Part 12 (1/2)

Evening had deepened into night, when, all alone, weary and very sad, Ben Logan made his way back to the fort. Here, at the gate, being informed of the marvelous manner in which the quest had terminated, he hurried on to grandpap's house to see his little friend and learn what further particulars he might of the mysterious affair. His mother, hearing that he was coming, hastened to meet him at the door; hastened, because her son, being intended by nature for a man of huge proportions, was already provided with the full-grown foot to meet that end.

Consequently, his fas.h.i.+on of traveling over the loose, board floors, we usually see in backwoods cabins, was of that horse-like kind peculiar to overgrown boys, and against which quiet old ladies are wont to protest as more in keeping with barns and bridges than with human dwellings. And now that she was a nurse, his mother must needs protest against the habit in question more earnestly than usual, representing the necessities of the case in a way so affectionate and anxious that the tender-hearted Ben felt himself growing tender-footed, even while yet he stood on the solid earth. It took her but a few minutes to tell him all she knew of Sprigg's story, and it was as much as Elster knew, or any one else, indeed, excepting Jervis Whitney himself. When he had heard it, the young hunter, big with wonder and pity, leaned his rifle against the wall beside the doorway, and, treading the floor as lightly as were he walking on thin ice, followed his mother into a back room, which had been a.s.signed to the little sufferer.

There, pale as the dead, and as senseless, he lay, and as motionless, saving the slightest breathing, which might encourage the hope that, in the contest between them, life still held the advantage over death.

Every now and then a tremor, somewhat more perceptible than the breathing, would play for a moment over the lacerated limbs, like the flickering flame of an expiring lamp. Ben could remain no longer than just sufficed for one good look at his unfortunate little friend, as that was enough to call forth a blubbering outburst of pitiful feeling much too boisterous for a place like that, and quite as much to be protested against by the doctors and nurses as his horse-like tread. So he conveyed himself away with as little noise as a rumbling, puncheon floor would well allow a half-grown boy with full-grown feet. And gathering up his rifle as he pa.s.sed out at the door, went crying home.

Some people, especially the harder cases among the boys, may regard such an exhibition of feeling as more beseeming a faint-hearted girl than a bold-hearted young hunter. But you and I know too well what human nature ought to be than to think anything of the sort. We know that this tenderness of feeling--let them call it weakness if they will--was the best part of young Ben Logan's strength, and that, without it, the son of a white man's wife would have been no better than the son of a red man's squaw.

Next morning, at rise of sun--you all know what a desperately early riser the sun is in the busy month of June--Ben was again at grandpap's house to learn how it was faring with his little friend, and to offer such help in the case as a boy might render. His mother, who, with Bertha Bryant's mother, had watched all night, met him at the door and told him that Sprigg, although still unconscious, showed some signs of improvement; his breathing was stronger and more regular, and the tremor about his limbs had nearly disappeared. Ben wished to know if it would not be advisable for him to go to the lick and shoot a fat, young buck for Sprigg. Sprigg's favorite dish was a venison ham chopped up and made into a pie, with rich, brown crust and plenty of good, cream gravy, and he ought to have it for his dinner to-morrow. His mother smiled at the suggestion, and answered that it would be many a day, she feared, before his little friend could be equal to such a strong diet. Well, he would go and shoot a buffalo for Sprigg. Sprigg was uncommonly fond of buffalo tongue, and might like to have some for his supper that night. No; buffalo tongue was not more to be thought of than venison pastry. Well, then, a fat, young bear; what could be more tender and delicate than the fat of a young bear, especially when the woods, as now, were full of wild honey? No; all too rich and strong for the present demands of the case. Should the little patient be found able to swallow just a few spoonfuls of weak squirrel broth, right glad and thankful should they be. So ”Benjamin” might go and fetch a squirrel for Sprigg.

”Benjamin” went and did as he was bidden, bringing down a squirrel within gunshot of the fort and sending it in forthwith to his mother.

But this was far from satisfying ”Benjamin,” and he believed it would be far from satisfying Sprigg. As the station here had resulted in a settlement of considerable extent, game of the larger sort had grown very scarce in the immediate vicinity, thus obliging the hunter, who would pursue the chase on a scale beseeming the hunter's paradise, to betake him to the more unfrequented parts of the forest. So, to the distant lick went young Ben Logan, leading, Daniel Boone-like, a horse by the bridle to help him home with the spoils of the chase. He had taken counsel with himself and was resolved that Sprigg should have a fair start in the direction of recovery to health, and to this benevolent end a fat, young buck or buffalo must that day bite the dust; or, better still, as the woods were full of wild-honey, a fat, young bear. Squirrels and birds might do well enough for people in full health, where nature had only to hold her own; but in a case like Sprigg's where nature was exhausted, it was only the larger quadrupeds which could yield the nourishment sufficiently strengthening for certain and speedy recuperation. According to Ben's theory, a given quant.i.ty of bear's meat, for example, afforded some ten or twelve times as much nourishment as an equal quant.i.ty of squirrel's meat.

That day a fat, young bear fell a sacrifice to Ben's physiological heresy; the next day a fat, young buck; a lordly buffalo on the third, and so on, and so on, for more than a week, with a smart sprinkling of squirrels and birds looking to the special wants of the doctors and nurses. Every morning he would furnish the squirrel or bird required of him; which, having done by way of compromise between his better judgment and his duty as a son, then away to the lick would he hie himself on his own responsibility for something better worth a hunter's notice. The good fellow had evidently taken Sprigg's case into his own hands, under an abiding conviction that nothing less than an heroic course of wild meat could bring it to a happy issue. Thus, while he was devoting all his powers of body and mind, and the s.h.i.+ny parts of a fortnight to the sustenance of one little sick boy, young Ben Logan had well nigh foundered the whole settlement on wild meat--the backbones, tongues and spareribs themselves being enough to surfeit the fort, consisting, though it did, of some ten or twelve families, all well stocked with children and dogs.

How could poor Sprigg have ever imagined that a pair of red moccasins, or anything else, indeed, which might be named as very attractive to juvenile fancy, could stir up envy, to the dying extent, or to any extent whatever, in the simple, unselfish heart of his friend Ben? Ben would have admired the moccasins exceedingly; p.r.o.nounced them beautiful, fine enough for the son of a Shawnee Sachem; fine enough, indeed, for Nick of the Woods himself; but to envy Sprigg for his finery would no more have entered his thoughts than to envy a redbird for his tail feathers, or a red man for his head feathers. Ben could have put those Manitou moccasins on and worn them whithersoever he pleased, and his guileless feet been as easy and safe in them as had they been shod with unenchanted, merchantable, split-leather, Yankee shoes. Ben could have followed the chase in those moccasins day after day, till he had rubbed and kicked them bare of all their gaudy heads; till he had snagged them full of holes and covered them over with barbarous patches of his own needlework, and never, in all that time, have missed his aim, or lost his way, or forgotten to say his prayers, for aught he could have seen in their glitter and gleam to daze and cheat him out of his sober senses.

And why? Because Ben Logan was not a wild dreamer. In other words, because he was one of the best boys that ever lived; so good, indeed, that he could not have been more invincible to Manitou spells, even had he been armed with Tom Walker's pocket bible and worn it perpetually in his bosom. Nick of the Woods himself could never befuddle the wits of such a boy, even were he, too, minded to make the trial and exert his Manitou utmost to that end; though, to do him justice, the Manitou king was perfectly willing--glad, you may have it--to let Ben Logan alone. He knew very well that he could do nothing for the bettering of such a boy, which nature--best of mothers--had not done for him already. No need to set Ben's heart a-bleeding to develop the good that was in it, or to crumble up the evil.

Now, there are people who, though given to swallowing their own camels, are just as given to straining at other people's gnats; and these of course, being incredulous as to what I have just affirmed, must need some further proof to remove their doubts. They shall have only to read what follows.

One pleasant afternoon, as Ben Logan was ranging the wilderness, catering for his little sick friend, Nick of the Woods caught Will-o'-the-Wisp and Manitou-Echo amusing themselves at the young hunter's expense. They would set the trees and bushes to waving their tops and fluttering their leaves, where there was no wind; smoke to rising, where there was no fire; fire to burning, where there was no fuel; shadows to flitting and dodging about, where there were no visible forms; echoes to calling and answering each other, where there were no audible voices. Then would the elfish rogues fall to laughing and skipping about in the most extravagant manner to witness the big, young mortal's demonstrations of amazement: how he would open wide his eyes to stare this way, and wider still to stare that way; how he would c.o.c.k first one ear, then the other, to listen; yes, and how he c.o.c.ked his gun, too, ready to let fly the unerring bullet, the moment whatever it was--man, or varmint, or goblin--might dare to expose but so much as the head or tail of itself for a mark.

”Imps!” cried the Manitou king, ”let Ben Logan alone! There's nothing in the dreams of such a young mortal which calls for any of your good help. Were Ben a boy of a wild and brilliant fancy, say, like Sprigg, whose case we are putting through in a somewhat novel fas.h.i.+on, why, these pranks you are playing might not be deemed unseasonable, might even be approved; but you forget the nature of Manitou duty and go beyond the bounds of Manitou privilege, when you turn aside to bedevil a thoroughly honest human thing like Ben. To be sure, as I have just hinted, Ben is not a brilliant youth, nor shall ever be one, even though he should live to see his second childhood, and from that stage of mortal existence take a fresh start; nor is he likely ever to make a conspicuous figure in the world. What, though, does this signify to us Manitous? Such considerations, smacking, as they do, of human folly, are not the sort to influence the true Manitou way of viewing mankind, or the true Manitou way of dealing with human concerns. 'Tis enough for us that Ben is right-minded and true-hearted; that he keeps his dreams and fancies within beseeming limits, never letting them go gadding wide and loose from home; or, if he lets them go abroad at all, depend upon it, the ends he proposes to himself are well meant and unselfish, be they wise or simple. Therefore, it behooves us, as true Manitous, to treat this humble, honest lad with just as much consideration and respect as we were showing the boy Was.h.i.+ngton, some forty years ago, and are now showing the boy Tec.u.mseh.

”Then away with you, now, to Meg of the Hills and join her in her attendance on Little Bertha Bryant, the pretty young human thing, whose mind is so free from foolish fancies, whose heart so full of loving intentions that we can make her, and are making her, and shall continue to make her, an instrument to the good and happiness of the less worthy with whom her lot is cast. Away, ye imps! But mark ye before ye go, if ever I catch you making another innocent mortal the object of your impertinent pranks, I will reduce you, sure as fate, I will, to your original fog and moons.h.i.+ne, with just so little of you left as shall barely serve for echo and wisp.”

CHAPTER XX.

Little Bertha Bryant.

Who, with pretty, young eyes overflowing with soft, sweet tears, stood gazing at Sprigg and his mother, where they lay side by side together?

Little Bertha. Who, with pretty, young hands, so kind and deft, hung the kettle over the fire, and, when the water was warmed, carried it to her mother to wash and lave Sprigg's wounds? Little Bertha. Who, with pretty, young hopes and fears, all in a bird-like flutter, hovered around till the latest grown-up bedtime, wis.h.i.+ng and wis.h.i.+ng that she might do something to make Sprigg open his eyes and smile--part his lips and speak? Little Bertha. Who, with pretty, young feet, so willing and nimble, ran to the gate next morning, and every morning thereafter for more than a week, to receive from Ben the squirrel or bird for Sprigg's broth; then to the spring to fetch a pail of good, cool water; then to a neighbor's house for some balsam; then somewhere else for something else, and so on and so on throughout the livelong summer day, and all for Sprigg? Little Bertha all the time; n.o.body but little Bertha!

And who was little Bertha? Well, the answer to this question can only be given in superlatives, and even then it must still fall short of full expression. For little Bertha, you must know, was the sweetest-tempered, the truest-hearted, the clearest-headed, the purest-minded, the most helpful-handed, the most willing-footed--in short, the best and the nicest little backwoods damsel that ever wore linsey-woolsey frocks and homemade shoes in winter, and homespun cotton frocks and nothing at all on her feet in summer. But I see that, in this list, I had well nigh forgotten the most popular of all superlatives--”prettiest.” So accustomed am I to squaring my estimate of beauty by the good, old adage, ”he handsome is who handsome does,” or ”she beautiful is who beautiful does”--to employ a gender more appropriate to the case. Well, then, ”the prettiest,” withal, as you may easily believe when I tell you that her hair was so gold-like, her eyes so sky-like, her brow so lily-like, her cheeks so rose-like, her lips so cherry-like, and her form and motions so fairy-like, that Sleeping Beauty herself--of course, I mean before she fell asleep--would have envied little Bertha, even to the extent of wis.h.i.+ng that she had been born in a backwoods cabin, instead of a royal palace.

From what has just been said, it may fairly be inferred that, young as it was, little Bertha's life was already largely made up of daily duty, and that she found in them such real delight as to make her quite unconscious of deserving credit for performing them. But the duty in which she took the greatest delight was that of going every evening to the bluegra.s.s glades, a mile away from the fort, to fetch the cows home to be milked and secured for the night. The glades, which were well set in gra.s.s and thickly mottled over with patches of white clover, both the spontaneous products of the soil, were separated from each other by narrow belts of forest growth, converging, for the most part, toward the base of a gra.s.s-coated, tree-crowned, exceedingly pleasant-looking hill, of sufficient height to command a fine view of the neighboring country.

To the top of this hill, no matter where the cattle might be, Bertha always climbed before quitting the spot.

I would not be understood as meaning that backwoods-man's daughter did this because she was a great admirer of fine landscapes. Intellectually, she may have been almost unconscious of their beauty; and yet it made her happy simply to sit up there for a half hour every evening and let the gladness in her young heart go forth to mingle itself with gladness of nature around her. The universal mother and friend, thus looked directly down upon, seems to a.s.sume a smile more directly responsive to the thoughts and emotions in the beholder's mind than when viewed from the general level. The little girl may have had but the faintest intimation of such an interchange; yet, depend upon it, had it not existed, she never would have troubled herself to clamber up the hill, excepting when the cattle were up there and too perverse to come down at her gentle call.

On the evening following Sprigg's mysterious reappearance, Bertha, on going to the glades and climbing to the top of her favorite hill, found there an altogether unfamiliar object, the sight whereof made her two blue eyes dilate with wonder and delight. Beside the moss-grown tree trunk, where she always sat when up there, stood a small but exceedingly luxuriant bush, which must have been the growth of a single day, as she had not seen it there on the previous evening, nor the like of it in all her life. Upon the bush, besides foliage of vivid greenness, grew in in the greatest profusion a large flower of marvelous beauty, both as to its shape, so heart-like, and to its color, so blood-like. But what more especially still distinguished the flower was its perfume, which, though powerful enough to be perceptible all over the hill, was yet too delicate, too lily-like to be easily referred to a plant of such tropical richness, which had more the appearance of bleeding than of blooming. It was a sweetness so peculiar, so foreign to all common experience that to inhale it were enough to make you fancy that fairyland was blooming near, and fairy florists experimenting with their plants in mortal soil.

The moment Bertha caught sight and scent of the flowers, there came, first into her mind, a vivid image of Sprigg, as she had left him lying at home, less like the living than the dead; and then, into her heart, a feeling that they were blooming there to no other end than for his restoration to life and health. Thus impressed--bespelled, it may be--the little girl, instead of lingering about the spot as usual, hastened to fill her ap.r.o.n with the offered good, stripping the bush to its last blossom. Then, bringing the cattle together in the shortest time the thing was ever done, without the help of a dog, she sent them trotting homeward with all their awkward might, leaving the patriarch of the herd, who was too stately or too stubborn to be stimulated out of a dignified walk, to follow on or stay behind, as suited his sulky old fancy best. Briskly had they started, more and more briskly on they went, the grandmotherly cows hobbling along in that peculiar, cross-legged trot, rather suggestive of rheumatism in the hocks and hips, and which limber-legged little boys, who follow at their heels, are mighty apt to mimic. Set were their big, mild eyes, all gla.s.sy with amazement--the sun a mile too high for milking time, not a sign in the sky to show for a coming thunder storm; not a yell, not a howl, not a scream in the forest to tell of Indian, wolf or panther.

Arrived at home, Bertha turned the cows into the enclosure, where they were wont to be milked and secured for the night. Then hastening on to grandpap's house, she entered by a back door, which opened directly into the sick room, and stealing quietly up to the bedside, began softly strewing the fragrant contents of her ap.r.o.n, handful by handful, over and around the form of the unconscious boy. Scarcely were the flowers strewn, their perfume filling the room, when, slowly over the wan, young face, which until this moment had worn the fixed and pallid cast of death, came stealing a smile of solemn, innocent sweetness, such as we often see on the faces of sleeping infants. Faint, it is true, was the smile, yet perceptible enough to betoken that the spirit was still at home, and only waiting for its doors to be reopened, when it would again reveal itself as a living presence. All in the room observed the change, wondering and rejoicing; rejoicing, for, when it pa.s.sed away, which it did more slowly than it had come, they could see that the smile had been there, by the more life-like expression it left upon the face. But Jervis Whitney was moved to wonderment more than all the rest; for the moment he caught the scent of the flowers, he remembered it to be the same as that which had met him at the foot of the hill the previous evening.

Next afternoon, Bertha was off to the glades an hour before the usual time, and climbing at once to the top of the hill, was delighted to find that the bush had put forth fresh blossoms on every twig she had stripped the evening before, and evidently to no other end than to be stripped again for Sprigg's especial benefit. So it seemed to little Bertha; so it seems to us. The folks at home had hardly taken the second thought that she had gone for the cows, when here was Bertha back again, her cheeks as brightly red from her loving haste as the flowers she was strewing broadcast over and around her unconscious patient. Yes, and there it came again--that smile, less faint and sweeter still--and when it had pa.s.sed away more slowly than before, more perceptible still was the life-like cast it left upon the countenance. Every evening, for seven days, was this repeated, the life-giving plant as often renewing its blossoms, and their vivifying effects on the patient becoming more and more apparent. Toward the third evening Sprigg had so far revived in body as to be able to toss himself about on the bed, and, in mind, so far as to be able to speak. And these manifestations of returning strength became each day more and more decided. When he spoke, however, it was to give utterance, in short and broken sentences, to wild and incoherent fancies, incomprehensible to those who listened, taking, as they did, shape and color from his present experiences; first, as an object of Manitou retribution, now as an object of Manitou regeneration.