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Updated: June 2, 2025
"I was beated to-day," said Diana; "it was an enemy did it, and I'm going to have her shotted." "Oh, I wouldn't do that!" said the woman. "You might be hanged up for that." "What's being hanged up?" asked Diana. "It's something very bad I need not tell you now; but there are laws in this country, and if you shoot your enemies you are hanged up for it.
I has got my holiday through awfu' suff'in'. I was beated and killed, and I has come fresh to life again. Course I's in a wage, and I's got a holiday for you and for me 'cos we must do our work. Wun upstairs, Orion, and bwing down your big straw hat and mine, and we'll go and find them." Orion knew perfectly well what "them" meant.
"Well, then, call me mother without anything else. They often does that at home often and often. All the little kids is desp'ate fond of me. I dote so on little children. My heart runs over with love to 'em." "You would not let a little girl be beated?" said Diana. "Be beaten?" replied the woman. "No, that I wouldn't; it would be downright cruel."
She sat wide awake and gazed hard at the woman, whose dark eyes were seen to flash now and then as the party jolted over the roads. "Tell him to go k'icker," said Diana. "I must get home afore Uncle William goes to bed. Aunt Jane might beat me again, and I don't want to be beated. Tell him to go k'icker, Mother 'Odesia." Mother Rodesia was most kind and obliging.
"Why isn't we going with the others?" asked Diana. "'Cos the train is faster, little miss," answered Aunt Sarah. "And now the cab is at the door, and, if you will jump in at once we will be at the station in no time." "I calls it lovely," said Diana, turning to secure Orion's approval. "I like it miles better nor lessons with Miss Wamsay nor being beated by Aunt Jane.
Now we must live on what God sends, and warre against the bears in the meane time, for we could aime att nothing else, which was the cause that we had no great cheare. We beated downe the woods dayly for to discover novellties.
Jim Beckwourth was our guide a life-long frontiersman, an old man "beated and chopped with tanned antiquity." He had at one time been a chief of the Crows. "I'd spit on that fire," said Jim Beckwourth. The old man has gone, I hope, where there is no fire to be quenched. And Hazen, and the chap with whom I shared my blanket that winter night on the plains both gone.
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