Buchanan County bulletin. [volume] (Independence, Iowa) 1869-1891, 1877-07-20
THE STORY OF MARLY.
BY Il. Y. BLAKE,

THE STORY OF MARLY.
BYE.V BLAKE.
did you ever know George Marri-
Ott?" said Herries to me as | lay smo-
king on my blanket, supper over, and
Miner heaping wood on the fire.
l took the pipe from my lips and
paused. The name, a strange souvenir
of New York folly, fashion and wicked
ness, came to me oddly enough here, on
the dark, silent, far-lying prairie, with
the purple, solemn twilight, starlit,
bending it's hollow arch above, and the
faint, sweet, crescent moon, hung away
in the west, beside the evening star
Over the swells glimmered the white
tapped wagons and twinkling lights of
the emigrant camp,
II knew his wife," l repeated" EN-
ma Mansfeld-a fair, tender woman, as
good as gold. l knew him-and that
was enough. Why, Of all memories, do
you recall his, tonight"
He's over there" answered Herries,
with a jerk over his shoulder toward the
Cover there? George MARRIOTT"
saw him. I've been over" said
Herries, sitting down, with thoughtful
expression, on the grass.
''An emigrant! Foremost in all fash
ionable folly and dissipation as he used
to be! Why, these people are going
down to Tucson, Miner tells me"
Yes. Hadn't you heard, before We
left New York, Of the scandal? How
his wife obtained a divorce-broken-
hearted, poor thing-and went home to
her father?"
eyes; l knew it well. She had two
children, and the law decreed them
hers
"That can't be, Rafe.'
"Why, certainly, my dear fellow; EN-
ma told me herself met her in the
street. They were her sole remaining
comfort-these two children"
But he has one with him now"
Impossible!"
II saw her, Rafe. A poor, forlorn
looking child-six or seven, perhaps
with her mothers face [ talked with
him few minutes. He's degenerated
into something brutal The poor little
thing"
But l can't get over it, said |, in
the extremity of my amazement. Geo.
Marriott an emigrant! And the child! y
| sat some time smoking quietly, then
got up.
q l believe | will take stroll over
| Want to come?
9No. Had enough of it. They're IL
rough set, miners and hard characters
in profusion. They're drinking cOnsid-
cradle, and | think we'd better shift our
camp
EFF we mind our biz they'll mind
theirs, [ guess, said Miner, gruffly, and
added-rather inconsistently-" But ct
YOU re going ter get into skrimmage,
you'd best not go alone. I'll 60 Of ye
wanter."
"All right, come along, and we stroll
ed away from the fire. 1t was a longer
walk than it looked, glancing across the
swell; but presently the deep toned bass
of big white dog warned the occupants
of the nearest wagon of our approach
ing steps.
Lie down, Girls" quoth tall, I'M
shaven individual, who turned in easy,
unconstrained fashion, as if to do the
honors of the camp to the unexpected
guests turned, stared and colored with
sudden, embarrassed astonishment; for
it was George Marriott's self.
Mr.. Ransom, | believe. Never felt
very well acquainted, yet | knew you
after fashion" said he, with a ready,
plant courtesy that smoothed over the
first tinge of vexation; for he was plain
ly not glad to see me. | set it down to
the score of his changed position and
consequent unwillingness to meet those
who had known him in better days.
Then, too, | had been a friend to his
poor, wronged wife.
Some easy commonplace passes be-
tween us, and then child's plaintive
voice spoke from the wagon.
Papa, is the soup most ready? I'm
SO hungry
"Yes, yes; directly. Lie down." He
spoke impatiently, and gave a savage
stir to the kettle over the fire.
"Why, that is Marly!" said invol-
unfairly.
His face darkened.
To be sure" he said, with forced
laugh. Il didn't know you knew the
child. You seldom came to the house,
and scarcely knew you, myself; Yet
Emma said you were acquainted long
years ago. How oddly do things come
about" he continued. "To think that
you and l, of all people, should meet
here In the wildarness!"
1t was the first time that he had re-
ferred to his wife, or his married life;-
and now it seemed a slip which he was
fain to hurry over.
"It IS strange" I replied. But sure
ly, this life is rough for the child Is no
one with her? Can l speak to her? She
isn't a-bed?"
He muttered some ungracious words,
and drew aside the flap OF the wagon:
The child was crouched on heap OF
stuff in the corner.
She rose on her elbow and looked at
me with eyes that seemed poor Emma $
own. She had seen me but two or three
times in her life, yet recollected me at
once.
why, Marty, is that you?" said |,
shaking hands with her. haven't dis
turbed you, have I? How do you do? "
She said pretty well" and that she
was glad to see me; for" she added,
with timid glance at her father, |
don't see anybody now that ! used to." "
Lonesome, my dear? Well, it's quite
natural, I'm sure. Strange way of tray
cling, isn't it? Quite funny in these big.
white topped wagons. Do you like it? y
Sometimes-th though | get tired and
want to get out l wish I might ride on
a horse, as one of them do.
4" You ride!" said Marriott, with a
coarse laugh.
"You' re not very strong" I said, my
dear. Perhaps [ could give you ride
on my black horse-if your father is
willing. Tomorrow, maybe. My road
lies with yours some distance.
She said, with wistful look, that it
would be very pleasant, and glanced
again in frightened way at Marriott,
who watched every word. After little
| strolled away to join Miner. But when
Marriott thought me out OF sight among;
the wagons, l heard an oath, a blow. and
a bitter cry from the child; and my blood
boiled in my veins.
I could not sleep that night. Marty
Marriott's pitiful face, with It's sad, en-
treating eyes, forever looking into mine
I tossed and tumhled, sat up, noked the
fire, lay down again, and-what? DID
dream? Was 1t q ghost? Something
came softly, swiftly through the tall
grass-a phantom, shadow-1nder the
dark purple. starry sky, and almost