The White Hunter
House of Winslow Book [22]
Gilbert Morris
Baker Publishing Group (2006)
* * *
Peril and Adventure in the Land Once Called the White Man's Graveyard.John Winslow is a restless young man who drops out of college, tries many jobs, and finally goes to Africa to visit his missionary relative, Barney Winslow. Uninterested in religion, John falls in love with Africa and decides to stay, becoming a professional white hunter.Annie Rogers, another of the Winslow family, comes to New York City, pursuing her dream of becoming a missionary to Africa, but is turned away by several missionary organizations. An opportunity to work as the personal secretary of Jeanine Quitana, a flamboyantly wealthy young socialite, seems to contradict Annie's calling, yet she feels it is the right step. Then a whirlwind trip to England and the change to meet royalty is followed by passage booked to America on the maiden voyage of the R.M.S. Titanic!Three very different lives, separated by continents, are destined to collide, yet how will this ever be when the icy Atlantic wreaks its destruction? Is the dark ocean as foreboding as the Dark Continent?
From Library Journal
The ongoing saga of the far-flung Winslow family continues in this 22d title in the popular series (e.g., The Shadow Portrait, Benthany, 1998). It is 1905, and Jeb Winslow, an adopted member of the family, travels to Montana to visit a ranch run by his relations, the Rogers family. Jeb is enthralled with their daughter Annie, who hopes to become a missionary in Africa. Jeb, meanwhile, wants to become a hunter in Africa. Both pursue their dreams, with Annie's goals taking her to New York City and onto the Titanic before she is eventually reunited with her true love, Jeb. After so many volumes of the Winslow series, Morris has his formula just right, and the mixture of family drama, romance, and spirituality is quite pleasing here. His many fans should find this book as satisfying as the first 21.
Copyright 1999 Reed Business Information, Inc.
About the Author
GILBERT MORRIS was a pastor before becoming an English professor and earning a Ph.D. at the University of Arkansas. Gilbert has been a consistent bestselling author for many years. He and his wife live in Gulf Shores, Alabama.
© 1999 by Gilbert Morris
Published by Bethany House Publishers
11400 Hampshire Avenue South
Minneapolis, Minnesota 55438
www.bethanyhouse.com
Bethany House Publishers is a division of
Baker Publishing Group, Grand Rapids, Michigan
www.bakerpublishinggroup.com
Ebook edition created 2011
Ebook corrections 07.25.2013
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise—without the prior written permission of the publisher and copyright owners. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.
ISBN 978-1-4412-7047-4
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is on file at the Library of Congress, Washington, D.C.
Cover illustration by Dan Thornberg
Cover design by Josh Madison
To Mildred Fitzgerald—
my very special friend.
You have brightened my life
with your lovely spirit.
CONTENTS
Cover
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
PART ONE
Seedtime
1. Kissing Cousins
2. The Awakening
3. The Portrait
4. “God Will Make a Way”
5. An Old Friend
6. A Strange Employer
PART TWO
Titanic
7. Annie Meets a Sailor
8. Meeting Mary Weatherford
9. An Unexpected Passenger
10. “You Can’t Run From God”
11. Kiss of Death
12. “I’ll Be With Him This Day in Paradise. . . .”
PART THREE
Africa
13. Jeb Finds a Place
14. Jeanine Takes Charge
15. Two Witnesses
16. The Guide
17. On to Masai Country
18. Terror in the Night
PART FOUR
Masailand
19. A Matter of Time
20. A Bitter Ending
21. A Matter of Courage
22. Simba!
23. The Dark Valley
24. What Will God Do Now?
About the Author
CHAPTER ONE
Kissing Cousins
“Oh dear! I can’t wear this old rag to meet Jeb!”
Annie Rogers stared at her image in the mirror, her face cloudy with discontent. Ordinarily she was a sweet-tempered girl, but now her brow was furrowed and she gnawed at her lower lip. With a quick motion of disgust, she reached up and ran her hands through her bright red hair, a habit she was trying to break. Dropping her hands, she whirled and fixed her dark blue eyes on the mirror again as if she could transform the offending garment into something much more glamorous. “It’s too little for one thing—and, besides, I never did like it.”
The garment in question was a simple blue affair, with white lace around the neck and the sleeves. Annie had bought it only six months earlier but had made the mistake of getting a perfect fit. Now at the age of fifteen she had experienced a sudden spurt of growth, and the beginnings of a womanly figure strained the dress at the seams. Annie should have been pleased, for she had matured so much later than most of her other friends that she had sunk into despair. Once she had cried out plaintively to her mother, “I’ll never have any figure at all, Mama! I won’t be anything but an old garden rake!”
She had refused to listen to her mother, who pointed out that some young women matured later than others and that she had nothing to worry about. The explanation had done nothing to soothe Annie’s feelings. Now, as she stared grimly at herself, she found no satisfaction in the thought that at last she was passing from girlhood to young womanhood. “What good does it do to have a figure,” she muttered rebelliously, “if I don’t have a nice dress to wear?”
Moving over to the window, she stared outside and watched as her father labored over the automobile he had purchased only two months ago. It ran erratically and apparently had a will of its own. As Annie watched him struggle to fix the car under the blazing June sun, her lips twisted bitterly. “Now I don’t have anything to wear, and we won’t have any way to pick up Jeb except in a wagon! Won’t that show him what hicks we really are?”
She returned to the mirror and studied her face, finding it unsatisfactory. She took no pleasure in the smooth contours of her cheeks or the fine bone structure that hinted of a beauty only half born. Instead, she fixed her gaze on the bluish birthmark shaped like a butterfly on the left side of her neck. It was no more than an inch wide and low enough to be hidden by a high collar, but Annie hated it so utterly that she tried to hide it whenever possible. It was inevitable that she would be teased about it by other children as she was growing up. She thought suddenly of an advertisement she had seen that offered a salve guaranteed to obliterate any skin blemish. She glanced at the calendar on the wall and glared at the picture of a beautiful woman holding a small jar of Dr. Sadler’s Facial Cream. The caption boasted, “I had a birthmark on my nose, but Dr. Sadler’s Facial Cream made it vanish like magic!” The year 1905 was printed in large gothic letters, and the days were checked off with a pencil. “I ordered it two weeks ago, and it’s still not here!” She rubbed at the small mark as she had done many times and wondered, Why did God have to put that thing on
my neck? Why couldn’t He have put it on my foot?
A sudden knock at the door caused Annie to wheel around. “Come in, Mama,” she said quickly. As soon as her mother stepped inside the room, she spoke up petulantly, “Mama, I can’t wear this dress. Just look at it!”
At the age of forty, Laurie Rogers still retained most of her early beauty. She had the same smooth skin, clear blue eyes, and shiny brown hair that Annie often envied. Moving over to her daughter, Laurie put her arm around Annie and smiled. “Now, it’s only a dress, and I’m pleased to see that you’ve outgrown it. You’re growing up into a young woman very fast, Annie.”
Annie gave her mother a disgusted look. “I’m not going! I refuse to be seen in this old thing!”
Such behavior was so unusual for Annie that Laurie was taken aback for a moment. All her life she had looked forward to having a daughter, and this young girl had been nothing but a pleasure. Never once had she caused the kinds of trouble that many other girls had given their parents. Laurie had said on various occasions to her husband, “Cody, we ought to thank God every day that we have a good girl like Annie instead of what we might have had.” Now she squeezed Annie, suggesting, “Why don’t you wear your pink dress if you don’t like this one.”
“It’s even worse,” Annie moaned. “Mama, can’t we stop off somewhere and buy me a new dress?”
A smile turned up the corners of Laurie Rogers’ mouth. “It’s too late, Annie. By the time we get to the station, we’ll be lucky if we meet the train on time.”
“Oh, I wish he weren’t coming!”
“Why, don’t talk like that! You know you’ve been looking forward to your cousin’s visit.”
“I was, but I thought I’d have something decent to wear. What will he think of me wearing an old dress like this that doesn’t even fit me? He’s from the city, Mama. He’s used to seeing girls dress up nice.”
“Now, Annie, I’m sure that Jeb won’t be judgmental about your clothes. From what his father and mother tell me, he’s a well-behaved young man.”
“He won’t like me,” Annie sighed.
Laurie stared with astonishment at the young woman, then shook her head decisively. “What in the world makes you say a thing like that? Of course he’ll like you!”
“No, he won’t. He’s from the East, and his father’s a college professor. And you know what his parents say—that he’s so smart. He’ll think we’re nothing but a bunch of cowboys out here. I just know he will!”
The object of their conversation was a young man of nineteen named Jeb Winslow. He was the adopted son of Aaron and Gail Winslow. After Aaron had come back from the Spanish-American War, he had married Gail, who was Jeb’s older sister, and settled down from his wild ways into the world of teaching at a college in Virginia. Before Aaron and Gail had adopted Jeb, Laurie and Cody had met them at several family reunions and had taken a real liking to them.
When Annie had received an invitation to visit relatives in Montana, it had been she who had said, “Daddy, let’s invite Jeb to go. That way both of us can get a vacation.” And so when Laurie had written to invite Jeb to join Annie on her trip to Montana, the response had been enthusiastic. Gail Winslow had written, It’ll be just the thing for Jeb. He hasn’t gotten to travel any at all. His head’s always in a book. Of course we’d be glad for him to join Annie on a visit to our Winslow relatives in Montana!
Now Laurie said rather strictly, “Stop this foolishness, Annie! It’s going to be all right. Come on, don’t dally—your dad’s waiting for us.”
Grabbing a sunbonnet, Annie hastily tied it under her chin as she followed her mother downstairs. As the two stepped out on the porch her father as she had suspected, had given up on the car and was now sitting in the two-seated surrey. Annie was thankful it wasn’t a farm wagon, and as she climbed up in the backseat her father leaped to the ground to help her.
“Well,” he grinned, “you all set to meet your kissing cousin?”
Cody Rogers was a trim man of forty-three, contoured and shaped by a life in the saddle. A lifetime of ranching under the sun and winds of Wyoming had tanned him deeply, and when he smiled, his teeth flashed white against his bronze skin. He held her hand for a minute and squeezed it, then winked broadly. “I’ll have to keep a watch on you two. I’ve heard about this kissing cousin business.”
“Oh, Daddy, don’t be silly!” Annie protested and tried to snatch her hand away.
He held it tightly, though, and leaned forward to whisper, “I guess one little kiss between cousins wouldn’t be too bad.” He suddenly pulled her toward him and kissed her cheek. “You smell good,” he said. “You been in your mama’s perfume again?”
“No, it’s the perfume you gave me for Christmas!”
“Makes you smell better than the heifers.” Cody laughed as he helped Laurie into the wagon, then leaped in beside her. “I’m gonna blow that infernal automobile up!” he said with a baleful look at the machine that sat beside the corral. “They’re not worth fooling with! Give me a horse every time. Now, get up, Babe! Get up, Maude!” The team lurched forward, throwing Annie and Laurie back against their seat. Cody laughed, saying, “Hang on, women! We’re gonna have to break some records to get to that train on time!”
****
The trip from Virginia to Wyoming had been a long one, but young Jeb Winslow had enjoyed every second of it. It might not have been so pleasant for him except that his great-uncle, Mark Winslow, vice president of the Union Pacific, had seen to it that he had a Pullman to enjoy instead of trying to sleep sitting up in a seat. For the first two days, Jeb was almost unable to rest, but finally the clicking of the wheels on the track had lulled him to sleep. During the day, however, he had missed nothing. Hour after hour he sat beside the window and stared out at the country flashing by. It had been a time of revelation for him, for the large expansive plains had filled his eyes as nothing ever had. Up until this point, his life had been rather constricted, partly by the fact that his family traveled little, for as a professor, his father, Aaron, made few trips. Jeb had grown up on the crowded streets of New York under rough circumstances, and becoming the son of Aaron Winslow had been the joy of his life. He had lacked a father’s love and had found that quality abundantly in the big man who spent as much time with him as possible.
“Well, now, you about ready for the Wild West, Jeb?”
Startled, Jeb looked up and saw Mr. Brown, the conductor, grinning down at him. Frank Brown had been friendly from the moment Jeb had climbed aboard, showing him the ropes of travel on a train, including how to order the meals and get into his bed at night. Jeb had taken advantage by asking him numerous questions, a habit he could not seem to break.
“I guess so. How long before we get in?”
“Only thirty minutes. You got some relatives to meet you, you say?” Brown was a burly man with a pair of warm brown eyes and a shock of white hair. He was garrulous almost to a fault, and when he was not occupied with his duties as a conductor, he was talking to one of the crew—or better still—one of the passengers. He had developed a liking for young Jeb Winslow, and the two had become good friends on the long trip. Now he planted himself firmly across from Jeb, pulled one foot up, and removed his shoe. “My dogs are killing me,” he groaned. “I done too much walking when I was in the army.”
Jeb asked, “Did you go over to fight in the war, Mr. Brown?”
“Sure did. I didn’t tell you about that?” Brown blinked with surprise and shook his head. “Well, now, I was there. A lot of good fellows that went over with me didn’t come back.”
“They were killed in battle?”
“Well, some of them were, of course,” Brown nodded. He slipped his shoe back on, and his eyes grew thoughtful as his mind ran over old memories. He gazed out the window at the barren landscape of reddish rocks, sagebrush, and distant mountains. “Most of ’em died of malaria and fever more than got killed by a bullet,” he said.
“Did you go up the San Juan Hill?”
>
“Yes, I went up a hill. It wasn’t San Juan, though. It was Kettle Hill.”
“That’s what my dad said. He was there.”
“You don’t tell me!” Brown exclaimed. “What was his name?”
“Aaron. Aaron Winslow.”
“Why, I seem to recollect him. Was he a big tall fellow, broad shouldered, dark hair?”
“That’s him!” Jeb said eagerly. “He and his brother, Lewis, were both there.”
“Well, I don’t remember much about him. As a matter of fact, I was pretty sick myself, and I got clipped going up that blasted hill trying to follow Teddy Roosevelt.”
Jeb had heard many stories of the Battle of San Juan Hill, and he always liked to hear others, so with a little urging he was able to get Mr. Brown going. He listened avidly, his eyes fixed on the man’s face.
At last Brown said shortly, “It wasn’t a fun time. More fun looking back at it than it was when we were there, I reckon.” Suddenly a mischievous light came into his eyes. “Be careful now with the wild Indians out here.”
“Are there really Indians in Wyoming?”
“Why, of course there are, boy. What do you think?”
“I don’t know. I thought they were all on reservations now.”
“Don’t you believe it! Still plenty out there. Don’t let one of ’em take your scalp. Also, these cowboys are pretty rough. Fellows like Wild Bill Hickok. Why, they’d just as soon shoot a fellow as spit.”
Frank Brown loved to spin stories and he loved to tease young people—or anyone else for that matter. So for the next half hour he sat there filling Jeb’s head with tales of wild desperadoes and wilder Indians. Finally he asked, lifting his eyebrows, “You can ride, can’t you, Jeb?”
“You mean a horse?”
Brown laughed abruptly. “Of course I mean a horse. There’s lots of Wyoming, and there’s nothing to do but ride. Automobiles may be here someday, but they ain’t here yet—not much anyways.”
“I’ve never ridden a horse.”
The White Hunter Page 1