The Watchers of the Plains: A Tale of the Western PrairiesCullum, Ridgwell
General
The Watchers of the Plains: A Tale of the Western Prairies
Cullum, Ridgwell
Western stories
The old woman's reply gave this man, who had never before visited any
place wilder than a European capital, food for reflection. This was his
first glimpse of pioneer life, and he warmed toward the spirit, the
fortitude which actuated these people. But he made a mental resolve that
the sooner Miss Raynor was removed from the danger zone the better.
There was little work done on the farm that day. When Seth had finished
with the lawyer he abruptly took himself away and spent most of the day
among the troops. For one thing, he could not stay in the home which was
so soon to lose Rosebud. It was one matter for him to carry out the duty
he conceived to be his, and another to stand by and receive in silence the
self-inflicted chastisement it brought with it. So, with that quiet spirit
of activity which was his by nature, and which served him well now, he
took his share in the work of the troops, for which his knowledge and
experience so fitted him. The most experienced officers were ready to
listen to him, for Seth was as well known in those disturbed regions as
any of the more popular scouts who have found their names heading columns
in the American daily press.
After supper he and Rube devoted themselves to the chores of the farm, and
it was while he was occupied in the barn, and Rube was attending to the
milch cows in another building, that he received an unexpected visit. He
was working slowly, his wounded shoulder handicapping him sorely, for he
found difficulty in bedding down the horses with only one available hand.
Hearing a light footstep coming down the passage between the double row of
stalls, he purposely continued his work.
Rosebud, for it was she, paused at the foot of the stall in which he was
working. He glanced round and greeted her casually. The girl stood there a
second, then she turned away, and, procuring a fork, proceeded to bed down
the stall next to him.
Seth protested at once. Rosebud had never been allowed to do anything like
this. His objection came almost roughly, but the girl ignored it and went
on working.
"Say, gal, quit right there," he said, in an authoritative manner.
Rosebud laughed. But the old spirit was no longer the same. The
light-hearted mirth had gone. Indeed, Rosebud was a child no longer. She
was a woman, and it would have surprised these folk to know how
serious-minded the last two days had made her.
"Even a prisoner going to be hanged is allowed to amuse himself as he
pleases during his last hours, Seth," she responded, pitching out the
bedding from under the manger with wonderful dexterity.
Seth flushed, and his eyes were anxious. No physical danger could have
brought such an expression to them. It was almost as if he doubted whether
what he had done was right. It was the doubt which at times assails the
strongest, the most decided. He seemed to be seeking a suitable response,
but his habit of silence handicapped him. At last he said--
"But he's goin' to be hanged."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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