Nebraska Newspapers

    THE RED WING.
By DAN DE QUILLE.
(Copyright, 18UU, by American Press Associa
tion.]
CHAPTER 1.
THE WRECKED EMIGRANT KAMII.Y.
One scorching hot ilay in October.
1860, I left the little town of Dayton on
tho Carson river for Carson City, now
the capital of the state of Nevada. It
was as hot as in midsummer. The road
was at that time a dreary one to travel.
It was tho regular "Old Emigrant road”
—the road leading from tho sink of the
Humboldt across the great Humboldt
desert to the Carson river, thence over
the Sierra Nevada mountains by way
of the Placerville route to California.
1 was on foot and had before me a tramp
of over 13 miles with nota human hab
itation in sight. My road lay through
a sterile waste of alkali lands that spread
away on almost a dead level in all di
rections to distant ranges of barren and
rocky hills.
Wearily I toiled through the sand and
alkali dust—tho same sand and dust
through which had toiled during that
summer and every summer since 1840
long emigrant trains from the states
east of the Missouri river. At the time
of which 1 am speaking thousands of
emigrant wagons were still rolling in
across the "plains” every summer, and
for some years later—until a railroad
was built across the continent—they
continued to pour in across the moun
tains and deserts. But as I tramped
along I saw neither trains nor single
wagons. It was late in the season for
emigrants to be abroad. Most of those
on the plains that year had reached and
crossed the Sierras in September Even
the traders at the posts out near the
deserts had folded their tents and re
turned to California, considering their
trade over for the season.
Though no wagons were in sight on
the road, signs of the great stream of
emigration were to lie seen on all sides.
The trail along w.**Hi had moved the
great annual, procession was well mark
ed. The carcasses of hundreds and thou
sands of cattle, horses and mules strew
ed the ground for several hundred yards
on each side of tho road. Some of these
carcasses wore those of animals that
had dieil only the week or tho month
before perhaps, while others were those
of animals that had there fallen and
died as early as 1849 or 1850. Here on
theso alkali plains dead animals be
come mummies. They do not decay' as
in other places, but dry up.
It was about on that portion of the
load over which 1 was traveling that
such animals as had received deadly
doses of alkali on the Humboldt, the
Twenty-five Mile and other great des
erts succumbed and fell to rise no more.
The early settlers made miles of fences,
both in town and country, out of the
skins of the mummified animals that
Btrewed this road, for at that time there
was no lumber in the country. Twist
ed thongs made of the skins were
stretched between posts as we now see
wire fences made in many places. In
this way both town lots and ranches
were inclosed.
As 1 was plodding along I had sev
eral times caught glimpses through the
flickering heat waves that hovered over
the alkali whitened plain of an object
that looked like a small tent pitched in
the midst of the broiling desert. At
last I was able to make out that the
white object was a small covered wag
on, standing directly in the road.
Finally, as I approached, 1 could see
several persons seated on the roadside
near the wagon, a small two horse af
fair. Then I saw that one of the horses
was down, while his mate stood by
with drooping head.
“Hero is trouble." said I. “Evi
dently a sick horse.”
When I pulled up alongside the ship
wrecked family, not one of them said a
word. They were the most woebegone
and forlorn party 1 had ever seen on the
plains. They hardly raised their heads
to look at me. All seemed utterly de
jected—given over to some inconsolable
grief.
A hasty survey of the scene before
me showed a small and light two horse
wagon, looking very shaky about the
wheels, broken about the box and sur
mounted with a cover stretched ever
bows of very unequal height. The cov
er was of homespun linen, was patched
in places with pieces of butternut col
ored jeans and had painted on one side
in great sprawling letters the defiant
warwhoop ‘‘Oaleforny or Bust.” A
large water cask was slung underneath
the wagon, and a red feed trough, near
ly gnawed in two, hung behind.
In front of the rickety wagon stood
an old bald faced horse, still attached
to the vehicle by the trace chains and
his end of the neckyoke. Poor old fel
low! Such another angular, harness
galled, sunken eyed, melancholy beast
I had not seen in many a day.
Near by his mate lay dead—“alka
lied. ” He seemed to have dropped
down in his tracks and died—died with
no greater struggle than to throw his
head and neck out across the footpath j
running by the side of the wagon track. I
On a fragment of rock near the dead
horse sat a man—a man about 45 years
of age—looking as though hope had ut
terly forsaken his breast. His feet, in
cased in alkali reddened and torn bro
gans, were half hidden in the dust of
the road in which they were listlessly
planted. His head was bowed until it
almost reached his knees, and the wilt
ed brim of his home wrought straw hat
almost concealed his sun browned and
unshaven face.
Near to this man—the head of the
family—sat a bundle—a bundle which
1 should not immediately have recog
nized as a human being had I not ob
served a pair of shriveled, clawlike
hands clasped across what seemed the
knees. There was something so weird
about this object in its shapelessness
that, after 1 had discovered it to be
alive and evidently human, it quite fas
cinated me. I found myself constantly .
turning to watch it. A rather star
tling phenomenon was that the bundle
continually rocked to and tro and occa
sionally gavo out some kind of mutter
ings, during tho delivery of which n
rocked quite violently. As the face
and all the upper part of the body were
covered with a huge sunbonnet—a bon
net to which was attached an extraor
dinarily voluminous cape—1 arrived at
the conclusion that the mumbling "par
ty” before me was a woman and prob
ably the grandmother of the"expedi
tion. *'
Two boys of about 8 and 10 years
each with bis baggy tow . linen trow
sers bitched up nearly to his chin, sat
flat in the dust at the bead of tho dead
horse, whose nose one of them was
fondly stroking. The faces of both
were smeared with dust and tears, and
both were still quietly blubbering and
whispering together.
A girl of about 17 sat in the front ot
the wagon, vainly striving to quiet a
child that was moaning in a weak, sick
way in her arms. The features of the
girl were finely formed, but her face
was sadly sunburned. Her bonnet was
off, and a wealth of brown hair fell in
waves over her shoulders and hnng lu
tangles about her face. At a glance it
was to be seen that many cares and
troubles had fallen upon this young
girl, leaving her little time in which to
think of herself or her personal appear
ance.
A little girl, with flaxen locks hang
ing about her eyes. was on her knees be
side tho young woman, leaning over
the end board of the wagon and gazing
with bine eyes full of wonder upon all
around—that is. when she was not en
gaged in gnawing, childlike, at the
board upon the edge of which her two
little brown paws rested. All this I
saw almost at a glance. For some mo
All thin I saw almost at a glance.
ments 1 stood gazing on the really dis
tressing scene, yet no one broke the sor
rowful silence. They seemed persons
who had seen so little of kindness and
who had received so little aid or sym
pathy from any one that they had lost
faith in their kind.
At last 1 went up to the man seated
on the small bowlder. 1 touched him
on the shoulder and said, “Stranger,
you appear to be about at the end of
your string here."
“Yes, sir. Clean done fori Clean
done fori” giving me a single mourn
ful glance, then turning to pick ab
stractedly at a thread in a blue jeans
patch on the knee of his butternut
trousers.
At first i felt like laughing ns 1 gazed
upon the lugubrious faces all about me.
but a moment’s reflection showed me
that, as the man said, they were “clean
done for,” sure enough.
Not a man nor a team was in sight
in any direction. All about lay the
sterile, waterless alkali waste, covered
or rather made ragged by a sparse
growth of sagebrush.
“Have yon any money, my friend,
with which to buy another horse?” 1 at
last asked, though I felt that it was an
idle question.
" Money 1” cried the man, as though
startled and shocked at the question,
and he turned and looked me full in
the face for the first time with wide
open eyes. “Money? No, sir. Not a
cent, sir—not the first red centl That
thar team was all I iotch from ole Mis
souri with me—it was my only hope.”
Again he relapsed, hung his head and
resumed picking at the patch on his
knee, just as though having said all
that could be said in regard to the sit
uation it was useless to waste breath in
further talk.
1 stood hesitating for a moment and
then again shook the man up: "Stran
ger, what do you think of doing? If
you stay here, all hands of you will
perish. This is a terrible place, my
friend!”
" Wa-al.I kain’t somehow think what
ter do.” said the man, without raising
his head. “I’m er tryin ter think, but
somehow 1 kain't think.”
CHAPTER n.
GRANDMOTHER MUMFORD, “THE LIVING
BUNDLE.”
The living bundle seated on the road
side bank near at hand now attracted
my attention. It began to swing back
and forth in a very violent manner, and
at last, after some few preliminary in
ternal rumblings, it gave utterance to
these words:"Oh, Alumfordl Oh, Mum
ford I”
Turning to the man on the rock. 1
shook him up and asked, “ Is your name
Mumford?”
“No, sir," said he. “No, 6he’s
a-thinkin of—a-thinkin ’bout her ole
man—him she lost. ’’
“Well, come, rouse up, my friend!"
cried I, almost losing my patiei.je.
"Yon can’t remain here with this fam
ily on your hands. What do you think
of doing?”
“1 know it's bad for the folks,” said
the man, never raising his head, "but
what kin I do? I’m clean done for, an
I try to think what ter do, but some
how 1 bain’t think.”
“Oh, MumfordI Ob, Mumford!”
cried the old lady bidden somewhere
within the bundle in such a loud and
thrilling tone that I turned and looked
at her in alarm. She was rocking her
self at such a rate that she seemed to
oonnce an inch or two off the ground
at each pendulumlike vibration.
Again all was silent. The old lady
was still diligently vibrating, hut was
now voiceless. The man on tho rock
seemed trying to pull an idea of some
kind out of the patch on the knee of his
trousers.
"Pore ole Betty!" said one of tho lit
tle hoys as he patted the neck of the
dead mare, as 1 now discovered tin
horse to lie. "Pore ole Betty!"
"Will daddy leave her wif all of der
nasty dead cows?” queried tho younger
boy, trying to open and look into ono of
the dead mare’s eyes.
About this time I felt a sort of lump
rising in my throat and began to want
to seo something like action somewhere.
"Come, my friend,” said 1 as a
thought struck me; “rouse up!” slap
ping the man on the back. “There art
dozens of big freight teams going back
to California every day from Virginia
City, and all return without back loads
of any kind. You here are not far from
the main California road, and one of
these return teams will haul you and
all your traps. Come, my man, you’ll
be all right yet!"
"But I hain’t got no money. ’Tain’t
no use. I've seed teams and teams, an
I’ve axed ’em to help me along. None
ot ’em wouldn’t haul me. They all
come on an left us alone back in tho des
erts. They all talked money, money—
money fust an money last. I hain’t get
no money. ”
"But that was while your team was
still on its legs. Now they can’t re
fuse. Besides, tho California teamsters
are very different men fiom those who
passed you ou tho plains, where it is
‘devil take the hindmost.' “
“I tell yor ’tain’t no use!" cried the
man pettishly.
“Oh,Mumford! Oh. Mumford!” cried
the old lady, and she began to bounce
about so violently that 1 feared she
would roll off the bank into the road.
“Tut, tut, mammy!” remonstrated
tny man.
Beginning to lose patience with all
this idle mummery, I turned suddenly
to tho swaying bundle and said, "For
God’s sake, what is the meaning of all
this nonsense abont Mumford?”
This was like giving the bundle an
electrical shock. Half springing from
her seat, the old woman gave her im
mense poke bonnet so vigorous an up
ward thrust that it was sent flying from
her head into the dust, exposing to view
for the first time a thin, wrinkled face
and spare, diminutive form—a little
“atomy” of a woman.
“What is the nonsense about Mum
ford? Is that what you ask, sir? There
is no nonsen so abont Mumford!" Her
alkalied gray hair stood bristling all
over her head. A wild light burned
in her sunken gray eyes, and she stretch
ed out toward mo a skinny arm and
clawlike hand almost in a menacing
manner. "There never was any non
sense about Mumford! No. sir! Mum
ford, sir, was my husband for 40 years,
and there was no nonsense about him!
But,’’/she added in a calmer tone,
"Mumford is not—he is no more. He
sleeps on the banks of Green river.
We left him there. He sleeps there un
der the trees, where 1, too, should
sleep!” Her hand dropped, and in a
sobbing voice she said: “Yes, under
the trees, thank God for that! Under
the beautiful green trees! He was born
among the tall green trees of Kentucky,
lived among trees all his life, died
among trees! When, far out in the des
ert, the doctor told him he was dying,
that he had only a .few minutes to live,
he asked to lie raised up that he might
look out of the wagon. ‘No,’said he,
’1 can’t die here, and, what is more. 1
won't! There is not a tree in sight!
Drive on! When you’ve come to some
decent sort of place for a man to die in,
1 won t hgnt against going, tie lived,
sir, while the wagon crawled over miles
and miles of desert—lived till we reach
ed Green river and was laid on his bed
under the trees. Then he took my hand
anil said: 'Ah. the trees are green, and
1 hear the birds singing. Sally, goodby
—I'll die now.1 1 said ‘Goodby, Mum
ford, 1 and ho was dead. ”
"Thomas! Thomas!” called a 6hrill
but weak voice from the wagon.
“Thomas, is that mother a-talkin?”
Thomas—the ‘‘doubting Thomas’’—
who had all this time remained sitting
dejectedly on the rock, arose and slouch
ed along to the wagon, hardly lifting
his feet above the dust.
The animated bundle followed Thom
as with her eyes. Turning to me, she
then said: “I’m his mother-in-law.
He’s a stick—a perfect stick!” said she
decidedly. “Yes,” repeated she, “a
perfect stick! Oh, that by keeping
Mumford before him—that by calling
Mumford up in his mind—I could get
him to show a little of the spirit of
Mumford!”
In a moment Thomas came back and
said to me: "Nancy—that’s my wife,
sir—wants to see you. She’s a-lyin sick
in the wagon. ”
Nodding to the young girl, who was
holding the sick child at the front of
the vehicle, and placing a hand on the
flaxen locks of the little one by her side,
1 looked into the interior of tbo “fam
ily mansion” just as a tall, thin, hol
low eyed woman was rising from some
quilts.
Resting in a sitting position by hold
ing on to the side of the wagon, the wo
man gazed wistfully at me.
”1 am told that you are ill, good
woman, ” said 1.
“Oh, yes, sir—very, sir! I’ve moun
tain fever. ”
Now that I fully comprehended the
distressed condition of this poor, sick,
friendless, moneyless, shipwrecked fam
ily, 1 was so overcome that, as I stood
facing the wistful eyes of the sick wo
man, I knew not how to speak in a way
to comfort her.
Nodding toward the young girl hold
ing the infant, the woman said: “Mary
says she heenl yon tell daddy—my hus
band out thar—that some of the teams
goin lack to Califomy might help us.
Oh, sir, if they only would! When pore
ole Betty stopped, fell down and died,
everything for ns stopped right thar. In
a mimt every hope wo u ia vraagone. it
wdi bud enough for daddy before, but
when he seed the ole mare drap dead he
jist let go all holts. Pore man! He’s
clean discouraged."
1 assured the woman that all 1 had
said of the teams and teamsters was
true.
"Are there many teams on the road
now, sir?" asked Mary.
"A great many- hundreds. The !e.vu
Bess houses and the big mining com
panies of the Comstock are now getting
in their winter goods and supplies
Hundreds of teams are coming and go
ing across the mountains. We should
see many of them were we a few miles
farther on—were we where this road
falls into the one that leads over the
mountains. ”
"Oh, if I could see them, sir!" cried
Mary. "If they could see mother
see us all—see the awful place we are
in, they would help us. sir. Yes, they
would help us to get away from here!"
“Indeed they would,” said 1. "They
may look rough—their work is rough—
but the majority are noble hearted fel
lows, and there is not. a man among
them all so mean that he would pass
you bv. ”
"Oh, thank you, sir! Thank yon!
Oh, mother, do you hear?” And the kind
hearted girl began kissing the sick baby
to hide her tears.
Looking • up presently, she said:
“Mother has been sick to long, and now
poro little Kitty is sick, and we haven’t
any money and hardly anything left
that’s lit even for ns well ones to eat.
What can we do hero in this desert but
die?”
"No, you will not die. You are all
safe now. and you will soon all be well
and happy.”
“Oh. mother, do you hear that? The
stranger says we arc all safe now!” and
again the worn young creature began
kissing Kitty, tears streaming down
her cheeks.
"Look about you, Mary—look about
at the desert and the dead beasts all
about us, and you’ll see how safe we
air!” And thus speaking the sick and
despondent mother groaned aloud.
"Be of good cheer, child, and try to
put some heart into tlio others,” said I
to'Marv. " 1 still say you are all safe.
Our Comstock people have assisted hun
dreds of emigrants that have come in
here off the deserts in distress. You are
but a few miles away from Virginia
City. Tlie people there will most cer
tainly take care of you and find a way
for you to get to California.”
“God bless them!” said Mary.
"Will you please call Thomas, my
husband, sir, to get me some water?”
asked the siek woman, who had fallen
back on her couch and was trying to
moisten her parched lips with her equal
ly dry and fevered tongue.
I at once went to the husband, and
giving him a shake to rouse him out of
his state of dreamy dejection told him
what his wife required.
As I was about to return to the wagon
to tell Mary that I would not lose sight
of them until they were hauled out of
the desert and safe, I felt a clutch at
the skirt of my coat. Turning about,
I found the old woman gazing keenly,
eagerly, upon my face. This old wom
an 1 now began to see had an eye and
an ear open for all that was going on
about her, notwithstanding that at first
sight she seemed a mere heedless, im
becile bundle.
That man, said she, “is a good
enough husband to my darter, but, la!
he ain’t oneof our kind—ho ain’t Kain
tncky stock! He ain’t like jiore Mum
ford was—hain’tgot the stir! When
things went like this, Mumford he’d
git mad. La. you jest ought to see how
he'd t’ar round! Swar? Why, he’d
swar terrible, Mumford would. But
he’s at rest now, pore man! On the
banks of the Green river he lies, under
the beautiful trees, where the birds
sing all the day long. Mumford, now,
he was a man. sir. as could do justice
to a sitervation sich as this. But lie—
dear soul—lie lias gone to his reward.”
Suddenly changing her tone, the old
lady laid a bony hand upon my arm:
“Now, see here, you jist see what you
‘‘Now, see here, you jist sec what you kin
do for us!”
kin do for ns! Ho”—nodding her head
toward the wagon—"he’s a stick, yon
know.”
I faithfully promised the Mumford
relict that I would see them all out of
their troubles.
CHAPTER III.
THE "RED WIXG.”
After getting a drink of water out of
the barrel that hung under the wagon,
I left to seek assistance, bidding all be
of good cheer, as relief would reach
them in a few hours at furthest.
1 struck out west, across the desert to
the much traveled California road,
which wound along the foothills. Not
a California team was in sight. Turn
ing north on the road toward Virginia
City. I pushed forward in the hope of
goon meeting a string of teams headed
for California.
I had followed the road leading to
Virginia City about four miles, to a
point almost in sight of Silver City,
when the music of bells greeted my ears
—bells such as are worn by the animals
in the big 10, 13 and 14 mule teams.
Soon a long string of big teams came
in tialif militia- tit, writlt a m-rfert ornclt
(Continued on pag-eS)
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sides of some, or ony
CANCER
Bwbjpptflnoed fear no longer from thin King ot
Terrors, for by :l most wonderful discovery In
medicine, cancer on any pnrt of the body can be
permanently cured without the lime of
the knife.
A! Its H. D. COLBY, 2307 I no inn a Avo., Chicago,
jays ** Was cared of cancer of the breast in six
weeks by your method of treatment." Bend for
treattte. I)r. If. C. Dale, 34th St., Chicago.
A FULL'f1 Prjr i7j"olN
SET OF 3 EX g 11 RUBBER Jjj, OP
WorkGuaranteed. TcHh extracted in the
morning, new ouch inserted evening ot
huuic day. Teeth filled wit hout pain, latest
method. Finest parlors in the west. J’axton
DR, 8, W. OAELEYr
OP/ImHi*. - - - istB. >
I
^CURfjt
Japan tEA|
HIGHEST GRADE GROW*.; f
CHASE & SANBORN ! fe
JAPAN. jp
C. M. NOBLE,
LEADING GROCER,
McCOOK, - NEB.
SOLE AGENT.
«ul PHOTOGRAPHS OH
> RAGE SILK HANDKERCHIEF, i
• ► Hall os a ro^d rh'itf*. a«»:lf < new or old • Silk If and-4 i
Jb Lcrrliirf, wii h n I'. O. «r Kx|»m« .Hour., Or tier for # 1,4
;L and wo will l’hoioeraph tbr |.irtt»rr- on ihf fcilk. firm! I -..
k ful effect. FLRJMVt.XT pie. ore. W ILL SOT FADK or,
/ W'aSII 001, I si* forever, evrjbody 1
//„, deiiL'hli d. t,
St'fySrj pH0__0 K. f# rente. Omaha uanb*.«
i-i7S.15«h.QMAHA^
WE TELL YOU
nothing new when we state that it pays to engage
in a permanent, most healthy and pleasant busi
ness. that returns a pro tit for every day’s work.
Such is the business we offer the working class.
We teach them how to make money rapidly, and
guarantee every one who follows our instruction
faithfully the making of Si'iOO.OO a month.
Every one who takes hold now and works will
surely and speedily increa.-e their earnings; then
can be no question about it: other- now at work
are doing it, and you. reader, can do the same.
This is the best paying bn-ine-- that you have
ever had the chance to -ecure. You will make a
grave mistake if you fail to give it a trial at once.
If you gra-p the* situation, and act quickly, you
will directly find yourself in a most prosperous
business, at which you can s.uri ly make and save
large sums of money. The results of only a few
hours’ work will often e qual a week’s wage.-.
Whether you are old or young, man or woman, it
makes no difference, — do as we* te*ll you, and suc
cess will meet you at the very start. Neither
experience or capital nec«*->;irv. Those who work
for us :ire rewarded. Why hot write to-day for
full particular-, free ? K. C. ALLICN & CO.,
Cox No. 4‘40, Augusta, .Me.
WOOD’S PIIOSPIIODINK
The Great English Remedy.
Before and After.
Promptly and permanent
ly cures all forms of Nervous
I Weakness, k missions. Spent,
} otorrhea. Jmpotency and nil
effects of Abuse or Excesses.
Been prescribed over 35
years In thousands of cases.
1b the only Reliable and Hon
est Medicine knotm. Ask
Idruggtst for Wood’s Pbos
phodcte: If he offers some
worthless medicine In place
or tms, leave bli dishonest store, Inclose price In
letter, and we will send by return mail. Price, one
package. *1; six. <6. One ieiU please, six leiHcure.
, Ai ri: pb let 1 n plain sealed envelope. 2 stampa
A ddress The Wood Chemical Co. •
131 Woodward Ace . Detroit. Mich.
For sale by L. W. McConnell it Co., G. M*
Chenery, Albert McMillen in McCook ami
by druggists everywhere.