A HORSE'S TALE
CHAPTER I - SOLDIER BOY - PRIVATELY TO HIMSELF
I am Buffalo Bill's horse. I have spent my life under his saddle -
with him in it, too, and he is good for two hundred pounds, without
his clothes; and there is no telling how much he does weigh when he
is out on the war-path and has his batteries belted on. He is over
six feet, is young, hasn't an ounce of waste flesh, is straight,
graceful, springy in his motions, quick as a cat, and has a
handsome face, and black hair dangling down on his shoulders, and
is beautiful to look at; and nobody is braver than he is, and
nobody is stronger, except myself. Yes, a person that doubts that
he is fine to see should see him in his beaded buck-skins, on my
back and his rifle peeping above his shoulder, chasing a hostile
trail, with me going like the wind and his hair streaming out
behind from the shelter of his broad slouch. Yes, he is a sight to
look at then - and I'm part of it myself.
I am his favorite horse, out of dozens. Big as he is, I have
carried him eighty-one miles between nightfall and sunrise on the
scout; and I am good for fifty, day in and day out, and all the
time. I am not large, but I am built on a business basis. I have
carried him thousands and thousands of miles on scout duty for the
army, and there's not a gorge, nor a pass, nor a valley, nor a
fort, nor a trading post, nor a buffalo-range in the whole sweep of
the Rocky Mountains and the Great Plains that we don't know as well
as we know the bugle-calls. He is Chief of Scouts to the Army of
the Frontier, and it makes us very important. In such a position
as I hold in the military service one needs to be of good family
and possess an education much above the common to be worthy of the
place. I am the best-educated horse outside of the hippodrome,
everybody says, and the best-mannered. It may be so, it is not for
me to say; modesty is the best policy, I think. Buffalo Bill
taught me the most of what I know, my mother taught me much, and I
taught myself the rest. Lay a row of moccasins before me - Pawnee,
Sioux, Shoshone, Cheyenne, Blackfoot, and as many other tribes as
you please - and I can name the tribe every moccasin belongs to by
the make of it. Name it in horse-talk, and could do it in American
if I had speech.
I know some of the Indian signs - the signs they make with their
hands, and by signal-fires at night and columns of smoke by day.
Buffalo Bill taught me how to drag wounded soldiers out of the line
of fire with my teeth; and I've done it, too; at least I've dragged
HIM out of the battle when he was wounded. And not just once, but
twice. Yes, I know a lot of things. I remember forms, and gaits,
and faces; and you can't disguise a person that's done me a
kindness so that I won't know him thereafter wherever I find him.
I know the art of searching for a trail, and I know the stale track
from the fresh. I can keep a trail all by myself, with Buffalo
Bill asleep in the saddle; ask him - he will tell you so. Many a
time, when he has ridden all night, he has said to me at dawn,
"Take the watch, Boy; if the trail freshens, call me." Then he
goes to sleep. He knows he can trust me, because I have a
reputation. A scout horse that has a reputation does not play with
it.
My mother was all American - no alkali-spider about HER, I can tell
you; she was of the best blood of Kentucky, the bluest Blue-grass
aristocracy, very proud and acrimonious - or maybe it is
ceremonious. I don't know which it is. But it is no matter; size
is the main thing about a word, and that one's up to standard. She
spent her military life as colonel of the Tenth Dragoons, and saw a
deal of rough service - distinguished service it was, too. I mean,
she CARRIED the Colonel; but it's all the same. Where would he be
without his horse? He wouldn't arrive. It takes two to make a
colonel of dragoons. She was a fine dragoon horse, but never got
above that. She was strong enough for the scout service, and had
the endurance, too, but she couldn't quite come up to the speed
required; a scout horse has to have steel in his muscle and
lightning in his blood.
My father was a bronco. Nothing as to lineage - that is, nothing as
to recent lineage - but plenty good enough when you go a good way
back. When Professor Marsh was out here hunting bones for the
chapel of Yale University he found skeletons of horses no bigger
than a fox, bedded in the rocks, and he said they were ancestors of
my father. My mother heard him say it; and he said those skeletons
were two million years old, which astonished her and made her
Kentucky pretensions look small and pretty antiphonal, not to say
oblique. Let me see. . . . I used to know the meaning of those
words, but . . . well, it was years ago, and 'tisn't as vivid now
as it was when they were fresh. That sort of words doesn't keep,
in the kind of climate we have out here. Professor Marsh said
those skeletons were fossils. So that makes me part blue grass and
part fossil; if there is any older or better stock, you will have
to look for it among the Four Hundred, I reckon. I am satisfied
with it. And am a happy horse, too, though born out of wedlock.
And now we are back at Fort Paxton once more, after a forty-day
scout, away up as far as the Big Horn. Everything quiet. Crows
and Blackfeet squabbling - as usual - but no outbreaks, and settlers
feeling fairly easy.
The Seventh Cavalry still in garrison, here; also the Ninth
Dragoons, two artillery companies, and some infantry. All glad to
see me, including General Alison, commandant. The officers' ladies
and children well, and called upon me - with sugar. Colonel Drake,
Seventh Cavalry, said some pleasant things; Mrs. Drake was very
complimentary; also Captain and Mrs. Marsh, Company B, Seventh
Cavalry; also the Chaplain, who is always kind and pleasant to me,
because I kicked the lungs out of a trader once. It was Tommy
Drake and Fanny Marsh that furnished the sugar - nice children, the
nicest at the post, I think.
That poor orphan child is on her way from France - everybody is full
of the subject. Her father was General Alison's brother; married a
beautiful young Spanish lady ten years ago, and has never been in
America since. They lived in Spain a year or two, then went to
France. Both died some months ago. This little girl that is
coming is the only child. General Alison is glad to have her. He
has never seen her. He is a very nice old bachelor, but is an old
bachelor just the same and isn't more than about a year this side
of retirement by age limit; and so what does he know about taking
care of a little maid nine years old? If I could have her it would
be another matter, for I know all about children, and they adore
me. Buffalo Bill will tell you so himself.
I have some of this news from over-hearing the garrison-gossip, the
rest of it I got from Potter, the General's dog. Potter is the
great Dane. He is privileged, all over the post, like Shekels, the
Seventh Cavalry's dog, and visits everybody's quarters and picks up
everything that is going, in the way of news. Potter has no
imagination, and no great deal of culture, perhaps, but he has a
historical mind and a good memory, and so he is the person I depend
upon mainly to post me up when I get back from a scout. That is,
if Shekels is out on depredation and I can't get hold of him.
CHAPTER II - LETTER FROM ROUEN - TO GENERAL ALISON
My dear Brother-in-Law, - Please let me write again in Spanish, I
cannot trust my English, and I am aware, from what your brother
used to say, that army officers educated at the Military Academy of
the United States are taught our tongue. It is as I told you in my
other letter: both my poor sister and her husband, when they found
they could not recover, expressed the wish that you should have
their little Catherine - as knowing that you would presently be
retired from the army - rather than that she should remain with me,
who am broken in health, or go to your mother in California, whose
health is also frail.
You do not know the child, therefore I must tell you something
about her. You will not be ashamed of her looks, for she is a copy
in little of her beautiful mother - and it is that Andalusian beauty
which is not surpassable, even in your country. She has her
mother's charm and grace and good heart and sense of justice, and
she has her father's vivacity and cheerfulness and pluck and spirit
of enterprise, with the affectionate disposition and sincerity of
both parents.
My sister pined for her Spanish home all these years of exile; she
was always talking of Spain to the child, and tending and
nourishing the love of Spain in the little thing's heart as a
precious flower; and she died happy in the knowledge that the
fruitage of her patriotic labors was as rich as even she could
desire.
Cathy is a sufficiently good little scholar, for her nine years;
her mother taught her Spanish herself, and kept it always fresh
upon her ear and her tongue by hardly ever speaking with her in any
other tongue; her father was her English teacher, and talked with
her in that language almost exclusively; French has been her
everyday speech for more than seven years among her playmates here;
she has a good working use of governess - German and Italian. It is
true that there is always a faint foreign fragrance about her
speech, no matter what language she is talking, but it is only just
noticeable, nothing more, and is rather a charm than a mar, I
think. In the ordinary child-studies Cathy is neither before nor
behind the average child of nine, I should say. But I can say this
for her: in love for her friends and in high-mindedness and good-
heartedness she has not many equals, and in my opinion no
superiors. And I beg of you, let her have her way with the dumb
animals - they are her worship. It is an inheritance from her
mother. She knows but little of cruelties and oppressions - keep
them from her sight if you can. She would flare up at them and
make trouble, in her small but quite decided and resolute way; for
she has a character of her own, and lacks neither promptness nor
initiative. Sometimes her judgment is at fault, but I think her
intentions are always right. Once when she was a little creature
of three or four years she suddenly brought her tiny foot down upon
the floor in an apparent outbreak of indignation, then fetched it a
backward wipe, and stooped down to examine the result. Her mother
said:
"Why, what is it, child? What has stirred you so?"
"Mamma, the big ant was trying to kill the little one."
"And so you protected the little one."
"Yes, manure, because he had no friend, and I wouldn't let the big
one kill him."
"But you have killed them both."
Cathy was distressed, and her lip trembled. She picked up the
remains and laid them upon her palm, and said:
"Poor little anty, I'm so sorry; and I didn't mean to kill you, but
there wasn't any other way to save you, it was such a hurry."
She is a dear and sweet little lady, and when she goes it will give
me a sore heart. But she will be happy with you, and if your heart
is old and tired, give it into her keeping; she will make it young
again, she will refresh it, she will make it sing. Be good to her,
for all our sakes!
My exile will soon be over now. As soon as I am a little stronger
I shall see my Spain again; and that will make me young again!
MERCEDES.
CHAPTER III - GENERAL ALISON TO HIS MOTHER
I am glad to know that you are all well, in San Bernardino.
. . . That grandchild of yours has been here - well, I do not quite
know how many days it is; nobody can keep account of days or
anything else where she is! Mother, she did what the Indians were
never able to do. She took the Fort - took it the first day! Took
me, too; took the colonels, the captains, the women, the children,
and the dumb brutes; took Buffalo Bill, and all his scouts; took
the garrison - to the last man; and in forty-eight hours the Indian
encampment was hers, illustrious old Thunder-Bird and all. Do I
seem to have lost my solemnity, my gravity, my poise, my dignity?
You would lose your own, in my circumstances. Mother, you never
saw such a winning little devil. She is all energy, and spirit,
and sunshine, and interest in everybody and everything, and pours
out her prodigal love upon every creature that will take it, high
or low, Christian or pagan, feathered or furred; and none has
declined it to date, and none ever will, I think. But she has a
temper, and sometimes it catches fire and flames up, and is likely
to burn whatever is near it; but it is soon over, the passion goes
as quickly as it comes. Of course she has an Indian name already;
Indians always rechristen a stranger early. Thunder-Bird attended
to her case. He gave her the Indian equivalent for firebug, or
fire-fly. He said:
"'Times, ver' quiet, ver' soft, like summer night, but when she mad
she blaze."
Isn't it good? Can't you see the flare? She's beautiful, mother,
beautiful as a picture; and there is a touch of you in her face,
and of her father - poor George! and in her unresting activities,
and her fearless ways, and her sunbursts and cloudbursts, she is
always bringing George back to me. These impulsive natures are
dramatic. George was dramatic, so is this Lightning-Bug, so is
Buffalo Bill. When Cathy first arrived - it was in the forenoon -
Buffalo Bill was away, carrying orders to Major Fuller, at Five
Forks, up in the Clayton Hills. At mid-afternoon I was at my desk,
trying to work, and this sprite had been making it impossible for
half an hour. At last I said:
"Oh, you bewitching little scamp, CAN'T you be quiet just a minute
or two, and let your poor old uncle attend to a part of his
duties?"
"I'll try, uncle; I will, indeed," she said.
"Well, then, that's a good child - kiss me. Now, then, sit up in
that chair, and set your eye on that clock. There - that's right.
If you stir - if you so much as wink - for four whole minutes, I'll
bite you!"
It was very sweet and humble and obedient she looked, sitting
there, still as a mouse; I could hardly keep from setting her free
and telling her to make as much racket as she wanted to. During as
much as two minutes there was a most unnatural and heavenly quiet
and repose, then Buffalo Bill came thundering up to the door in all
his scout finery, flung himself out of the saddle, said to his
horse, "Wait for me, Boy," and stepped in, and stopped dead in his
tracks - gazing at the child. She forgot orders, and was on the
floor in a moment, saying:
"Oh, you are so beautiful! Do you like me?"
"No, I don't, I love you!" and he gathered her up with a hug, and
then set her on his shoulder - apparently nine feet from the floor.
She was at home. She played with his long hair, and admired his
big hands and his clothes and his carbine, and asked question after
question, as fast as he could answer, until I excused them both for
half an hour, in order to have a chance to finish my work. Then I
heard Cathy exclaiming over Soldier Boy; and he was worthy of her
raptures, for he is a wonder of a horse, and has a reputation which
is as shining as his own silken hide.
CHAPTER IV - CATHY TO HER AUNT MERCEDES
Oh, it is wonderful here, aunty dear, just paradise! Oh, if you
could only see it! everything so wild and lovely; such grand
plains, stretching such miles and miles and miles, all the most
delicious velvety sand and sage-brush, and rabbits as big as a dog,
and such tall and noble jackassful ears that that is what they name
them by; and such vast mountains, and so rugged and craggy and
lofty, with cloud-shawls wrapped around their shoulders, and
looking so solemn and awful and satisfied; and the charming
Indians, oh, how you would dote on them, aunty dear, and they would
on you, too, and they would let you hold their babies, the way they
do me, and they ARE the fattest, and brownest, and sweetest little
things, and never cry, and wouldn't if they had pins sticking in
them, which they haven't, because they are poor and can't afford
it; and the horses and mules and cattle and dogs - hundreds and
hundreds and hundreds, and not an animal that you can't do what you
please with, except uncle Thomas, but _I_ don't mind him, he's
lovely; and oh, if you could hear the bugles: TOO - TOO - TOO-TOO -
TOO - TOO, and so on - perfectly beautiful! Do you recognize that
one? It's the first toots of the reveille; it goes, dear me, SO
early in the morning! - then I and every other soldier on the whole
place are up and out in a minute, except uncle Thomas, who is most
unaccountably lazy, I don't know why, but I have talked to him
about it, and I reckon it will be better, now. He hasn't any
faults much, and is charming and sweet, like Buffalo Bill, and
Thunder-Bird, and Mammy Dorcas, and Soldier Boy, and Shekels, and
Potter, and Sour-Mash, and - well, they're ALL that, just angels, as
you may say.
The very first day I came, I don't know how long ago it was,
Buffalo Bill took me on Soldier Boy to Thunder-Bird's camp, not the
big one which is out on the plain, which is White Cloud's, he took
me to THAT one next day, but this one is four or five miles up in
the hills and crags, where there is a great shut-in meadow, full of
Indian lodges and dogs and squaws and everything that is
interesting, and a brook of the clearest water running through it,
with white pebbles on the bottom and trees all along the banks cool
and shady and good to wade in, and as the sun goes down it is
dimmish in there, but away up against the sky you see the big peaks
towering up and shining bright and vivid in the sun, and sometimes
an eagle sailing by them, not flapping a wing, the same as if he
was asleep; and young Indians and girls romping and laughing and
carrying on, around the spring and the pool, and not much clothes
on except the girls, and dogs fighting, and the squaws busy at
work, and the bucks busy resting, and the old men sitting in a
bunch smoking, and passing the pipe not to the left but to the
right, which means there's been a row in the camp and they are
settling it if they can, and children playing JUST the same as any
other children, and little boys shooting at a mark with bows, and I
cuffed one of them because he hit a dog with a club that wasn't
doing anything, and he resented it but before long he wished he
hadn't: but this sentence is getting too long and I will start
another. Thunder-Bird put on his Sunday-best war outfit to let me
see him, and he was splendid to look at, with his face painted red
and bright and intense like a fire-coal and a valance of eagle
feathers from the top of his head all down his back, and he had his
tomahawk, too, and his pipe, which has a stem which is longer than
my arm, and I never had such a good time in an Indian camp in my
life, and I learned a lot of words of the language, and next day BB
took me to the camp out on the Plains, four miles, and I had
another good time and got acquainted with some more Indians and
dogs; and the big chief, by the name of White Cloud, gave me a
pretty little bow and arrows and I gave him my red sash-ribbon, and
in four days I could shoot very well with it and beat any white boy
of my size at the post; and I have been to those camps plenty of
times since; and I have learned to ride, too, BB taught me, and
every day he practises me and praises me, and every time I do
better than ever he lets me have a scamper on Soldier Boy, and
THAT'S the last agony of pleasure! for he is the charmingest horse,
and so beautiful and shiny and black, and hasn't another color on
him anywhere, except a white star in his forehead, not just an
imitation star, but a real one, with four points, shaped exactly
like a star that's hand-made, and if you should cover him all up
but his star you would know him anywhere, even in Jerusalem or
Australia, by that. And I got acquainted with a good many of the
Seventh Cavalry, and the dragoons, and officers, and families, and
horses, in the first few days, and some more in the next few and
the next few and the next few, and now I know more soldiers and
horses than you can think, no matter how hard you try. I am
keeping up my studies every now and then, but there isn't much time
for it. I love you so! and I send you a hug and a kiss.
CATHY.
P.S. - I belong to the Seventh Cavalry and Ninth Dragoons, I am an
officer, too, and do not have to work on account of not getting any
wages.
CHAPTER V - GENERAL ALISON TO MERCEDES
She has been with us a good nice long time, now. You are troubled
about your sprite because this is such a wild frontier, hundreds of
miles from civilization, and peopled only by wandering tribes of
savages? You fear for her safety? Give yourself no uneasiness
about her. Dear me, she's in a nursery! and she's got more than
eighteen hundred nurses. It would distress the garrison to suspect
that you think they can't take care of her. They think they can.
They would tell you so themselves. You see, the Seventh Cavalry
has never had a child of its very own before, and neither has the
Ninth Dragoons; and so they are like all new mothers, they think
there is no other child like theirs, no other child so wonderful,
none that is so worthy to be faithfully and tenderly looked after
and protected. These bronzed veterans of mine are very good
mothers, I think, and wiser than some other mothers; for they let
her take lots of risks, and it is a good education for her; and the
more risks she takes and comes successfully out of, the prouder
they are of her. They adopted her, with grave and formal military
ceremonies of their own invention - solemnities is the truer word;
solemnities that were so profoundly solemn and earnest, that the
spectacle would have been comical if it hadn't been so touching.
It was a good show, and as stately and complex as guard-mount and
the trooping of the colors; and it had its own special music,
composed for the occasion by the bandmaster of the Seventh; and the
child was as serious as the most serious war-worn soldier of them
all; and finally when they throned her upon the shoulder of the
oldest veteran, and pronounced her "well and truly adopted," and
the bands struck up and all saluted and she saluted in return, it
was better and more moving than any kindred thing I have seen on
the stage, because stage things are make-believe, but this was real
and the players' hearts were in it.
It happened several weeks ago, and was followed by some additional
solemnities. The men created a couple of new ranks, thitherto
unknown to the army regulations, and conferred them upon Cathy,
with ceremonies suitable to a duke. So now she is Corporal-General
of the Seventh Cavalry, and Flag-Lieutenant of the Ninth Dragoons,
with the privilege (decreed by the men) of writing U.S.A. after her
name! Also, they presented her a pair of shoulder-straps - both
dark blue, the one with F. L. on it, the other with C. G. Also, a
sword. She wears them. Finally, they granted her the salute. I
am witness that that ceremony is faithfully observed by both
parties - and most gravely and decorously, too. I have never seen a
soldier smile yet, while delivering it, nor Cathy in returning it.
Ostensibly I was not present at these proceedings, and am ignorant
of them; but I was where I could see. I was afraid of one thing -
the jealousy of the other children of the post; but there is
nothing of that, I am glad to say. On the contrary, they are proud
of their comrade and her honors. It is a surprising thing, but it
is true. The children are devoted to Cathy, for she has turned
their dull frontier life into a sort of continuous festival; also
they know her for a stanch and steady friend, a friend who can
always be depended upon, and does not change with the weather.
She has become a rather extraordinary rider, under the tutorship of
a more than extraordinary teacher - BB, which is her pet name for
Buffalo Bill. She pronounces it beeby. He has not only taught her
seventeen ways of breaking her neck, but twenty-two ways of
avoiding it. He has infused into her the best and surest
protection of a horseman - CONFIDENCE. He did it gradually,
systematically, little by little, a step at a time, and each step
made sure before the next was essayed. And so he inched her along
up through terrors that had been discounted by training before she
reached them, and therefore were not recognizable as terrors when
she got to them. Well, she is a daring little rider, now, and is
perfect in what she knows of horsemanship. By-and-by she will know
the art like a West Point cadet, and will exercise it as
fearlessly. She doesn't know anything about side-saddles. Does
that distress you? And she is a fine performer, without any saddle
at all. Does that discomfort you? Do not let it; she is not in
any danger, I give you my word.
You said that if my heart was old and tired she would refresh it,
and you said truly. I do not know how I got along without her,
before. I was a forlorn old tree, but now that this blossoming
vine has wound itself about me and become the life of my life, it
is very different. As a furnisher of business for me and for Mammy
Dorcas she is exhaustlessly competent, but I like my share of it
and of course Dorcas likes hers, for Dorcas "raised" George, and
Cathy is George over again in so many ways that she brings back
Dorcas's youth and the joys of that long-vanished time. My father
tried to set Dorcas free twenty years ago, when we still lived in
Virginia, but without success; she considered herself a member of
the family, and wouldn't go. And so, a member of the family she
remained, and has held that position unchallenged ever since, and
holds it now; for when my mother sent her here from San Bernardino
when we learned that Cathy was coming, she only changed from one
division of the family to the other. She has the warm heart of her
race, and its lavish affections, and when Cathy arrived the pair
were mother and child in five minutes, and that is what they are to
date and will continue. Dorcas really thinks she raised George,
and that is one of her prides, but perhaps it was a mutual raising,
for their ages were the same - thirteen years short of mine. But
they were playmates, at any rate; as regards that, there is no room
for dispute.
Cathy thinks Dorcas is the best Catholic in America except herself.
She could not pay any one a higher compliment than that, and Dorcas
could not receive one that would please her better. Dorcas is
satisfied that there has never been a more wonderful child than
Cathy. She has conceived the curious idea that Cathy is TWINS, and
that one of them is a boy-twin and failed to get segregated - got
submerged, is the idea. To argue with her that this is nonsense is
a waste of breath - her mind is made up, and arguments do not affect
it. She says:
"Look at her; she loves dolls, and girl-plays, and everything a
girl loves, and she's gentle and sweet, and ain't cruel to dumb
brutes - now that's the girl-twin, but she loves boy-plays, and
drums and fifes and soldiering, and rough-riding, and ain't afraid
of anybody or anything - and that's the boy-twin; 'deed you needn't
tell ME she's only ONE child; no, sir, she's twins, and one of them
got shet up out of sight. Out of sight, but that don't make any
difference, that boy is in there, and you can see him look out of
her eyes when her temper is up."
Then Dorcas went on, in her simple and earnest way, to furnish
illustrations.
"Look at that raven, Marse Tom. Would anybody befriend a raven but
that child? Of course they wouldn't; it ain't natural. Well, the
Injun boy had the raven tied up, and was all the time plaguing it
and starving it, and she pitied the po' thing, and tried to buy it
from the boy, and the tears was in her eyes. That was the girl-
twin, you see. She offered him her thimble, and he flung it down;
she offered him all the doughnuts she had, which was two, and he
flung them down; she offered him half a paper of pins, worth forty
ravens, and he made a mouth at her and jabbed one of them in the
raven's back. That was the limit, you know. It called for the
other twin. Her eyes blazed up, and she jumped for him like a
wild-cat, and when she was done with him she was rags and he wasn't
anything but an allegory. That was most undoubtedly the other
twin, you see, coming to the front. No, sir; don't tell ME he
ain't in there. I've seen him with my own eyes - and plenty of
times, at that."
"Allegory? What is an allegory?"
"I don't know, Marse Tom, it's one of her words; she loves the big
ones, you know, and I pick them up from her; they sound good and I
can't help it."
"What happened after she had converted the boy into an allegory?"
"Why, she untied the raven and confiscated him by force and fetched
him home, and left the doughnuts and things on the ground. Petted
him, of course, like she does with every creature. In two days she
had him so stuck after her that she - well, YOU know how he follows
her everywhere, and sets on her shoulder often when she rides her
breakneck rampages - all of which is the girl-twin to the front, you
see - and he does what he pleases, and is up to all kinds of
devilment, and is a perfect nuisance in the kitchen. Well, they
all stand it, but they wouldn't if it was another person's bird."
Here she began to chuckle comfortably, and presently she said:
"Well, you know, she's a nuisance herself, Miss Cathy is, she IS so
busy, and into everything, like that bird. It's all just as
innocent, you know, and she don't mean any harm, and is so good and
dear; and it ain't her fault, it's her nature; her interest is
always a-working and always red-hot, and she can't keep quiet.
Well, yesterday it was 'Please, Miss Cathy, don't do that'; and,
'Please, Miss Cathy, let that alone'; and, 'Please, Miss Cathy,
don't make so much noise'; and so on and so on, till I reckon I had
found fault fourteen times in fifteen minutes; then she looked up
at me with her big brown eyes that can plead so, and said in that
odd little foreign way that goes to your heart,
"'Please, mammy, make me a compliment."
"And of course you did it, you old fool?"
"Marse Tom, I just grabbed her up to my breast and says, 'Oh, you
po' dear little motherless thing, you ain't got a fault in the
world, and you can do anything you want to, and tear the house
down, and yo' old black mammy won't say a word!'"
"Why, of course, of course - _I_ knew you'd spoil the child."
She brushed away her tears, and said with dignity:
"Spoil the child? spoil THAT child, Marse Tom? There can't ANYBODY
spoil her. She's the king bee of this post, and everybody pets her
and is her slave, and yet, as you know, your own self, she ain't
the least little bit spoiled." Then she eased her mind with this
retort: "Marse Tom, she makes you do anything she wants to, and
you can't deny it; so if she could be spoilt, she'd been spoilt
long ago, because you are the very WORST! Look at that pile of
cats in your chair, and you sitting on a candle-box, just as
patient; it's because they're her cats."
If Dorcas were a soldier, I could punish her for such large
frankness as that. I changed the subject, and made her resume her
illustrations. She had scored against me fairly, and I wasn't
going to cheapen her victory by disputing it. She proceeded to
offer this incident in evidence on her twin theory:
"Two weeks ago when she got her finger mashed open, she turned
pretty pale with the pain, but she never said a word. I took her
in my lap, and the surgeon sponged off the blood and took a needle
and thread and began to sew it up; it had to have a lot of
stitches, and each one made her scrunch a little, but she never let
go a sound. At last the surgeon was so full of admiration that he
said, 'Well, you ARE a brave little thing!' and she said, just as
ca'm and simple as if she was talking about the weather, 'There
isn't anybody braver but the Cid!' You see? it was the boy-twin
that the surgeon was a-dealing with.
"Who is the Cid?"
"I don't know, sir - at least only what she says. She's always
talking about him, and says he was the bravest hero Spain ever had,
or any other country. They have it up and down, the children do,
she standing up for the Cid, and they working George Washington for
all he is worth."
"Do they quarrel?"
"No; it's only disputing, and bragging, the way children do. They
want her to be an American, but she can't be anything but a
Spaniard, she says. You see, her mother was always longing for
home, po' thing! and thinking about it, and so the child is just as
much a Spaniard as if she'd always lived there. She thinks she
remembers how Spain looked, but I reckon she don't, because she was
only a baby when they moved to France. She is very proud to be a
Spaniard."
Does that please you, Mercedes? Very well, be content; your niece
is loyal to her allegiance: her mother laid deep the foundations
of her love for Spain, and she will go back to you as good a
Spaniard as you are yourself. She has made me promise to take her
to you for a long visit when the War Office retires me.
I attend to her studies myself; has she told you that? Yes, I am
her school-master, and she makes pretty good progress, I think,
everything considered. Everything considered - being translated -
means holidays. But the fact is, she was not born for study, and
it comes hard. Hard for me, too; it hurts me like a physical pain
to see that free spirit of the air and the sunshine laboring and
grieving over a book; and sometimes when I find her gazing far away
towards the plain and the blue mountains with the longing in her
eyes, I have to throw open the prison doors; I can't help it. A
quaint little scholar she is, and makes plenty of blunders. Once I
put the question:
"What does the Czar govern?"
She rested her elbow on her knee and her chin on her hand and took
that problem under deep consideration. Presently she looked up and
answered, with a rising inflection implying a shade of uncertainty,
"The dative case?"
Here are a couple of her expositions which were delivered with
tranquil confidence:
"CHAPLAIN, diminutive of chap. LASS is masculine, LASSIE is
feminine."
She is not a genius, you see, but just a normal child; they all
make mistakes of that sort. There is a glad light in her eye which
is pretty to see when she finds herself able to answer a question
promptly and accurately, without any hesitation; as, for instance,
this morning:
"Cathy dear, what is a cube?"
"Why, a native of Cuba."
She still drops a foreign word into her talk now and then, and
there is still a subtle foreign flavor or fragrance about even her
exactest English - and long may this abide! for it has for me a
charm that is very pleasant. Sometimes her English is daintily
prim and bookish and captivating. She has a child's sweet tooth,
but for her health's sake I try to keep its inspirations under
cheek. She is obedient - as is proper for a titled and recognized
military personage, which she is - but the chain presses sometimes.
For instance, we were out for a walk, and passed by some bushes
that were freighted with wild goose-berries. Her face brightened
and she put her hands together and delivered herself of this
speech, most feelingly:
"Oh, if I was permitted a vice it would be the gourmandise!"
Could I resist that? No. I gave her a gooseberry.
You ask about her languages. They take care of themselves; they
will not get rusty here; our regiments are not made up of natives
alone - far from it. And she is picking up Indian tongues
diligently.
CHAPTER VI - SOLDIER BOY AND THE MEXICAN PLUG
"When did you come?"
"Arrived at sundown."
"Where from?"
"Salt Lake."
"Are you in the service?"
"No. Trade."
"Pirate trade, I reckon."
"What do you know about it?"
"I saw you when you came. I recognized your master. He is a bad
sort. Trap-robber, horse-thief, squaw-man, renegado - Hank Butters-
-I know him very well. Stole you, didn't he?"
"Well, it amounted to that."
"I thought so. Where is his pard?"
"He stopped at White Cloud's camp."
"He is another of the same stripe, is Blake Haskins." (Aside.)
They are laying for Buffalo Bill again, I guess. (Aloud.) "What
is your name?"
"Which one?"
"Have you got more than one?"
"I get a new one every time I'm stolen. I used to have an honest
name, but that was early; I've forgotten it. Since then I've had
thirteen aliases."
"Aliases? What is alias?"
"A false name."
"Alias. It's a fine large word, and is in my line; it has quite a
learned and cerebrospinal incandescent sound. Are you educated?"
"Well, no, I can't claim it. I can take down bars, I can
distinguish oats from shoe-pegs, I can blaspheme a saddle-boil with
the college-bred, and I know a few other things - not many; I have
had no chance, I have always had to work; besides, I am of low
birth and no family. You speak my dialect like a native, but you
are not a Mexican Plug, you are a gentleman, I can see that; and
educated, of course."
"Yes, I am of old family, and not illiterate. I am a fossil."
"A which?"
"Fossil. The first horses were fossils. They date back two
million years."
"Gr-eat sand and sage-brush! do you mean it?"
"Yes, it is true. The bones of my ancestors are held in reverence
and worship, even by men. They do not leave them exposed to the
weather when they find them, but carry them three thousand miles
and enshrine them in their temples of learning, and worship them."
"It is wonderful! I knew you must be a person of distinction, by
your fine presence and courtly address, and by the fact that you
are not subjected to the indignity of hobbles, like myself and the
rest. Would you tell me your name?"
"You have probably heard of it - Soldier Boy."
"What! - the renowned, the illustrious?"
"Even so."
"It takes my breath! Little did I dream that ever I should stand
face to face with the possessor of that great name. Buffalo Bill's
horse! Known from the Canadian border to the deserts of Arizona,
and from the eastern marches of the Great Plains to the foot-hills
of the Sierra! Truly this is a memorable day. You still serve the
celebrated Chief of Scouts?"
"I am still his property, but he has lent me, for a time, to the
most noble, the most gracious, the most excellent, her Excellency
Catherine, Corporal-General Seventh Cavalry and Flag-Lieutenant
Ninth Dragoons, U.S.A., - on whom be peace!"
"Amen. Did you say HER Excellency?"
"The same. A Spanish lady, sweet blossom of a ducal house. And
truly a wonder; knowing everything, capable of everything; speaking
all the languages, master of all sciences, a mind without horizons,
a heart of gold, the glory of her race! On whom be peace!"
"Amen. It is marvellous!"
"Verily. I knew many things, she has taught me others. I am
educated. I will tell you about her."
"I listen - I am enchanted."
"I will tell a plain tale, calmly, without excitement, without
eloquence. When she had been here four or five weeks she was
already erudite in military things, and they made her an officer - a