A frontier knight : $b A story of early Texan border-lifeBlanchard, Amy Ella
General
A frontier knight : $b A story of early Texan border-life
Blanchard, Amy Ella
Mexican War, 1846-1848 -- Juvenile fiction; Siblings -- Juvenile fiction; Texas -- Juvenile fiction; Western stories
Many improvements had been made within the time of their stay on
the rancho. The cabin now had a gallery added; the upper room was
partitioned off into three sleeping apartments, and John talked of
still further increasing the accommodations by building a “man’s
room,” so that theirs would be as commodious as any of the newer
buildings. Six months, too, had increased the number of settlers in the
neighborhood so that now the community was quite a large one, and in
consequence all were safer. The Rosses, to be sure, were on the edge of
the settlement, for John had declared he did not want to be crowded,
and the farm was a large one. To the right of them lay the woodlands,
to the left the prairie, while before them stretched the settlement,
whose houses they could see beyond the clearing, and which gave them a
sense of protection.
In less than an hour John returned, having dispatched his business
with his usual energy. Now he was ready to make preparations for his
departure. “Bud says he’ll do his best for us,” he told the girls.
“Wishes he could go, too, but he says that though Santa Anna may be a
one-legged man it is not to be expected that all one-legged men will
fight. He has done his share of it, has Bud, and nobody will cast it up
to him if he stays home. He has promised to slip up here whenever he
can and you can depend upon him. If anything goes wrong just consult
him about it.”
“And between times I can keep an eye on the place,” said Alison.
John laughed. “I believe that’s just what you will do. I’m not afraid
of anything but losing the horses; all the horse thieves are not
Injuns.”
“They shan’t steal our horses, whoever they are,” declared Alison.
“How are you going to help it?”
For answer Alison picked up her brother’s long rifle, stepped forward,
aimed at a mark on the fence and fired. Then she ran down to examine
the mark. “Within an inch,” she called back.
John followed her to the spot. “Humph! pretty good for a girl. The gun
never made you flinch. Who taught you how to shoot?”
“Mr. Jordan. He said I ought to know, that it might come in handy some
time. You must leave us firearms, John, for Louisa is pretty nearly as
good a shot as I am, and Christine can use a pistol, though she hasn’t
tried the rifle; she’s afraid it will kick. I had a lot of kicks in the
beginning. The first time I tried I went over as if I had shot myself
from the butt end. I was so mad. It wouldn’t have been half so bad if
Neal hadn’t been there. It was his rifle I was using and he came out
just in time to see me; but then he showed me how to use it properly,
so perhaps, after all, it was as well.”
“I’ll leave you each a pistol,” said John, “and there’s my smaller
rifle that can be used in an emergency.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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