Frontier and pioneer life -- West (U.S.) -- Fiction; Western stories
"Mexico, sir? They live right here in this valley. Now I'll get in, and
when I ask you, you will please to set me down." She seated herself
opposite us and struck a match. "Now we know what we all look like,"
said she, holding the light up, massive and handsome. "This young man is
the clerk, and we needn't mind him. I have done nothing to fear the law,
but what I am doing now will make me a traveller again. I have no
friends here. I was acquainted with a young man." She spoke in the
serenest tone, but let fall the match more quickly than its burning made
needful. "He was welcome in my home. He let them cook this up in my
house and never told me. I live a good ways out on the road, and it was
a safe place, but I didn't think why so many met him, and why they sat
around my stable. Once in a while this week they've been joking about
winning the soldiers' pay--they often win that--but I thought it was
just cowboy games, till I heard horses coming quick at sundown this
afternoon, and I hid. Will hunted around and said--and said I was on
the stage coming from Solomonsville, and so they had half an hour yet.
He thought so. And, you see, nobody lives in the cabin but--but me."
Mrs. Sproud paused a moment here, and I noticed her breathing. Then she
resumed: "So I heard them talk some; and when they all left, pretty
soon, I went to the hay-stack, and it was so. Then the stage came along
and I rode to Thomas."
"You left the gold there!" groaned the wretched Major, and leaned out of
the ambulance.
"I'm not caring to touch what's none of mine. Wait, sir, please; I get
out here. Here are the names I'm sure of. Stop the driver, or I'll
jump." She put a paper in the Major's hand. "It is Mrs. Sproud's
hay-stack," she added.
"Will you--this will never--can I find you to-morrow?" he said,
helplessly, holding the paper out at her.
"I have told you all I know," said Mrs. Sproud, and was gone at once.
Major Pidcock leaned back for some moments as we drove. Then he began
folding his paper with care. "I have not done with that person," said
he, attempting to restore his crippled importance. "She will find that
she must explain herself."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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