Elder Conklin, Frank Harris [life books to read .TXT] 📗

couple of youths on watch. They had been there for more than an hour, they said, and Seth Stevens and Richards had gone scouting towards Wichita. “Conklin’s corner’s all right,” was the phrase which sent the schoolmaster to breakfast with a light heart. When the meal was over he returned to the centre of excitement. The Elder had gone about his work; Mrs. Conklin seemed as helplessly indifferent as usual; Loo was complacently careless; but Bancroft, having had time for reflection, felt sure that all this was Western presumption; General Custer could not accept defeat so easily. At the “corner” he found a couple of hundred youths and men assembled. They were all armed, but the general opinion was that Custer would do nothing. One old farmer summed up the situation in the phrase, “Thar ain’t nothin’ for him to do, but set still.”

About eight o’clock, however, Richards raced up, with his horse in a lather, and announced that Custer, with three hundred men, had started from Wichita before six.

“He’ll be hyar in half an hour,” he concluded.

Hurried counsel was taken; fifty men sought cover behind the stooks of corn, the rest lined the skirting woods. When all was in order, Bancroft was deputed to go and fetch the Elder, whom he eventually discovered at the wood pile, sawing and splitting logs for firewood.

“Make haste, Elder,” he cried, “Morris has sent me for you, and there’s no time to be lost. Custer, with three hundred men, left Wichita at six o’clock this morning, and they’ll be here very soon.”

The Elder paused unwillingly, and resting on his axe asked: “Is Morris alone?”

“No!” replied Bancroft, amazed to think the Elder could have forgotten the arrangements he had heard described the evening before. “There are two hundred men down there in the corner and in the woods,” and he rapidly sketched the position.

“It’s all right then, I guess,” the Elder decided. “They’ll get along without me. Tell Morris I’m at my chores.” Beginning his work again, he added, “I’ve something to do hyar.”

From the old man’s manner Bancroft was convinced that solicitation would be a waste of time. He returned to the corner, where he found Morris standing inside the fence.

“I guessed so,” was Morris’s comment upon the Elder’s attitude; “we’ll hev to do without him, I reckon. You and me’ll stay hyar in the open; we don’t want to shoot ef we kin avoid it; there ain’t no reason to as I kin see.”

Ten minutes afterwards the cavalry crossed the bridge two deep, and wound snake-like towards the corner. With the first files came General Custer, accompanied by half-a-dozen officers, among whom Bancroft recognized the young lieutenant. Singling Morris out, the General rode up to the fence and addressed him with formal politeness:

“Mr. Conklin?”

“No,” replied Morris, “but I’m hyar fer him, I guess—an’ about two hundred more ef I’m not enough,” he added drily, waving his hand towards the woods.

With a half-turn in his saddle and a glance at the line of trees on his flank, General Custer took in the situation. Clearly there was nothing to do but to retreat, with some show of dignity.

“Where shall I find Mr. Conklin? I wish to speak to him.”

“I’ll guide you,” was Morris’s answer, “ef you’ll come alone; he mightn’t fancy so many visitors to onc’t.”

As Morris and Bancroft climbed over the fence and led the way towards the homestead, some of the armed farmers strolled from behind the stocks into the open, and others showed themselves carelessly among the trees on the bank of the creek. When the Elder was informed that General Custer was at the front door, he laid down his axe, and in his shirtsleeves went to meet him.

“Mr. Conklin, I believe?”

“That’s my name, General.”

“You’ve resisted United States troops with arms, and now, it seems, you’ve got up a rebellion.”

“I guess not, General; I guess not. I was Union all through the war; I came hyar as an Abolitionist. I only want to keep my fences up as long as they’ll stand, an’ cut my corn in peace.”

“Well,” General Custer resumed, after a pause, “I must send to Washington for instructions and state the facts as I know them, but if the Federal authorities tell me to carry out the law, as I’ve no doubt they will, I shall be compelled to do so, and resistance on your part can only cause useless bloodshed.”

“That’s so,” was the quiet reply; but what the phrase meant was not very clear save to Bancroft, who understood that the Elder was unable or unwilling to discuss a mere hypothesis.

With a curt motion of his hand to his cap General Custer cantered off to rejoin his men, who shortly afterwards filed again across the bridge on their way back to camp.

When the coast was clear of soldiers some of the older settlers went up to Conklin’s to take counsel together. It was agreed to collect from all the farmers interested two dollars a head for law expenses, and to send at once for Lawyer Barkman of Wichita, in order to have his opinion on the case. Morris offered to bring Barkman next day about noon to Conklin’s, and this proposal was accepted. If any other place had been fixed upon, it would have been manifestly impossible to secure the Elder’s presence, for his refusal again to leave the wood pile had converted his back-stoop into the council-chamber. Without more ado the insurgents dispersed, every man to his house.

On returning home to dinner next day Bancroft noticed a fine buggy drawn up outside the stable, and a negro busily engaged in grooming two strange horses. When he entered the parlour he was not surprised to find that Morris had already arrived with the lawyer. Barkman was about forty years of age; above the medium height and very stout, but active. His face was heavy; its outlines obscured by fat; the nose, however, was thin and cocked inquisitively, and the eyes, though small, were restless and intelligent. He was over-dressed; his black frockcoat was brand new; the diamond stud which shone in the centre of a vast expanse of shirt-front, was nearly the size of a five-cent piece—his appearance filled Bancroft with contempt. Nevertheless he seemed to know his business. As soon as he had heard the story he told them that an action against the Elder would lie in the Federal Courts, and that the damages would certainly be heavy. Still, something might be done; the act of rebellion, he thought, would be difficult to prove; in fine, they must wait on events.

At this moment Mrs. Conklin accompanied by Loo came in to announce that dinner was ready. It was manifest that the girl’s beauty made a deep impression on Barkman. Before seeing her he had professed to regard the position as hopeless, or nearly so; now he was ready to reconsider his first opinion, or rather to modify it. His quick intelligence appeared to have grown keener as he suddenly changed his line of argument, and began to set forth the importance of getting the case fully and fairly discussed in Washington.

“I must get clear affidavits from all the settlers,” he said, “and then, I guess, we’ll show the authorities in Washington that this isn’t a question in which they should interfere. But if I save you,” he went on, with a laugh intended to simulate frank good-nature, “I s’pose I may reckon on your votes when I run for Congress.”

It was understood at once that he had pitched upon the best possible method of defence. Morris seemed to speak for all when he said:

“Ef you’ll take the trouble now, I guess we’ll ensure your election.”

“Never mind the election, that was only a jest,” replied the lawyer good-humouredly; “and the trouble’s not worth talkin’ about. If Miss Conklin,” and here he turned respectfully towards her, “would take a seat in my buggy and show me the chief settlers’ houses, I reckon I could fix up the case in three or four days.”

The eyes of all were directed upon Loo. Was it Bancroft’s jealousy that made him smile contemptuously as he, too, glanced at her? If so, the disdain was ill-timed. Flushing slightly, she answered, “I guess I’ll be pleased to do what I can,” and she met the schoolmaster’s eyes defiantly as she spoke.

 

*

 

With the advent of Barkman upon the scene a succession of new experiences began for Bancroft. He was still determined not to be seduced into making Loo his wife. But now the jealousy that is born of desire and vanity tormented him, and the mere thought that Barkman might marry and live with her irritated him intensely. She was worthy of better things than marriage with such a man. She was vain, no doubt, and lacking in the finer sensibilities, the tremulous moral instincts which are the crown and glory of womanhood; but it was not her fault that her education had been faulty, her associates coarse—and after all she was very beautiful.

On returning home one afternoon he saw Barkman walking with her in the peach orchard. As they turned round the girl called to him, and came at once to meet him; but his jealousy would not be appeased. Her flower-like face, framed, so to speak, by the autumn foliage, only increased his anger. He could not bear to see her flirting. Were she out of his sight, he felt for the first time, he would not care what she did.

“You were goin’ in without speakin’,” she said reproachfully.

“You have a man with you whose trade is talk. I’m not needed,” was his curt reply.

Half-incensed, half-gratified by his passionate exclamation, she drew back, while Barkman, advancing, said:

“Good day, Mr. Bancroft, good day. I was just tryin’ to persuade Miss Conklin to come for another drive this evenin’ in order to get this business of ours settled as soon as possible.”

“Another drive.” Bancroft repeated the words to himself, and then steadying his voice answered coolly: “You’ll have no difficulty, lawyer. I was just telling Miss Conklin that you talked splendidly—the result of constant practice, I presume.”

“That’s it, sir,” replied the lawyer seriously; “it’s chiefly a matter of practice added to gift—natural gift,” but here Barkman’s conceit died out as he caught an uneasy, impatient movement of Miss Conklin, and he went on quietly with the knowledge of life and the adaptability gained by long experience: “But anyway, I’m glad you agree with me, for Miss Conklin may take your advice after rejectin’ mine.”

Bancroft saw the trap, but could not restrain himself. With a contemptuous smile he said:

“I’m sure no advice of mine is needed; Miss Conklin has already made up her mind to gratify you. She likes to show the country to strangers,” he added bitterly.

The girl flushed at the sarcasm, but her spirit was not subdued.

“Wall, Mr. Barkman,” she retorted, with a smiling glance at the lawyer, “I guess I must give in; if Mr. Bancroft thinks I ought ter, there’s no more to be said. I’m willin’.”

An evening or two later, Barkman having gone into Wichita, Bancroft asked Loo to go out with him upon the stoop. For several minutes he stood in silence admiring the moonlit landscape; then he spoke as if to himself:

“Not a cloud in the purple depths, no breath of air, no sound nor stir of life—peace absolute that mocks at man’s cares and restlessness. Look, Loo, how the ivory light bathes the prairie and shimmers on the sea of corn, and makes of the little creek a ribband of silver….

“Yet you seem to prefer a great diamond gleaming in a white shirt-front, and a coarse, common face, and