Part 13 (1/2)
”We tried the medicines the Indians gave us, but they didn't do her no good. Often I wished the storm would stop, and I near made up my mind a dozen times that I'd go to Bennivale an' see the doctor anyway.
”The days an' nights went by slow, an' as I wus sittin' by the little un the door opened an' in come Bill, an' without say in' a word, jest as if he'd gone out o' the door an' come right back, he put his hand in his pocket, an' pulls out a parcel o' powders an' giv' them to me. It was the doctor's writin', an' I knew it. He put a letter along with the medicine, an' this is what he said, fur I always carries this letter with me wherever I go:
”'Dear Mr. Glad'--ye see, he called me by my old name o' the mountains, which I like best, fur it keeps me in mind o' the prairies an' the foot-hills. I can't speak it in the fine style he writes in, but I'll read it like our talk o' the prairie.
”Here's what he ses: 'Dear Mr. Glad, a stranger named Bill has just returned sufferin' with exposure, an' he has just informed me that one o' your children is very sick--a little girl. From all the fac's o'
the case, which I wus able to gather from yer friend, I am able to send you some medicine which I feel sure will restore her. Mix the powders accordin' to directions. Whenever you come this way, bring me a few furs, and I will pay you fur them. I want some good beaver skins.
Your friend Bill is a rare chap. He has had an excellent edication, and has seen better days. You can't go wrong in trustin' that fellow.
He is sharp, clever an' queer.
”'Sincerely yours, ”'TOM. KETSON, M.D.'
”Comrades, as I read the letter I looked up an' saw that Bill wus pretty sick. He had suffered pretty bad from cold an' hunger, an' was a good deal frost-bitten.
”It wasn't long afore we fixed the powders for wee Nan, an' got Bill in good shape, but he wus very bad.
”Wall, the wee thing began to mend, an' Bill, lyin' beside the fire, though he couldn't speak much fur pain, wud sing a wee song, and coo to her--the stranger an' the wee un wur like lovers, an' they both kep'
gettin' better.
”After a time wee Nan got round again, but Bill never got over his long ride, fur it left a bad cough that settled on his lungs, an' he lost half o' one foot an' some toes off the other.
”Wall, last summer I went back to the old shanty where I used to live, to fix the fence round Nan's grave, fur ye remember, comrades, that she left us three years ago, an' we buried her beside the shanty. As I wus fixin' the fence, I saw a man walkin' with two sticks, an' he wus comin' to the shanty. I wus a wee bit suspicious, an' I stepped aside into the bush to see if he wur after mischief. He come up to the grave, an' kneeled down beside it, an' then he took some flowers--roses an' the like--an' planted them on the grave. I waited fur a long time till I saw him wander off, an' then I come down an' finished my job.
”I saw him go to one of the coulees, an' there I found his shanty. I dropt in to get somethin' to eat, just fur an excuse, an' when the door wus opened it wus Bill 't met me.
”Boys, ye mind that cripple that ye wus laughin' at in camp the other day? Wall, he's pa.s.sed in his checks. Ye won't trouble him any more.
I went to dig his grave, an' I made the best coffin I could fur him.
The boys made fun o' him because he wus only a cripple an' he wus poor.
They called him 'Tanglefoot Bill,' an' a good deal o' sport they got out o' him. Wall, when I looked at his feet an' heard him cough, I thought o' the day I wus mendin' the grave an' of the stranger who went fur the medicine fur wee Nan.
”I put a board at the head o' the poor feller's grave, an' these is the words I wrote on it:
”'TO THE MEMORY O' PRAIRIE BILL, THE FRIEND O' WEE NAN.”
When Old Glad had finished his story the men knocked the ashes out of their pipes, and wrapping themselves in blanket or skin, turned over on the sod and went to sleep. They had to make an early start in the morning, and though they made no comment they felt no interest in asking for another story that night.
After breakfast no time was lost; the dishes were washed, and the ”boss” of the outfit put everything in order to start the long cavalcade of men and horses. Three heavily laden wagons were fastened to each other, and then ten or twelve horses. .h.i.tched together to draw the load. Four or five of these teams comprised a train, and the manager of the whole was the ”wagon-boss.” He was generally a shrewd, hard-working, capable man. Black Jack was the name by which the boss of the train to which Old Glad was attached was known. He was a sterling fellow, big and strong, with long hair and heavy moustache.
He was a man of few words, but an excellent boss-captain of the fleet of prairie schooners. Though many of the men he employed on his fleet were accustomed to use pretty strong language while on the trips across the prairie, they desisted when with Black Jack. He was a stern man, but with his stern determination had a kindly manner and a love of honesty which affected his men and imbued them with something of the same spirit that animated him.
Jack had married a handsome half-breed woman, who lived in a neat log shanty in one of the settlements that had grown up around the Hudson's Bay posts. She was queen of the home, and her chief pride lay in having it well kept and attractive to her husband when he returned from the long trips on the prairie. The house was a small one, but ample for their needs. It was built of hewn logs laid one above the other until the walls were about eight feet high. Notched ridge-poles formed the roof, which was thatched with prairie hay and moss and made water-tight by a plastering of mud. The interior had white calico stretched over the ceiling and was whitewashed with lime. The walls were covered with pictures from the ill.u.s.trated papers, which served the double purpose of keeping out the wind and providing a sort of universal library and reading room, affording many hours of amus.e.m.e.nt to Julia and her friends.
Two years previous to his marriage a little girl in the settlement had been left an orphan. Jack had taken compa.s.sion on her and provided her a home, and Alice was now the joy of his household. He spent many of his leisure hours in making her toys. She was a pretty, dimpled-cheeked child with light hair and blue eyes, and was always happy and strong. The Indians called her Curly Hair, but Jack had named her Alice. While he guided the long train of wagons across the prairie the wagon-boss's thoughts were often in the log house with his little girl. Black Jack had therefore been one of the most interested listeners to Old Glad's story of wee Nan and Prairie Bill.
A halt was called at noon, and after a spell of rest they journeyed onward steadily, until as darkness fell they entered the trading-post of Whoop Up.