An Oregon Girl: A Tale of American Life in the New WestRice, Alfred Ernest
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An Oregon Girl: A Tale of American Life in the New West
Rice, Alfred Ernest
Oregon -- Fiction; Western stories; Women pioneers -- Fiction
Seeing him obdurate, and fearing the effect of a forcible separation
from her mother now so fondly clasped in her arms, Virginia resolved
to try persuasion once more, before putting into execution the plans
she had matured as a last and desperate resort. With blanched face,
its very seriousness compelling attention, she said, in a faltering
voice:
"If your heart is human you cannot look upon that stricken mother
without feeling that in the last great day the Judge of all will judge
you as you now deal with her."
He turned from her without a word, derision betrayed in his face,
contempt in his action. It, however, placed Jack in a dilemma. There
the mother, for whom he felt a kindly interest, quietly resting with
her lost darling in her arms, yet ever and anon a scared, haunted look
flitted from her eyes.
He looked at the girl a moment, then broke into low, derisive
laughter.
"Ha, ha, ha, ha. Eesa fine a da lady. He, he, he, he. Signora beez a
da accomplice ova da conspirator to break a up a da brodder's home,
eh? Signora good a da lady."
"Ha, ha, ha, ha," and suddenly lowering his voice, said:
"Turnoppsis, Carrottsis, Ca-babbages," then paused and picked up the
bottle to take a drink. "If the child goes home now," he thought,
"Phil gets no reward; no," and he set the bottle down on the table
with a bang, without taking the premeditated drink.
"No, Ma sees a Daize a beez a da safe. Ma sees no a da harm come a
Daize."
"I have brought you all the money I could obtain, and now I demand
that you release the child," Virginia said, firmly.
"Eesa be damn! Yous a fetch a me a da mon, a da rest, ten a thous, an
an--a Daise beez a da liber. Eesa da late a now, Signora. Much a bet
for a youse a da go home, hic."
Virginia's blanched but resolute face indicated that the critical
moment had arrived. Then her voice quivered slightly, as with
suppressed, quiet dignity, she said: "I shall give you no more."
The declaration aroused Constance. She looked up. "Yes, oh, yes; give
him more!" she exclaimed, in plaintive alarm. "He shall have a
million, two million; I will get it for him."
The extravagant offer, the soft, troubled, pensive stare, caused Jack
to straighten up and gaze directly at her.
Virginia's alert eyes at once caught the superstitious fear that had
suddenly betrayed itself in his face.
"Don't you see her mind is giving way!" she exclaimed, and while he
stood staring at Constance, she seized the occasion as one favorable
for escape.
"Come dear," she urged, "he will not stop us now."
"It is dangerous," was the soft, helpless reply. "The clouds are
thickening, and the storm will soon burst."
"Courage, dear, the clouds will soon roll by. Come," Virginia urged,
half lifting her to her feet.
"Oh, very well, we must go," was the indifferent response.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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