“Yes, Nellie, it is your father! God be thanked for permitting me to come to you again. And you are Nellie! But how grown!”
Captain Dawson leaned over the side of his horse and, passing his strong arm around the waist of his daughter, lifted her up in front of him. Then he pressed his lips to hers, and half-laughing and half-crying asked:
“Who’s the happier, you or I?”
“You can’t be any happier than I; but, father,” she added in amazement2, “where is your other arm?”
“Buried in Southern Virginia as a memento3 of my work for the union, but, my dear child, I am here; isn’t that enough?”
“Yes, bless your heart!” she exclaimed, nestling up to him; “it all seems like a dream, but it isn’t, for I can feel you. I am so sorry,” she added, noticing the sleeve pinned to his breast; “how you must have suffered.”
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“Nonsense! it isn’t anything to lose an arm; it’s not half so bad as having your head blown off or both legs carried away. After going nearly through the war without a scratch, I caught it just before Appomattox, but thousands were less fortunate and I am thankful.”
“But why did you not write to me and tell me all this? Mr. Brush was sure you were dead, and I know the rest thought so, too, though they didn’t talk that way.”
“I did have a close call; I got the fever while in the hospital and didn’t know so much as my own name for several weeks. Then, when well enough to write, I concluded to come myself, believing I could keep up with any letter and you would be gladder to see me than to receive anything I might send.”
While these words were passing the steed remained motionless, but Nellie had observed from the first that her parent had a companion.
“Father,” she whispered, “you have some one with you.”
“Yes, my child, I had forgotten it in my delight at meeting you.”
A horseman was sitting as motionless as a statue in the trail behind them, the form of himself and animal clearly outlined in the obscurity. He had not spoken nor stirred since the coming of the girl. The head of the steed was high, but beyond and above it loomed5 the 119 head and shoulders of the man sitting upright, like an officer of dragoons. The gloom prevented a fair view of his countenance6, but Nellie fancied he was of pleasing appearance and wore a mustache.
Captain Dawson turned his head and looked over his shoulder, as if to locate the man.
“That is Lieutenant7 Russell; he served under me during the latter part of the war; he is my friend, Nellie, for he saved my life. Lieutenant,” added the captain, elevating his voice, “this is my daughter Nellie of whom you heard me speak so often.”
The young officer lifted his cap, the graceful8 gesture being plainly seen and replied with a pleasant laugh.
“Miss Dawson, I am glad to become acquainted with you and hope I shall soon be favored with a better view.”
“And I hope to see more of the one that was the means of saving my dear father,” she was quick to reply.
“Well, I guess that was equal on both sides, for I should never have reached this place but for him.”
“Father, what is that?” abruptly9 asked Nellie, shrinking closer to him; “have you a bear following you?”
That which caused the startled question was a huge animal, which came slowly forward from the gloom in 120 which he had been enveloped10. The horses showed no fear of him, and he sniffed11 at the skirts of the girl.
“Don’t be alarmed,” replied her father; “you may consider him a lion or tiger or both combined. He is Lieutenant Russell’s dog Timon, one of the biggest, fiercest, but most intelligent and affectionate of his kind. We three are comrades, so you must accept him, too, as your friend.”
The two now gave rein12 to their horses and within briefer time than would be supposed, every man in New Constantinople knew of the arrival of the couple and had given them right royal welcome. It was the most joyous13 incident in the history of the little mining settlement. Every one knew of the corroding14 grief of Nellie Dawson, and there was not a heart that did not go out in sympathy to her. All were gathered around and within the crowded quarters of the Heavenly Bower15, where the two men and Nellie ate their happy evening meal. Then the pipes were lighted, and with the girl perched upon her father’s knee, the rest listened to his story, which he summarized, leaving the particulars for a more convenient occasion.
“I am sorry my long silence caused misgiving16,” said he looking round in the faces of his friends, “but it could not be very well helped. You have noticed that whereas I left New Constantinople with two arms, I am now one short. As I told Nellie, that happened in 121 the very last days of the war. It was quite a loss, but you have little idea of how soon a man can become accustomed to it. The fact is,” added the soldier, with a grim smile, “things are moving so well with me that I wouldn’t give much to have the old limb back again. I have no doubt General Howard feels the same way.”
“The pruned17 oak is the strongest,” observed Parson Brush.
“Provided it isn’t pruned too much. With my wound came an attack of fever, which brought me nearer death than I ever was in battle, but I came out of it all and here we are.”
“What route did you take, captain?” asked Wade18 Ruggles.
“By steamer to the Isthmus19, then up the coast to San Francisco. There the lieutenant and I joined a party to Sacramento and each bought a good strong horse. He had brought his dog Timon all the way from Virginia, where he was given to him by an old friend who wore the gray. We were hopeful of meeting Vose Adams in Sacramento, but he had not been there for weeks. Instead of him, whom should we come across but Ike Hoe, who was also getting ready to start for this place. We three set out nearly ten days ago, but Ike is still in the mountains.”
This was said with so grave a face that all knew what it meant.
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“I never heard of the Indians being so troublesome. For three days and nights it was little else than fighting. In the darkness we would steal off and hunt for some new way through the mountains, but it mattered not where we went, for we were sure to run against some of them.”
“How was it that Hoe met his death?” asked the parson.
“It was on the third night. We hadn’t seen a thing of the Indians since the noon halt and were hopeful they had given up the hunt for us. We hadn’t eaten a mouthful for twenty-four hours and were hungry enough to chew our boots. Ike found a place among the rocks, where a camp fire couldn’t be seen for more than a few rods and started a blaze. The lieutenant had brought down an antelope20, and if we could get a chance to cook the steak, we were sure of the right kind of a meal. Well, we broiled21 enough to give each all he wanted. Ike leaned back with a pleasant smile on his face and remarked that it was worth all the risk to get such a feast, when I caught the flicker22 of something like the dart23 of a small bird between him and me. Before I could make out what it was, Ike gave a groan24, and rolling over backward, never spoke4 or stirred. I saw the feathered end of an arrow sticking up above his breast. The head had gone clean through him and it must have split his heart in two.”
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“But was neither you or the lieutenant harmed?”
“That is the remarkable25 part of it. The lieutenant saw the arrow before I did and warned me. We darted26 back in the darkness with our guns ready, but saw and heard nothing more of the Indians. What was remarkable about it was that only the single arrow should have been launched at Ike.”
“It looks as if there was but the single Injin,” suggested Bidwell.
“That is the way we interpreted it.”
“And that was the end of your troubles with the Indians?”
“Not quite, but they bothered us only once more and then they managed to get us into a corner, where it would have been the last of me had it not been for the lieutenant and Timon. I tell you–––”
The captain stopped short and smiled. He had seen the protesting expression on the face of the young officer, and said:
“We’ll keep that story till some time when he isn’t present. But there is another fact which I observed. There are more white men in the mountains than ever before and the numbers will increase. The close of the war has released nearly a million soldiers, who must make a living somehow. Some will come westward27. You have preserved this place as an exclusive residence 124 for yourselves, but you won’t be able to do it much longer.”
All saw the truth of these words, and knew trouble would inevitably28 follow the mingling29 of uncongenial spirits, but they concluded it would be time enough to meet it when it came, without allowing the fear to disturb the pleasure of the present communion. Lieutenant Fred Russell could not fail to be an individual of keen interest to those who had never before seen him. While the captain was talking, he sat modestly in the background, smoking his brierwood, listening as intently as if everything said was new to him. It was noticed that like several of the rest, he did not drink at the bar, though he received numerous invitations. Truth to tell, he had been quite a drinker, but during that eventful journey through the mountains, when Captain Dawson was talking of his daughter, as he loved to do, he named those who had reformed as the result of Nellie’s influence. The young officer made no comment, but it struck him that if those rough, hardy30 men could abstain31, it ought not to be difficult for him to do the same, and he did it.
Few men were more prepossessing than the lieutenant. He was educated, about twenty-four years of age, and undeniably handsome. His campaigns of exposure, hardship and fighting had hardened his frame into the mould of the trained athlete. The faded uniform which 125 he still wore became him well. The ruddy cheeks had grown swarthy and browned, but when he removed his cap, the upper part of his forehead showed as white and fair as that of a woman.
His nose was slightly aquiline32, just enough to give character to his countenance, the hair which was rather scant33, was dark like the mustache and the small tuft on his chin. He wore fine, high cavalry34 boots, reaching above the knees, a sword and like the captain was armed with revolver and Winchester rifle.
Crouched35 at his feet was his massive dog Timon, an object of as much interest as his master; for, curious as it may seem, he was the only
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CHAPTER XIII YOUNG LOVE’S DREAM
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