A Christmas on the Arkansas [pp. 26-40]

A Christmas on the A rkansaw.
dern, and was a-livin' with another man;
her real husband happened to be passin'
by the place, and he stopped for a minute at the door jest to look on, like anybody might, he didn't know she was
there, and before a fellow could wink she
up and whipped out an ugly little dagger
from her hair, or sleeve, or some place
where they carry'em, you never know
where, and there he was stabbed dead.
When they asked her what she done it
for, she cried like anything, and'lowed
it was'cause the sight of him brought
back old times, and she could n't stand
it nohow; that's the way they are. Now,
I'11 go to Las Vegas, she's never seen
me to make any note of me, but I've
got her markin's plain; she won't be on
the watchout. I'11 snatch the little one
and run her out of town with no trouble
at all, see?"
Milton nodded his head approvingly.
"There's sense in what you say, Rupe.
I don't want to see that woman's face
no more, though once I thought the sun
never shone on a prettier one. I'11 take
it kind if you'll go after Dolly. Oh,
Lord, to think she's alive, when I've
thought her dead all this time! I've
got something to live for now; it makes
a new man of me."
He stretched out his long arms, as if
to gather into their embrace the little
child that used to nestle there; a smile
lighted up his thin, sad face, bringing
back something of its lost youth.
"Yes, I'11 go, Dave, glad of a little
holiday. Have you thought what you'11ll
do with her when you get her?"
Milton had thought. Past, present,
and future had flashed before his mind
in the brief space of time since he had
learned his daughter still lived; he
looked squarely at his friend for almost
the first time since they had begun talking.
"I've been all over it, Rupe. She is
going to have a fair show; I've money
enough. I will send her East, and put
her in some school where her mother
can't find her, or maybe I'11 leave her in
a family where the women folks would
care for her like she was their own, and
would bring her up quiet and ladylike.
She was a gentle, loving little thing
when I seen her last, with the prettiest
ways that ever was, something like a
soft white kitten, and something like a
young bird that. has n't learnt to fly; she
can't be much changed now."
"I make no manner of doubt she's
the same yet," said Rupe, whose heart
was strangely softened as he stole a
glance at the father's eager face.
"First of all, though, I'm going to
keep her here with me a while, maybe a
few weeks, if the weather is good. I
want to have her to look at; it's like
getting her back from the grave."
"So it is," assented Rupe, "and
had n't you better give it out, accidental
like, that you expect your daughter to
stay with you a few days on her way to
enter Vassar College or some such, then
the outfit won't be so paralyzed when I
loom up with her under my arm."
Further arrangements for the trip to
Las Vegas were made; then the two
men wrapped themselves in their blankets, and arranging their saddles for
pillows lay down to sleep.
The astonishment among the cowboys
was great when Milton announced that
his little daughter was coming to make
him a short visit. Montana Jack wished
to know why the crowd had not heard
of her before; Horace Greeley said he
was willing to show the young lady any
delicate attentions in his power; the two
boys were secretly pleased to think they
should see a little girl once more; their
life on the plains for three months had
conquered much of their boyish scorn
for the sex. Juan Gomez alone displayed
no pleasure at the thought of the coming
guest, but was heard to mutter a remark
to the effect that he took no stock in
Dave Milton's having a daughter all of
a sudden, and he saw no sense in his
bringing such troublesome cattle around
1889.]
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