A frontier knight

IT was not many days after this that Cyrus Sparks made an orderly appearance with horse and wagon. At the time of his arrival Ira Korner and Bud Haley were present. “Here comes old Cy Sparks,” said Bud. “What the mischief does he want?”

Ira threw a swift glance at Louisa who had risen to her feet. “He’s come for me,” the girl exclaimed, and a moment after wished her words unsaid.

“What ye talking about?” said Ira sharply.

Louisa hesitated. The truth must out before long, she knew. “He’s my father,” she said simply.

Bud lifted his wooden peg of a leg and brought it down with a thump. “Whewee!” he exclaimed. “How did you find that out?”

Louisa saw that she was in for it. “He was over here the other day,” she said, cudgeling her brains for a plausible explanation, “and we found it out then.”

“Thought your father was dead; thought you was an orphin,” said Ira, speaking as one aggrieved.

“I thought so, too, but he made it plain to me that it wasn’t so.”

“Deserted your mother, eh?” Ira did not mince matters.

Louisa felt that she must be on the defensive. “He didn’t go for to do it. He heard we was both dead and we heard the same of him. He was wounded, you know.”

“Wounded,” Ira gave a snort. “When? Where?”

“You needn’t say he wasn’t,” said Louisa, suddenly aggressive. “It was back there when there was trouble before with Mexico, and he fit for Texas.”

“I believe he did fight. It appears to me I have heerd he did,” put in Bud, giving Ira a significant look. “So, he’s your dad. Well, they say old Cy can always tell which side his bread is buttered on, and that he ain’t so po’ly off.”

This encouragement had the effect of producing a certain warmth of manner in Louisa’s greeting of her father as he came stiffly up. The red scar on his forehead was still noticeable when he took off his hat.

“What ye been doing to yerself, Cy?” said Bud whose attention was attracted by the scar.

“Oh, nothing much,” returned Cyrus, pulling a straggling lock over the wound. “Got to foolin’ around in the dark and scraped my blamed head agin a tree.”

“Oughter had better sense,” said Bud. “They tell me you’re settin’ up to be a family man.”

“How’d ye hear that?” asked Cyrus quickly.

“Louisa was just tellin’ us.”

“Well now, ain’t I in luck? ’Tain’t every man can have a smart darter come down from the States to housekeep for him and he have nothin’ to pay for her comin’.”

“No, ’tain’t every man lucky enough not to ever pay out nothin’ fer fetchin’ up his flesh and blood and after she’s riz up good and respectable to hev the benefit of what she’s larnt. I should call it nothin’ but bald luck,” said Bud.

“Ye certainly can’t call it nothin’ else,” put in Ira. “Now if things was to go by deserts ye never would hev found her out.”

Cyrus looked from one to the other frowning. Just how much they knew and how much they suspected he could not discover, but his rôle was that of the fond father and he was bound to play his part. “Well, all is, Providence put her in the way of findin’ her dad,” he said pleasantly. “I tell ye, boys, ye’ll never know a father’s feelings till ye hev darters of yer own.”

“Providence! Providence!” Ira roared with laughter. “A gal that kin cook like Louisa kin, needin’ Providence to put her in the way of an old shark like Cy Sparks, is a good un.”

“You better go get your things.” Cyrus turned to Louisa with an air of proprietorship that annoyed Ira, and he followed the girl into the house under pretext of wanting to speak to Alison.

“Look a-here, Lou,” he said as he overtook her in the kitchen, “if anything goes wrong I want ye to feel ye kin call on yer friends. Nobody kin tell in this world how things is goin’ to turn out and you may need a friend when ye git away from here; if ye do, I’m ready to stand by ye. Jest give me half a chanst and I’ll fight fer ye down to the soles of my boots. All ye’ve got to do is to send me a stran’ o’ that red ha’r of yourn an’ I’ll come a bilin’.” In such knightly language did Ira proffer his service to his lady-love.

Louisa nodded. “All right; I’ll remember.”

Alison, with woebegone face, stood by as Louisa tied up her bundle. “I hope you won’t have need to run away,” she said. “But, oh, Lou, I do hate to see you go.”

“I’ve learned ye a good bit,” said Louisa. “You can make pretty near as good biscuits as I can and your flapjacks are hard to beat.”

“Oh, it isn’t your cooking we shall miss so much as your nice cheerful self,” Alison assured her.

“Now, ain’t that the truth?” said Ira. “If this confounded war was over I’d—but, sho! I reckon ye’ll git along all right. Cyrus may be an ole fox but he ain’t no wildcat.”

“We’ll come over to see you,” said Christine, who had joined the others to see Louisa off.

“Yes, we will that,” added Ira, “even if your dad ain’t so very hearty in his invitations,” for Cyrus spoke no word.

“Ef Cy Sparks thinks he is going to keep the boys away from a likely gal like that he’s mightily mistaken,” said Bud as the wagon drove away. “There ain’t a boy around here that wouldn’t be glad to see that red head a-firin’ up his kitchen.”

“You bet,” Ira agreed heartily. “I reckon we’d better be off, too, Bud. Ain’t hed no word from John, gals?”

“No, not yet.”

“There’s been fighting,” Ira told them. “They were hard at it at Palo Alto the last I heerd and I reckon we was givin’ it to ’em good and hot. It makes a man feel like he was his own grandmother to stay at home like I’ve been doin’. I reckon I’ll be gittin’ off in a day or so.”

It was quite true that at that time the battles of Palo Alto and Resaca de la Palma had been fought. In the former the American losses were but four men and three officers killed, and thirty-seven wounded, while the Mexican’s killed amounted to two hundred, and their wounded were four hundred. At Resaca de la Palma the Mexican loss was far greater, being estimated at a thousand. On May 18th the victorious Americans took possession of Matamoras, driving the Mexicans from the city. General Taylor next proceeded to Monterey.

After the departure of Louisa, Pedro’s concern for his young ladies had the effect of his laying the matter before Bud Haley.

“Well, it ain’t right for ’em to have no older woman with ’em. My sister Hannah Maria was sayin’ that they ought to come over to us, but they do hate to give up their home here, and I don’t blame ’em,” said Bud. “Can’t you git a-holt of some decent old Mexican woman, Pedro?”

Pedro thought he could: one old, but of respectability, and, though not capable of much work, quite able to act the part of duenna for the senoritas.

“Produce her,” said Bud. “We’ve got to have this thing done up right. I’m responsible to John Ross for his sisters and I ain’t goin’ to have it said that all ain’t as it should be. As I said, there’s folks enough would be glad to open their doors to two sech likely gals but they want to stay here, and here they shall stay if I kin fix it.”

Therefore, before long, a toothless old Mexican rejoicing in the name of Sofia appeared at the rancho under the escort of Bud. “Fetched ye an old lady,” said he in an off-hand manner. “Guess it’s all right, ain’t it? Thought now that Lou is gone you’d like to have somebody else around.”

“Gracious!” exclaimed Alison, looking at the old woman whom Pedro was helping into the house. “I’m afraid if she gets any more dried up and a norther should come along she’ll blow away. What on earth are we to do with her, Bud? What is she for?”

“Oh, just to set around and look pretty,” replied Bud, grinning.

“We can do that for ourselves,” said Alison, saucily. “Do please tell me, Bud, why in the world you brought her here. She’s too old to work. She certainly is not ornamental and it has not been my experience that old crones of her class are specially entertaining. What’s she for, anyhow?”

“I told ye.”

“Nonsense.”

“Well, ye see, to tell ye the truth, us boys likes to feel that things is high-toned and stylish on this here ranch, and we thought if folks could see an old lady like that settin’ ’round nobody would talk. You an’ Miss Christine is rayther young to run things all by yerselves, ye see.”

“Oh-h.” Alison understood. “I think, myself, it is entirely unnecessary, but if our neighbors think we don’t know how to behave I’m perfectly willing to wait on the old creature.”

“Dog it all, Miss Alison, you know that’s not the way to look at it,” said Bud. “Your brother’s away and you gals ain’t no mother nor nobody, and sence that there caper of yours the other night Pedro’s oneasy like and thinks you’d ought not to be here by your loneys. Don’t you see?”

“Pedro is an old goose. He hasn’t American ideas. However, I’ll speak to Christine and see what she says.”

On Bud’s explaining the situation to Christine she agreed to retain the watch-dog, as Alison called her, and Sofia took up her abode until some better arrangement could be made. The old creature occupied the small room below stairs and spent most of her time in mumbling over her beads and in preparing tortillas, in which employment she was very expert, turning her little cakes so rapidly that Alison declared she saved up all her energies for this one performance.

It was some time after the battles of Palo Alto and Resaca de la Palma before Ira was well enough to rejoin his company. Meanwhile, more than once, he passed by the Rosses to visit the wilder region where Cy Sparks had his home. Not that he received much encouragement from Cyrus, rather because of the contrary. The other lads in the neighborhood also seemed suddenly to acquire a desire for traveling the road leading to Cyrus Sparks’s, and the consequence was that Cyrus found himself obliged to dispense a greater hospitality than had ever been his wont or his pleasure. He began to wonder if, after all, he had made a good bargain in taking to his home this daughter who, instead of helping him to better economies, only increased his expenditures. Hospitality of the largest sort was the order of the country. Louisa’s fame as a cook began to spread abroad, and it was taken as a matter of course by the young swains that they would be welcome whenever they should choose to drop in for a meal at Cy Sparks’s. Most of them were too obtuse to notice Cyrus’s black looks and his failure to invite them to come again; they only perceived Louisa’s smiles and her savory meals.

“It jes natchelly does me good to see old Cy squirm when he has to set out a meal fer half a dozen of us,” said Ira, as he and Bud rode away after a long afternoon with Louisa. “Nothin’ pleases me better then to see him riled.”

“He’s a wary old fox,” returned Bud, “and I wouldn’t put it past him to do any sort of low down trick about that gal. He’s got a taste of makin’ money, and he don’t stand on the order of gittin’ it. Betwixt you and me and the gate-post I believe, and always shall believe, he had somethin’ to do with that little affair of John’s hosses and I ain’t so dead sure he didn’t hev somethin’ to do with Steve Hayward’s disappearance.”

“Sho!” exclaimed Ira. “What started you thinkin’ that?”

“Well ye know thet hoss of Steve’s is a mighty good piece of flesh, as good as you’ll find about here, and old Pedro was tellin’ me that Hero was in the bunch of hosses they tried to take that night. They’d ha’ got him, too, if the gals hadn’t winged their man. Hero had sense enough to go back to his stable ’stid o’ follerin’ the other hosses, and I’ve heerd Cy admire Steve’s hoss more’n once. Ever take notice to thet scar on Cy’s forehead? Looks mightily like a bullet wound. I’ve hed my suspicions that Cy was mixed up in that. The gals wasn’t so hot foot after gettin’ a-holt of the man, and puttin’ this an’ that together——”

“And knowin’ old Cy’s reputation.”

“Yes, sir, an’ knowin’ that.”

“Well it ain’t out of reason,” said Ira. “But I guess for Lou’s sake we better not play detective any further. What you reckon old Jabe Manypenny’s doin’ shinin’ ’round Cy’s? ’Pears to me he’s struck up a mighty suddent friendship there. It made my dander riz up to see the ole blear-eyed sinner settin’ there gapin’ at Lou.”

“Lou ain’t got no eyes fur him,” said Bud, “not when some other folks is around, but I reckon ole Jabe wouldn’t mind some of Lou’s messes bein’ stirred up in his kitchen. A man’s stummick is a powerful argymint fer matrimony, I’ve remarked, and old Jabe ain’t above a weakness that ketches a-holt of the younger bucks.”

“Humph! I’d like to see Lou stirrin’ up messes in his kitchin,” said Ira disgustedly. “She’s mos’ too good fer any of us, but when it comes to a ole yaller-faced atomy like him I’ll see myself in Jericho before I’ll step out of his way.”

“Ye’d better be spruntin’ up then,” said Bud, “’er some other feller’s picter’ll git prominent in her mind an’ when you git back from the front yer prospecks fer eatin’ hearty fer the rest of yer life’ll be slimmer’n what they are now.”

Ira was very silent for some time after this speech. Like many of the adventurers into Texas, he had little ambition beyond living a wild free life. A good time with the boys, a dash out upon an Indian trail, days of hunting, a fandango with some bonita señorita, constituted the employments to which he devoted himself. He had his own land grant, a little cabin where he stayed long enough in a year to make good his claim to his property, a couple of horses, his rifle and a dog, and that was about all he cared to possess. The idea of settling down to clear land, to acquire stock and to become a family man had never been seriously considered. But now with Jabez Manypenny appearing as a rival all the pugnaciousness in Ira arose. He would not be beaten. Jabez owned many acres, a fine lot of stock, a good and roomy house. He was reputed a rich man, a widower of two years’ standing, and with no nearer relatives than married sisters somewhere in “the States.” Ira pondered over the situation. To snatch Louisa from both Cyrus and Jabez would be a fine stroke. But there was the war going on, he must join his company, and if he had the luck to come back unscathed what had he to offer a girl like Louisa? As he considered the matter her charms seemed to increase, and his own chances to decrease. He drew so long a sigh that Bud laughed.

“Ye heave like ole Ben Hoke’s ole hoss,” he said. “What’s wrong with yer lungs?”

Ira gave voice to a remark in keeping with the occasion. Then said, “What’s a fool creetur like me to do? I can’t lay ’round here and play huntin’ dog to ary ole varmint like Jabe; I’m natchelly obleeged to go jine the boys.”

“Wel, ain’t ye a purty little feller?” said Bud, sneeringly. “Ain’t ye got a tongue in yer head? What’s the matter with yer speakin’ out? I been a-knowin’ this long time how the land lay. You shorely air gittin’ weakly all of a suddent. Ye ain’t afraid o’ painters, ner Injuns, ner bullets. What’s got ye?”

“No, I ain’t skeered o’ none o’ them things, but a female woman’s differnt. Painters springs at ye, Injuns sneaks on ye, bullets comes a whizzin’, but a female woman jest backs away an’ ye don’t know how far she’s goin’ ter git. You feels fer yer weepon an’ it ain’t thar. You kin reach down an’ pull a bunch o’ grass fer a mare, er put yer hand in yer pocket an’ git out a lump o’ sugar fer her, but how ye goin’ ter tole a female woman?”

“Ye ain’t never done it, I suppose,” said Bud, sarcastically.

“Not this variety,” replied Ira.

Bud threw back his head and gave vent to boisterous mirth. “Ye’re ketched fer shore, this time, an’ by a red head, too. I ain’t never seen nothin’ to skeer anybody in Lou Sparks. All ye got ter do is ter buckle up and throw out yer purtiest talk.”

“Think so?”

“I know so.”

But Ira’s timidity increased with his ardor, and up to the time of his departure he had spoken not a word of love to the object of his affections. On the day that he made his adieux he went so far as to say: “Ye won’t spring a surprise on us boys an’ go git married before we come back from the war, will ye, Louisy?”

“No, indeed,” she answered, emphatically. “I ain’t goin’ to leave dad yet awhile. I ain’t had him long enough to do that.”

“Think he needs ye?”

Louisa considered the question. “Well no, not so much as if I’d always been here, and,” she lowered her voice, “sometimes I think he’d like to get shet of me.”

“What makes you say that?”

“He’s always talking of what a good house old Jabez Manypenny has, and how lucky a girl will be if she gets him. Sometimes I think——”

“What do ye think?”

“Oh, never mind. I guess I can look after myself. I’ve done it this good while, and hadn’t kith nor kin to turn to, so I reckon I can do it a while longer.”

“Till the war’s over?”

“And longer, if it comes to that.”

“Ye won’t fergit about that stran’ o’ ha’r. Ef ye need a feller to do anythin’ a woman can’t do, I’ll get to ye somehow. Nothin’ short o’ desertin’ shall stand in the way.”

“I reckon I won’t need to send my ugly old hair, but I’m much obliged to you all the same.”

“Well, good-bye and good luck to you.”

“The same to you.” And they parted.

If Ira regretted his lack of courage in failing to be more outspoken, he did not show it, but rode away with a soldierly bearing which was Louisa’s admiration, and which made her more determined than ever to look to her own affairs, allowing no interference.

However, within the next few weeks this grew more and more difficult, for Jabez Manypenny made known his intentions and openly declared his desire to transfer Louisa to his own home. “Got a nice place,” he told her, “a heap better than this un where yer father keeps ye, and I’ve two or three niggers, too, to do the work fer ye, though there ain’t one among ’em can come up to you in cookin’ wittles.”

“My father’s place suits me well enough,” replied Louisa, “an’ I’m able to work for myself and him, too. I don’t want no niggers to wait on me, lazy triflin’ things, that give ye more trouble than they’re worth.” Jabez’ offer had no attractions for her. She felt it no advantage simply to exchange one old man for another, and saw little choice between the two, beyond the fact that her father possessed the claims of natural affection. She told him of the offer, adding, “I don’t want that old bag o’ bones. I’m in no hurry to leave you, dad.”

“’Course not,” he replied. “What’s the use of my giving ye up jest as I’ve got ye, onless it was wuth my while. If old Jabe comes ’round me I’ll tell him he ain’t goin’ to git my gal jest fer the astin’.”

Yet he pondered over the question. If he gave up Louisa it should be to some one who would make it an exchange to his advantage. He was not sure but that he could turn a pretty penny in the transaction. Just how, he could not at once decide, but it would surely be a queer thing, in that country where women were at a premium, if he could not dispose of his daughter’s hand to his own betterment, a girl whose accomplishments were such as appealed to every householder in the county.

He had been living very quietly since Louisa’s sojourn with him. He had been compelled to do this, he reflected, for she was too straightforward and honest to approve of any shady transactions, and, once he aroused her suspicions in any of his dealings, she would be direct enough, not only to charge him with them, but to report them. Yet this virtuous existence was growing monotonous. He was not sure but that he preferred the uncertainty of a reckless life with no one to answer to; there was at least excitement in it, and greater profits, if there were greater risks. The novelty of possessing a daughter was wearing off and the difficulties were beginning to present themselves. Marry her to the highest bidder and he could renew his old life and settle her future. And this was the way matters stood during that summer which saw Ira and Neal and John with the Texas Rangers, doing duty, while Jabez Manypenny paid court to Louisa and feared no rival.

One-legged Bud Haley kept Christine and Alison informed as to the movements in the neighborhood. As an enforced stay-at-home he performed a sort of detective service for the settlement, and little escaped his vigilant eye. Louisa’s affairs were of particular interest to him, since she had been a member of the Ross household and what concerned John Ross concerned Bud, who was under more than one obligation to his friend and nearest neighbor. Bud, likewise, championed Ira Korner’s cause and was indignant that Jabez Manypenny should receive the smallest attention at the hands of Louisa.

“’Tain’t fa’r,” he said to Alison. “Iry he’s off to the wars, an’ old Cy’s beginnin’ to nag Lou. Fust thing ye know the gal will be druv to takin’ Jabe jest to git rid of Cy. He’s a sly ole shark, is Cy, and I reckon he thinks ole Jabe ain’t got sich a ter’ble holt on life, an’ if he leaves Lou a well-to-do widder Cy kin step in an’ git all the profits. Fer my part, I don’t see what a ole man like thet’s going ter do with money; he kain’t more’n eat so much an’ he kain’t live in more’n one house, an’ he kain’t w’ar more clothes than he kin carry, but Cy has got a eetchin’ palm, as the sayin’ is, and they ain’t nothin’ he wouldn’t do fer money. He’d pick the eyes outen a blind mewl if he could sell ’em, an’ he’d chase a skeeter over a ten mile swamp fer its hide an’ taller. I’ve thought sometimes he kinder favored Pike Smith, but I don’t know. I’ve always heerd that him an’ Pike was in cohoots somehow, and Pike’s been a settin’ up ter Louisa, so I don’t know as Pike won’t git her if Jabe don’t, that is, if Cy has his way.”

“He won’t have his way,” declared Alison; “I’ll answer for that. Lou has a mind of her own and she’ll outwit her father, if she doesn’t come out and oppose him to his face. She likes Ira, and unless Cy uses foul means she’ll be faithful to him.”

“But there’s the foul means to be considered,” said Bud reflectively. “She’d oughter be warned ter look out fer snags.”

“I’ll tell her myself,” said Alison. “I was thinking of riding over there this very afternoon. I can take Hero.”

“Better not. Take yer pony.”

“Why not Hero?”

“Cy’s too fond of hoss flesh, an’ when you come to git yer hoss ye might find he’d got loose or somethin’. Take yer little pony and keep an eye on him. Ye’d better not make it too late comin’ home, neither.”

“All right,” agreed Alison. “I’m not afraid, but since you’re so cautious I’ll start right along, and if I’m not back by dark you can be on the lookout for me.”

“Jest sound Louisa and see how the land lays. Hanner Maria was tellin’ me that Jabe’s been havin’ some whitewashin’ done, an’ thet looks purty serious.”

Hannah Maria was Bud’s elder sister who was an efficient aid to her brother in his capacity as news-gatherer, and what Hannah Maria Haley said was generally taken as credible information. Neal Jordan called her the “Texas Gazette.” She was not a malevolent gossip; on the contrary she was always on the outlook for news of a cheerful character, and was an ardent advocate of truth, a defender of the unfortunate, a consoler of the unhappy. Her unfailing good heart and large sympathy made her a general favorite, though she was “as homely as a mud fence” Ira said.

“If Hannah Maria says Jabez has been whitewashing, it must be so,” was Alison’s comment, “and the sooner we look after Miss Louisa Sparks the better.”

“That’s so,” returned Bud. “You kain’t tell what a girl’ll do jest fer spite sometimes.”

“What spite?”

“Well, Iry he’s the contrariest feller I ever see. He’d walk up to a cannon’s mouth as easy as git out, but when it comes to facin’ a ‘No’ from Lou Sparks he’s ready to run. Kain’t no other kin’ o’ sparks skeer him, but that red head o’ hern knocks his wits outen him. Mebbe you could sorter let Lou understand thet fac’; a gal kin do them things when a man kain’t.”

“All right,” said Alison. “I’ll see what I can do.”

“I’ll fetch yer crittur up fer ye,” said Bud. And Alison entered the house to make ready for her ride.