Over the Rocky Mountains - Robert Michael Ballantyne (best books under 200 pages .txt) 📗

blarny ringin' in wans eers--an the boys larfin too as loud, amost as the nigers yel in the Kanible islands--be the way, that minds me o purty miss westwood as we met thair. its mistress osten sheel be by this no doubt, plaiz give her Larry's best respeks, an its wishin her good luck i am, an the saim to yersilf.

"Yool be glad to heer that buncos found his wife, he wint away south for three or fore weeks, an brot her bak wid him, an she hadnt married nobody in his absence, the its urgin her purty hard they was. shees patchin a pair o me owld breeches at this minit while I write them lines, an is uncomon usful wid her needle, capn blathers says he had no notion before that wimin was so nisisary to man. but hees a dirty owld bachiler. the traper tawks o laivin us, im sory to say. hees a good harted man an a rail broth of a boy is big ben, but he dont take kindly to goold diggin, thats not to say he kant dig. hees made more nor most of us, an more be token he gave the most of it away to a poor retch of a feller as kaim hear sik an starvin on his way to sanfransisky. but big bens heart is in the roky mountins, i kan see that quite plain, i do belaiv he has a sowl above goold, an wood raither katch foxes an bars, he sais heel stop another month wid us an then make traks for his owld hants--just like the way we sailors long for the say after a spree on shore, the i must say non of us say-dogs have any longin as yit to smel salt water, big ben sais that this sort o work is nother good for body nor sowl--an, dee no, i half belaiv hees rite, for kool the i am i feels a litle feverish sometimes, i wos goin to tel ye a anikdot about mister cupples an a brown bar, but the boys are off to the straim again, so i must stop, but il resoom ritein after tay--hopin yool exkuse my fraquint interupshuns, mister ostin, il go.

"Wel, heer i am again--just comed in wid a failin about my inside like a botimles pitt, but thats aisy kured. il taik up the pen after tay, only i want to tell ye weer in luk agin, i got fore nugits as big as walnuts, and heeps o smal wans, an the rest has got a dale o goold wan way or other, now for super.

"There, the pitts fild up now. wel, whair was i. och! yes, it was about mister cupples an the brown bar. you must no that hees got the fever pritty bad, has mister cupples--the goold fever i mean, an goes off an owr or too before the rest of us waiks up of a mornin, but he dont make no more goold, which owld peter--yoo remimber owld peter, mister ostin-- sais is a spechiel visitashun for his beein avaridgious. anyhow, he gits les slaip than the rest of us an no more goold. wel, as i wor sayin, he wint off wan mornin up the straim, an it so hapind that big ben and bunco wint in the saim direkshun. in the afternoon, as they was comin home, they turned off the trak an sot down to rest a bit. who shood they see comin along the trak soon arter but mister cupples. he was cumin along slow--meditatin like--for he always comed back slow from digin, as if he was loth to leav, but wint thair kuik enuff, anyhow, close behind him wos trotin a big brown bar. the bar didnt see him, by raisin that the trak was krookit and the skrub thik; but it was goin fast, and had almost overhawled mister cupples whin he wos cloas to the place whair the too men was hidin. heers fun, sais the traper, kokin his gun. bunco he grin'd, but didnt spaik. yool remimber, mister osten, bunco had a way of his own o grinin widout spaikin, but big ben sais his eyes more nor makes up for his tung. wel, just as he comes fornint the too men, mister cupples he heers a sound o futsteps behind him, an stops an turns round, heed no gun nor nothin wotsomiver wid him, havin left all the tools at the place he was digin. in a moment round the corner cums the bar ful swing, it was a sharp turn, and the site o the mate kuite took him aback, for he got up on his hind legs and showed al his grinders, mister cupples was also much took by surprise, but he suddently shook his fist in the bar's face, an shoutid, ha, yoo raskal, as if he wor spaikin to a fellar creetur. whether it wos the length o the mate's face, or not bein yoosed to convarsashun, no wan nos; but the bar he 'bout ship, clapt on all sail, and stood away up the gulch at the rait o 15 or 20 nots, while mister cupples he looked after him chuklin, an bunco and big ben too was larfin fit to bust their sides, the they larfed inside, like, for fear o diskiverin thimselves, but when big ben see the bar cleering off like that he up wid his gun, let drive, an put a bal kuite nate in the bak of his skul if mister cupples wasnt afeerd o the bar, he got a most awful frite by the shot, for yoo must no theres bin a dale o murtherin going on at the digins of lait, tho, be good luk, its not cum our way as yet, so he turned and run like al posesed. yoo no what long leggs hees got, faix, he cleerd the ground wid them like a peir o kumpasses, an he was out o site in no time, an cum heer pantin and blowin like a broken-winded steem-ingin. soon after that, big ben cum in wid the skin o the bar over his shoulder, and bunco caryin his too hams to smok, for bar hams ant bad aitin, let me tel yoo, if yoor hungry an not partickler. of koorse mister cupples hasnt had the life of a dog since, for the boys are for iver jokin him amost out of his siven sensis about that bar.

"This is about all iv got to tell, mister osten, not but that i cud go on for paiges an paiges yit, given ee odds an ends o smal tawk an ginral nuse, for whin i wance begin wid the pen i niver no when to stop--its awthership il taik to, maybe, if iver i git into diffikultys--but its ov no yoos spinin out a yarn when its done, so il stop now, wishin ye all helth an hapines, wid the saim from all yer owld frinds at the grizlie bar gultch digins. they bid me say thail never forgit the hapy days theyve spent wid ye in the south says, an the forests of south ameriky an the roky mountins. but them days is all past an gon now. sure i sometimes feel as if the hole thing was a draim. dont you, mister osten. wid best wishes, yoors til deth.

"Larry o hale."

"_p.s_.--Plaze give my apologys to yoor muther for forgitin to send my respeks to her. also to maryan, whos a dasent woman av she wasnt so fond o' fitein. also to richards an' his beter haf gemima. Shees a good sowl too av she wasnt aflikted wid too ardint a desir to wair some of her husbands garmints. so no more at present from L.o.h."

We can add little to the record so graphically penned by Larry O'Hale, and it were well, perhaps, that, having spun our yarn out to the end, we should follow his example and write no more. But we feel that it would be unjust to the memory of our hero were we to dismiss him without a "few words" as to his subsequent career.

It happens sometimes, though we believe not frequently, that those who begin life with what may be called a wild burst settle down at last into quiet domestic men, whose chief delight it is to "fight their battles o'er again" with sympathetic comrades, and to "wander in dreams." Such was the case with Will Osten. Flora acted the part of a best-bower anchor to him all through life, and held him fast; but, if the whole truth must be told, it is our duty to add that Will did not strain hard at the cable! He rode easily in the calm harbour of _home_, which was seldom ruffled with gales--matrimonial or otherwise.

The success of his Californian estate was so great that, besides setting up in life the most of the comrades who had followed his fortunes, it placed himself beyond the necessity of working for his daily bread. Will did not, however, lead an idle life on that account. He recognised the great truth that he was answerable to his Creator for the management of his time and talents just as much as the man who has to earn his bread in the sweat of his brow, and he made it his chief aim in life to act the part of a faithful steward. That he did not succeed in this to the full extent of his wishes is certain, nevertheless his success must have been considerable if we are to believe the opinion of his friends, who used to say of him, with enthusiasm, that he was a blessing to the community in the midst of which he dwelt, for, in imitation of the Master whom he served, he went about continually doing good.

In process of time, several little boats (if we may be allowed the expression) appeared in the harbour and cast anchor alongside of Will; or, rather, attached themselves to the anchor which held him fast; and Flora was quite able to hold them all--though it must be admitted that she had infinitely more trouble with the little boats than she had with the big ship, for they had all wandering wills of their own, and, from the time of their first appearance, evinced a strong tendency to strain with tremendous vigour at their cables. Indeed, on several occasions, one or two of the boats attempted actually to cut their cables and make off, as the old ship had done before them, but Will's wisdom and Flora's winning ways prevailed, and it was found that, having been trained in the way in which they should go from the commencement, they did not depart from that way when they grew old.

In reference to the early existence of this little flotilla, we may, with propriety, quote the opinion of Maryann--than whom there could not be a better witness, for she dwelt in Will's house, and nursed them all as she had nursed their father before them--superintended, of course, by old Mrs Osten, who dwelt in a cottage of her own hard by, and watched the rise and progress of her descendants for many a year with keen felicity. Maryann, in talking over matters with her faithful bosom friend, was wont to say:--

"Yes, Jemimar, I never had two opinions about it, they're the beautifulest an' sweetest children I ever did 'ave had to do with--just as Master Will, their papa, was simularly so; but I'm free to confess that they all has a surprisin' sperrit. There's Master William, now (I can't abear to call him Will, because that was the name as 'is father went by, and I 'old that