No subject

by Charlotte Matheny Kirkwood=20
used by permission

        Mr. Rubedeaux's wife was dead and he had a large family of =
little children.  The eldest of the six or seven was only about twelve =
years old.  She was a tattered, barefooted little girl and very =
freckled.  I remember the freckles especially, I thought they were nice. =
 She was a fine little worker, SELF RELIANT, the mainstay of her father. =
 Everyone admired her, even the men of our party were glad to give her a =
"lift" when she needed it.=20
       Mr. Rubedeaux walked beside the oxen, and the wagon bristling =
with little heads.  The little girl, I have forgotten her name, walked =
and drove the loose cattle.  Getting started of a morning with loose =
cattle everywhere was not an easy task for anyone.  This small girl with =
her whip, took her equal and effective part in the general commotion, =
cracking her whip and talking to her little herd of lean oxen, some cows =
and a calf or two.=20

    I remember her as we passed through the snake river country.  There =
were rocks everywhere, and I noticed that she limped.  I was sorry for =
her.  I would have given her my shoes, if she could have worn them.  The =
fact that I was without shoes, myself might possibly have prevented such =
an act of charity, even though her feet had been larger than mine.  I =
wonder now, why someone did not lend her a horse.  Plenty of them were =
driven loose, or were led tied to the backs of the wagons.  Perhaps she =
had refused one, I do not know about that.  I know that she walked most, =
if not all of the way and drove her herd of cattle.  She drove them as =
though she liked it and was glad to.  Everyone helped her when she =
needed it.=20

       One day a band of Indians came to us and rode along beside us for =
a ways.  One of them in passing the small girl, grabbed the ox whip from =
her hands and dashed away with it.  That whip was dear to her, she =
clutched at it and screamed.  Her father bounded toward her, but he was =
too late.  The whip was gone.  His face was so red and angry.  I =
remember seeing him pick up a rock and heave it with all his might after =
the laughing, galloping Indian.  The rock was as big as my head it could =
not have carried twenty feet.=20

       I do not know what became of Mr. Rubedeaux and his flock of =
little motherless children.  We  never saw them again after we separated =
from them at The Dalles of the Columbia, but when I think of that little =
girl, I know that in her was the making of a fine, fine woman.