Buell Hampton

“By the great horn spoon, Major!” said Judge Lynn, lighting his cigar afresh, “I hope to be shot if I don’t wish you were at the head of the gover’ment. You nach’ally would jist show ‘em a legerdemain trick or two worth knowin’, an’ don’t you furgit it You’ve got a sooperior quality of good jedgment an’ a whole log-yard rail o’ book learnin’. Oh, I know what I’m talkin’ ‘bout.”

Major Hampton laughed good-naturedly at the judge’s attempted compliment. “Thank you,” said he, “my mission is not to rule, but to reform and to emancipate. However, if I had the reins of government in my hands, knowing as I do the poverty and sufferings of the masses, I should employ different methods than those often adopted for their relief. By the way,” continued the major, “have you seen anything of Hugh Stanton?”

“No,” replied the judge, “hain’t seen him projectin’ ‘round lately, but I’m allowin’ he’s at the bank as usual. Speakin’ ca’mly-like, that was a wonderful affair – John B. Horton cornin’ to life, so to speak, and Hugh discoverin’ him to be his father. Bet yer life it was a speshul chunk of good luck to Hugh.”

“Yes, indeed,” replied the major, “truly wonderful. I have felt a deep interest in the young man, especially since his reverses occasioned by the hot winds, but now that he is heir apparent to half of John B. Horton’s enormous wealth, my plans will necessarily have to be changed. I have an impression,” he went on, thoughtfully, “that Mr. Horton will find in Hugh a veritable watch-dog for his vast herds, and that cattle thieving as a science is liable to be reckoned among the lost arts.”

“Don’t suppose Hugh ‘ll get toomultuous-like an’ troubled with the swell-head, do you, now that he is financially loafin’ ‘round in sight of a mint?” inquired Lynn.

“Oh, no,” replied the major, “he is too well-balanced, – he is too intelligent and sensible.”

“Speakin’ pretty p’lite-like, them’s my sentiments to a nicety, Major. Now, there’s no use denyin’ I’m carryin’ more wrinkles to-day than when I was a younger man, but I’m ‘lowin’ in my face there’s a sign of much thinkin’ and not decrepitood. Course it’s different with women, for wrinkles in one o’ these reg’lar high-steppin’ women’s faces are sort o’ zither strings on which are played the death-knell of their noomerous conquests. Ancient hist’ry is suggested at onct, while poverty of looks, if not of purse, is an actooality. Person’ly, if I had a million to-morrow I’d actooally wear the same sized hat I do to-day, which I must admit is not a roarin’ big one at best. Now, if you should git a hankerin’, Major, to put me in the push as a sort of speshul deputy lecturer ‘mong the Barley Hullers, it would n’t loco me nor puff me up a mite; no, sir, bet yer life it would n’t. I nach’ally have no ultra ambitions for absorbin’ wealth in this ‘ere world, an’, when I die, a quiet funeral without flowers will be quite satisfact’ry.”

Some one knocked at the door, and a moment later Dan Spencer came shuffling in. His short, sandy beard seemed redder than ever, while the freckles on his face gave him a leopard-like appearance. His immense feet and hands and slightly stooped shoulders made his gaunt figure look especially angular. His eyes were as restless as ever, while nis abnormal tooth seemed constantly saluting those with whom he conversed.

“How d’ ye do, Major? Jist dropped in fur a minute. Did n’t know you wuz here, Judge, though I’m proud to see you – always glad to see the court in a friendly way.”

“Well, Spencer, what is it?” asked the major, looking at him intently.

“Nothin’ much alarmin’,” replied Spencer, “only me an’ Kinneman jist got back from the Cimarron River, an’ it’s reported there wuz about two hundred head of fat beeves cut out uv Horton’s herd and driv’ off ‘bout ten days ago.”

“Infamous, infamous!” said the major, coming to his feet, and striking the table with his hand, as if to give emphasis to his feelings.

“Us fellers heerd,” replied Dan,’ “thet you wuz still ‘way lecturin’ to the Barley Hullers, else we’d come back sooner an’ reported, an’ thet’s the truth.”

“Another reason, Major,” interposed Lynn, “speakin’ on the spur of the minute like, why you should favorably consider my idee. You need a deputy – bet yer life you do, in this ‘ere lecturin’ business; then you could give yer time to runnin’ down and locoin’ the cattle thieves. I wear magnifyin’ glasses, I do, when such swell opportunities as this ‘ere comes slidin’ ‘round under my nose, bet yer life I do.”

The major seemed lost in thought, and walked slowly back and forth, with his hands clasped behind him, paying no attention whatever to Judge Lynn’s observations. Presently he said: “Very well, Spencer, I will see you and Kinne-man this evening, after the Barley Hullers’ meeting. Call at my house about eleven o’clock.”

“All right,” replied Spencer, “jist as you say; you kin always count on Bill Kinneman and yours truly bein’ punctu’l when you give the word,” and with this Dan shuffled out of the room.

After he had gone, the major said: “This is a bad business, very bad. The Patriot comes out to-morrow, and I must write up this last outrage of the cattle thieves. It is simply incomprehensible how they can carry on this lawless work without being detected.”

“My private opinion, Major, speakin’ once-served-like,” said Judge Lynn, “is that you’re needed dangnation bad to sort o’ look after these ‘ere fellers, person’ly, an’ you can’t do it spendin’ yer time away from home lecturin’, bet yer life you can’t.”

The major scowled, and, seating himself at the table, commenced writing, and soon after Judge Lynn quietly took his departure, without again venturing to broach the subject of being made deputy lecturer.

About eight o’clock that evening Hugh called at the Patriot office.

“Well, well!” exclaimed Major Hampton. “This is, indeed, a pleasing surprise, – a refreshing whiff of the unexpected.”

“The pleasure is all mine, Major,” replied Hugh, seating himself at the earnest solicitation of his old friend. “I have been trying,” continued Hugh, “for several days to find time to call on you, but you know so much has happened.”

“True,” said the major, “much has occurred, – much that is marvelous, and yet in it all can be traced the hand of an all-wise Providence. Let me take this occasion, my dear Stanton, to tender my congratulations on your good fortune in discovering your long-lost father.”

“Thank you,” said Hugh. “It is all so new and strange that I can’t realize the new relations.”

“Stanton,” said the major, turning to his writing-table, “I have just been preparing an article on cattle-thieving, and I am anxious to know how it will impress you.” The old major threw his head back in a supreme way, and looked thoughtfully into a darkened corner of the room.

“You certainly know, Major,” said Hugh, “that I am an admirer of your writings, it matters not on what subject.”

“John Brown,” said the major, without removing his eyes from the darkened corner, “was an emancipator, and his memory is revered, his name honored, and the personality of the man loved by thousands of people. Is not that so?” Hugh answered that it was. “Very well,” said the major, while the deep wrinkles in his face began to grow more prominent, “what was John Brown but a law-breaker, a notorious thief, on a gigantic scale? What right had he to take slaves from their owners, – black men who were worth, in the market, a thousand dollars apiece, and help them to escape?”

“You must remember,” said Hugh, “that time has covered any mistakes the great emancipator may have made with the veil of charity. The fact remains, of course, that he was a lawbreaker.”

“That is just it,” exclaimed the major. “He was a law-breaker, – he violated the statutes, – and yet his name is honored by this generation, while others yet unborn will revere his memory and honor his name as one of earth’s greatest.”

“Yes; not because he was a law-breaker, Major, but because he led a crusade in behalf of the oppressed and the helpless.”

“Ah!” said the major, leaning back in his chair, and taking his eyes away from the darkened corner, and beaming benignly at Hugh, “now you are uttering words of great wisdom. What a magnificent reformist you would make. I wanted you to give expression to that thought.”

Hugh was noticeably complimented with the major’s words, and finally stammered, “I am sure, Major, that Captain Osborn and others entertain similar views, and I am not entitled to any special credit for these sentiments.”

Major Hampton let his eyes turn again toward the darkened corner of the room.

“Captain Osborn,” he said, half to himself, “poor old Captain; I am sorry for him, indeed I am, and yet in one way he is to be congratulated, for sorrow is a torch that enlarges the scope of the understanding and softens the heart of the sufferer toward humanity. Yes, I feel sorry for the captain,” he went on. “My regret, however, is not so much for the termination of the affair as it is that such an unequal marriage should have been made in the first place.”

“Why do you call it unequal, Major? Of course, you understand that I readily admit there was a vast difference between Captain Osborn and Mrs. Osborn, but I interpret their differences as a lack of congeniality, rather than inequality.”

“An equal marriage,” said the old major, “is one where the infatuation or illusion goes on until the end; an unequal marriage is where one or the other has foiled to find that for which they sought. I know it is contrary to the canons of good society, but, nevertheless, my sympathies linger with the transgressor in these unequal marriages, rather than with the dolt of a man or woman who is satisfied with a monotonous existence instead of living in the exhilarating atmosphere of love’s fullest intoxication. Lucy Osborn was never willing to trudge along, elbow to elbow with the captain, sympathetically sharing the poverty as well as the successes of life; she was brave in the latter and a coward in the former condition. Poor woman, probably this would never have occurred had their marriage been an equal one.”

“I am glad, Major,” said Hugh, “that you regard the memory of Mrs. Osborn with so much charity. Of course we cannot deny that she was, perhaps, indiscreet, but I cannot believe that she was wicked.”

“The unforgivable sin,” said the major, “with one’s friends, is not to sin in silence – if one sins at all. It is not the part of honest charity to have even an opinion in regard to the truthfulness or untruthfulness of the rumors which connected her name with that of Lord Avondale. Lucy Osborn,” continued Major Hampton, “belonged to a not uncommon class of women. In their youth they long with passionate impatience for an impetuous, strong, overpowering, consuming love, but when the semblance finally comes along, – like, for instance, the refined and exalted affection of a man like Captain Osborn, – they seize upon it like a famished tigress and then immediately cease suing the adorer for continued adoration, but sit idly down and satiate themselves with revels in supremest selfishness, prodigal indifference, and reckless abandonment of opportunities. Lucy Osborn even threw open the window of prudence, and something flew away, leaving emptiness and poverty of heart, where plenty should have reigned; indeed, her life’s boudoir was stripped of its rich furnishings, leaving instead a tangled maze of regret to feed upon her famished and impoverished heart, driving her, perhaps, to play at lottery with her reputation, and, like any other gambler standing before the green cloth, the chances were ninety-nine to one that she would lose.”

Just here they were interrupted by Judge Lynn, who came rushing in at the door, his tall hat well back on his small head and his coat sleeves pushed up, as if he were transacting all the business, worth mentioning, in the Great Southwest.

“Hello, Major; why, hello, Stanton; did n’t know you had any one with you, Major.”

The major nodded and motioned him to be seated, and, turning to Hugh, he went on talking. “It is a hard question, therefore, to determine, Stanton, and seemingly an unfair one to decide, whether or not Captain Osborn is not better off under the present conditions than he would have been had Mrs. Osborn lived. The infatuation of love is a peculiar sentiment; sages and poets have endeavored to describe it, from the beginning of the world to the present time, and they usually have written most volubly of it at that period of their lives when they knew the least about it. My long years of observation teach me that love is actuated either by sentiment, interest, or reason. The first has to do with a handsome face and a beautiful form; the second with a homely face, which certainly suggests sympathy; and the third with a woman virtuous in mind and body. Fortunate is the man who discovers a woman who excites in him the first and last of these motives. A womanly woman binds our hearts with ungalling chains on earth, and keeps our souls in tune and in communication with heaven.”

“Excuse me, Major,” said Judge Lynn, “for observin’ that, in my jedgment, thar’s a heap o’ ig’nance ‘round these diggin’s ‘bout the sentiment of love.”

The old major smiled and looked compassionately at the judge. “What do you know, Judge, about love matters?” he asked, giving Hugh a knowing look.

“Well,” said the judge, “thar ain’t no use denyin’ or contendin’ but what there is a nach’al, inborn sort of a feelin’ called love. I’m ‘lowin’ when a young feller an’ a girl gits to cooin’ ‘round and locoed-like, and fin’ly git pot-hooked on the same laceratin’ thorn, and survive, why, then they are usually reconciled to each other’s short-comin’s. Howsumever, speakin’ prompt and cheerful-like, in my opinion love’s a pipe dream that sure ‘nuff ends, instead o’ begins, when a feller gits married. In other words, when a feller takes a better half the toomultuous soap-bubble of illusion busts, and history begins with the hard scratchin’ duties of makin’ a livin’. Bet yer life, I ‘low I know what I’m talkin’ ‘bout. I’m not peevish or complainin’, but, gee, think what I’ve gone through, an’ then bat yer eyes with thrillin’ surprise.”

At this the old major and Hugh laughed immoderately, while the judge looked on in blank astonishment, as if vexed and incensed at their hilarity.

CHAPTER XL. – THE CATTLE THIEF CAUGHT

AT Horton’s Grove they were indulging in a family reunion and thanksgiving for all that had occurred. The cattle king had almost entirely recovered from the effects of his fall, and his wound was rapidly healing. Therefore, when Kinneman reported the last depredations of the cattle thieves, it threw no particular gloom over the household.

“We are too thankful, and our happiness is too great,” said Ethel, “to care very much about a few hundred head of beeves.”

“Quite true, daughter,” observed Mrs. Horton; “nevertheless, the loss is considerable, and it is unfortunate that these marauders cannot be captured.”

“With father’s consent,” said Hugh, “I shall undertake to help him in ferreting out this mystery, and in learning who the cattle thieves really are.”

“It is truly comforting,” observed Mr. Horton, “to know that I have some one on whom I can depend,” and his eyes rested lovingly on Hugh. “After you have deliberated on the subject, I shall be glad of your advice and help.”

“Has it ever occurred to you,” asked Hugh, “that it might be a good idea to discharge your present force of cowboys, and employ others?”

“I hardly think that is necessary,” replied Mr. Horton. “They are a fairly good lot of fellows; and, while it cannot be denied that they are careless at times, yet, as a rule, they take a deep interest in all that concerns me. I believe you had better arrange matters at the bank, my son, so you can be absent about two weeks, and we will take a trip along the Cimarron River and over into No-Man’s-Land, and down into the Panhandle country, and you can, in this way, advise yourself as to the extent of our herds, and also become acquainted with the range bosses and their assistants.”

“A good idea, father. When do you advise that we go?”

“Let me see; the round-up and maverick branding will commence in about ten days. Perhaps we had better arrange to start about that time. As you have never witnessed a round-up you will find it very interesting. Doctor Redfield might like to go with us. Roping and flanking calves has an interest peculiar to itself.”

“I most certainly would,” said Jack, looking up when his name was pronounced. “Ethel has just been telling me of the feats of horsemanship and lariat-throwing in which the cowboys indulge at these annual festivities on the range.”

Accordingly it was arranged that Hugh and Jack should accompany the cattle king and witness these novel and interesting sights of range life.

Hugh had been installed at the Grove after discovering his father, and enjoyed, far more than words can express, the home life thus afforded him, and his daily horseback rides to and from the bank. During these days, Captain Osborn, with little Harry, was much at the Hortons’, and together the captain and his lieutenant lived over again the pleasant times of their youth and of their early manhood, and the stirring events of army life.

Every one seemed greatly attached to the captain’s little son, and, at Mrs. Horton’s earnest solicitation, the little fellow remained with her for days at a time. The proud and ambitious wife of the cattle king seemed entirely changed. The Dr. Lenox Avondale and Lucy Osborn affair, – the flight of one and the unexpected death of the other, – the discovery that Ethel had more heart than foolish ambition, her husband’s accident and its attendant revelations, and the finding in Hugh Stanton a son, had all exercised an influence that ennobled, subdued, and reconciled her to the sanctity of home and of family. With this awakening came a genuine sympathy and love for little Harry Osborn.

Dr. Jack Redfield managed to monopolize most of Ethel’s time; Mr. Horton and Hugh were necessarily absent a great deal, and thus Mrs. Horton came to find much pleasure in the little fellow’s society.

One evening, while they were gathered around the dinner-table, Hugh observed that in his new happiness and selfishness he had almost forgotten his promise to call on Major Hampton, and said that he would do so immediately.

“Ah, my brother,” said Ethel, as she looked archly at him, “are you going to call on the major or the major’s daughter? Come now, confess.”

Hugh reddened noticeably, but insisted that it was the major, and soon after took his leave. On arriving at Major Buell Hampton’s, Hugh was received into the library by Marie herself.

“You never were more welcome,” said Marie, extending a plump, white hand, which Hugh pressed, perhaps, a little harder and held a little longer than the occasion seemed to warrant.

“Thank you,” said he, bowing, and blushing like a schoolboy, “and I never was more delighted to see you; and permit me to say that you are looking extremely well.”

Her eyes rested inquiringly on his face for a moment. The rays from the chandelier reflected a fascinating glow from her wealth of bronzed hair, and Hugh thought that she had never before looked so bewitchingly irresistible.

“You have come to see papa,” said Marie, half inquiringly.

“No, I came expressly to see you.”

He doubtless had forgotten, or else was indifferent to the denial that he had made at the dinner-table.

“Indeed, I am honored,” replied Marie, smiling, while her cheeks flushed at Hugh’s words. “I was about to send for you, and had quite made up my mind to do so. Your coming, therefore, is quite fortunate.”

“Yours to command,” said Hugh, gallantly; “in what way may I serve you?”

“Papa,” she replied, half hesitatingly, “is very strict about his private affairs, but I feel sure that he will heartily approve of what I am about to do, which is nothing more nor less than to ask your advice regarding a note that was left for him by that detestable Kinneman. Somehow, I can’t bear him at all. He requested me to give it to papa this evening, but, instead of coming home, papa sent me word by the office boy that he had been suddenly called away and would not return for perhaps a week. You know that he has much to do with the Barley Hullers, and his time is therefore hardly his own. Indeed, I remarked to him the other day that I was getting jealous, I see so little of him. I opened the letter left by Mr. Kinneman, and here it is. It seems to me of the utmost importance, and that is why I made up my mind to send for you.”

“You certainly honor me,” said Hugh, bowing deferentially, as he took the letter, “in thinking of sending for me in preference to any of your other friends.”

Unfolding the letter, he read:

“Dear Major: – ’Bout 300 head of beeves will be driv’ ‘cross the river at the ford close to the red bluffs between midnight and mornin’. Come at once to the old Dodson corral, four miles west of Englewood.

“Kinneman and Spencer.”

“Yes,” said Hugh, hastily arising, “this is, indeed, more important than any other business affair of which I can now conceive. The only regret I have is that your father is not at home to go with us, and share in the glory of making a capture that now seems certain. Through the columns of the Patriot, and otherwise, he has fought the cattle thieves with more determination than any other half-dozen men in the Southwest.”

“Yes, papa insists that cattle stealing can be done away with only by the most vigorous punishment. I am so glad, Mr. Stanton, that you approve of my giving you this letter, and I am sure papa will commend me for doing so.” Hugh glanced at his watch. “It is almost eight o’clock,” he observed, “and while it is a ride of full thirty miles to the red bluffs on the Cimarron River, yet we can make it by midnight if we start at once. I sincerely regret,” he continued extending his hand to Marie, “that my call has to terminate so suddenly, but, as Captain Osborn would say, it is a military necessity.”

After bidding her adieu, he hastened down the steps, and was soon in his saddle galloping along the road toward Horton’s Grove. He found Captain Osborn chatting pleasantly with his father and mother, and Dr. Jack Redfield employed in turning music for Ethel in the music-room.

“Boots and saddles!” he called out, as he came rushing in, and then he hurriedly explained the important news of which he was bearer, by reading the Kinneman and Spencer letter. Both Captain Osborn and Doctor Redfield insisted that they should accompany the cattle king and Hugh on their midnight coup de main undertaking.

“I don’t quite understand,” said Mr. Horton, “how my man Kinneman could be at Major Hampton’s late this afternoon, as he started for the Cimarron River immediately after the noon lunch. Then again, he ought to have informed me, as well as Major Hampton, of the intended raid. I presume, however, he fancied that I was not strong enough for the excitement which the affair promises. But he is mistaken, for I never felt better in my life.”

Within half an hour everything was in readiness, and the four horsemen, “armed to the teeth,” started down the valley road, at a pellmell gait, bound for the red bluffs on the Cimarron. The moon was just showing itself above the eastern horizon, but it was veiled by scraggly clouds, and promised but little assistance. They were well mounted on strong ponies, and galloped easily along without engaging in any connected conversation. The patter of the hoofs of the four ponies was so uniform that it might have been taken for the galloping of a single horse. The cattle king and Captain Osborn rode in front, closely followed by Hugh and Doctor Redfield. At the end of about two hours, Hugh called out to his father, asking him if he were sure of the road.

“Perfectly,” replied Mr. Horton, “and, as we are going at a speed better than ten miles an hour, we shall easily reach the old Dodson corral by midnight. The last few miles of our journey the road will be somewhat broken, leading over numerous sand-dunes, as we descend into the Cimarron valley, and we will then necessarily have to lessen our speed.”

Onward they dashed, over the smooth road, until finally they were forced to rein their ponies to a walk over rough places in the sand-hills. At last, a few minutes before midnight, they halted their tired horses at the corral, and quickly dismounted. Hugh immediately went on a tour of investigation of the old deserted cattle-shed, and found that the opening fronted the river only about a quarter of a mile above the ford. It was built on an abrupt hillside, and consisted of small trunks of trees firmly planted in the ground on the lower side, and cut off evenly at the top, six or seven feet from the ground. Branches of trees were then laid across from the top of this formidable wall to the abrupt bank, which formed the opposite side of the enclosure, the earthen floor having been leveled with spade and shovel.