Elder Conklin by Frank Harris (rom com books to read TXT) đ
- Author: Frank Harris
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Next day at breakfast Mr. Morris came in. He was an ordinary young Western farmer, rough but kindly, ill-educated but sensible. When his appetite was satisfied he wanted to know whether they had heard the news.
âNo,â Mrs. Conklin replied eagerly, âweâve heard nothing unless pârâaps the Elder in Eurekaââbut her husband shook his head, and Morris went on:
âFolks say the Government in Washington has sent General Custer out with troops to pertect the Indian Territory. Away East they think the settlers have been stealing the Reserve, anâ the soldiers are coming with surveyors to draw the line again.â
After a pause, âThat seems right,â said the Elder; âtharâ ainât nothinâ agen that.â
âBut youâve ploughed and raised crops on the Indian land across the crik,â objected Morris; âwe all hev. Air we to give it up?â
There was no answer.
âAnyway,â Morris continued, âCusterâs at Wichita now. Heâll be here in a day or two, anâ weâve called a meetinâ in the school-house for this eveninâ anâ we hope youâll be on hand. âTainât likely weâre goinâ to stand by anâ see our crops destroyed. We must hold together, and allâll come right.â
âThatâs true,â said the Elder, thinking aloud, âand good. Ef we all held together thereâd not be much wrong done.â
âThen I kin tell the boys,â resumed Morris, rising, âthat youâll be with us, Elder. All us young uns hold by you, anâ what you say, weâll do, every time.â
âWall,â replied the Elder slowly, âI donât know. I kainât see my way to goinâ. Iâve always done fer myself by myself, and I mean toâright through; but the meetinâ seems a good idee. Iâm not contradictinâ that. It seems strong. I donât go much though on meetinâs; they hainât ever helped me. But a meetinâ seems strongâfor them that likes it.â
With this assurance Morris was fain to be satisfied and go his way.
Bancroft had listened to the colloquy with new feelings. Prepared to regard with admiration all that the Elder said or did, it was not difficult for him now to catch the deeper meaning of the uncouth words. He was drawn to the Elder by moral sympathy, and his early training tended to strengthen this attraction. It was right, he felt, that the Elder should take his own course, fearing nothing that man could do.
In the evening he met Loo. She supposed with a careless air that he was goinâ to pack them leather trunks of his.
âNo, Iâve reconsidered it,â he answered. âIâm going to beg your fatherâs pardon, and take back all I said to him.â
âOh! then you do care for me, George,â cried the girl enthusiastically, âanâ we ken be happy again. Iâve been real miserable since last night; I cried myself to sleep, so I did. Now I know you love me Iâll do anythinâ you wish, anythinâ. Iâll learn to play the pianner; you see if I donât.â
âPerhaps,â he replied harshly, the old anger growing bitter in him at the mention of the âpiannerâââperhaps it would be better if you gave up the idea of the piano; that costs too much,â he added significantly, âfar too much. If youâd read good books and try to live in the thought of the time, it would be better. Wisdom is to be won cheaply and by all, but success in an art depends upon innate qualities.â
âI see,â she exclaimed, flaming up, âyou think I canât learn to play like your sister, and Iâm very ignorant, and had better read and get to know all other people have said, and you call that wisdom. I donât. Memory ainât sense, I guess; and to talk like you ainât everythinâ.â
The attack pricked his vanity. He controlled himself, however, and took up the argument: âMemory is not sense, perhaps; but still one ought to know the best that has been said and done in the world. It is easier to climb the ladder when others have shown us the rungs. And surely to talk correctly is better than to talk incorrectly.â
âIt donât matter much, I reckon, so long as one gets your meaninâ, and as for the ladder, a monkey could do that.â
The irrelevant retort puzzled him, and her tone increased his annoyance. But why, he asked himself, should he trouble to lift her to a higher level of thought? He relapsed into silence.
With wounded heart the girl waited; she was hurt, afraid he did not care for her, could not even guess how she had offended him; but, as he would not speak, her pride came to her aid, and she remarked:
âIâm asked out this eveninâ, so Iâll have to get ready and go. Good night, George Bancroft.â
âGood night, Miss Loo,â he replied calmly, though the pain he suffered proved that jealousy may outlive love. âI think I shall go to this meeting at the school-house.â
They parted. Loo went upstairs to her room to cry over her misery and Georgeâs coldness; to wish she had been better taught, and had learned her lessons in school carefully, for then he might have been kinder. She wondered how she should get books to read. It was difficult. Besides, couldnât he see that she was quick and would learn everythinâ afterwards if heâd be good to her. Why did he act so? Why!
Bancroft went to the meeting, and found the house crowded. A young farmer from the next county was present, who told how a United States officer with twelve men and a surveyor had come and drawn the boundary line, torn up his fences, and trampled down the corn which he had planted in the Indian Reserve. The meeting at once adopted the following resolution:
âIn view of the fact that the land cultivated by American citizens in or upon the Indian Reserve has never been used or cultivated by the Indians, who keep to the woods, and that it is Godâs will that land should bring forth fruit for the sustenance of man, we are resolved to stand upon our rights as citizens and to defend the same against all aggressors.â
Every one signed this document, copies of which were to be sent to General Custer, and also to the President, to the Senate, and to Congress. It was arranged further to write to their own representatives at Washington giving an account of the situation.
After this the meeting broke up, but not before all present had agreed to stand by any of their number who should resist the troops.
When Bancroft returned home Mr. and Mrs. Conklin were still up, and he related to them all that had taken place. The Elder rose and stretched himself without having made a remark. In a whisper Bancroft asked Mrs. Conklin to let him have a word with her husband. As soon as they were alone, he began:
âMr. Conklin, I insulted you yesterday. I am sorry for it. I hope youâll forgive me.â
âYes,â replied the Elder meditatively, overlooking the proffered hand, âyes, thatâs Christian, I reckon. But the truthâs the truth.â Turning abruptly to leave the room, he added: âThe cornâs ripe, waitinâ to be cut; ef the United States troops donât eat it all up weâll have a good year.â There was a light in his steady eyes which startled the schoolmaster into all sorts of conjectures.
A day or two later, the Conklins and Bancroft were seated at dinner when a knock came at the door. âCome in!â said Mrs. Conklin, and a young officer appeared in the uniform of the United States cavalry. He paused on the threshold, lifted his cap, and apologized for his intrusion:
âElder Conklin, I believe?â The Elder nodded his head, but continued eating. âMy business isnât pleasant, I fear, but it neednât take long. Iâm sent by General Custer to draw the boundary line between the State of Kansas and the Indian Reserve, to break down all fences erected by citizens of the United States in the Territory, and to destroy such crops as they may have planted there. I regret to say our surveyor tells me the boundary line here is Cottonwood Creek, and I must notify you that tomorrow about noon I shall be here to carry out my orders, and to destroy the crops and fences found on the further side of the creek.â
Before withdrawing he begged pardon again, this time for the short notice he was compelled to giveâa concession apparently to Miss Conklinâs appearance and encouraging smiles.
âOh, pappa!â cried Loo, as he disappeared, âwhy didnât you ask him to have some dinner? He jest looked splendid, and that uniformâs too lovely.â
The Elder made no answer. Neither the courteous menace of the lieutenant nor his daughterâs reproach seemed to have had any effect upon him. He went on with his dinner.
Looâs outspoken admiration of the officer did not move Bancroft as she had anticipated. It simply confirmed his worst suspicions. His nature was neither deep nor passionate; he had always lived in the conventions which the girl constantly outraged, and they now exercised their influence. Moreover, he had self-possession enough to see that she meant to annoy him. He was exceedingly anxious to know what the Elder intended to do, and what Loo might think or feel did not interest him greatly.
A few hours later a clue was given to him: Jake came and told him as a piece of news that âPaâs shot-gun ainât in his room.â Bancroft could not rid himself of the thought that the fact was significant. But the evening passed away quietly; Loo busied herself with some work, and the Elder seemed content to watch her.
At breakfast next morning nothing of moment happened. Bancroft took occasion to say that he was coming home early to dinner. On his return from school, some three hours after, he saw a troop of horsemen riding up the valley a mile or so away. With quickened pulses he sprang up the steps and met the Elder in the doorway.
âThere they come!â he said involuntarily, pointing to the little cloud of dust.
âHum,â grunted the Elder, and left the stoop, going towards the outhouses.
Bancroft turned into the parlour, where he found Mrs. Conklin. She seemed to be irritated, and not at all anxious, as he had expected:
âDid you see the Elder?â
âYes,â he replied. âHe went to the barn. I thought of accompanying him, but was afraid he wouldnât like it.â
âI guess heâs worrying about that corn,â Mrs. Conklin explained. âWhen he broke that land I told him âtwould bring trouble, but he never minds what any one says to him. He should listen to his wife, though, sometimes, shouldnât he? But beinâ a man pârâaps youâll take his part. Anyway, it has all happened as I knew it would. And whatâll he do now? thatâs what Iâd like to know. All that corn lost and the fencesâhe jest worked himself to death on those logsâall lost now. We shall be bare poor again. Itâs too bad. Iâve never had any money since I left home.â And here Mrs. Conklinâs face puckered itself up as if she were about to cry, but the impulse of vanity being stronger, she burst out angrily: âI think itâs real wicked of the Elder. I told him so. If heâd ask that young man to let him cut the corn, Iâm sure he wouldnât refuse. But heâll never take my advice, or even answer me. Itâs too aggravatinâ when I know Iâm right.â
He looked at her in astonishment. She had evidently no inkling of what might occur, no vivid understanding of her husbandâs character. Preferring to leave her in ignorance, he said lightly, âI
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