The Edward S. Ellis Megapack

by Edward S. Ellis

  “You certainly shall. Tomorrow is Sunday, and if it clears up you may expect me and possibly Mrs. Spellman and our little one.”

  In answer to the inquiring look of her husband the wife nodded.

  “Don’t fancy that you can do your visiting without taking me along. You left me home yesterday.”

  “That, my dear, was unintentional; I had no thought of stopping at the cabin of the hermit until I had been out some time in the canoe and noticed the path leading to his cabin.”

  Alvin related the particulars of the call of himself and friends upon Uncle Elk and the clever manner in which he penetrated the personality of Doctor Spellman.

  “Are you acquainted with him?” asked Chester Haynes of their host.

  “Only by reputation. He is known as Elkanah Sisum, though I have a suspicion—perhaps not well founded—that that is not his right name. I have been told that he is a man of superior culture. In fact, a glance at his book shelves proves that. It is said that a great sorrow drove him into the wilderness and made an exile of him. I have no knowledge of its nature, but of course,” added the doctor with a wink, “some woman was at the bottom of it.”

  “An unnecessary remark,” replied the wife, “since that is rarely true.”

  Alvin and Chester glanced significantly at each other and the former said:

  “Isn’t it singular that he should have told us last night the story of a man who more than a hundred years ago became an exile and wanderer because the woman whom he loved rejected him for another? There must have been a resemblance between the case and his own.”

  “You are alluding to Johnny Appleseed, and it is another coincidence that wife and I were talking about that strange character last evening, probably at the very time you were listening to the old man’s account. I believe there was a remote relationship between wife’s ancestors and Jonathan Chapman’s, which explains why we are familiar with a story that is not generally known.”

  “It was certainly new to all of us and Uncle Elk, as he likes to be called, related it with rare skill.”

  “He has never hinted anything of the facts of his own case?”

  “No, and of course we cannot question him.”

  “The truth will become known sooner or later. There are several old persons in Portland who can clear up the mystery, which, however, may wait. While I think of it, I wish to tender you my professional services should they be needed, which I sincerely hope they will not. I have brought my case of instruments and a few simple remedies with me, more as a matter of prudence regarding my own family.”

  “That is very kind of you, and your offer is appreciated.”

  “I believe the Boy Scouts are pretty well instructed as to first aid to the injured, but accidents are always liable to happen. I wish you and your friends to feel free to call upon me at any time, with the understanding that no fee is involved. I did not come into the Maine woods to earn a living.”

  “But to benefit his city patients,” remarked his wife; “when we return home we shall find them nearly all recovered.”

  “Hardly possible, since I have turned them over to my brother practitioners.”

  “Which makes the probability the greater.”

  The boys joined in the laugh at the physician’s expense, and he, rising from his camp stool, bowed profoundly to his better half.

  “The team which brought our stuff over the new road through the woods is the same that I understand brings your supplies. I expected from the way we were hauled and flung about in the plunging of the horses that I should have several cases of broken necks to look after, but we got through better than I expected.”

  “Docther, don’t ye think I look pale?”

  CHAPTER XVI

  The Sunbeam of Gosling Lake

  The lugubrious voice of Mike Murphy accompanied as it was by a faint moan, drew every eye upon him. The sight of his red, freckled face and robust looks caused the others to break into laughter, which was renewed when he gazed reprovingly in turn at each.

  “I see there’s no use of me craving sympathy, as Mart Coogan said whin he broke through the floor overhead onto the table where the sewing society were drinking tay.”

  “Doctor,” said his wife when she regained her self-command, “if all your patients were like him, we should die of starvation.”

  “What caused your misgiving regarding your health?” gravely inquired the medical man.

  “It wasn’t any partic’lar ailing, but the alarming loss of me appetite.”

  “I should explain,” said Alvin, “that that never occurs until he leaves the table, which is generally about all that he does leave.”

  “What am I to understand by that?” demanded Mike apparently in high dudgeon; “it sounds like a slur upon me truthfulness, as Jim Finnegan said when his friend called him a liar.”

  “What are you all making so much noise about?”

  It would be putting it mildly to say that the three youths were startled by this unexpected question. Around the corner of the house dashed a little girl, some four or five years old, who asked the peremptory question. She was dressed in a short khaki dress, with high tan shoes, and her abundant hair was gathered loosely by a red ribbon tied behind her neck. She wore no hat and in face and feature was a replica of her handsome mother, with a complexion more darkly tinted, not only on the face but on the chubby arms that were bare to the elbows. If Mike Murphy typified vigorous young manhood, this little one was an equally marked example of a perfectly healthy child.

  The Irish youth was the first to break the brief silence which followed her question.

  “Won’t ye come and shake hands wid me, Dorothy?”

  Without stirring, she looked sharply at him.

  “What makes you call me Dorothy? That isn’t my name.”

  “I’ve been told that out of ivery ten little girls born in this counthry since Cleveland was President, nine of the same are named Dorothy; I beg yer pardon fur not knowing ye were the tenth.”

  The picture of the pretty child was so winsome that Alvin and Chester each held out his hands invitingly, accompanying the gesture with a smile that was meant to be irresistible. The girl hesitated a moment, father and mother watching her, and then made a dive down the slight slope as if she intended to plunge into the lake, but her course led her between Alvin and Chester and into the arms of Mike, who gently lifted her upon his knee.

  “What a sinsible young lady ye be! Thus airly do ye admire manly beauty and high moral worth. May I have the honor to touch me lips to yer cheeks, if I promise not to rub off the pink from the same?”

  Guessing his meaning, she turned her face sideways, while the others smilingly looked on and listened. Mike had won the good will of the parents by his cheek salute, for they never failed to let it be known that it was against their wishes that any one, no matter who, touched his or her lips to those of the child. Some have advocated the same style for adults, but I fear the plan will never be popular.

  “My name is Ruth,” said the little one artlessly; “that is, they sometimes call me that, but it isn’t my right name.”

  “What is your right name?”

  “Stubby,—I guess papa calls me that because I sometimes stub my toe when I run too fast. Folks that love me call me ‘Stubby.’”

  “Then it’s mesilf that shall know ye as ‘Stubby.’ When these young chaps wid me presooms to addriss ye as ‘Ruth,’ have nought to do wid ’em, but come to me who knows how to traat ye respictful. But I’m going to give ye anither name, wid the permission of your father and mither.”

  “What’s that?”

  “The Sunbeam of Gosling Lake: how do you like it?”

  Stubby was puzzled. With the end of her forefinger thrust in the corner of her mouth, she said doubtingly:

  “I don’t know; it sounds awfully funny; what do you think?” she asked turning to her parents.

  “It is poetical and truthful, but rather too long to be used most of the time,” said the mo
ther.

  “It might be saved for coort occasions; Uncle Elk always calls me Michael, he being the only one of me acquaintance that has a true since of the fitness of things. But I would respictfully suggist that the word ‘Sunbeam’ would sarve.”

  “It certainly is better than ‘Stubby’,” remarked the father, “but it will be hard to displace the homely original.”

  “Mike means well,” said Alvin, “though it is sometimes hard to understand him. Now, Sunbeam, I think you ought to sit on my knee for a little while.”

  He reached out his arms to help her across, but she held back.

  “I like Mike better.”

  “It is rare that ye obsarve so much in one of her tender years,” and the Irish youth said to the child:

  “Owing to me careful thraining they’re both purty fair lads, but I warn ye aginst trusting them too far. When ye naad a friend ye will not fail to come to me.”

  “Yes, indeedy, ’cause you are a good deal better looking than they—”

  “Another illustration of disarnmint; Sunbeam, I’m going to ask yer father and mither to loan ye to us for siveral days.”

  The little one did not quite grasp the meaning of this.

  “Where do you live, Cousin Mike?”

  And she clapped her hands with delight over the happy title that had flashed upon her without any thought on her part.

  “That’s it!” exclaimed the Irish laddie; “we’re cousins for the rist of our lives.”

  “What about them?” she asked darting her chubby forefinger at Alvin and Chester.

  “It will be the right thing to call one of ’em yer grandad and the ither yer grand-mither: that’s the best use ye can put ’em to.”

  “That’ll be splendid!” she added again clapping her hands and kicking her feet; “can I go with Cousin Mike, mother?”

  “Some day when it is pleasant we’ll loan you to him and his friends, but it must be when the sun is shining.”

  “As if ye didn’t take the sunshine wid ye at all times,” commented Mike.

  “And you’ll come for me, Cousin Mike?”

  “Why, Sunbeam, I’d go a thousand miles to borry ye for an hour. Maybe a better plan will be fur yer father and mither to paddle across the lake wid ye, and whin they go back they can forgit all about ye and we’ll keep ye till we git tired of ye and then fetch you back. How will that work?”

  “When will you get tired of me?”

  “Never,” was the reply, and Alvin and Chester nodded their heads.

  Thus the chatter ran on for an hour or more, during which Sunbeam, at the suggestion of her mother, perched for a little while on the knee of Alvin and of Chester, but soon returned to Mike, for whom she displayed a marked affection. It has been shown elsewhere that the Irish lad had the gift of winning the high regard of nearly every one with whom he came in contact. No person could fail to be attracted by the innocent, trusting nature of the little child, and the visitors pictured the delight with which she would be welcomed by the Boy Scouts.

  “I came into this section,” the physician explained, “for the sake of my wife and myself, I have had a pretty hard season and this is my first outing in two years. Mrs. Spellman was worn out by months of attendance upon her mother, who rallied sufficiently to sail for Europe some weeks ago. Although we have been here only a few days, we have been vastly benefited, and our vacation is sure to do us both a world of good. The only objection is that at times it becomes rather lonely, especially during rainy weather.”

  “What do you do with yourselves?”

  “Wife finds occupation in her sewing, in cooking and in household duties, while I haven’t as yet finished reading the ‘Six Best Sellers’; I smoke and nap and yawn and gabble with Ruth and her mother, or paddle about the lake and fish. I brought along my rifle and revolver, with little promise of having any use for either weapon. This is not only the close season, but to find larger game we must go a good deal farther north. I hope to make such an excursion during the coming winter. Have you any firearms in your company?”

  “I believe there are one or two revolvers but none of us three carries a weapon.”

  “Should you ever find yourselves in need of my services it will be easy to signal with one of the pistols, and I shall lose no time in hurrying to you.”

  “You are kind; suppose we say three reports in succession from one of the revolvers means that you are urgently wanted?”

  “A good plan; if there is no wind the sound will carry well.”

  “What signal will you use in calling us?”

  “I do not think the necessity can ever arise.”

  “But it may: who shall say?”

  “I brought some sky rockets with other fireworks to amuse Ruth; three of those sent up will serve provided some one happens to be looking this way; otherwise I shall fire my rifle three times,—the same as you will do with your smaller weapon.”

  “Then that is the understanding between us.”

  CHAPTER XVII

  An “Injin” Story

  The doctor and his little daughter stood at the landing, the mother remaining at the house, and watched the canoe as it put out from the shore and headed toward the bungalow on the other side of the lake. The fact that the boys had to sit facing the other way did not prevent them from turning their heads several times and waving a hand or paddle in response to the good-bye greeting of Sunbeam. Mike having no paddling to do indulged in the exchange much more than his companions.

  By and by the girl at the request of her father ran to the house and brought back his powerful telescope, which he pointed at the boat. Unaware of this, and carrying no binoculars, the lads did not know how distinctly they remained in the field of vision of their friends and naturally the signalling between the parties stopped.

  The clearing of the skies proved only temporary and our young friends had not paddled half the distance when they saw they were in for a wetting. A cold, drizzling rain set in and was steadily falling when they drew the canoe up the bank and hurried into the building, whose shelter was most welcome. The other Boy Scouts, who had been taught considerable in the way of reading weather signs, had made haste to return from their wanderings, none being so far off that he did not get back in time.

  Of course even had the party been camping out of doors, they would have been well guarded against so disagreeable a change, but they were better shielded with so roomy a structure at their command. They prepared supper in the big fireplace, and found the warmth of the crackling logs very acceptable. Everything having been adjusted for the night, several of the troop straightway notified Scout Master Hall that, inasmuch as he had shifted the responsibility of telling a good story upon Uncle Elk, he could do so no longer, but must now “come down” with one of his best. The demand quickly became unanimous, and the good-natured leader saw no way for him to escape.

  There was equal unanimity that the story should be an “Injin” one, for you know boys will never lose their fondness for that kind of yarn and Mr. Hall also conceded the point.

  “Due mainly to the fact that I don’t see any way of dodging it. An Indian or adventure story, to be fully enjoyed, should be told round a camp fire in the depth of the woods; but as that is impractical tonight, let us imagine that the blazing hickory there is kindled miles from anything resembling a human habitation.

  “You know how prone every one is to declare some incident ‘funny,’ when he should say it is strange or remarkable. I heard a woman at home the other day say that ‘it was the funniest thing in the world’ that she had to attend three funerals in a single week. All the same, there is something funny in your request, for I was about to ask whether you had any objections to my switching off from the usual run of yarns and telling one about Indians.”

  He looked into the glowing faces. It was Mike Murphy who gravely replied:

  “I’m sorry to say, Scout Master, I have a sorrerful ’bjection to your telling us such a yarn.”

  “What is that?”
/>
  “My ’bjection is to the wurrad ‘one’; I move to amind the same by saying ye shall relate eliven of ’em before ye puts the brake on. The first Injin I obsarved in this country was a wooden one in front of a cigar store in Boston town; I tried to open a playsant conversation with him, but he was as glum as Chester or Alvin after I’ve run ’em a fut race.”

  Inasmuch as Mike’s legs were so short that there wasn’t a boy in camp who could not leave him far behind in a contest of speed, a general smile followed his sober words.

  “Last spring,” began Scout Master Hall, “I made a trip to Denver, Colorado, and took a run down to Trinidad, in the southern part of the State. While there I noticed a handsome monument surmounting one of the hills surrounding the city. The rocky point is known as ‘Simpson’s Rest,’ and the story connected with it is one of the most extraordinary of the many that marked the early days of that region. Bear in mind, my young friends, that that which I tell you is true in every particular. There is no need of my relating fiction, when fact is much more interesting.

  “It is now more than sixty years since John Simpson built a cabin on the present site of Trinidad, which was then on the old Santa Fe trail. Times without number he sat in his little front door, smoking his pipe and watching the strings of prairie schooners that passed on their way to or from Santa Fe. The trail makes a sharp turn to the south not far from where the Simpson cabin stood, and after climbing the precipitous Raton Mountains, on what is now the Colorado line, the gold hunters found themselves at the door of their El Dorado.

  “Simpson was one of the greatest hunters, trappers and Indian fighters of his day. He and the renowned Kit Carson, who was the guide of Fremont the explorer, were intimate comrades and had many thrilling adventures together. In the days of which I speak, the Ute and Cheyenne Indians had their hunting grounds in the foothills adjoining the Rockies, and did not as a rule harass the settlers. But Simpson could never be quite easy regarding them, for his long experience with red men warned him always to be on the alert, though for several years his family suffered no disturbance during his absences, which were sometimes extended for weeks.