The Tragedy of Wild River Valley

Along a quiet road a man was walking at a steady, swinging pace. He was above the medium height, strongly built, and his erect carriage bespoke him one accustomed to military drill, while the knapsack swung over his shoulder and the blue overcoat on his arm seemed to indicate that he was one of the returning veterans of the lately disbanded Union army.

His face, young and strongly Celtic in feature, was not unhandsome, though marred by a sinister expression. It was that of a bold, bad man on the alert to better his own fortunes without regard to the rights of others; and as he pressed onward he sent many a covetous glance toward the comfortable farmhouses, orchards, and rich harvest fields on either hand.

At length, turning aside from the main road and making his way through a bit of woods, he paused in front of a rude cabin standing in a potato patch, enclosed by a rough, zigzag rail-fence. An old man in patched, worn, and by no means clean garments sat on the door-step smoking a dirty pipe.

His wife stood just behind him with her knitting, a coarse woollen stocking, in her hands. She threw it from her as the traveller opened the gate, and with a wild cry, "It's me son! me bye Phalim come home till his mither at last!" rushed out and threw herself upon his breast, weeping for very joy.

He returned her embrace with ardor almost equal to her own, filial affection so softening his countenance that the evil look was banished for the moment.

The old man rose with trembling eagerness and grasped his son's hand. "An' it's yersilf, lad!" he cried. "Thank the blessed Vargin an' all the howly saints that ye've come back till yer mither an' me alive an' well afther all the fightin' ye've been in!"

There were rapid questions and answers, knapsack and overcoat were bestowed within the cabin, a chair or two were brought out into the shade before the door, and with a pipe apiece and a bottle of whiskey the three made themselves comfortable, while Phelim gave an account of his wanderings and exploits, inventing, embellishing, or suppressing occurrences as suited his fancy.

"An' have yees made yer fortin, Phalim, me lad?" queried his mother, regarding him with a look of maternal pride and fondness.

"Not jist yit, ould lady," he answered, with an unpleasant laugh; "but," pulling out a handful of gold and silver coins and a roll of bank-notes, "here's the beginnin' o't."

She reached out an eager hand, while her old eyes reflected the covetous gleam in his. "Ye'll share wid yer ould fayther and mither, Phalim, me darlint?"

"Wan o' these days maybe," he said, returning the money to his pocket. "I'm goin' intil a line av business that'll pay; an' I'll have yees soon livin' in betther style," he said, with a contemptuous glance at their mean and squalid surroundings.

"Them's not all sodger's wages, me lad," remarked the old man, with a knowing look.

"Did yees iver hear o' bounty-jumpin'?" returned his son, with a coarse laugh. "It's been a dangerous business, but, faith, a payin' wan, too; an' a smart chap cud foind chances now an' agin to hilp hisself amang the rebs an' the wounded."

"An' Phalim wasn't the bye to neglict his chances; was ye, lad?" chuckled the old father.

"Niver a bit o't, dad; an' it's mesilf, Phalim O'Rourke, as manes to be a moighty rich man wan o' these days. Me gurrul, Belinda, shall roide intil her coach an' wear her foine goold ornaments an' her silks an' satins wid the best."

But observing significant glances passing between the old people, while his mother took her pipe from her mouth and shook her head ruefully, "What's wrong?" he demanded, the color paling on his sunburnt cheek; "don't tell me annything's happened till her, the purtiest and swatest gurrul in Ameriky!"

At that his mother burst out into an angry denunciation of the girl; she was unworthy of his love; she was faithless; she had been married for a year to an old farmer living some miles away. The man was well off, and his money, house, and land had bought the silly, faithless creature.

Phelim's face grew white with disappointment and rage as he listened to the tale; he clinched his fists and swore with horrible oaths that he would be revenged upon them both. He would shoot the old man dead in his tracks and blow out the brains of the faithless girl.

"Aisy, aisy, Phalim, me darlint! don't yees be afther runnin' yer neck intil a halter for the loikes av thim, the warthless varmints," returned his mother, alarmed at his vehemence.

"Sorra a bit o' that same," he growled; "there's niver a bit o' hangin' in this State."

"Eh! no; are yees sure o' that same?" she exclaimed, in surprise. "An' what fur wadn't they be for takin' the loives o' thim as takes other folk's?"

"It's agin the law," he answered, shortly.

"State's prison for life's near about as bad as swingin'," suggested the old man.

"But while there's life there's hope," remarked his son, significantly; "hope o' breakin' jail or being pardoned out; an' it's mesilf as wadn't be afeared to take me chance o' one or t'other."

"Ye wuz always a brave bye an' a lucky wan, Phalim," was his mother's comment as she rose and set about preparing the evening meal.

When the hour for retiring came Phelim declined to sleep in the house, averring that long use had made mother earth a more comfortable couch to him than the softest of beds, and taught him that he could breathe more freely under the open sky than beneath any roof. Spreading his army blanket under a tree some hundreds of yards distant from the cabin, he threw himself down upon it and fell asleep.

Hours passed on, while all was quiet save the murmur of a brook near at hand and the rustle of the night wind in the treetops; then a shrill whistle roused him.

He started up and listened. It came again, louder, shriller than before. He answered it, and moved swiftly in the direction of the sound, which seemed to come from the road from which he had yesterday turned aside to gain his father's dwelling. It was long past midnight, but darkness still brooded over the land, and few were abroad save those bent upon evil deeds. To that class belonged Phelim and those who had summoned him to their aid. In the shadow of the trees bordering the roadside lurked three men awaiting the coming of their leader; for such Phelim was.

"Where are yees, byes?" he asked in an undertone as he drew cautiously near.

"Here, sor," replied a suppressed voice, in as rich a brogue as his own.

The three joined him, and a whispered conference ensued, the chief speaker being one who answered to the name of Teddy McManus. He was describing a country-seat, the situation of doors and windows, arrangement and contents of its lower rooms. "We'll git in aisy," he said; "wan o' thim kitchin doors ain't got no bolt at all-nothin' but a common lock; an' a wire'll turn the kay an' let us in as aisy as the masther hissilf walks intil the front door wid his latch-kay. An' thin it's all plain sailin'; dinin'-room nixt, solid siller a plenty on the sideboard; beyont that, jist acrost the hall's the lib'ry, where he kapes his money."

"But where he won't kape it much longer," put in one of the others.

"We'll do oor indivors to relave him o't the noight, if that's yer wull, captain," continued Teddy's rough voice.

"Yis, if yees are all agraable. What's yer wull, Gotlieb? an' yours, Pat?"

"I dinks we goes; and we petter makes haste," answered the first.

Patrick echoed the sentiment, and they set off at once, walking rapidly in a direction opposite to that from which Phelim had come some hours ago.

They were armed with pistols and knives, and carried with them a dark lantern and a full set of burglars' tools.

When the family at Walnut Hill rose from that night's slumbers it was to find that butter, bread, meat, and other edibles had disappeared from spring-house and pantry; also all the silver ware from the dining-room; and that the secretary in the library had been robbed of several hundred dollars in gold and silver, bank-notes, and United States bonds.

It was near sunset of a lovely June day. An hour earlier Dr. Jasper had invited his wife to drive with him a few miles into the country, whither professional duties summoned him. These had been attended to, and they were travelling toward their home in Prairieville again.

Their way lay along the bank of the river, which in this part of its course moved with majestic quiet, reflecting in its clear depths the beautiful blue of the sky overhead, the glories of the sunset clouds, and the overshadowing trees on the hither shore. On the opposite bank a stretch of white sand, a few feet in width, bordered green fields and meadows, beyond which rose richly wooded hills.

"It is a beautiful country," remarked Mrs. Jasper, in her soft, girlish tones. "But where now?" as horse and gig took a sudden turn in a westerly direction; "this is not the direct route home."

"To Lakeside, my dear," replied her husband.

"That is where the Heaths reside, isn't it?"

"Yes; and a very attractive place it is; I want you to see it."

"But, doctor, Miss Heath has not called upon me."

He gave her a half-reproachful, half-humorous look. "So I am your doctor? nothing nearer or dearer, eh, Serena?" he said, dropping the reins on his horse's neck and bending down to look into her eyes-large, soft, dark-brown orbs shaded by heavy silken lashes.

She was a handsome brunette, and so youthful in appearance that few would have taken her to be the mother of the three-year-old boy seated on a stool between them.

"You is my new papa, and me 'ikes you," remarked that young gentleman, rising hastily to his feet, with the evident intention of bestowing a hug upon the person addressed.

"Sit still, Perry; you'll fall out of the gig and be killed," said his mother, putting a hand on his shoulder and forcing him down again. "Alonzo, do make him behave."

"He's going to do that of his own free will," replied the doctor, smiling down upon the little prattler. "You know you must keep quiet, my little man, if you want to ride with your mamma and me."

"Miss Heath has not called upon me yet, Alonzo," repeated Serena, "and it is not according to the rules of etiquette for me to go there before she does."

"Ah, no matter for that, my love, since her failure to do so has not been for want of will, but of ability; and to please me and poor Ronald, you will consent to waive ceremony in this instance, I am sure."

"How want of ability?" she asked, with a slight pout of the full red lips; "what has there been to prevent her? 'Tis over a week since we came to Prairieville, and the weather has been charming."

"Yes, I know; but Miriam Heath's life is a very busy one; she is a girl in a thousand. Why, my dear, since her mother's death, two years ago, she has actually carried on the farming herself; and she is only twenty-one, scarce a year older than her brave soldier brother."

"A woman farmer! odious! She must be a coarse, vulgar creature. How can you want me to visit her, Alonzo?"

"My dear Serena, you were never more mistaken," he said, warmly. "Miss Heath is as refined and ladylike as any woman of my acquaintance."

"That doesn't seem possible if she works in the field like a man."

He smiled. "It is the head work she does-overseeing and directing-while the actual hard labor, ploughing, sowing, reaping, foddering the cattle, and so forth, is done by hired men."

We will put in a few words the story of the Heath family, which the doctor proceeded to tell his wife.

The parents of Miriam and Ronald were persons of education and refinement, native-born Americans, who shortly after their marriage had sought a home in this Northwestern State, locating themselves on the banks of one of those pretty little lakes so common in that region of country, and within a mile of the village of Prairieville.

When the War of the Rebellion broke out Mr. Heath was one of the first to volunteer for the defence of the imperilled Union, while his wife, equally full of patriotic zeal, undertook to fill his place at home in overseeing and directing operations upon their farm.

In this she proved herself most efficient and capable; fields, orchard, and garden flourished under her sway, cattle increased in numbers and grew sleek and fat.

In the second year of the war her husband came home sick and wounded, to die in her arms. His eldest son, a lad of eighteen, then enlisted in the Union army, and when, a few months later, Mrs. Heath followed her husband to the grave, Miriam assumed the whole burden laid down by her mother-the superintendence of the farm, and, with the assistance of her grandmother, the care of the house and of a little brother and sister many years younger than herself and Ronald.

Serena listened to the tale with interest about equally divided between it and the beauties of the landscape.

For the first quarter of a mile the road made a gradual ascent; then the home of the Heaths came into view-a comfortable and tasteful dwelling, on the hither side of the pretty sheet of water from which it took its name. A grove of forest trees half hid the house from sight as they approached, but passing that, vine-wreathed porches, lawn, and flower-garden in the foreground, and the rippling, sparkling waters of the lake beyond, added their attractions to the scene.

Serena uttered an exclamation of delight. "Why, it's a sort of paradise!"

"A very fine situation," responded the doctor; "high and healthful. Look off yonder, my dear; there lies Prairieville, apparently almost at our feet. They have a fine view of it from the front porch."

"And that side porch overlooks the lake?"

"Yes. The sitting-room opens upon it, and at this hour we are likely to find the family gathered there."

They were there at that moment; the early tea had been partaken of and cleared away, and the grandmother with her knitting and Miriam with her sewing had seated themselves near the hammock in which Ronald, pale-faced and thin, and with his left arm in a sling, swung slowly to and fro. The two little folks were present also; Olive turning over the leaves of a picture-book, Bertie, a little apart from the others, trying to teach his dog Frisk a new trick.

Ronald was a dark-eyed, handsome youth, but just now haggard and worn; hardly more than the ghost of himself, as Miriam had said again and again in tremulous tones and with eyes full of tears since, less than a fortnight ago, he had come home to her to be nursed back-if such were the will of Providence-to the health and strength of which wounds and months of languishing in rebel prisons had deprived him.

His return was matter of great rejoicing to each member of the household, yet their joy was tempered with many a pang at thought of his sufferings, past and present, and of the dear parents who would return no more.

"Grandma and Mirry," he said, breaking a silence which had fallen upon them for a few moments, "this is paradise. What a luxury to breathe this pure, sweet air; to gaze on your flower-garden there, so full of beauty and sweetness; the green grass, the waving trees, and the lake beyond! How its waters sparkle in the light of the setting sun!"

"Yes, we have a lovely and delightful home here," responded his grandmother.

"And you are one of those who appreciate their mercies, Ronald," Miriam added, with tender look and tone.

"I doubt if I am an unusually thankful person," he said, glancing around at her with a patient smile; "but no one who has spent weeks and months shut up in a squalid, filthy prison, devoured by vermin and fed upon food a dog would turn from, could help enjoying such a change as this."

"Tell us some more 'bout it, Brother Ronald," pleaded a child's voice at his other side.

"Ah, are you there, Bertie?" queried Ronald, turning his head to look at the speaker. "I thought you were playing with your dog."

"I was, but he's run off, and now I'd like a story."

"Well, what is it you want to hear?"

"Everything."

"Not all at once?" questioned Ronald, with amusement, stroking the child's head with his pale hand. "But something you shall hear, now while we are all together," he added. "I will tell you about the battle fought close to the house where Mrs. Jasper and her father and mother lived; though she was not Mrs. Jasper then, but Mrs. Golding, a very young, very pretty widow with one child, a little boy."

"Was that where you got shooted?" asked Bertie.

"That was the time and place where and when I received a wound that nearly cost me my life, and I shall never forget the doctor's kindness to me or the motherly care of the old lady; no, nor how good her daughter was to me and the other poor fellows. I don't wonder Dr. Jasper fell in love with her.

"I want you two to become acquainted," he added, addressing Miriam; "you are both so handsome and so nice, though as unlike as possible in character and in looks, that I think you can't help liking each other very much indeed."

"Yes; perhaps we shall fancy each other all the more for our lack of resemblance," responded Miriam, with a quiet smile. "Suppose you describe her to us."

"I will. Instead of your fair skin and dark blue eyes, she has brown eyes and a brunette complexion. You are quick and sprightly in your movements and your talk and are full of energy. She hasn't a bit of that, but talks and moves with a sort of languishing grace that is charming in her, but would not suit me in my sister. I am very proud of you, Miriam, and would not have you changed from what you are in any respect," he added, regarding her with eyes that were full of fraternal pride and affection.

"Nor I you," she returned, tenderly pressing his hand, which she had taken in hers; "you can hardly feel so proud of me as I do of my brave soldier-brother, who has fought and bled for his country. What have I ever done in comparison with that?"

"Somebody's coming! I hear wheels!" exclaimed Bertie. "Yes, there's Dr. Jasper's gig right at the gate; and he's helping a lady out; and there's a little boy, too."

Miriam laid aside her sewing, and hurried out to meet and welcome her guests.

The doctor introduced his wife, explaining that he had persuaded her to disregard the rules of etiquette and make the first call.

"I assure you I appreciate your kindness, Mrs. Jasper," Miriam said, with a warm grasp of the little gloved hand, and an admiring look into the brown eyes of the pretty ex-widow; "and Ronald will be delighted; he has just been telling us of all your and your mother's goodness to him;-yours, too, doctor."

Her voice trembled and her eyes filled.

"It wasn't much I could do," Serena said, in her soft, languishing tones, "and though I was the biggest kind of a rebel, I couldn't for the life of me help liking him; and so, just for his sake, you see, I yielded to the doctor's entreaties to come without waiting till you had called upon me," she added, saucily. "So won't you please take me to him?"

"Yes; he is just here on the porch, and will be delighted to see you," Miriam answered, leading the way.

Ronald would have risen to greet them, but both the doctor and Serena bade him lie still, for he was almost too weak for any other than a reclining posture.

The Jaspers were scarcely seated when there was another arrival in the person of a young, fine-looking man of gallant bearing, whom the doctor and Ronald greeted most heartily as "Warren," and introduced to Mrs. Heath and Miriam as Captain Charlton.

He was evidently no stranger to Serena and her boy, the latter of whom speedily claimed a seat upon his knee.

Through Ronald, Miriam and Charlton had heard much of each other, and the captain had long felt a strong desire to meet the sister of whom his young friend always spoke with great brotherly pride and affection. He had expected to be disappointed in her, but he was not; he found something in her appearance, her manner, her conversation, that was irresistibly charming.

The Jaspers made only a short call, but when they had gone the captain still lingered, caressing little Olive, whom he had coaxed to the seat upon his knee vacated by Perry Golding, talking gayly with Ronald about some of the lighter experiences of their army life-for they had been companions in arms-yet furtively watching Miriam and frequently addressing a remark to her.

"That will be a match, you may depend upon it, Alonzo," Serena said to her husband, with a wise nod of her pretty head as they drove homeward.

"What will be a match, my dear?" he asked, giving her a roguish look and smile.

"Now, you needn't pretend that you don't understand me," she said; "you know very well what I mean. Captain Charlton is smitten with that handsome Miss Heath, and I saw in a minute that they were made for each other."

At that moment a horseman came dashing up at a gallop, bowing and lifting his hat as he passed.

"Colonel Bangs," murmured Serena. "Alonzo, I perfectly detest that man."

"In which you are by no means peculiar," replied the doctor; "overbearing and tyrannical to the last degree, and strongly suspected of cowardice in the face of the enemy, he was cordially hated by many of his men."

"Is he going to Lakeside, do you think?"

The doctor put his head out of the gig and glanced back at the house they had just left.

"Yes," he said, drawing it in again; "he has reined in at the gate. I suspect the captain is to have a rival."

"If it's the colonel, I don't think he need be alarmed," returned Serena. "What chance has a homely, disagreeable old bachelor beside a handsome, good-humored young fellow like Captain Charlton?"

"Ah, but the colonel is said to be in very easy circumstances; while Warren, poor fellow, has next to nothing."

The colonel had now dismounted, fastened his horse, and entered the gate. A middle-aged Irishman, a rough but good-humored-looking fellow, was at work at the flower-beds. He had saluted the doctor and his wife courteously as they passed him; the captain also; but looking up at the sound of Bangs's entrance, and seeing who it was, he simply scowled and turned to his work again.

"What are you doing here, you-- rascal?" demanded Bangs, in an insolent tone.

"Mindin' me own business, sor; an' it's yersilf that had betther be doin' that same, an' not meddlin' wid an honest man as yees haven't got no authority over no longer."

A lightning glance of intense scorn, contempt, and hatred, accompanied by a volley of oaths and curses, not loud but deep; and with that Bangs turned and hurried up the path and around to the side porch, where the family and Captain Charlton were sitting. He was greeted politely, and invited to take a seat among them; but his arrival seemed to act as a damper upon the whole party; conversation flagged, and presently there was dead silence for a moment. It was broken by Bangs.

"This is a lovely spot," he remarked, sending a sweeping glance around. "I would advise you to have a care whom you employ. These fellows who have been in the army during the war"-and he nodded in the direction of the front garden-"are apt to be lawless, and too ready to help themselves to whatever they can lay their hands on. Got in the way of it, you know, plundering the rebs."

"I must say, sir, that I consider your remark grossly unjust to our brave boys in blue," said Captain Charlton, his cheek reddening and his eye flashing; "for though there could not fail to be many bad fellows among the immense numbers in the field, the large majority were loyal, true, and honest, and have gone back to civil life to gain an honest living at their old employments."

"Yes; and it is so with Barney Nolan, against whom you seem to be warning us, Colonel Bangs," Miriam said, with spirit. "Norah, his wife, who has been our charwoman for years past, tells me he is leading a sober, industrious life, treating her and his children kindly, and doing his best to provide for them."

"Humph! What kind of character did he bear before he went into the army?" sneered Bangs.

"He drank a good deal; but army life, it seems, has reformed and improved him. A rather unusual effect, doubtless," Miriam concluded, with a mischievous twinkle of the eye and a meaning look at her antagonist.

And now Mrs. Heath, the gentle old grandmother, desirous to pour oil upon the troubled waters, put in her soothing word.

"Yes, Barney is behaving very well indeed; and he and Norah are as faithful workers as one could ask for. And I think all the people about here are honest. I've never heard of a burglary anywhere in this region of country."

"You haven't? Well, I can tell you there was a daring and successful one last night at Walnut Hill, Judge Hall's place, which, you know, is not many miles up the valley," returned Bangs, with evident triumph.

The ladies were much startled; Ronald looked troubled and anxious; but Captain Charlton received the news quietly, remarking that he had heard it some hours since, but thought it not worth while to annoy these friends with the story, as it could only rouse their apprehensions without doing any good.

"Have they been caught?" asked the old lady.

"The burglars?" queried Bangs, with a malicious smile. "No, madam; not yet."

Then he went on to describe the premises visited by Phelim O'Rourke and his confederates, and the valuables they had carried off. He seemed to take pleasure in enlarging upon the ease with which they had effected an entrance, and the fact that they were men evidently accomplished in the art of housebreaking and lock-picking.

Charlton made a movement to go; but an entreating look and word from Ronald led him to resume his seat, and he outstayed the colonel.

When the latter had gone, "What has he against Barney Nolan?" asked the old lady.

"Barney belonged to his regiment," replied Ronald, "and had to submit to many an act of outrageous tyranny from him."

"That would account for Barney's disliking him," she said, doubtfully.

"And for his dislike to Barney," added Charlton. "A man hates those he oppresses. Besides, it is quite likely the Irishman has retorted with his tongue, if in no other way, as who would not?"