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Updated: May 21, 2025
"I want to live out av doors till I get rid av this cough," he answered. "And ye know I can do a stunt in the band. Don't take giants to fiddle and fife. Little runts can do that. Who do you reckon come to Springvale last month?" "Give it up," I answered. "Father Le Claire." "Oh, the good man!" Bud exclaimed. "Where has he been? and where was he going?" I asked coldly.
Even in that time Springvale would not have tolerated the Indian among us had it not been that the minds of the people were fermenting with other things. We were on the notorious old border between free and slave lands, whose tragedies rival the tales of the Scottish border. Kansas had been a storm centre since the day it became a Territory, and the overwhelming theme was negro slavery.
Mapleson handed my father a torn greasy bit of paper, duly setting forth what he had claimed. "Now, to go on," he resumed. "This Kiowa marriage was a legal one, for the Frenchman had a good Catholic conscience. This marriage was all right. I have also here the affidavit of the Rev. J. J. Dodd, former pastor of the Methodist Church South in Springvale.
The wild frontier life attracted him, and he, who could have adorned the court of France or been a power in New York's high circles, plunged into this wilderness. When they reached the cabin the cause for his devoted attentions was made plain. O'Meara was not there, had indeed been gone for weeks. Letters left at Springvale directed to this Frenchman read: "'I'm gone for good.
Everywhere my father was leading them on, and by his side Irving Whately bore the Springvale flag aloft. And then beside me lay the color-bearer with white, agonized face, pleading with me. His words were ringing in my ears, "Take care of Marjie, Phil; keep her from harm." I woke with a start, stiff and shivering.
Our advent in Springvale was just at the time of its transition from a plains trading-post to a Territorial town with ambition for settlement and civilization. I can see now that John Baronet deserved the place he came to hold in that frontier community, for he was a State-builder.
But who is this shadow of Jean Pahusca's a priest in civilization, a renegade on the Plains? Not only the face and voice of the man I saw, but his gait, the set of his shoulders, all were Le Claire to a wrinkle." "Phil, it couldn't have been him in September. The praist was at Springvale then, and he went out on Dever's stage white and sick, hurrying to Kansas City.
I addressed a meeting at that town, and received a vote of confidence. I commenced a tour of the district. The season was very dry, and I had to send feed for my horses by Cobb's coach to Boulia. I went over some of the same ground as in 1890, and when travelling between Boulia and Springvale I saw the tracks made by my buggy in the wet of that year.
To strangers she talked rationally, and with her usual grace and perspicuity, but every one observed that her cheerfulness was gone, and the current report went, by whatever means it got abroad, that Jane Sinclair's heart was broken that Charles Osborne proved faithless and that the beautiful Fawn of Springvale was subject to occasional derangement.
No no I need not conceal it hearken, therefore hearken;" and she lowered her voice to a whisper "the Fawn of Springvale Jane Sinclair is predestined to eternal misery. She is a cast-away. I may therefore speak and raise my voice to warn; who shall dare," she added, "who shall dare ever to part from the truth! Those those only who have been foredoomed like me.
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