American essays; Short stories, American; Western stories
The little ragamuffin who had led me to the spot, pointed to two boys
making ineffectual attempts to hide a long stick, they were carrying,
behind them.
"They was a-hitting 'm like fury, and then I runned to tell you; please,
Missis, gimme a dime."
Poor little Fritz! He knew me, even in the death-struggle; for he passed
his tongue over my hand once more, just before the last convulsive
shudder ran through his body, and his little limbs grew stiff and cold.
I don't feel, in the least, ashamed to own that I cried--cried many
tears--cried bitterly; and I felt dreadfully lonesome when I woke up at
night, and, from the sheer force of habit, put my hand under my pillow
without finding Fritz there. I made a vow then never to have any more
pets; but it was a rash one.
Some years later, when the war was over, the "theatre of our life" was
to be shifted from the crowded, populous city to the lonely wilds of the
frontier country. When we reached Fort Leavenworth, the quarters in the
barracks were all occupied, and a number of our officers were assigned
quarters in the Attaché Barracks. The captain had decided to purchase a
horse from the government stables, and turn him over to me for
saddle-use, as I did not want to go to our frontier-post without a horse
of my own to depend on. It was in June; and the little square yards in
front of the Attaché Barracks were fresh and sweet with grass and
blossoming red clover. The door of our quarters stood open; the captain
had gone out, and I was startled by a knock on the door-post. Looking
up, I saw the head of an orderly appearing at the door; but, poking over
his head, I saw that of a horse evidently taking a strict inventory of
everything in the room. Of course, I was at the door, and on the horse's
neck, in the course of a very few seconds, for, from the orderly, I soon
understood that the captain had sent the horse for me to look at.
Colonel L----, with his two little girls, came up just then, and, as we
were all going in the same command, the acquisition of a horse for the
march had an interest for all parties. Together, we surrounded and
admired the beautiful white animal; and the two little girls and myself
were soon braiding clover-blossoms into Toby's tail, and trimming his
head and neck with garlands of butter-cups--operations which did not, in
the least, interfere with his good humor, or his appetite for the juicy
grass he was cropping. The captain, it seems, had already tried his
speed and mettle; he was not appraised at at any unreasonable figure,
and so Toby was mine before we took up the line of march for the Plains.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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