Chiquita, an American Novel. Merrill Tileston

"papa" would say when he found out that the young man from Boston "proposed to splurge."

      But Jack's splurging was all make-believe. In the shadowy recesses of the great elms, as they retraced their steps toward the Hemmingway mansion, a manly arm stole about the waist of the lithesome girl, whose demure "yes" had to be sealed in order to make it real. Mr. Hemmingway was in the library as they entered the house. Jack nudged Hazel at the portentously contracted brows of papa and the stern look of inquiry which followed. Hazel quickly stepped into the hall, leaving Jack alone.

      "Papa, Jack—Mr. Sheppard—wants to speak to you a moment," then she flew past the meekest man that ever tried to splurge.

      "Mr. Hemmingway"— Jack got that far and it seemed as though every whisker in that stern face became a bristling bayonet. "I think you must be able to guess my mission."

      "What? No—no. Jack, you—why, you are but a boy, and Hazel"— A softer, kindlier expression crept slowly into the face of the man whose only daughter he suddenly realized had become a woman. "Jack, I moved here to keep my child—to get her away from the—from the—it is no use, though. I guess you will be good to her. Let me see, you are the boy who got such an awful whipping once because you would not be a tell-tale, and a boy that has that kind of grit, I guess, is the right stuff to be my son-in-law. Hazel"—

      The stern old man went out upon the lawn as Hazel re-entered the library. A noise as of some one vigorously using a handkerchief broke the stillness, but even then the old man chuckled as he saw two figures silhouetted upon the curtain. "Celebrating my consent, I guess," he soliloquized.

      "Hazel, you had better pull down the green shade." Then to himself, "These children have no conception of the propriety of things."

CHAPTER II.

       Table of Contents

      ON THE "FIRING LINE" OF CIVILIZATION.

      The summer vacation period found Jack among the old hills of Bozrah, his first visit to the scenes of his childhood since making Boston his home. Six years' business and social life in and about the "Hub" launched Jack upon the world a polished gentleman, refined, cultured, energetic, well qualified to step into a position demanding more than ordinary ability.

      The first panic in his experience had unsettled values, trade was at a standstill, confidence was lacking, men hoarded their wealth and the wheels of many mills ceased to turn, while mill hands idly walked the streets or sought labor in distant parts of the globe. The great electoral dispute of "eight to seven" still rankled in the minds of many, while those who cared not for that controversy found themselves unable to entertain the problems of manufacture until the changes anticipated in the tariff should be made by congress. Realizing that the east gave little promise or opportunity for a young man, Jack concluded, soon after his vacation ended, to resign his position and cast his lot with the pioneer on the frontier, or, at least that he would visit Denver and see what the chances were there.

      The breaking off of fast friendships was keenly felt; business and social acquaintances admired his "grit," as they called it, but were skeptical as to the ultimate results. Hazel had become a frequent visitor at the Sheppard mansion and made it her "home-in-law," as she called it, whenever fancy took her cityward. She happened to be there when Jack declared himself.

      "I've resigned my job and am going to Colorado within a month."

      "Jack Sheppard! What? Going to Colorado? Going to leave Boston? Indians! You'll come home without any scalp!"

      Such was the chorus which greeted his simple announcement. Hazel cried, his mother cried, his sisters moped around, and his father patted him on the back. "Go and see the world, broaden out, the experience will be worth the cost, even if you don't stay," he said, with lots of emphasis on the experience.

      Five days from Boston to Denver. Everything was the old, old story of farms, villages and small cities until the train left Kansas City, then the arid plains opened wider and wider, the towns grew farther and farther apart, less and less in size until what was marked a station on the trip ticket given him by the conductor proved on arrival to be a platform, a water tank and a cowboy straddle of a "buckskin," white-eyed broncho. These scenes in truth were new and Jack's experience had commenced. Occasionally the water tank was supplemented by a saloon. Great herds of cattle grazed along the unfenced right of way of the railroad, and the treeless expanse of never ending brown, sun-burned, alkali-spotted plains wearied the eye, the mind and soul in their wretched monotony. The slow-going "fire wagon," drawing its burden of weary humanity, puffed laboriously along the hot iron pathway toward the setting sun at a speed so slow that many a "cow puncher" tested the mettle of his hardy, sure-footed pony to the discomfiture of the iron horse and its attendant.

      Antelope raced with the train and buffalo stood defiantly in the wallows, their lop-ended bodies appearing strangely out of proportion for sustaining the equilibrium necessary for feeding, fighting or flying. Prairie dogs barked their squeaky warnings, and wise looking little top-heavy owls flapped their wings lazily in an attempt to rise, only to fall awkwardly into the next dog village near by, as the train rumbled through the sand-duned desert. But all things have an end. So did the first journey to Denver. Within a week Jack met a mountain guide who told of the deer, the bear, the trout in Middle Park. Within another week he had purchased an Indian pony, saddle, and provisions to last two for seven months, agreeing to follow the guide and trapper in his winter's occupation of securing pelts for market.

      It took a month to reach the final spot selected for a cabin on Rock Creek, during which time Jack met many of the brave and weather-beaten, buckskin clad frontiersmen living on the firing line of civilization at the very threshold of savagedom. Men who drove the rude stakes marking pioneer advancement into the soil wrested from its occupants by purchase from a broken down dynasty, claiming discovery, a nation whose bigoted avariciousness blinded its foresight to the end of bartering away its last foothold on the great American continent.

      The incidents from Denver to Rock Creek Jack enumerated in an improvised journal, greasy from continued usage in his endeavor to let nothing escape the record.

      "First night: Slept on the floor of a grocery store, twenty miles from Denver, a buffalo robe between me and the boards.

      "Second night: Slept in the hay in a barn at Georgetown.

      "Third day: A. M. Homesick. The trapper not ready to go into Middle Park; must wait four days. All my money left in Denver. Supposed we would have no use for money, as all our worldly provisions and needs would be on the wagon or pack animals, but the provisions are coming by rail and we eat at a restaurant in the mining town where the railway terminates. As my money is gone and no provisions here, I am at a loss to satisfy hunger.

      "Third day: P. M. Heard some dogs barking away up on the side of the mountain; asked the butcher if he would buy a wild goat if I killed one. It was goats that made the dogs bark, goats that once were civilized but had strayed away and became wild. Shouldered my rifle and climbed that awful stretch of snow-covered slide rock at the imminent peril of starting an avalanche and destroying the whole town. Killed a goat, a black one. Shot him in the shoulder just where "Swiftfoot, the scout," would have planted a bullet, but the goat would not or did not die, so I shot him again through the neck. Then I plunged my steel into him and saw the life-blood gush all over me and the snow, then I dragged the goat by his horns down the mountain side. There were places so steep that the goat went faster than I did, so it was a case of goat dragging me. Finally landed at the same time the goat did, at the bottom of the long gulch; tied the goat's legs together and hung him across my back on my rifle barrel. Walked unconcernedly past the butcher shop to the restaurant, where I deposited the goat on a box in the back yard. The perilous adventure netted me my meals for four days, three dollars in United States money and one Mexican dollar. I was not homesick again."

      Another interesting item in his graphic description of the country so new to him:

      "We left Georgetown in early morning to cross the range. From