Читать книгу The Bandits of the Osage - Emerson Bennett - Страница 9

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WEBBER AND HIS FAMILY—RETROSPECTION—MYSTERY— EMILY NEVANCE.

About five miles from the place where our tale first opens and in a southwesterly direction, stood a neat cottage, in size and appearance greatly the superior of the generality of these buildings, erected in this part of the country. It was composed of logs it is true, but then parts of them were hewn and put together with compactness and regularity, while the crevices were neatly filled with a clay-like substance. The roof was pierced by a chimney built of stone, and was well thatched with straw. A stranger, after traveling through much of the surrounding country, would have been struck with the air of taste and elegant neatness belonging to it, compared with the more slovenly appearance of many of its neighbors. The ground round about, was generally level, of a fertile order, and exhibited marks of fruitful tillage. In the immediate vicinity of the cottage, grass had sprung up, forming a thick green sward, a sure indicative of civilization. A few fences, rough it is true, but still answering the purpose for which they were designed, marked out the fields of tillage, and secured the crops from the invasion of cattle. In the rear of the cottage, was formed a garden; back of which, in orchard regularity, were set out various kinds of domestic trees—such as the apple, pear, peach, and so forth. Opposite the house, some hundred yards distant, was a barn, built of logs, where the cattle could find shelter from the rough storms of winter. In front of the house ran the road before mentioned, which wound over a hill a short distance to the right. Altogether, the whole betokened the owner a farmer of the first class, bred in some of the Eastern States, who had come to the "Far West" with the intention of here passing the remainder of his days. Such was the fact; and although in speaking of him and his family, we may digress a little from the main story, we trust the reader will deem such digression pardonable.

William Webber was a man in size far above the ordinary—standing six feet one inch, with limbs and body well proportioned. In years he numbered some forty-five, with a robust, healthy look about his face that would have set him five years younger. There was nothing remarkable in his countenance, which was open and frank in expression, wherein was likewise written a look of honest hospitality. His complexion was light, with light-brown hair, cut close and combed up above a high, intellectual forehead. His eyes were grey, full, and very expressive, as were his features generally. Around his mouth were a few lines that denoted firmness, when roused, with courage to act; while his features exhibited a calm self-possession that would be of very material service to one in the hour of peril.

He had been born and bred in the good old State of Massachusetts, where he lived in comfortable circumstances, until about five years previous to the opening of our story; when following up a desire he had for sometime entertained, he came to the West, purchased the land where he now resided, built the cottage, returned, and soon removed his family hither; which consisted of a wife and two sons—one now aged twenty, the other some three years his elder.

His wife was a robust, healthy looking woman, some five years his junior, of the medium height, very fleshy, with a full, round, good-natured-looking countenance, such as we behold almost daily, and one to whom the adage, "fat, fair and forty," would be truly applicable.

The eldest son, John, in some respects resembled his father—tall, well-built, with features of a similar shape, though in expression far different. In saying there was a resemblance between him and his father, we wish the reader to distinctly understand it was only in the formation of the features— all else being totally different. His complexion was dark, with jet black hair, and eyes somewhat shaded by dark, heavy, overhanging brows. Around his mouth were lines similar to those of his father, yet taking more of a sinister turn. His look generally, was that of a man dark, deep, and treacherous, and one little likely to inspire confidence. But it was when he smiled, which he did but seldom, that you would have been the most struck by an expression from which you would involuntarily recoil, as from the gaze of a deadly serpent.

From youth up, John had been a being isolated as it were from the world, wrapped up in his own dark thoughts, communing but seldom with any, and then with those of a disposition like to his own. Already had he caused his father much anxiety and trouble; and was, in fact, one cause of his removing to the West, where he thought he would be free from the snares and temptations likely to be thrown around him in the East, and where as he supposed he would be free at least from companions in vice, and where, to sum up, he would in all probability spend his days in honest pursuits. Could the first design of his father have been strictly carried out, viz: that of removing him from temptation, bad company, and so forth, the latter might perchance have followed. But alas! in selecting the West, and more especially this part of it, he undesignedly opened a field for the cultivation of his son's natural disposition, by throwing him among the most depraved villains of which society could boast. That he was an apt scholar, the sequel of our story will probably show.

His brother Rufus, younger by three years, was of a make and disposition in every respect totally different. In stature he was of the medium size, straight and slim, with light hair, and a fair, sunny countenance. His features were regular, approaching perhaps a little too much the feminine, with such an open, expressive frankness of look, that your confidence was immediately won. His disposition was mild and affable, his voice rich and musical in tone, while his full blue eyes not unfrequently flashed forth gleams of a lofty intellect. Around his mouth also, were lines similar to those of his father, expressive of firmness and a determination of character.

There is one other of whom we must speak to complete the family, in order to do which it will be necessary for us to go back somewhat in our narrative. About fifteen years prior to the date of our story, a stranger, accompanied by a little girl some three years of age, cailed late one evening at the residence of Webber, and requested permission to tarry through the night, which request was granted. He was a dark, stern looking man, some thirty-five years of age, and of a moody, taciturn disposition. But little was gleaned from his conversation, as to who he was or whence he came. In the morning he asked permission for the child to remain a few days, stating as a reason that business of importance called him away. The permission was granted and he took his leave, since when he had never been heard from. Enquiries were instituted by Webber, but nothing authentic had ever been heard concerning him. A man answering his description was seen a short time after in the western part of New York, apparently bound for the West; and Webber came to the conclusion the child had been voluntarily deserted; the more so, as on questioning her, the account she gave was of harsh treatment, and sometimes severe chastisement, for asking of home. The child was too young to give even a succinct detail of her adventures, remembering only some of the more glaring, such as the dark man carrying her away from home, putting her in a house that floated on the water, and the like—from all of which Webber drew his conclusions that she had been brought from another country, perhaps across the Atlantic, by an intrigueing design he was unable to fathom.

It was a riddle too deep for the gossips infesting the neighborhood of Webber (as what place do they not) to solve, concerning who was the child, who were her parents, where she came from, and so forth; and after various conjectures, probable and improbable, they finally agreed that her parents were no better than they should be, and that being of that doubtful cast, it were better to shun the company of the child, lest by intercourse their prudish decorum should be vielated, and their over-wise virtuous principles become contaminated.

So much for ye, moth-eaters of reputation colleagues of idleness and breeders of scandal!— who "strain at a knat and swallow a camel"— blasting all with your polluted breath whom the world hath not acknowledged above your reach— preying upon society as the worm will sooner or later prey upon your corrupted flesh!—God send that the innocent and harmless wanderer be not caught within your damning toils!

If the child was shunned by some, she was not by all; for Webber, to whom she soon became an object of affection, determined to rear her as though she were his own; and as she grew older, he had no cause to regret it; for naturally of a sweet, affectionate disposition, she won friends among those who were at first disposed to treat her uncivilly, while to Webber she clung with all the fondness of a child to a parent.

Time in the meanwhile rolled on, and what at first created a great commotion among the gossips, gradually wore away, settled down into a shake of the head whenever the object of calumny approached, until at length, won over in spite of themselves by her angel disposition, even the retailers of scandal ceased their persecutions and the unknown wanderer became an object of general regard.

About this period an event took place, which created another mighty sensation, although gossip this time ran in a very different channel from the previous one. It was a calm summer evening in the month of August. The sun had just retired behind the Western hill, and was yet tipping the mountain tops with a rich golden tint; the songsters were singing their farewell songs for the night; the breeze came with that gentle, soothing effect, so delightful on such an eve, making one feel that placid, yet saddened happiness, which wins our thoughts from the darker things of life, and directs them into a higher, nobler, holier vein. Around the porch of Webber's dwelling were seated himself, wife, and two children— one a fair-haired boy of winning appearance, the other a girl of bright eyes and golden tresses, whose age might be thirteen. In the countenance of the latter there was something so noble, so fascinating, combined with such a quiet, thoughtful, almost melancholy air, that ten to one a stranger would have paused to wonder why one so young should bear the look of maturer years. As Webber gazed upon her, and mused on her sad, singular fate—torn from home and friends at so early an age—thrown upon the world for protection, and thought what if such had been the case with one of his own children, he involuntarily hove a sigh, and vowed to watch over her with more than a parent's care.

Suddenly the attention of the group, which had been occupied in various ways, was arrested by the rapid approach of a horseman. A minute later he was standing among them, his horse foaming and panting from hard riding, while with his own head uncovered he wiped the perspiration from his heated brow.

"Is your name Webber?" demanded he of that individual.

"It is."

"William Webber?"

"The same."

"Ten years ago a stranger left with you a little girl: am I right?"

"You are," answered Webber, wondering what was to be revealed. "This is the child;" and he pointed towards her.

The stranger turned an enquiring glance, examined her attentively from head to foot, apparently much struck by her appearance, and then said abruptly: "Enough! I am commanded to deliver you this packet;" saying which he placed a sealed package in Webber's hand—turned— mounted his horse—dashed the spurs into his sides, and ere the astonished group had recovered from their surprise, he was fast speeding out of sight.

"Strange," remarked Webber, breaking the seal; "what new mystery is this?" As he spoke, he opened the parcel, and was surprised to find ten one hundred dollar notes, accompanied with the following singular epistle:

"To William Webber, greeting:—Ten years since was placed in your charge a child, who bears or bore the name of Emily Nevance. In the name of God! treat her well! Educate her for any station in society, and accept the notes enclosed, with the thanks of the

Unknown."