The Osceola times., 1881-03-12
AUNT 'CINDA'S RANCH.
BY Henry King of Topeka, Ks, ON scribner's
for February.

AUNT 'CINDA'S RANCH.
BY Henry King of Topeka. KS ON scribner's
| for February
There was plenty of game in the neigh
borhood of Aunt 'Cinda's Ranch, as we
| had been told; but our informant had
neglected to state that it was also'one OF
the dreariest places on earth. Far as the
eye could reach in every direction lay only
prairie, prairie, prairie-treeless and fiat,
with short, trivial grass, and over the
face of it all, that indcscribable, tawny
blur, peculiar to the outlying Kansas
plains. The little level river in front of
the ranch had no banks, and flowed slug
pishly;the ranch itself was a fOur-roomed
cabin of melancholy adobe, flanked by a
stone corral. in which were awkward
racks and troughs for horses.
The interest and excitement of our
chases after antelopes, jack rabbits, and
occasionally wandering buffalo, served
to kill time for us during the day, but
when evening came, and we returned to
the ranch, tired out and thinking of
home, the sense of exile became almost
painful. The fact that the ranch was
station, where brief halt was made for
supper, alone redeemed it from utter
desolation, for this gave us our sole
elimpses of the distant world, in the
faces and conversation of the passengers,
with now and then stray newspaper.
We used to stand watching the slow and
gorgeous sunsets with pretty pietense
of admiration, when, in reality, our
thoughts were bent upon catching sight
of the first curl of dust which should de-
note the approaching stage. The pas
sengers were not always attractive or COM
municative but all the same we hailed
them warmly; and when they left, the
horizon seemed swiftly to widen, and
the stars to creep farther upward in the
high, inhospitable sky.
| II was at such empty times that We
turned forlornly to our associates of the
ranch-to the landlady, Aunt 'Cinda Nc
MILAN, and the swarthy Mexican and
his wife, who were in her service. The
resource was an improbable one at first;
but gradually we found 'Cinda to be
character worth knowing, and you may
be sure we left no artifce untried to win
from her all she had to tell. She was ro-
bust, strong feathered, and about forty
five years old; there were streaks of gray
in her heavy black hair, few wrinkles
in her cheeks; her eyes had an alert and
seeking look, such as you see in the eyes
ofpersons who live much alone. Some
times, when she grew animated, and a
fleeting smile came to her aid, we could
believe that in her girlish days she had
lacked but little-say merely change
of mouth--to make her pretty. But it
was her story, and not herself, that main
ly held our attention and encouraged our
inquiries; indeed, she usually appeared
when recounting the strange incidents of
her story, to be talking of some one else,
so free from vanity was she, and so can
did.
She had been reared, we learned, in
the Boone's Lick country, in Missouri,
and there mad Aaron Mcmillan known
and wooed her. The memory of her
courtship was very vivid to her, and she
dwelt upon it with lingering fondness.
"Aaron wasn't the purtiest man in the
world, by long odds" she would say; 'he
was light Completed and had sandy
beard, and freckles; but he was jest as
good as ever they make 'em | disre-
member how twas that he fust begun
keepin' company with me. Their was
likelier gals than me in the settlement;
Lucy Walker, for one, that sung alto and
played onto the melodion; and Samanthy
Pettis, that had money in her own right,
an sech little taperin' feet, an she liked
TO show 'em, too. But Aaron an me, we
r both tux a shine t each other, an he
didn't pear s if he keered button for
any o the balance of 'em. "Cinda,' he
used to say, some gals is putty an high
steppin', an some is handy about bakin'
an weavin' an sech, an some is peart in
l'arnin but it's the average as counts,
'Cinda.' I'll never forgit that, not if |
live a thousan' years. It's the average
as counts: | can Almost hear him sayin'
that now. He used to come to see me
,, every other Sunday, rain or shine an
when ther' was moon he'd take me 10
meetin', over to the Chapel, four mile
!: away. The Campbelltes an Methods
used to have union meetin's there, an
revivals, an shoutin'. Aaron's folks was
Complexities, an leant that way, and
, mine was Baptis'. But we didn't never
, argy about religion. Bless you, no."
Then she would detail to us, bit by bit
the current of their closer talks together
as they rode homeward from church, OF
sat upon the porch behind the morning.
glories. 1t could hardly be called love.
making, Aunt 'Cinda herself termed il
: "sparkin'," and even that sounded too
hectic for an intercourse that had in il
apparently SO little of passion,-so small
chance of heart-break But perhaps
beneath that calm surface, beyond GRASP
of expression, had throbbed a wealth OF
reverent and tender preference that was
worth everything else in lfe-these sim
e pie undemonstrative natures so frequent.
. ly shame the best of loves examples
: ! with their unguessed and quiet power
a Certainly this humble woman, no longe,
: young and living over again that far of
dream, still kept her faith and made 8
! royal comfort of il. And yet. so far rs
{ We could ascertain, her matter-of.fac
: Aaron had but once in all their courtship
yentured to kiss her. I'll never forge,
l. it, not to my dying day. she said III
wa, of Sunday night, the last SUNDAY
in September, ont by the gate, as he was
. gein' away. We'd been a talkin' o.
I things as furrin As could be TO sparkin'
q an all of a sudden, likes if he'd been
# possessed, he put his face close 10 mine
= and declare to gracious, couldn't "a
e been worse surprised if he'd "a hit me
Il Land sakes, Aaron' screamed, An
: the next minute snickercd right out
couldn't help IL for eeein' how fusfsr,i