Bushy: a Romance Founded on Fact

“OH, LISTEN TO ME, JIP; YOU ARE SO IMPOLITE!” — Page 140.

BUSHY

A ROMANCE FOUNDED ON FACT

BY

Cynthia M. Westover

ILLUSTRATED BY

J. A. WALKER

New York

The Morse Company

1896

Copyright, 1896

By Cynthia M. Westover

Entered at Stationer’s Hall, London

[Pg iii]

INTRODUCTION

Bushy is real, but she is no longer a little girl. In her memory the scenes and incidents of that strange child-life in the Rockies mingle to form a single pleasant dream. Their hardness is all gone. They have become impersonal, so that it would often be difficult for Bushy herself to determine where the line runs that separates individual experience from environment. But no matter! The whole picture is a truthful one, as those who knew Bushy in the mines could testify.

The resolution of the equation of existence to its simplest form, amid the most rugged surroundings, makes a singular school for the development of womanhood. A child situated as Bushy was, finds little encouragement for that element of innate poetry which ranges from “Jack the Giant Killer” to “The Tempest,” and from “Grimm’s Fairy Tales” to Tennyson’s “Round Table.” The habit of self-dependence, the perpetual exaltation of the practical, the continuous nearness to nature, bring their compensation, nevertheless, in the[Pg iv] forced growth of character; character worth having and worth studying.

In the hope that the value of such character may be illustrated here, this story is dedicated to an indulgent public.

THE AUTHOR.

[Pg v]

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

[Pg 1]

BUSHY

CHAPTER I

Until Bushy Sukolt was four years old she had lived with her father and mother in the town of Afton, Iowa. Mr. Sukolt was of the firm of Sukolt & Block, the largest iron foundry of the State. Mr. Block dipped into politics, just enough to bring in big contracts to enrich the firm, and Mr. Sukolt was satisfied to fill all orders that Block’s business methods secured. The office of Mr. Block was in the town and Mr. Sukolt’s headquarters were at the foundry, and in this way the partners saw very little of each other.

The death of Mr. Block, which happened when Bushy was about four years old, caused an examination of the accounts, and it was discovered that he had, unknown to Bushy’s father, issued a large amount of paper in the firm’s name. This was fast approaching maturity and was enough to make an assignment necessary.

Bushy’s mother, a frail, delicate woman, could[Pg 2] not survive the trouble, and in three months after the failure she was buried in the little churchyard of Afton.

Mr. Sukolt, feeling he could no longer remain in a place where he had known so much sorrow, gladly became one of a geological party, bound for the Rocky Mountains. His intention had been to leave Bushy for three or four years in the care of a Mrs. Golden, a dear friend of the family. But on the day before his departure, as Tom Cole, who was going with Mr. Sukolt as a driver, was loading the wagon with the necessary articles for such a journey, Bushy was found rolled up in some blankets that were to be put into the wagon.

As Tom pulled her out she pushed her bushy hair back from her eyes and said:

“Don’t oo touch me! Don’t oo touch me; I’s doin’ wiv my papa’s tachel.”

Tom eyed her a second, as if debating within himself whether it would be safe to approach such a fiery little piece of humanity; then, gathering her up in his arms, he carried her out to the wagon where Mr. Sukolt was superintending the loading.

“Mr. Sukolt, Bushy says she is going with your satchel. I found her almost melted, hidden in them blankets. It beats me how she got there. I brought ’em down only a few minutes ago myself, and I know she wasn’t in ’em then.”

[Pg 3]

“I twawled in when you was eatin’ bwead and milk in de tichen,” sobbed Bushy.

Mr. Sukolt, taking her from Tom, kissed her chubby hands a dozen times. She cuddled down in his arms and tried to hide her face in his bosom.

“Does Bushy love papa so much?” He hugged her closer to him. “But never mind, dear; when I come back I will bring you the biggest dolly you ever saw—one that will cry ‘wah, wah!’ just like a real baby. Won’t that be fine?”

Her only reply was to snuggle yet closer, thus feeling that he could not possibly put her away from him.

He looked at Bushy, at the wagon, at the house, and again at Bushy; then he seemed to gaze off into the unexplored regions of the Rockies. He was so long quiet, and the expression of his face so sad that Tom, growing uneasy, turned to the wagon and pretended to adjust some of the luggage, his one object being to hide the tears that would trickle down his wrinkled face.

The long silence caused Bushy to raise her head and with childish curiosity peep into her father’s face. At that moment it became resolute. Calling to Tom he said: “Pack no more just now; pile everything here by the wheel, and then go to Warren’s for that box of provisions; I wish to speak to Mrs. Golden about Bushy.”

[Pg 4]

“Oh, I’s all weddy, papa!” cried Bushy. Wriggling out of his arms and running to the blankets, she pulled from under them a little roll. “See, papa; see! I’ve dot my ove’shoes. I’ve dot my sun bonny. I’ve dot my nightie.” And here one of the sobs that had been coming up her little throat, to her surprise found its way out and cut her words short. She stood before him with a shoe in one hand and a nightgown in the other, her tear-stained but now happy face looking up into his for the sign of approbation her little heart felt she would receive for her thoughtfulness.

“My baby! my baby!” he cried, snatching her up and tossing her on his shoulder. “Go with papa’s satchel? Of course you will! How could I for a moment think of leaving you—you, the only joy in the wide, wide world now left to me?” and they started for the house.

“I’s doin’! I’s doin’! I’s doin’!” came from the child’s sweet lips, as she waved the nightgown to express her happiness and patted her father’s head rather roughly with her shoe, which she still clung to, her little heels digging vigorously into his big, broad chest.

“’Oorah! ’oorah! ’oorah!”

“Mrs. Golden—where are you, Mrs. Golden? Come here; we want you—Bushy and I. Yes, it is Bushy and I from henceforth, for where I go Bushy [Pg 5]shall go, and where Bushy can’t go I won’t go!” he exclaimed, as he handed her over to good, old Mrs. Golden. Her startled face showed she was thinking: “The man’s gone clean mad! Poor fellow!”

“OH, I’S ALL WEDDY, PAPA!”

“Call on some of your friends to help you. Buy a roll of gray flannel and make it up into pinafores for Bushy. I have decided to take her with me. Put into that small trunk of mine all the things you think she will most”——

“But, man alive!” gasped the old lady, “she is only four—a mere baby. What will you do with her?”

“I can keep her warm and feed her,” sternly replied the father. “If you will not do this for me I must get some one else, for Bushy goes with me or I don’t go. Bushy and I are going to begin a new life in a new country. We start Wednesday morning at 5.30. Can I depend on you, Mrs. Golden?”

She nodded assent and wiped her eyes on a corner of Bushy’s apron.

“I’ll do it. But you are taking her to her death, poor, dear heart!” she cried, as she disappeared in the house.

That night in putting Bushy to bed old Mrs. Golden hovered about her longer than usual.

“Come, dear, say your prayers,” said the old lady as she secured the last button on the “nightie.”[Pg 6] “You won’t forget to kneel down and say your little verse every evening, while away from auntie, will you, darling?”

“Des I won’t, tause I tant s’eep when I fordet,” was the lisped reply. Then dropping on her dimpled knees she placed her head in Mrs. Golden’s lap, clasped her little hands and began the prayer:

“Now I lay me down to s’eep—but I ain’t a layin’ down to s’eep, auntie!”

She lifted her head and peeped inquiringly into Mrs. Golden’s face.

“It means that you will go to sleep in just a minute, dear.”

“Oh,” said Bushy, and down her head rested again on the old lady’s knee.

“Now I lay me down to s’eep—auntie, tan I say sumpin’ else?” A second time the head was raised and the little one looked into the auntie’s eyes.

“Certainly, dear, if you want to.”

Snuggling so close was the little face now in the folds of Mrs. Golden’s dress that it was with some difficulty the old lady heard the quaint prayer offered by her tiny charge.

“Now I lay me down to s’eep, tause I must dit up awful early, tause I’m doin’ away wiv my papa.

“I pray the Lord my soul to teep away from all the bad sings what Tommy Tiddles said would eat me up—the bears, and—and—sings like dat.”

[Pg 7]

There was a pause; then the wee voice inquired:

“What turns next, auntie?”

“If I should die”——

“If I should die before I wake,” broke in the child’s voice; “but I’m not doin’ to die, tause I must dit up awful early. I’ll tell Tommy Tiddles he don’t know nuffin ’bout where I’m doin’, and if I say my prayers no bears ’ll eat me up.

“I pray the Lord my soul to take me wiv my papa’s tachel, Amen.

“Now, auntie, lay me down to s’eep,” she cried, jumping to her feet and pulling up her nightgown she examined her knees to see how the red spots looked. The red spots that came through her kneeling always amused Bushy and she examined them as regularly as she said her prayers.

Mrs. Golden tucked Bushy safely into her little cot, knowing well that the child was thinking much more about naughty Tommy Tiddles and his bear story than about her prayers.

“She’s very dear to me!” sighed the old lady as she left the door ajar and went into the next room to plan for Bushy’s flannel clothes. “I don’t blame her father for taking her along; but what will I do without her?” A tear fell on the wrinkled hand, and a sigh and a sob died away together.

Mr. Sukolt found, as he anticipated, that the company at first objected to his taking Bushy, but[Pg 8] he refused to go without her, and as he was the best practical geologist in the party, they could not afford to lose him. Satisfactory arrangements were made and Bushy rode off as her baby head had planned, “wiv her papa’s tachel.”

[Pg 9]

CHAPTER II

Bushy took her cat with her. It was a Maltese, with the softest fur, and large eyes that Bushy said looked like stars in the night. Bushy loved Pete, for that was his name, more than she did anything else in the world, except her father.

Mr. Sukolt had no idea that Pete would stay with the wagon, but he thought if it made Bushy any happier she could try and take him along.

So they put a collar of bright red leather around Pete’s neck and fastened to that a leader, just as if he were a dog. Bushy was told to keep a tight hold on it, or her Pete would be making tracks for home. She was very much frightened, of course, and to make him more secure she had her father tie the leader to her bracelet, and thus the two were ever seen together. The bracelet was a small circle of gold that had been slipped over her fat hand a few days before her mamma died, and when Bushy started out West it was still on her arm. Old Mrs. Golden had tried several times to get it off, but the hand was too fat to let it slip over without hurting her.

[Pg 10]

You can imagine how funny Bushy and Pete looked, always together, and sometimes, if Pete wanted to go anywhere very much, he would start on a keen run and pull Bushy after him. Once he smelled a mouse that had been brought along in the feed wagon. Bushy was watching Tom as he gave Ned, who was known as her pony, and the other horses their breakfast, and all at once Pete made a bound for the sack. He jumped and ran and pulled and mewed to get away, and Bushy’s little feet had to trot very fast to keep her from falling. Pete was a very big cat, and when Bushy tried to carry him, her arms would just meet around his fat body.

They were six weeks on the way to the Rocky Mountains and Pete got so accustomed to following his little mistress about, that all she had to do to make him obey was to say, “Pete, tum on,” and he would trot along by her side without being pulled by the string, as she had to do at first. He would play “dead” and lie in her lap for five minutes at a time without moving even his tail, but when she cried, “Oo is well, now, Pete,” he would jump down and race around and around her till the leader would wind them into a tangled ball; they would play hours this way. Pete seldom scratched her, but he was very cross if the men touched him. Every time her father washed her face she thought[Pg 11] it necessary to wash Pete’s too. He did not seem to like it, yet he knew he could not get away, so he let her wet his face till she thought it quite clean. Once she tried to wash his paws, but he showed his claws and growled so that Bushy thought it not necessary to keep his feet clean. Pete disliked to get his paws wet, and Bushy would pick him up and

carry him whenever she was out where it was wet and muddy.

Like all travellers in immigrant trains that started west in those days, the motto adopted by these geologists was “Pike’s Peak or bust;” when in fact their destination was far north of Pike’s Peak, a place known as the Great Pine Mine district, and where eventually Mr. Sukolt severed himself from the surveying party and remained for years as overseer and part owner of Great Pine Mine.

Outside of prickly pears, cactus, “old man weed” and Pete, Bushy recalls very little of that first trip across the plains, but that day the wagons drove up to the one good shanty at Great Pine she will never forget.

“Here we are, by Jove!” shouted Tom as he leaped from the wagon and reached for Bushy and Pete.

It is needless to say that the curiosity shown by the miners over the surveying party was nothing when compared with that they displayed over the child and her cat.

[Pg 12]

An old fellow, named Walt, said he couldn’t stand it. “It reminds me too strongly of home, by thunder!” he remarked as he walked away. Two hours later he was found dead drunk under a tree near his cabin. The bottle had been his consolation.

Shanks, a big strapping Englishman, possessor of one of the best hearts in the world, a jolly, easy-go-lucky chap, a good scholar and surgeon, had gone early to the mining fields because his health had failed him, and since 1849 he had been haunting all new gold strikes, had had no particular good luck, but had managed to pay his way, and at this time boasted a constitution that seemed made of wrought iron.

It was not long before Shanks became the fourth one in this family—not counting Pete, the cat, Rover, the dog, and Ned, the pony, every one of which Bushy considered quite as important as herself.

Of all the wonderful Rocky Mountain scenery Great Pine Mine was the centre of the most picturesque spot to be found. No pencil or brush could ever reveal the weird and awful grandeur of those wild gorges, the walls of which in places rose perpendicularly from the foaming streams to a height of 3,000 feet. The canyon leading from the mine in a southerly direction widened into a valley[Pg 13] through which a rather good road had been made, but as it ascended the cliffs it narrowed into what the civilized world would have called a dangerous, rocky path.

Some estimate of the difficulty in reaching these mines can be gained from the fact that it took the surveying party six hours to make the last mile and a half.

To the north there was a chasm ten miles in length, hemmed in by walls two hundred to four hundred feet in height; while on the west rose cliffs eight hundred to two thousand feet in altitude.

At the place where the mine was situated the sun never shone more than three hours a day, but those three hours turned the pinnacles, buttresses, and opalized walls into all kinds of awe-inspiring forms, brightened with all the colors of the rainbow.

Mr. Sukolt always declared that Aladdin’s wonderful garden (to which Tom generally confined his bed-time stories) paled into insignificance when the sun shone on Great Pine Mine.

The story must be told by and by how Bushy’s love for Pete made her disobey her father. It was the only time in her life that she was ever quite so naughty. Bushy always had a cat even after she lost Pete. The miners would ask everywhere they went if there was a cat in camp, and if gold could[Pg 14] buy it, the cat was sure to go to Bushy. You see, she loved cats so she squeezed them hard when she hugged them, and then she would pick them up sometimes by the tail, sometimes by the head, and often by the back, and carry them as far as they would let her. Her tiny hands were often covered with scratches, because she found none so gentle as Pete had been, and she would forget that they were not all Petes. It kept the miners busy furnishing Bushy with cats, as the life of one, after Bushy became its mistress, was of short duration. One of the miners fenced off a piece of ground and called it the cat graveyard, and there Bushy buried all her pets in a row, with pine headboards, on which were burned with a hot poker the names of her lamented darlings.

Now for the story about Pete. They had been at Great Pine Mine just a year when the Indian trouble began. The miners had built a small fort by digging a hole in the ground and covering it with stone and sod, leaving portholes a foot apart all around just under the roof’s edge. Anybody inside could see all over the country and pick off any Indian who was brave enough to come within rifle range, while the Indians had no show whatever. They might shoot all day at the fort without there being the slightest danger of hurting any one inside. The fort was deep and half-filled with ammunition,[Pg 15] food, bedding, and a keg or two of water. This precaution had been taken, although it was thought the Indians would not come so far north as the Great Pine Mine until warmer weather.

It was eight o’clock at night, and several miners were playing cards—California Jack, they called the game. Mr. Sukolt was busy at a table near sorting specimens and Bushy and Pete were curled up asleep on a buffalo robe in front of the big fire-place. The only light in the shanty came from the bright blaze of the pine-knots.

“Hist!” cried Mr. Sukolt, looking up from the rocks and listening. The card-players checked their laughter and turned their faces toward the door. Pete stretched himself and Bushy sat up and rubbed her eyes.

“It’s a horseman riding like mad,” exclaimed one of the men, rising and going to the door. Mr. Sukolt reached for his belt and buckled it with two revolvers about him; and the miners, who had taken off theirs, did the same. As if by instinct they all scented danger and mechanically prepared for it. Mr. Sukolt selected a warm blanket from the bunk near at hand and threw it down by Bushy, then joined the others, who had by this time stepped outside, and awaited the rider.

“It is some one who knows the way,” cried Tom; “there must be something after him. It is pitch[Pg 16] dark, and I defy anything to keep close to a horse running like that.”

The words were no sooner said than Shanks dashed up to the door. The horse was trembling in every limb and Shanks’s face was as white as a sheet.

“To the fort, boys! The Indians attacked us in Stone Gulch, and I am the only one who escaped. I saw five of the boys scalped; then fled, for I was one against twenty, and I hoped to save you. Sh! They are closer than I thought.”

A distant thud, thud, thud, signified the approach of mounted Indians; then everything was still.

“They are dismounting,” cried Mr. Sukolt. “They mean to shoot from ambush. To the fort, boys, to the fort!”

Shanks slipped off the bridle and turned his horse loose.