Democratic Sentinel, Volume 6, Number 52, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 26 January 1883 — FOUND IN A WAGON-BOX. [ARTICLE]

FOUND IN A WAGON-BOX.

“The bloody villains,” muttered Bandy McGovern to himself, as he sat on his horse surveying the scene of desolation and death; “the bloody,murderin’ scoundrels!" In front of a little knoll on which Bandy had reigned his horse in was a confused heap of broken wagons. Here and there a dead horse, already partially stripped by -the cayotee, and scattered up and down tho line of wagons the bodies of men who evidently died fighting. It did not need the hideous red patches on top of the skulls, where the scales had been torn off, to tell the old frontiersman that he saw before him all that was left pf an emigrant train that had been surprised by Indians. The arrows in the men’s bodies, the wanton destruction of the wagons, told the tale but too plainly. Bandy lifted his horse’s reign, and the trained animal picked his way down the little descent to where the fight had been, Here the “signs” were plainer than ever, and as Sandy rode slowly along the line where the unavailing battle had been fought, his mind was filled with regret that he, in company with a score of stout fighters like himself, had not been there. Mingled with this was a feeling of desire for vengeance. To his experienced eyes, the slight signs which would have escaped a man new to the plans, told him that the massacre had taken place, at the most, but two days before. The most horrible and yet the surest proof, was the fact tha| the cayotes had not had time to finish their work of eating the dead. As he rode slowly along he suddenly heard a faint sound. The silence of the desert is so intense that one becomes accustomed tb it, and any noise, however slight; attracts the attention instantly. With his nerves strung by the scene which lay before him, the frontiersman, whose senses were always alert, found his attention attracted at once, and stopping his horse he listened intently. In about a minute he heard it again, and noticed that it came from one of wagons. Dismounting and walking to the place, he listened once more. In another minute he heard it again. It was something like a faint cry, and it seemed to be smoth- i ered jn some way. Sandy stood close i by the wagon, his hands resting upon j the foot-board in front. Again he heard { it, and this time more plainly than before. Fairly leaping to, the foot-board, •he open the long box in front, the top of which forms in a praiaie schooner the driver,s seat, and saw lying in it a little child. The big frontiersman lifted the baby —for it was scarcely more—out of its strange resting place as tenderly as a mother. He saw that the child was very weak from its long fast, and, placing it gently on his blankets, he began a search for something fit for it to eat. Finding a bag of flour, he mode, with a little sugar, a kind of thin gruel, heating it over a fire he had hastily kindled. Taking the baby in his arms, he fed it slowly and cautiously. With infinite patience the big bearded man went through his strange task, until, after Borne time, he had the satisfaction of Beeing the little one. refuse to swallow any more. Then sitting on the tongue of the wagon, with the dead lying all around him, Sandy rocked the baby in his arms until it went to sleep. Placing it in his blankets and covering it up carefully, he examined the box in which he had found it. In the bottom was a rough horse blanket Thrown over the edge was a piece of rope, placed there to prevent the lid shutting tight. Alongside of the child he found half of a bracelet, evidently a cheap imitation one, which looked as though it had been tom off from the other half. At the lower end of the box there was a confused .heap of baby clothes, thrust in hastily. All of these things Sandy took. He found even the water in the spring beside which the train had camped, to give his newly discovered treasure a bath, which, seemed to do the little one a great deal of good. For one week Sandy stayed there, spending his whole time looking after the baby. He saw the child grow strong and bright, and he found that the feeding, washing, and dressing of the “kid,” us he had already christened it, a source of ever-increasing delight. At the end of that time having the broken bracelet carefully stowed away in his saddle-bags, Sandy mounted his horse, and, taking the “kid” in his arms, left the scene of the massecre never to nee it again. What a wonderful change sixteen years make in men and women. The glossy brewn hair may have become thin in that time, and on the once smooth face time may print more than one fine wrinkle telling of the deep furrow* to come. Sixteen years have sosmwhaiwhitened Sandy McGovern’s hair, and his figure is more portly than it was when he rode away from the scene of the desert massacre. And sixteen years have transformed the “kid” into a tall, stalwart lad of 18, full of health and strength. Bobert McGovern, as Sandy had called the baby he found in the old wagon-box, looked magnificently *s he rode up to the house, crossing the little stream in one easy leap of his horse. For the sixteen years had brought wealth to Sandy with the gray hairs. It really seemed as if everything lie touched prospered after he rescued the baby. He made more money in trapping that year than he had in any two before 1 lie got contracts to supply the stage line with horses, and made money out of them. He bought a share in a claim for almost nothing, and it turned out to be enormously rich. “Lucky Sandy,” as he was nailed,began to be noted for his uniform success. Finally he turned Inattention to cattle, and pur* .

chasing a large tract of land, stocked it, and became a ranohero. He placed the “kid” at school as soon as he was old enough to go, and after giving him a good education, brought him home to live on the ranch and learn to manage it. “Father,” said .Bob (Sandy never called him kid unless they were by themselves),“there’s a party down there on the road and the stage has broken down. I to!d them I’d ride tip here and send a wagon down to bring them up. I said you’d be glad to have them as long as they’d stay.” “That’s right, my boy; of course we’re glad to have ’em. Here you, Pedro, harness up an’ go down to the road. Bring up all the passengers on the coach. How many is there of them, Bob?” “Five in all. There’s the prettiest girl, father, you* ever saw, an old lady who kept looking at me, and three gentlemen.” “Well, my boy, well try and make ’em comfortable. You better go ’an see *bont rooms being got readr for ’em, an’ I’ll ride down to bring ’em up.” Bob dismounted, and throwing the bridle rein over the liitching-post, walked into the house. Bandy looked after him, and muttering to himself, “I declar’ that boy gets better every day," prepared to ride down to the rescue of the passengers. It was not very long before the whole party reached the nouse, glad enough for the chance of staying there until they could go on with their journey. It consisted of Mrs. Barnston and Mr. Barnston, his niece, Miss Edith Hovee, aud two friends of theirs, Messrs. James and Flynn. Sandy’s welcome was so cordial, and he was so unaffectedly glad to see tl>em r that all idea of formality

j vanished, and before supper time the i whole party had become as familiar jas old friends. Bob seemed to get along very well with Miss Edith, and while Sandy and the other gentlemen chatted together, the young people i talked about anything and everything j that could furnish a topic of conversation. Both Sandy and Bob noticed that i Mrs. Bamston was very silent, and that she did not seem to be able to keep her * eyes off the yonng man’s face. She would look at him with a half puzzled and most anxious expression until she saw that she was noticed by the others, when, with an effort, she would join in j the general conversation. After supper the whole party went ; ont upon the piazza, when the men lit their cigars and talked. At length Sandy, who never missed a chance of showing his boy off, called np Bob to sing, and he at once began, in a beautiful tenor voice, some simple melody. As he sang, Mrs. Barnston became more nervous, until suddenly starting up, she hastily left the piazza. Her husband followed her- and after a short absence returned. Turning to Sandy, he said: “You must excuse my wife, Mr. McGovern ; but she lost her first husband and her boy many years ago under peculiarly distressing circumstances, and your son’s singing lias reminded her bo of her first husband’s .voice that she was unable to stay with us.” Sandy paused for a minute before replying, and then in a deep tone said: “Bob ain’t my son.” “Not your son! Why, I thought—but I beg your pardon,” said Mr. Barnston. “Pardon’s granted,” said Sandy, sententiously. “What I mean is, I ain’t Bob’s real father. He’s my son in affection and ip love, but he ain’t my natural son.” “Well, if you’ll excuse my curiosity, where did you get him ?” “It’s 16 years ago now,” said Sandy, slowly, “that I was riding along the South Platte. One .day I came across a place whar the red devils bad been figlitin’ a train. When I come thar ther’ weren’t ho man alive nor no horses nor nothin’. I rode along an’ I hearn a kind o’, wail, feeble like. I stopped an’ listened, an’ then I looked whar the sound come from, and I found Bob thar, nothin’ but a kid be were then, in a-^ “Yon found him in the wagon-box 1 Oh, for God’s sake, say you found liim there!” and’’ Mrs. Barnston fairly ran from the door in which she was standing, and threw her arms about Bob’s neck, turning her head towards Sandy as she spoke. Saudv started, and half rose from bis chair. Then looking at Bob with an eye full of affection for a moment, be allowed his gaze to rest upon the eager face of the woman. Then he said, slowly: “Thar wer’ somethin’ as I found alongside o’ the little one.” “I know',” said Mrs. Barnston, “the half of a bracelet.” Sandy nodded, and in a wild, inarticulate cry of delight, Mrs. Barnston fell fainting on the floor. The spectators of this intensely dramatic scene hastened to her assistance, and when she recovered it was to find tlie arms of lie* son around her. She hugged him, kissed him, laughed and cried at the same time over him. She -called him her boy, her Willie, her darling—every term of endearment ever heard she lavished upon him. Bob. or Willie Thorndike, as bis name really was, behaved very well. While it was impossible for him to realize that he had found a new name and a mother, he yet showed a great deal of affection. He was the first to realize, however, that Sandy had' left them. “Mother,” ho said, “father must be told that this makes no difference. Come with me.” Mrs. Barnston got up, and holding her son’s arm tightly, went with him. They found Sandy walking to Mid fro outside the house. “Mother," said Will, “you must speak to father. He has been a true father .to me.” At the sound of the title he had so long been accustomed to, Sandy turned towards them. “Father,” continued Will, “I have found a mother, but I have not lost you.” “I do not know what to say to you,” began Mrs. Barnston; “words would be poor and weak. God bless you, Mr. McGovern, and He will bless your for what you have done. I cannot thank you, but I can pray to Him that He wilt. Do not think that I wish to take Will away from you. You have been a father to him, and it is right that he should be your son. But he is my boy, my darling—” “Wa’al, marm,” said Sandy, as his face softened into a smile, as full of pleasantness as a May morning, grasp--ing, as he spoke, Will’s hand, “thar ain’t no reason, as I knows, why we can’t both love this youngster. He’s a good boy, as good as they make ’em; and I reckon we can’ range things so as to suit all parties. You an’ your husband had better stay on the ranch for a month or two an’ we’ll have plenty of time to talk it all out. I was afeared,” continued Sandy, after a pause, “as how I might bevlost the boy long o’ your cornin’, but I sees that ain’t so, an’ I bless God for the joy He has given you this day. Let’s all go into the house and talk it over.” And so it was arranged. Mr. and Mrs. Bamston and Edith stayed at the ranch for three months. During that time Will’s mother had a chance to tell how she had been carried off by the Indiana. and resoued by the United States troops within a week; how she had met bet then husband some eight years afterwards and married him, and how she had never ceased thinking ' about her boy that had died, as she supposed,

in the desert During the three months Will discovered the fact that he was very glad that Edith Hovee was not bis relation bv blood. When the Barnsfcons did leave, they did so two days after Mr. and Mrs. William Thorndike had taken the cars on their wedding tour. £andy gave Will one-half the ranch, stocking it for him, and the last time I saw Will he told me he. was going to run for Congress. - He was full of the pleasure he expected to have in getting his mother, his wife and babies, and his father, as he always called old Sandy, together once more in his home at Washington.— Alfred, Balch.