December, gloomiest month in the year, had settled over the Ranch of the Whispering Firs. The steady mist of the rainy season was at its best, or worst, according to the point of view, mental and physical, of its beholder. The mighty colonnades of trees, that reared their pointed crests in the mist-enwrapped heavens, were busily engaged, at the foot of the Cascade Mountains, in storing away the moisture of the skies among the countless layers of vegetable mould and moss from which to draw their supplies for the next summer’s drouth.
The sawmill, planing-mill, and shingle-loom were running day and night. The skid roads, upon which the leviathans of the forest were dragged to their final doom, were sodden, slippery, and already badly worn. Relays of oxen tugged at the creaking chains and complaining logs. The mill-pond, a lake upon the mountain-side, very much enlarged by a dam, lay half asleep under a soft coating of ice; and higher up, at the snow line, lay the ice-clad creek that fed it, sheathed in a coat of mail which held in check the waters that were destined, when a thaw should come, to overflow their banks and send a flood into the valley below.
“Are you an angel from heaven, or are you Ashton Ashleigh?” cried Jean, as a tall man entered at the open door and stood before her with outstretched arms. The color faded from her cheeks, and her heart gave a violent thump and then stood still.
“Nothing angelic about me or near me this holy minute, unless it is Jean, my bonnie Jean!” exclaimed the intruder, as he clasped her tenderly in his arms. Jean was speechless for the moment with surprise and joy.
“Why don’t you ask for an explanation, little one?” he asked after an interval. “An explanation is due you, God knows!”
“I knew you would come,” she whispered timidly. “You have been forcibly detained, Ashton. Nothing else would, or could, have kept you away from your own.”
“Yes, darling; it was all the evil-doing of that man Hankins, to whom I intrusted my letter and my ring. Come in, Uncle Joseph. Tell the whole cruel story.”
“He was on his way to his wedding when he was arrested and thrown into prison!” exclaimed the uncle.
“You remember the slave girl Le-Le, my bonnie Jean? I was falsely accused of being her murderer; and they would surely have convicted me of the crime if your uncle had not appeared upon the scene, and after much delay and difficulty proved an alibi. Do you wonder that my hair has turned white?”
“Why, so it has, Ashton! I had not noticed it before; the light is dim. But you are all right. Your hair is beautiful. I like it best as it is.”
“I had a deuce of a time proving that alibi!” interrupted the uncle. “Our only witness was Siwash, who had left the scene of the tragedy and was nowhere to be found, though I sent scouts out for him in every direction. He had no idea that he was wanted, when he finally appeared upon the scene, but he came just in the nick of time.
“‘I saw my sister make the fatal leap into Green River,’” he deposed in excellent English. ‘She had been very despondent after Mr. Ashleigh left us, and I was often afraid she would take her life. But as the weeks passed, she apparently grew more reconciled; and I had ceased to worry about her, when one day, after getting my luncheon, she refused to wait upon the table, and left our cave in a manner that excited my alarm. So I followed her. I saw the fatal leap. She plunged into the rushing water through a hole in the ice, under which her body was imprisoned till last summer, when it was found three miles from the fatal scene. I never dreamed of anybody being accused of killing her,—least of all Mr. Ashleigh, our benefactor and friend.’
“‘Do the citizens of the village near the scene of the tragedy know of the suicide?’ asked the Court.
“‘They do, your Honor, a dozen of them!’ said the boy.
“No argument was offered on either side. Hankins was sent back to the penitentiary. Ashton was allowed to go forth a free man; and here, after a hard journey, are both of us to tell the tale!”
Sunday morning at the Ranch of the Whispering Firs. The skies, which have been humid and lowering for many days, are once more on their good behavior. The clouds have rolled away to the Northland, and the air and sunshine are as balmy as in springtime.
Once more there is a gathering,—this time at the combined schoolhouse and meeting-house; and Jean Ranger, handsomely attired in a well-made travelling suit of gray, with hat to match,—the handiwork of her stepmother and the Little Doctor,—is superintending for the last time (at least the last till after her return from abroad) her beloved Sunday-school. The tidings of the bridegroom’s arrival had spread from house to house, and everybody within a radius of a dozen miles had appeared upon the scene. The children of the district had decorated the room profusely with wild flowers, ferns, and evergreens.
Jean, in surrendering her school to the pastor, made a felicitous speech, exhorting her pupils to continue in the ways of well-doing. Then, bidding them a loving and hopeful good-bye, she formally resigned her post, and the Reverend Thomas Rogers assumed control.
At a given signal from Captain Ranger, a tall and handsome young Englishman, whose youthful face contrasted strangely with his snowy hair, stepped proudly down the aisle, where he was joined by his radiant bride, leaning on the arm of her father; and the preacher pronounced the words that legalized a union made in heaven. The tears that rose unbidden to the eyes of bronzed and bearded men and toilworn, plainly attired women were tears of joy and peace, good-will and gladness.
A bountiful basket-dinner, contributed, as by a common impulse, from the home of almost every family in the district, was served within the building.
“We leave to-morrow, by steamer from Portland, going by way of San Francisco, Acapulco, and the Isthmus, up the Atlantic coast to New York,” said the happy bridegroom, in his post-prandial speech, “whence we shall sail for Liverpool. I shall take my wife to London to visit my mother. Then, on our return to Oregon (for we will make this neighborhood of the Ranch of the Whispering Firs our permanent home), we shall stop over at Washington to see her sisters,—Mrs. Buckingham and Marjorie; and after that we can visit the home of her childhood.”
“But I prefer going first to the home of my grandparents, dearest,” said the bride. “We can get there easily by the way of the Gulf of Mexico and the Mississippi River and the Illinois, if we’ll be on hand before the rivers are frozen over. We can then go on to Washington, and to England afterwards. Don’t you think this will be the more economical, convenient, and reasonable plan?”
“As this journey is to be in your honor, it shall be as you say, my bonnie Jean.”
The bride blushed and beamed bewitchingly, while the crowd laughed and applauded, and her husband bowed and smiled in approval.
All eyes then turned upon the father, who took the happy and exultant bridegroom by the hand and said in a voice tremulous with emotion: “Ashton Ashleigh, my son through marriage, you have taken to yourself the priceless jewel that I once fondly thought was mine! Value not lightly the radiant gem of womanhood you guard!” Then to the bride he said, embracing her tenderly, while the eyes of the multitude filled afresh with tears: “Beloved daughter of thy sainted mother, go thy way with the husband of thy choice. But do not forget to hold thyself always as his equal before God and man. Then shalt thou be his best counsellor, his real helpmate, and his wisest friend.” To both he added, as he folded their clasped hands between his own broad palms: “Keep step together, my children; and, whether your way shall lead you up the mountain-sides of difficulty, or through the quagmires of sorrow, or into the glad valleys of happiness and peace, always march side by side, in time and tune to the eternal harmonies of religion, liberty, equality, justice, and progression.”
And here, patient reader, with Life before them, and Love leading the way, these chronicles shall bid adieu to the happy pair while they take temporary leave of the remnant of the Ranger household and the Ranch of the Whispering Firs.
THE END
FOOTNOTES
[1] The writer has not been able to trace the date or origin of these stanzas. She learned them in her childhood of a Scotchwoman who recited them on a winter evening in her chimney corner, and who has long been dead. She herself has often recited the whole ballad at weddings within the past fifty years.
[2] Since called the Ogden Gateway.
BOOKS RELATING TO
THE NORTHWEST
- THE JOURNALS OF LEWIS AND CLARK
- GASS’S JOURNAL OF THE LEWIS AND CLARK EXPEDITION
- THE CONQUEST
- THE BRIDGE OF THE GODS
- McLOUGHLIN AND OLD OREGON
- LETTERS FROM AN OREGON RANCH
- FROM THE WEST TO THE WEST
- A SHORT HISTORY OF OREGON
(OVER)
These books are for sale by all booksellers, or will be sent by the publishers on receipt of price. An extra for postage will be made on “net” books.
A. C. McCLURG & CO., PUBLISHERS, CHICAGO
The Conquest
No book published in recent years has more of tremendous import between its covers, and certainly no recent novel has in it more of the elements of a permanent success. A historical romance which tells with accuracy and inspiring style of the bravery of the pioneers in winning the western continent, should have a lasting place in the esteem of every American.
“No one who wishes to know the true story of the conquest of the greater part of this great nation can afford to pass by this book.”—Cleveland Leader.
“A vivid picture of the Indian wars preceding the Louisiana purchase, of the expedition of Lewis and Clark, and of events following the occupation of Oregon.”—The Congregationalist.
“It may not be the great American novel we have been waiting for so long, but it certainly looks as though it would be very near it.”—Rochester Times.
“The characters that are assembled in ‘The Conquest’ belong to the history of the United States, their story is a national epic.”—Detroit Free Press.
McLoughlin and Old Oregon
This is a most graphic and interesting chronicle of the movement which added to the United States that vast territory, previously a British possession, of which Oregon formed a part, and how Dr. John McLoughlin, then chief factor of the Hudson’s Bay Company for the Northwest, by his fatherly interest in the settlers, displeased the Hudson’s Bay Company and aided in bringing this about. The author has gathered her facts at first hand, and as a result the work is vivid and picturesque and reads like a romance.
“A spirited narrative of what life in the wilderness meant in the early days, a record of heroism, self-sacrifice, and dogged persistence; a graphic page of the story of the American pioneer.”—New York Mail.
The Bridge of the Gods
Encouraged by the steady demand for this powerful story, since its publication twelve years ago, the publishers felt justified in issuing this attractive illustrated edition. The book has fairly earned its lasting popularity, not only by the intense interest of the story, but by its faithful delineation of Indian character. From the legends of the Columbia River and the mystical “bridge of the gods,” the author has derived a truthful and realistic picture of the powerful tribes that inhabited the Oregon country two centuries ago.
The Syracuse Herald calls the author of “The Bridge of the Gods” “the best writer of Indian romance since the days of Fenimore Cooper.”
A Short History of Oregon
From HENRY E. DOSCH, Director of Exhibits at Lewis and Clark Exposition at Portland.
“Every home in Oregon might well welcome this condensed, readable ‘History of Oregon,’ and, most important of all, the school children of the State are entitled to an opportunity to study it, to the end that the history of the State and the great and memorable achievement of Lewis and Clark may be intelligently understood and appreciated by every man, woman, and child in Oregon before the opening of the Lewis and Clark Centennial Exposition.”
Letters from an Oregon Ranch
The hours of delight, as well as those of trial, which fall to the lot of “Katharine,” in creating a home out of the raw materials of nature, are chronicled with naïve humor, and in a vein of hearty optimism which will make a universal appeal. This year the eyes of the entire country are on Oregon, and it is expected that a book of this kind, giving such an illuminating idea of the country, will be of great interest. The photographs which illustrate the volume are of remarkable beauty.
From the West to the West
Across the Plains to Oregon
A chronicle and remarkable picture of a group of pioneers in their journeyings across the plains and their subsequent settling in Oregon. The characters are of the distinctive class of Western emigrant of fifty years ago, resourceful, independent, and progressive, and in their conversation and experiences give a vivid account of a phase of American social life that has passed, as well as foreshadowing the active and productive period that was to follow. Though a faithful account of an actual journey, the book is in the form of fiction, and brings the course of several romances to a successful end.
The Journals of Captains Lewis and Clark, 1804-5-6 (McClurg Library Reprints of Americana)
“The republication of the complete narrative is both timely and invaluable.... Dr. Hosmer is well known as an authority on Western history; hence to see his name on the title-page is to know that the work has been well done.”—Portland Oregonian.
“The celebrated story of the expedition of Lewis and Clark has now been put in an easily accessible form.”—N. Y. Times Saturday Review.
“Of the several new editions of this valuable narrative, this is by far the best and most complete.”—Minneapolis Journal.
“We have nothing but praise for this clear and handsome reprint.”—The Nation.
Gass’s Journal of the Lewis and Clark Expedition (McClurg Library Reprints of Americana)
The appearance of this volume in the period of Lewis and Clark celebrations is especially pertinent, as no practical library edition has been available of the “Journal of Patrick Gass.” His narrative was for seven years the only source from which any authentic knowledge of the great enterprise could be obtained. When at last the work based on the diaries of the Captains was given to the world, the earlier book, so far from being set aside, was found to be most important as confirming and supplementing what had been set down by the leaders, and, in fact, has not ceased to be held in high estimation up to the present moment.
“Several picturesque details Dr. Hosmer mentions (in the ‘Introduction’) which had eluded the argus eyes of Coues through a lifetime of waiting and watching. Whatever he learns he sets forth with a vivacity which keeps our attention expectant and appetite growing by what it feeds on.”—New York Evening Post.
“It restores Gass’s Journal to a common use. The portrait of Gass, which serves as a frontispiece, is a distinct addition.”—American Historical Review.
“No edition of Lewis and Clark is complete unless accompanied by the Journal of Patrick Gass. The work has been well edited, and the mechanics are of a superior character.”—Baltimore Sun.