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    A Prairie Infanta
    A Prairie Infanta
    A Prairie Infanta
    Ebook116 pages1 hour

    A Prairie Infanta

    By Eva Wilder Brodhead

    ()

    Read preview
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherArchive Classics
    Release dateNov 1, 2009
    A Prairie Infanta

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      Book preview

      A Prairie Infanta - Eva Wilder Brodhead

      The Project Gutenberg EBook of A Prairie Infanta, by Eva Wilder Brodhead

      This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with

      almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or

      re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included

      with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.net

      Title: A Prairie Infanta

      Author: Eva Wilder Brodhead

      Release Date: October 10, 2009 [EBook #30224]

      Language: English

      *** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A PRAIRIE INFANTA ***

      Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Diane Monico, and the Online

      Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net

      A Prairie Infanta.—Frontispiece

      THE DOCTOR SCOWLED OVER HIS GLASSES AS HE LISTENED.

      See p. 79

      A

      Prairie Infanta

      By

      Eva Wilder Brodhead

      Illustrated

      PHILADELPHIA

      HENRY ALTEMUS COMPANY

      Copyright, 1904, by Henry Altemus

      The pictures in this book have been reproduced by the courtesy of The Youth's Companion

      CONTENTS

      PAGE

      CHAPTER ONE

      The Power of Consolation13

      CHAPTER TWO

      A Sacred Charge37

      CHAPTER THREE

      A True Benefactress61

      CHAPTER FOUR

      Wise Impulses85

      CHAPTER FIVE

      Destiny Presses109

      CHAPTER SIX

      Bewildering Satisfaction133

      ILLUSTRATIONS

      PAGE

      The doctor scowled over his glasses as he listened Frontispiece

      'I will not go with you!' 29

      'He is Tesuque, the rain-god' 55

      'I hoped you'd be able to lend me a hand' 101

      'Do not make the thread short, Lolita' 123

      "'Tia, you are a lady of fortune'" 153

      THE

      POWER OF CONSOLATION

      A PRAIRIE INFANTA

      CHAPTER ONE

      THE POWER OF CONSOLATION

      At the first glance there appeared to be nothing unusual in the scene confronting Miss Jane Combs as she stood, broad and heavy, in her doorway that May morning, looking up and down the single street of the little Colorado mining-town.

      Jane's house was broad and heavy also—a rough, paintless shack, which she had built after her own ideals on a treeless forty just beyond the limits of Aguilar. It was like herself in having nothing about it calculated to win the eye.

      Jane, with her rugged, middle-aged face, baggy blouse, hob-nailed shoes and man's hat, was so unfeminine a figure as she plowed and planted her little vega, that some village wag had once referred to her as Annie Laurie. Because of its happy absurdity the name long clung to Jane; but despite such small jests every one respected her sterling traits,—every one, that is, except Señora Vigil, who lived hard by in a mud house like a bird's nest, and who cherished a grudge against her neighbor.

      For, years before, when Jane's forty was measured off by the surveyor, it had been developed that the Vigil homestead was out of bounds, and that a small strip of its back yard belonged in the Combs tract. Jane would have waived her right, but the surveyor said that the land office could not muddle up the records in any such way; she must take her land. And Jane had taken it, knowing, however, that thereafter even the youngest Vigil, aged about ten months, would regard her as an enemy.

      Just now, too, as Alejandro Vigil, a ragged lad with a scarlet cap on his black head, went by, driving his goats to pasture, he had said rogue! under his breath. Jane sighed at the word, and her eyes followed him sadly up the road, little thinking her glance was to take in something which should print itself forever in her memory, and make this day different from all other days.

      In the clear sun everything was sharply defined. From the Mexican end of town,—the old plaza,—which antedated coal-mines and Americanisms, gleamed the little gold cross of the adobe Church of San Antonio. Around it were green, tall cottonwoods and the straggling mud-houses and pungent goat-corrals of its people. Toward the cañon rose the tipple and fans of the Dauntless colliery, banked in slack and slate, and surrounded by paintless mine-houses, while to the right swept the ugly shape of the company's store. The mine end of the town was not pretty, nor was it quiet, like the plaza. Just at present the whistle was blowing, and throngs of miners were gathering at the mouth of the slope. From above clamored the first trip of cars. Day and its work had begun.

      Alejandro's red cap was a mere speck in the cañon, and his herd was sprinkled, like bread-crumbs, over the slaty hills. But over in the Vigil yard the numberless other little Vigils were to be seen, and Jane, as she looked, began to see that some sort of excitement was stirring them. The señora herself stood staring, wide-eyed and curious. Ana Vigil, her eldest girl, was pointing. Attention seemed to be directed toward something at the foot of the hill behind Jane's house, and she turned to see what was going on there.

      A covered wagon, of the prairie-schooner type, was drawn up at the foot of the rise. Three horses were hobbled near by, and a little fire smoked itself out, untended. The whole thing meant merely the night halt of some farer to the mountains. Jane, about to turn away, saw something, however, which held her. In the shadow of the wagon the doctor's buggy disclosed itself. Some one lay ill under the tunnel of canvas.

      She had just said this to herself when out upon the sunny stillness rang a sharp, lamentable cry, such as a child might utter in an extremity of fear or pain. The sound seemed to strike a sudden horror upon the day's bright face, and Jane shivered. She made an impulsive step out into her corn-field, hardly knowing what she meant to do. And then she saw the doctor alighting from the wagon, and pausing to speak to a man who followed him.

      This man wore a broad felt hat, whose peaked crown was bound in a silver cord which glittered gaily above the startled whiteness of his face. He had on buckskin trousers, and there was a dash of color at his waist, like a girdle, which gave a sort of theatric air to his gesture as he threw up his arms wildly and turned away.

      The doctor seemed perplexed. He looked distractedly about, and seeing Jane Combs in her field, called to her and came running. He reached the fence breathless, for he was neither so young nor so slim as the man leaning weeping against the wagon-step.

      Will you go over there, Miss Combs? he panted. "There's a poor woman in that wagon breathing her last. They were on their way from Taos to Cripple Creek—been camping along the way for some time. Probably they struck bad water somewhere. She's had a low fever. The

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