28. From Out The Shadowy Past
When Buchan arose in the cabin and said "I thought I heard a voice, her voice," I was amazed. It did not occur to me that anyone would attempt our rescue, else why had they not done it long ere this?
He opened the door and shouted, then turning to me, exclaimed: "They are digging us out."
Our hearts leaped for joy. We shook hands in expression of delight and Buchan danced a highland fling around the room. Two men, snow-covered, entered and hailed us joyously. Then came a woman, followed by Carson. She ran to Buchan and he caught her in his arms. I was deaf and could not hear what they said or I would write it word for word, but he kissed her and she cried, and he wiped away some tears, and I turned my back and pretended to be talking to Carson.
The men gathered up our few belongings and we hurriedly left the cabin. Sleds were waiting at the foot of the mountain, and we were soon speeding toward Saguache. The air was crisp and the stars shone like eyes of tender sympathy over the white plain. We were brought to a stop at the hotel. Men and women whom we had never seen came and joyfully shook us by the hands, and had much to say in congratulation. The news of Hattie's arrival and her interest in Buchan had spread over the camp, and many were the motherly old women who came to say sympathetic things and invite her to their homes, so great was their admiration for her loyalty and sacrifice for the man she loved.
The next day a mass meeting was called by the citizens. The Lone Tree saloon and dance hall had to go. A railroad survey had been completed through the town, and public works had been projected by the newly-elected city council. A new era was dawning for Saguache. The hall was crowded, as one citizen after another spoke of the future possibilities of the town, and a good government that would no longer tolerate a lawless element. When resolutions were passed and the assembly was ready to adjourn, one speaker arose and said he heartily endorsed everything that was said and done there that evening, but there was another matter which should have attention: One of the men rescued from under the snow-drift had just married the girl who had arrived a few days before from California, and his partner who led the rescue party had married an estimable young woman of the town. The double wedding had occurred at the hotel an hour before, and he thought it would be fitting to celebrate the event and the new era of Saguache with a dance that night, in which everybody should be asked to participate. A roar of approval greeted the speaker. There was no resolution or motion. None was needed. Men instantly set to work clearing the hall of chairs, while a committee was sent to the hotel to announce to Buchan and Carson that a dance had been arranged that night in their honor.
Men came with their wives and their sweethearts, dressed just as they were from their work, and the women as they were in their homes. Evening clothes would have been as much out of place in that ballroom, as the garb of a workman would be out of place in the ballroom of the Waldorf-Astoria. The orchestra struck up, and Buchan and Hattie were given the place of honor in the dance. Carson and Annie, being better known, felt that they should largely play the part of host and yielded every honor to Buchan and Hattie. The music was good. Everybody joined in the spirit of goodfellowship, and the dance continued until the small hours of the morning.
It was toward the close that Rayder came upon the floor with a fat widow milliner. He had taken a few drinks of gin and was trying to act kittenish when, in the midst of a cotillion, the widow fell to the floor in an epileptic fit. They bore the woman to an adjoining room, where she soon recovered, but it was such a shock to Rayder's nerves that he went out and braced up on a little more gin.
I was at the governor's reception in the state capitol of Colorado. The rooms and corridors were brilliantly lighted. Men and women in rich attire were there to do honor to the occasion. I was seated behind a decoration of palms, when a prominent attorney and a companion took seats near me.
A heavy set man with a woman leaning on his arm entered the corridor. They were well, but modestly dressed. There were grey streaks in their hair, but their steps were firm and, both were the picture of good health, evidence of good and wholesome lives.
"Here comes Senator Buchan and lady," said the attorney to his companion. "I knew those people twenty-five years ago. I was one of a party to rescue Buchan and a companion from under a snow slide in the Sangre de Christo mountains. The girl had come all the way from California to help in the rescue. I don't believe she would have lived two days longer if we had not got him out. Shows what the right sort of love will do. It stands the test of time. There is no divorce business in that. Buchan had an iron will, too. Somehow he and his partners had discovered a lost Spanish mine and did not know its value on account of some trickery of an assayer. But Silas Rayder did, so Rayder hounded the boys to sell and finally when he offered a hundred and fifty thousand dollars, they closed the deal. Carson had just married, too. He took his money and invested it in a flouring mill. I do not know what became of the other fellow, but Buchan put his money in a bank and it failed in less than three months and he went to running an engine on the Rocky Mountain railroads. It was a pretty hard knock, but right there is where that girl came to the front like a guardian angel. She told him that perhaps it was all for the best. Riches do not always bring happiness. It is adversity that brings to the surface our better natures and fires our ambitions to the nobler and grander things of life.
"Buchan must have had this in mind, for while he was running his engine he was always trying to help some poor fellow. He accepted his lot in life and worked for years content with the love of that woman and when people saw he was made of the right sort of stuff they elected him to the legislature and his very first act was to put through a bill making eight hours a legal day's work. That very act took the yoke of bondage off more than half a million workers.
"It turned out just as the girl said. He has served the people three terms and if he had not worked for their interests they would never have sent him back the third time.
"Adversity, sir, is oftimes the making of us. I never thought so when Bob Lee surrendered and our dreams of imperialism vanished and left most of us without a dollar. But I can see now it is all for the best. As a nation united we welcome all men regardless of their nationality, and, in return, they give us the best thoughts the world can produce."
"Rayder, what became of him?" asked his companion.
"When Rayder bought the mine he thought he had millions but he only took out of it about enough to get even when the vein gave out between two big slabs of granite that came together like the thin end of a wedge. A widow who had fits sued him about this time for a breach of promise, and either to get out of that or get square with some old enemy, he married the widow Amos."
I arose and stood before the attorney and his companion. "I want to shake hands with you, sir," I said. He arose, and in extending his hand, said: "Your name, please?"
"I am the other fellow you rescued from the cabin," I replied. (End)