CHAPTER III. (Continued.)

Te Aroha News, Volume VII, Issue 430, 21 December 1889, Page 6

CHAPTER 111. (Continued.)

'You diJn't say "Stay, father stay," enough, Kla'uns,' said Susie critically. Then suddenly starting upright in Mrs Peyton's lap she continues rapidly, •! kin dance. And sing. I can dance High Jambooree.' ' What's High Jambooree, dear ?' asked Mrs Peyton. * You'd. &cc. Lemme down, 1 And Susie slipped to the ground. The dance of High Jambooree, evidently of remote mystical African oiigin, appeared to consist of three small skips to the right and then to the left, accompanied by the holding up of very short ekirtp, incessant ' teetering ' on the toes of small feefc, the exhibition of much bare knee and stocking, and a gurgling accompaniment of childish laughter. Vehemently applauded, it left the little performer breathless, but invincible and ready for fresh conquest. j ' I kin sing too,' she gasped hurriedly, as if unwilling that the applause should lapse. ♦ I kin sing. Oh dear! Kl'a'uns (piteously). What is it I sing ?' ' Ben Bolt,' suggested Clarence. ' 0 ye a . O don'fc you remember sweet Alers Ben Bolt,' began Susy, in the same breath and the wrong key, ♦ Sweet Alere, with hair so brown, who wept with delight) when you giv'd her a smile, and,' with knitted brows and appealing recitative, • what's 'er rest of ifc, Kla'uns V

• Who trembled with fear at your frown,' prompted Clarence. • • Who trembled with fear at my frown,' shrilled Susy. • I forget or rest. Wait ! I ken sing. , . ,' 4 Praise God,' suggested Clarence. • YosV Here Susy, a regular attendant in camp and prayer meetings, was on firmer ground. Promptly lifting hor high treble, yet with a certain acquired deliberation, she began, 4 Praise God, from whom all blessings flow.' At the end of the second lino the whispering and laughing ceased. A deep voice to the right, that of the champion poker player, suddenly rose on the swell of the third line. He was instantly followed by a dozen ringing voices, and by the time the last lino was reached it was given with a full chorus, in which the dull chant of teamsters and drivers mingled with the sopiano of Mrs Peyton, and Susy's childish tieble. Again and again it was repeated with forgetful eyes and abstracted faces, rising and falling with the night wind and the leap and gleam of tho camp tires, and fading again like them in the immeasurable mystery of the darkened plain. In tho deep and embarrassing silence that followed, at last the party hesitatingly broke up. Mrs Peyton retiring with Susy, after offering the child to Clarence for a petfunctory 'goodnight' kiss, an unusual proceeding, whichsomewhat astonished them both — and Clarence found himself near Mv Peyton. 4 1 think,' said Clarence, timidly, ' I saw an Injin today.' Mr Peyton bent down towards him. 'An Injin — where ?' he asked quickly, with the same look of doubting interrogatory with which he had received Clarence's namo and parentage. The boy for a moment regretted having spoken. But with his old doggedness he particularised his statement. Fortunately, being gifted with a keen perception, ho was able to describe the stranger accurately, and to impart with his description that contempt for the subject which he had felt, and which to his frontier auditor established it 3 tiubhf ulnes?. Peyton turned abruptly away, but presently returned with Harry and another man. 4 You are sure of this ?' said Peyton, half encouragingly. ' Yes, &ir, 5 ' As sure as you arc that your father is Colonel Brant and is dead V said Harry, with a light laugh. Tears sprang into the boy's lowering eyes. 1 1 don't lio,' he said doggedly. l I believe you, Clarence,' said Peyton quietly. ' But why didn't you say it before ?' ♦ I didu't like to say it before Susy and— her !' stammered the boy. 4 Her ?' 4 Yes — sir — Mrs Peyton — ' said Clarence, blushingly. • o,' said Henry, sarcastically, • how blessed polite we are. ' 4 That'll do. l^ebup on him, will you,' said Peyton roughly, to his subordinate, • the boy kno\vs what he's about. But,' he continued, addressing Clarence, ' how was it the Injin didn't see you ?' 4 1 was yery still on account of not waking Susy,' said Clarence, 4 and' — he hesitated. ' And what ?' 4 He seemed more keen watching what you were doing,' said the boy boldly. 4 That's so,' broke in the second man, who happened to be expoiienced, 'and as he was to wind'ard o' the boy he was otf his scent and bearings. He was one of their rear scouts ; the rest o' thetn'b ahead crossing our track to cut us oft. Ye didn't see anything else ?' 4 1 saw a Coyote first,' said Clarence, greatly encouraged. ' Hold on !' said tho export, as Harry turned away with a sneer. ' That's a sign, too. Wolf don'c go where wolf he/c been, and Coyote don't foller In jins — there's no pickins ' How long afoie did you see the Coyote ?' 4 Just after we left the waggon,' said Clarence. 4 That's it,' said the man thoughtfully. 'He was driven on ahead, or hanging on their Hanks. These Id jins are betwixt us and that ar train, or following it.' Peyton made a hurried gesture of waining, as if reminding the speaker of Clarence's , presence - a gesture which the boy noticed and wondered at. Then the conversation of the three men took a lower tone, although Clarence as distinctly heard the concluding opinion of the expeit. 'It ain't no good now, ]\Jr Peyton, and you'd be only exposing yourself on their ground by breakin' camp agin to-night. And you don't know that it ain't »s they're watchin'. ii r ou see, if we hadn't turned of} the straight road when we got that first scare from these yer lost children we might hey gone on and walked plump into some cursed trap of those devils. To my mind we're just in nigger luck, and with a good watch and my patrol we're all right to be fixed where we be till daylight.' Mr Peyton presently turned away, taking Clai once with him. 'As we'll be up early and on the track of your train to-morrow, my boy. you had better turn in new. I've put you up in my waggon. and as I expect to be in the saddle most of the night, I reckon 1 won't trouble you much. He led one way to a second waggon — drawn up beside the one where Susy and Mrs Peyton had retired — which Clarence was surprised to find fitted with a writing table and desk, a chair, and even a bookshelf containing some volumes. A long locker, fitted like a lounge, had been made up as a couch for him, with the unwonted luxury of clean white sheets and pillow-ca&es. A soft matting covered the floor of the heavy waggon bed, which, Mr Peyton explained, was hung on centime springs to prevent jarring. The sides and roof of the vehicle were of lightly panelled wood, instead of the usual hooped canvas frame of the ordinary emigrant waggon — and fitted with a glazed door and moveable window for light and air. Clarence wondered why the big, powerful man who seemed at homo on horseback should ever care to sit in this office like a merchant or a lawyer ; and if this train sold things to the other trains, or took goods, like the pedlars, to town on the route — but there seemed to be nothing to sell, and the other waggons were filled with only the goods required by the party. He would have liked to ask Mr Peyton who he was, and have questioned him as freely as he himself had been questioned. But as the average adult man never takes into consideration the injustice of denying to the natural and even necessary curiosity of childhood that questioning which he himself is co apt to assume without right, and almost always without delicacy, Clarence had no recourse. Yet the boy, like all children, was conscious that if he had been afterwards questioned about this inexplicable experience, he would have been blamed for his ignorance concerning it. Left to himself presently, and ensconced between the sheets, he lay for some moments staring about him. The unwonted comfort of his couch, so different from the stuffy blanket in the hard waggon bed which he had shared with one of the teamsters, the novelty, order, and cleanliness of his surroundings, while they were grateful to his instincts, began in come vague way to depress him. To his loyal nature it seemed a tacit infidelity to his former rough companions to be lying here ; he had a dim idea that he had lost that independence which equal discomfort

and equal pleasure among them had given him. There seemed a sense of servitude in accepting this luxury which was not his. This set him endeavouring to remember something of his father's house, of the large rooms, draughty staircases, and farofV ceilings, and the cold formality of a life that seemed made up of strange faces ; some stranger -his parents; some kinder —the servants ; particularly the black nurse who had him in charge. Why did Mr Peyton ask him about it? Why, if it were so important to strangers, had not his mother told him more of it ? And why was she not like this good woman with the gentle voico who was so kind to— to Susy? And what did they mean by making him so miserable ? Something rose in his throat, but with an effort he choked it back, and, creeping fiom the lounge, went softly to the window, opened it to see if it ' would work,' and looked out. The shrouded camp fires, the stars that glittered but gave no light", the dim moving bulk of a patrol beyond the circle, all seemed to intensify the darkness — and changed the current of his thoughts. He remembered what Mr Peyton had eaid of him, when they first met, ' Sutlnn of a pup, ain't he ?' Surely, that meant something that was not bad ! He crept back to the couch again. Lying there, still awake, he reflected that he wouldn't be a scout when he grew up, but would be something like, Mx^Pey tori — and have a train like this, and invite the Silsbees and Susy to accompany him. For this purpose ho and Susy early to-morrow morning would get permission "iro'dbme in here and play at that game. ' This would familarifee him with tho details, so that he would be able at any time to take chargo of it. Ho was already an authority on the subject of Indians ! He had onco been fired at -as an Indian ! He would always carry a rillo like that hanging from the hooks at the end of the wagpon before him, and would evidently slay many Indians and keep an account of them in a big book like that on the desk. Susy would help him, having grown up a lady, and they would both together issue provisions and rations from the door of the waggon to the gathered crowds. He would be known as the ' White Chief,' his Indian name being • Sutliin of a Tup.' He would also have a circus van attached to the train, in which he would occasionally perform. He would also have artillery for protection. There would bo a terrific engagement, and he would rush into tho waggon, "heated and blackened with gunpowder, and Susy would put down an account of it in a book, and Mrs Peyton — for sho would be there in some vague capacity — would say, ' Really, now, I don't see but what wo were very lucky in having such a boy as Clarence with us. I begin to understand him better. 1 And Harry, who, for purposes of vague poetical retaliation, would also drop in at that moment, would mutter and say, ' he is certainly the son of Colonel Bran 6, dear me !' and apologise. And his mother would come in also in her coldest and most indifferent manner, in a white ball dress, and say ' good gracious, how that boy has grown — J am sorry I did not soo "more of him when ho was young.' Yet even in the midst of this came a confusing numbness, and then the side of the waggon seemed to melt away and he drifted out";ftgain alone into the empty desolate plain from which even the sleeping Susy had vanished, and he was left deserted and forgotten. Thon all was quiet in the waggon, ar\d,only tho night wind moving round jb, But lo I tho lashes of the sleeping White Chicf — the dauntless leader, the ruthless destroyer of Indians — were wet with glittering tears !' Yet it seemed only a moment afterwards that he awoke with a faint consciousness of some arrested motion. To Ins utter consternation the sun, three-»FvOurs hjgh, was shining in the waggon, already nob and stifling in its beams. There was the familiar &mell and ba&te of the dirty road in the air about him. Thei"? was a faint creaking of boards and springs, a slight oscillation, and beyond the audible rattle of harness as ii the train had been under way, the waggon moving, and then there had been a sudden halt. They had probably come up with the Silsbee brain ; in a few moments the change would be ellected and all ot his strange experience would be over. He, must get up now. Yet with the morning laziness of the healthy younganimal he curled ( up a moment longer in bis luxurious couch. Ij>(> How quiet it was. There' were faro-fl voices, but they seemed supp r es&ed and hurried. Through the window he saw one of the teamsters run rapidly past him with a strango, breathless, pro occupied face, halt a moment at one of the following waggons, and then run back again to the front. Then two of the voices came nearer, with the dull beating of hoofs in the dust. 1 Rout out the boy and asl* him, 1 said a half-suppressed, impatient voice, which Clarence at once recognised as the man Harry's. ' Hold on till Peyton comes up,' said the second voico in a low tone ; ' leavo it to him.' 'Better find out what they were like at once,' grumbled Harry. ' Wait, stand back,' eaid Peyton's voice joining the others, ' I'll ask him.' Clarence looked wonderingly at the door. It opened on Mr Peyton, dusty and dismounted, with a strange abstracted look in his face. • How many waggons are in your train, Clarence V ' Three, sir.' • Any marks on them V 1 Ye=, sir,' said Clarence eagerly ; ' " Off to California " and " Root hoe or die." ' Mr Peyton's eye seemed to leap up and hold Clarence'a with a sudden, strange significance, and then looked, down. ' How many were you in. all ?' he continued. » „ 1 Five, and there was Mrs Silsbee.' ' No other woman ?' •No. J ' Get up and dress yourself,' he "said, gravely, ' and wait here fill I come back. Keep cool and have your wits about you.' He dropped his voice slightly. ' Perhaps something's happened that you'll ha\e to show yourself a little man again for,, Clarence !' The door closed, and the boy heard the same muflled hoofs and voices die away towards tho front. He began to dres& himself mechanically, almost vacantly, yet conscious always of a vague undercurrent of thnlJing excitement. When he had finished ho waited breathlessly, feeling the same beating of hid heart that he had felt when he was following the vanished train the day before. At last he could stand the suspense no longer, and opened the door. Everything was still in the motionless caravan, except — it struck him oddly even then — the unconcerned prattling voico of Susy from one of the nearer waggons. Perhaps a sudden feeling that this was something that concerned her, perhaps an irresistible impulse overcame him, but the next moment he had loaped to the ground, faced about, and was running feverishly to the front. The first thing that met his eyes was the helpless and desolate bulk of one of the Silsbee waggons a hundred rods away, bereft of oxen and pole, standing alone and motionless against the dazzling sky ! Near it was the broken frame of another waggon, its fore wheels and axles gone,, pitched forward on its knees like an ox under the butcher's sledge, "Not far away there wero

the burnt and blackened ruins of a third, around which the whole party on foot and horseback seemed to be gathered. As the boy ran violently on, the group opened to make way for two men carrying some helpless but awful object between them. A terrible instinct made Clarence swerve irom it in his headlong course, but he was at the same moment discovered by the others, and a cry arose of 'Go back !' • (Stop !' ' Keep him back.' Heeding it no more than the wind that whistled by him, Clarence made directly for the foremost waggon— the one in which he and Susy had played. A powerful hand caught his shoulder, it was Mr "Peyton's*. ' Mrs Silsbee's waggon, 'said the boy, with white lips, pointing to it : ' whore is she ?' 'She's missing,' said Peyton, 'and ono other — the rest are dead.' ♦ She must be there,' said the boy, struggling, and pointing to the waggon, ' let me go.' ' Clarence,' said Peyton sternly, accenting his grasp upon the boy's arm, 'bo a man ! Look around you. Try and tell us who these are.' There seemed to be one or two heaps of old clothes lying on the ground, and furthor on, where the men at a command from Peyton had laid down their burden, another. In those ragged dusty heaps of clothes, from which all tho majesty of life seemed to have been ruthlessly stamped out, only what was ignoble and grotesque appeared to be loft. There was nothing terrible in this ! The boy moved slowly towards them, and, incredible even to himself the overpowering fear of them that a moment before had overcome him, left him' a* suddenly. He walked from tho one to the other, recognising them by certain marks and signs and mentioning name after name. The group gazed at him curiously ; he was conscious that he scarcely understood himself, still less tho same quiet purpose that now made him turn towards the furthest wageron. ' There's nothing' there,' said Peyton, ' we've searched it.' But the boy without replying continued his way, and the crowd followed him. Tho deserted waggon, more rude, disorderly, and slovenly than it had ever seemed to him before, was now heaped and tumbled with broken bones, cans, scattered provisions, pots, pans, blankets, and clothing in the foul confusion of a dust heap. But in this heterogeneous mingling the boy's quick eye caught sight of a draggled edfcje of calico. 'That's Mrs Silsbee's dress,' he cried, and leaped into the waggon. At first the men stared at each other, but an instant later a dozen hands were helping him nervously digging and clearing away tho rubbish Then one man uttered a sudden cry, and fell back with frantic but furious eyes uplifted against the pitiless, smiling sky above him. 1 Look here !' It was the yellowish, waxen face of Mrs Silsbee that had been uncovered. But to tho fancy of the boy it had changed ; the old familiar lined of worry, caie, and querulousness had given way to a look ot remote peace and statue-like repo.ie. Ho had often vexed her in her aggre&sive life ; he was touched with remorse at her cold, passionless apathy now, and pressed timidly forward. Even as he did so the man, with a quick but warninggestiue, hurriedly drew his handkerchief over ohe matted locks, as | if to shut out something awful from his view. Clarence felt himself drawn back ; but not before the white lips of a bystander had whispered a single word : 1 Scalped, too !' ( To ba Continued. )