the flower- 
 pattern ; the canopy over the bed was of the same dark 
 color, which was repeated once more in the window 
 curtains. The door through which I had come in was 
 invisible, as the heavy wall hangings covered it too; the 
 door opening into the corridor, however, was large and 
 of dark wood, as were the frames of the windows, which 
 gave out on the upper terrace. 
 
 The walls on this side were not over five feet through, 
 and on the outside were covered with ivy; and this ivy 
 had spread its mantle over the stone saint that stood in 
 a niche near the broad steps leading up from the lower 
 terrace. 
 
 It was very pleasant in my corner here, with light 
 enough to distinguish every object not shut out by the 
 screen, and my tears had long since dried. But my little 
 heart was heavy within my breast. Grown-up people 
 sometimes do not understand children ; and children have 
 no way of making their elders understand their fears and 
 apprehensions. For weeks there had been a certain 
 something in the air, of which I stood in vague fear. 
 Half-words mysteriously uttered, a conversation broken 
 off at my approach, a sigh from mother, sometimes a tear 
 wiped hastily from her eyes all these things I saw and 
 "took into me," but I could shape no questioning why 
 or wherefore. 
 
 Father, it seems, did not go to sleep again this night, 
 
302 JOSEPHINE CLIFFORD McCRACKIN 
 
 for I heard him talking to mother. Only fragments of 
 the talk reached me. "A climate like that of Italy," I 
 heard him say once ; "A domain half as big as the whole 
 Kingdom of Prussia," again ; "An assured future for the 
 boys." Then there was something said about tyranny and 
 injustice, and merit not appreciated. And then, I sup 
 pose, I dropped off to sleep. 
 
 Never was there greater surprise "in our circles" than 
 at the announcement, sometime after this, that we were 
 on the eve of departure for America. 
 
 Boys, I presume, are the same all the world over, and 
 the three belonging to us felt their importance now as 
 never before. For my smaller sister and myself there 
 was much extra petting and caressing before we were 
 finally deposited on board the big three-master "Leon- 
 tine." I think the ocean must have swelled with the 
 tears that were shed by us and over us at our departure ; 
 but father and the rascally boys never once cried. 
 
 It was in the very beginning of the tide of emigration 
 from Germany, and a family like ours attracted some at 
 tention at New Orleans, which may have been owing, 
 come to think of it, to the fact that my sister and I could 
 swallow bigger oysters, and more of them, than any man 
 of twice our size. 
 
 The steamer Hannibal carried not only us, but a num 
 ber of other German emigrants, up the Mississippi river. 
 (My mother called the others "Auswanderer," as if we 
 had not been emigrants, too.) We were in the cabin, the 
 other auswanderers were on the deck. Father, speaking 
 English fluently, and being naturally looked up to by the 
 crowd, was always in demand to straighten out some 
 misunderstanding or unravel some tangled skein of lin- 
 
WHAT THE WHITE LADY TOLD ME 303 
 
 guistic difficulty. Mother, who would carefully have 
 wiped her fingers had she ever by any accident touched 
 one of the blue linen "kittels" which the men wore, 
 rather resented this sending of messages for father at all 
 hours; but father only said, in his good-natured way, 
 "Oh, let me help the poor devils." 
 
 One day there was a great commotion, and such a 
 babel of confusion as can be produced by only the Ger 
 man speech when conducted by fifty individuals at once, 
 each trying to out-talk the others. We were all out on 
 the gallery in less than no time, and soon saw father in 
 the midst of his countrymen. Close beside us another 
 steamer, not so grand as ours, seemed to give us escort, 
 and both were on the point of landing. Then we under 
 stood that Captain Frazer proposed to transfer the emi 
 grants and some other baggage to this smaller steamer, 
 as he said there was not water enough in the channel, 
 just below Memphis, to make it safe for a boat too heav 
 ily laden. Of course the amiable emigrants kicked, 
 though the Captain promised to take them on again later. 
 But father had gotten his Dutch up, in defense of his 
 countrymen, and the Captain could not shift his load. 
 
 One thing I remember quite distinctly, the whole 
 rabble having caught just a little English by this time, 
 stood in the stern of the boat, thumb to nose, with fin 
 gers wagging, and shouting, "Plenty vahter, plenty vah- 
 ter !" as the smaller boat fell behind and we moved on. 
 
 That night, after supper, when the cabin was warm 
 and brilliant with lights, and some lady at the piano was 
 droning "Suwanee River," Captain Frazer made his way 
 up to father and courteously asked him to step out on 
 the guards. Of course, everybody in the saloon fol- 
 
304 JOSEPHINE CLIFFORD McCRACKIN 
 
 lowed, and I remember how weird was the change from 
 the bright inside to the dreary without. But once fairly 
 outside I stood frozen with horror; I stared my eyes out 
 for I had seen it all before. The broad, dark, swirling 
 river, a fitful moon-beam serving to make darkness visi 
 ble, a steamboat-wreck, with its smokestacks and just 
 one corner of its upper deck, its light-painted "Texas," 
 with the pilot wheel inside, lying almost within touch 
 of my hand, it seemed to me. A little farther off, nearer 
 in to the shore, was another wreck, not yet sunk quite 
 so deep ; and the water that sluggishly washed over it, 
 every now and again struck something that in turn moved 
 the clapper of the big bell, causing a mournful, muffled 
 sound, tolling a dirge for the seven fair ships that had 
 here found a grave. 
 
 What the Captain said I did not then understand, but 
 I had seen this once before, and I was frantically tug 
 ging at mother s skirt, stamping my feet in a rage of 
 fear, and trying to hide my eyes in the folds of her dress. 
 
 "The White Lady told me," I screamed, "the White 
 Lady told me," and the other ladies, who came sympa 
 thetically forward and to mother s aid, could not have 
 understood my fright even if they had understood Ger 
 man. 
 
 This "steamboat s graveyard," as it was called, was 
 what the Captain had dreaded, and he wanted father to 
 understand why he had meant to transfer his interesting 
 proteges from his own to another vessel for a short space 
 of time. 
 
 Whether the recollection of this piece of German ob 
 stinacy had anything to do with a little adventure a day 
 or two later I don t know, but I rather think so. In those 
 
WHAT THE WHITE LADY TOLD ME 305 
 
 dark ages of river travel, when a steamer had once estab 
 lished its reputation, there was no necessity for constant 
 racing to keep its fame, so we meandered upward to St. 
 Louis at quite a comfortable gait. To watch them 
 "wood up" was one of the ever-recurring excitements of 
 the journey, and father and the boys always went on 
 shore, father naturally taking up with the little picnanin- 
 nies hanging round the wood-pile. On this occasion 
 quite a number of the dear emigrants had gone ashore, 
 too; and when the bell suddenly clanged out an abrupt 
 warning, only William and George could reach the gang 
 plank. Father, with the younger one, was nearly a quar 
 ter of a mile away, but I did not know it. So I laughed 
 fit to kill myself when I saw my beloved countrymen 
 floundering around in the sand on the shore, tumbling 
 over each other, yelling and wildly gesticulating for the 
 boat to stop. 
 
 But she swung majestically into the stream, and then 
 for the first time I heard from the big boys that father 
 and Albert had been left on shore. Darkness *v r as setting 
 in, and the boat went slowly but surely, though it kept 
 in close to the bank. I ran to call mother, and she, with 
 the other ladies, came out of the cabin where the lamps 
 had just been lighted. We were now abreast of one of 
 those long, gloomy stretches of native forest-growth, 
 which then lined the banks of the river, and against this 
 background, and lighted up by the fire that the people 
 at the wood yard had built, I saw Albert, a little in ad 
 vance of father, whom he was holding by the hand and 
 trying to drag along faster. I thought I could read the 
 terror in the boy s face as he saw the black night and 
 the blacker forest before him ; but there was greater ter- 
 
306 JOSEPHINE CLIFFORD McCRACKIN 
 
 ror in my face, and in my heart, too, for I had seen this 
 all before, and again I stamped my feet in an agony of 
 fear, and screamed, as I clung to mother s skirts. 
 
 "The White Lady told me oh ! the White Lady told 
 me." 
 
 Mother s suspense was relieved at this moment for 
 the boat was stopped and this gave her more time to 
 devote to me. Thoroughly out of patience, and ashamed 
 of my screaming and stamping, she took me by the shoul 
 ders, made me face her and said emphatically : 
 
 "The White Lady told you nothing; you never saw 
 the White Lady; there is no White Lady." At the end 
 of every sentence she gave me a vigorous little shake, 
 and then sent me directly to bed. 
 
 After long years, when it had become the business of 
 this younger brother to pilot boats along the entire length 
 of the Mississippi River, he still spoke of the dread he 
 had felt of being lost in the trackless forest that night. 
 
 In St. Louis we did not find a climate like that of 
 Italy ; we found many disappointments, I fear, and found 
 that we were in no way better here than the Smiths, 
 Browns and Robinsons. When I grew older I learned 
 how we came to be here at all, which was only because 
 father had gone into the net of a "soul-seller" Seelen- 
 verkaufer, the Germans call them. These people were 
 paid by ship-agents and others so much "per soul" for 
 every man, woman or child whom they could induce to 
 emigrate to North or South America, where they gener 
 ally fleeced their victims out of the last penny by selling 
 them large tracts of swamp lands or impenetrable forests 
 and jungle for farm lands, acting in concert with con 
 federates on this side of the ocean. These people had 
 
WHAT THE WHITE LADY TOLD ME 307 
 
 their spies everywhere in Germany, and knew every 
 malcontent in the country. Father, it was well known, 
 had resigned from the army in a fit of pique when a 
 cousin he disliked had been promoted over his head; 
 and in Civil Service he had grown discontented, too, 
 because advancement was not rapid enough ; which he 
 ascribed to the tyranny and injustice of the King. 
 
 I have always held father excusable for a certain 
 amount of pride, for he belonged to the Hanoverian con 
 tingent of Wellington s army, a cadet just emerged from 
 military school, and he was made a lieutenant on the 
 battlefield of Waterloo, for daring and bravery long 
 before "night or Blucher" had come. 
 
 The first few months in the country my father de 
 voted entirely to the enjoyment of his liberty that is: 
 he wandered about the streets and the suburbs of the 
 city with my smaller sister and myself one by each 
 hand. To be sure, he could have enjoyed this same lib 
 erty twenty-four hours out of every day under the rule 
 of the "tyrant king" in the old country; but that never 
 seemed to strike him. I fancy he had an idea of found 
 ing a little empire of his own, consisting principally of 
 forest, where horses, deer, bears and niggers still ran 
 wild, and where he could tame them so far that they 
 would come up to be petted and eat lump sugar out of 
 his hand. 
 
 In the meantime the little German thalers which were 
 to buy the big American farm, were melting like snow 
 before the sun. Father had declined a professorship at 
 West Point, which had been tendered him through the 
 kind offices of Colonel Brant, on the ground that he had 
 come to America to be a free man, and he would never 
 
308 JOSEPHINE CLIFFORD McCRACKIN 
 
 enter service of any kind again. The thalers flew faster, 
 and two or three pieces of old-fashioned silverware, 
 showing the coat of arms and crest of mother s family, 
 had already found their way into stranger-hands, while 
 the lines of care and sorrow daily deepened in my moth 
 er s handsome face. 
 
 Still father kept up his aimless roaming through the 
 streets with us two little ones; and so long as we were 
 allowed all the stick candy we could eat, we were al 
 ways ready to go. One day we were sauntering along 
 the southern end of Second street, a most unattractive 
 neighborhood, for there were mostly pork-packing estab 
 lishments there, and the conglomeration of houses in 
 which the working people, many of them Germans, lived. 
 Suddenly I gave such a jerk to father s hand that he stood 
 stock still to see what ailed me. My first impulse was 
 to cry out in anguish, "The White Lady told me oh! 
 the White Lady told me!" But I had learned wisdom in 
 my short generation, and I controlled myself and pointed 
 across the street, to the east side, where there stood, 
 somewhat isolated and amid the most sordid surround 
 ings, one of those ugly two-story buildings called "half- 
 houses," because the roof slants only to one side, and 
 the supposition is that a front will be added at some 
 future day. This thing was built of brick and painted 
 yellow, a perfect abomination of ugliness, and I said to 
 father: 
 
 "Is not that a very ugly house?" 
 
 He surveyed it critically, to please me, and said good- 
 naturedly, "I think I never saw an uglier one." 
 
 With a shudder I said, "I hate it," but I stood fas 
 cinated for all that. 
 
WHAT THE WHITE LADY TOLD ME 309 
 
 I had seen it before, and I had climbed up those steps 
 on the porch, outside, to the second story of the building. 
 But in order to explain how horrible was the sight I met 
 with inside, I must say something about German customs 
 to those not to the manner born. Every family of the 
 better class has or had, in those times its own pat 
 terns or designs which are woven into their table linen. 
 The table linen which mother brought into the family 
 showed lozenges in one design, stars in the other. From 
 father s family had come the rose-pattern and a leaf- 
 design, both of which were condemned as in bad taste 
 by mother. She maintained that for ordinary table linen 
 only geometrical patterns were admissible ; only in the 
 finer damasks were floral or other intricate designs the 
 proper thing. Of this fine damask there were table 
 cloths with accompanying napkins for a large number 
 of covers, perhaps twenty-four, or forty-eight, with hunt 
 ing scenes woven in, or floral designs, repeated, in part, 
 in every one of the napkins. Of the commoner kind of 
 table-cloths, with napkins, there were so many that the 
 same piece never saw service more than once in a twelve 
 month, if so often, and we had brought many a "kiste" 
 full of linen to this country. Among the table linen the 
 lozenge-pattern was most in use. 
 
 I repeat, I had climbed those stairs with a beating 
 heart, had opened the door into the first room fronting 
 on the porch, and then my heart stood still. On the bare 
 floor, in a row, lay a number of people who had died of 
 cholera, and nearest the door lay my mother, dead, and 
 the body was wrapped from head to foot in one of the 
 large table-cloths of the lozenge pattern. Her hair, gray 
 as it was in after years, alone protruded from this sin- 
 
310 JOSEPHINE CLIFFORD McCfUCKIN 
 
 gular shroud; but I knew it was mother, though I did 
 not see her face. The sun was blazing in through an 
 uncurtained window ; the room was unfurnished and un 
 occupied save for these dead ; in short, the place and the 
 scene was such as was often found a year or two later, 
 when the epidemic broke out in St. Louis, of which no 
 one, save myself, had ever dreamt before. 
 
 But the spell was broken; the White Lady had lied 
 to me. It was not many years till father rilled one of the 
 ever-open graves dug for idealists and dreamers who 
 die of disappointment and a broken heart. Mother lived 
 to follow the fortunes of some of her children across the 
 Pacific Ocean, and she found in California a climate 
 much more like that of Italy than any she had found 
 on the banks of the Mississippi. 
 
 
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