The Rough Rider

by Gilbert, Morris

  Davis said quietly, “You’ll have children of your own one day, Aaron. You’ll learn that they might not always do what you’d like for them to—but they’re still yours. I’m proud of you and Lewis. You’re just slow in finding your way, but so was I. I thought I wanted to go to Europe and be a writer until the Lord—and your mother—came along.” He smiled at Belle warmly. “I’ve never been sorry for it. It’s not a very exciting life being president of a college, but I like to think I’m doing some good.”

  “Well, I don’t know what good I could do. Maybe I ought to go to New York and see Uncle Mark. There’s some excitement in railroading, you know!” His eyes lit up as he thought about the travels he’d had. “I wouldn’t mind being an engineer or a brakeman, or just working on the train.”

  “Mark would be happy to help you, if that’s what you want,” Belle said quickly. She hesitated, then said, “I wish you would go to New York—for another reason.”

  “Another reason?”

  “I wish you’d go talk to Lewis. He’s in trouble, I think.”

  Instantly, Aaron was alert. “You mean, trouble with the law?”

  “Oh no, nothing like that!” Davis said, holding up his hand in protest. “It’s this war. Mark and Lola wrote us and said he’s bound and determined to get involved with it, and we’re afraid he’ll get himself killed.”

  Aaron listened to what his father had to say about the sinking of the Maine, then shook his head. “We heard about it in the Klondike. Is the country as wild over this Spanish thing as we read about in the papers?”

  “Yes. Everybody wants to go as a soldier—all the young men, anyway,” Davis said. “Many of them see it as a great adventure for them, and you know Lewis—he’s an incurable romantic. He sees himself as leading a charge and saving the Cubans from the oppressive tyranny of the Spaniards.”

  “He’s always been that way,” Aaron observed. “But he outgrew most of his strange notions without getting shot at.” As he thought about what his parents had said, he noticed they were watching him, waiting. Surprised, he said, “You don’t think I could really change his mind, do you? You’ve both tried!”

  “I don’t know whether you could or not,” said his mother, “but I wish you’d go and talk with him. He needs someone right now. It’d be a good chance for you to talk to Mark, too.”

  Aaron sat very still, thinking hard. Finally he nodded, “Why, of course I’ll go—and I think I’d better leave right away. From what I read in the papers, the army’s getting pulled together right now. And I heard that Teddy Roosevelt is getting a volunteer cavalry group ready to go.”

  “That’s the one Lewis is trying to get into, but it’s hard,” said Davis.

  “But if he doesn’t get into that, he’ll volunteer for something else. New York’s putting together a volunteer regiment,” Belle said quickly.

  Aaron made up his mind instantly. “Well, I don’t know if I can do any good, but I’ll go have a try. I wonder when the next train leaves?”

  “There’s one at three fifteen this afternoon,” Davis said. “I hear the whistle every day from my office at the college.” He was troubled about this older son of his and said plaintively, “Do your best, Aaron. You two have always been close, so maybe he’ll listen to you.”

  “No reason why he should,” Aaron said, shrugging his shoulders. “I haven’t been exactly the best example in the world for Lewis—but I’ll do the best I can.”

  That afternoon when the train pulled out, Belle and Davis stood on the platform watching. They waved at Aaron as he leaned out the window with a smile on his face. As they turned to leave, Davis said, “You know, Belle, I think I’m more worried about Aaron than I am about Lewis.”

  “I know. He’s changed, hasn’t he?”

  “He could turn bad and go sour. I’ve seen it happen to men who can’t find their way.”

  “I think Jubal’s death has affected him even worse than he lets on. He feels awfully guilty, and when anyone does that, it can eat away at them.”

  The two continued walking slowly away from the tracks. The engine gave a shrill blast that seemed somehow to have a warning note in it. And as they left the station, neither of them could find the words to say what was in their hearts about these two young men who were their sons.

  CHAPTER NINE

  A Stubborn Young Man

  The first week in May was waning as Aaron stepped off the train at Grand Central Station. He was stunned by the grandeur and immensity of the place and paused for a moment to gaze across the rows and rows of tracks. They were filled, it seemed, with huge chuffing behemoths—steel locomotives that belched great billowing gusts of steam—that threatened to engulf the throngs of passengers. As crowded as the station was, it took some time to buy a ticket for the smaller commuter train that made its way to his uncle’s home. It was late afternoon and the shadows were long when he stepped off the train at the small station. A short, stubby Irishman standing beside the entrance to the station called out cheerfully, “Cab, sir?”

  “I’m looking for my uncle’s home—his name’s Mark Winslow.”

  “Ah, yes, I know the place. Can I help you, sir, with your bag?”

  Twenty minutes later, Aaron was walking up the tree-lined entrance to the Winslow residence. When he reached the door, it opened and his aunt Lola came out smiling. “I saw you coming, Aaron!” She reached up and gave him a quick embrace. “Lewis isn’t here, but he’ll be back shortly. Please come inside.”

  Aaron followed her inside to the large entryway. She called to a servant to carry his bag upstairs, then turned to take his arm. “Come out to the arbor—it’s cooler there.” She led the way down a path to a grape arbor. A soft breeze fluttered the green leaves overhead, masking the brilliant sun. The two sat down at a white table, and Lola poured two glasses of lemonade from a crystal pitcher that a servant had brought out on a silver tray.

  “Now, tell me about your travels,” said Lola as she sipped the cold lemonade.

  Aaron leaned back and spoke briefly of some of his experiences in the Klondike. “Uncle Mark’s not here?” he asked finally.

  “He’ll be here tomorrow. He had to take the train to Chicago a few days ago on business.” Lola leaned forward and studied Aaron’s face. Such a handsome young man, she thought, but there’s something troubling him. Aloud she said, “I suppose Davis and Belle are worried about Lewis. Your uncle and I wired them with our concerns.”

  “Yes, that’s really why I came, Aunt Lola. What’s going on with him?”

  “It’s this war,” Lola said. “He’s caught up in it like everybody else.”

  “It sounds like a pretty serious thing. From what I’ve read and heard on the trip up here, those Cubans need rescuing, don’t they?”

  Lola shook her head. “Don’t you go believing all that foolishness. It’s a newspaper war mostly. Mark’s looked into it very thoroughly. Have you ever heard of William Randolph Hearst?”

  “Why, just that he’s some kind of newspaperman.”

  “Well, I’m afraid he’s at the bottom of most of it. His father was called Wasteful Willie Hearst and was an enormously wealthy man—made a fortune in the newspaper business in California. Hearst came to New York and bought the Journal. He’s determined to accomplish the same thing his father did in San Francisco, and he’s been looking for some sort of ‘cause’ ever since.” Lola leaned back and shook her head distastefully. “This situation in Cuba has given him a golden opportunity. It’s got villains, gore, gunrunners, adventure—everything he needs for a headline story to stir up people.”

  “I don’t see how one man can do so much—or one newspaper,” said Aaron.

  “Oh, they keep up a steady front-page sensation about the so-called atrocity in Cuba. Look at this!” She picked up a paper from the table and placed her finger on a sentence. “Look—it explains how the Spanish troops have ‘resumed the inhuman practice of beating Cuban prisoners to death and even drowning them and feeding prisoners to sh
arks!’ That sort of story’s been going on every day, and it’s got the whole country worked up to a fever pitch ready for war.”

  “And Lewis is ready to join up?”

  “Ready? He’s already gone ahead and signed the papers! He’s waiting for a place with Roosevelt’s Rough Riders, as they call them. He’s dying to get in!” Lola snorted and shook her head. “I admire Mr. Roosevelt as a politician, but he’s no soldier.”

  Aaron leaned back and sipped the lemonade. He listened to the pleasant hum of bees as they buzzed around the clover that bordered the grape arbor. He thought of the contrast this warm comfortable setting was to the frozen, icy waste of the Klondike. For a moment he wondered what Cass and Serena were doing at this time. Finally, he said slowly, “I’ll talk to him, Aunt Lola. I don’t know how much good it will do, though.”

  “It’s not just the war,” Lola said abruptly. “There’s a girl involved.”

  “A girl?”

  “Yes, her name is Alice Cates. She’s a wealthy, young socialite—a beautiful girl, but I never have seen a more selfish one. Lewis has lost his senses and gone crazy over her.”

  “What does she have to do with his going to war?”

  “Her latest fad was the bicycle, but now it’s all the excitement surrounding the war. She’s always caught up with a cause or some celebrity or other. When the strongman Sandow came to New York, she got into a physical culture kick. Everybody had to lift barbells and things like that to look like Sandow.”

  “Doesn’t sound like she’d be too attractive to me,” Aaron observed.

  “She is, though—a beautiful girl! Lewis can’t see straight when he’s around her. She’s taken him as her escort to dozens of social galas. He’s quite caught up in it all. Esther can tell you about it—she goes everywhere with them. She’ll be in later this afternoon.” Lola bit her lip, then shook her head with a discouraging motion. “I don’t want to be negative, but Lewis is a very stubborn young man.”

  As she smiled suddenly, Aaron saw some of the youthful attractiveness that she’d had as a young woman, and he wondered what she must have looked like then.

  “All Winslow men are stubborn, and I expect that you’re no exception! But we’ll do the best we can. God can help us.”

  At the mention of God, Aaron ducked his head, and Lola saw that he had thrown up a wall. Quickly she said, “Come along and I’ll show you to your room. Lewis and Esther will be home soon.”

  Aaron followed her back to the house and upstairs, where she left him inside a large room. He stripped off his coat and shoes, then lay down on the bed, tired after his long journey. He had just dozed off to sleep, when he woke with a start, hearing voices outside in the hall. Suddenly, the door burst open and Lewis came barreling in, his face alight at the sight of his brother. “Aaron! Why didn’t you tell me you were coming!” He threw his coat on a chair, and then tackled Aaron, throwing his arm around him as Aaron struggled to get out of bed. The two fell backward and the bed collapsed with a crash.

  “You crazy fool! Get off me!” Aaron cried out.

  But Lewis hung on to him, ruffled his brother’s hair, then moved back, saying, “Gosh, I’m glad to see you! Tell me about the Klondike! What about Cass?”

  Aaron struggled to his feet, then looked ruefully at the bed. “First, let’s put the bed back together, then we can talk.”

  As the two reassembled the fractured bed, Aaron related some of his trip to the Klondike to his brother. They had just set it back together and put the mattress on when he turned and shook his head. “I didn’t get rich.” He hesitated, then said grimly, “And Jubal was killed. I wish I’d never heard of the place.”

  Lewis, who was a sensitive young man, could sense his brother’s heavy burden. Putting his hand on Aaron’s shoulder, he said, “I know—but we’ll talk about it later. Come downstairs and see Esther.”

  “Just a minute! Before we go down—Mom and Dad are worried about you signing up with the army. They both think you’re making a mistake.”

  “Oh, Aaron, they just don’t understand! They’re stuck away in a little college town in an ivory tower. They have no idea of the oppression the Cubans are suffering from the Spanish. We’ve got to fight for the freedom of those people.”

  “From what I hear, it’s more of a newspaper fight than anything else.”

  Lewis’s face reddened and his lips met in a stubborn line. Shaking his head obstinately, he said, “No—that’s not right! That’s what some people are saying about it, but if it were our people being butchered by a military dictator, they’d feel differently. And they’d do something!”

  “Sit down and let’s talk about it, Lewis,” Aaron said.

  “I’ll hear you out, Aaron. I at least owe you that as my brother,” said Lewis.

  The two sat down, and for the next half hour, Aaron tried everything he knew to convince Lewis to change his mind. He quickly saw, however, that it was like arguing with a stone wall. Lewis’s mind was made up, and nothing he could say was going to change it. Finally, he said diplomatically, “Well, let’s go talk to Esther. We can talk more about this later.”

  “It’s good to see you, Aaron, but I’ve got my mind set on this.”

  The two went downstairs and Aaron renewed his acquaintance with his cousin Esther, a young woman whose beauty he admired. She threw her arms around him and smiled, saying, “Aaron! I’m so glad you’ve come! Now you can tell everyone about the Yukon—gold, sled dogs, and everything . . . !”

  ****

  The following day, Aaron accompanied Lewis and Esther to a party at the Cates’ estate. Actually, after hearing a little from Esther the night before, Aaron was anxious to go meet the young woman who seemed to wield so much power over Lewis.

  As the carriage pulled up to the house, Aaron looked around and remarked, “Some shack!” The Cates’ mansion was an enormous Georgian house built of red brick, with a sweeping driveway that led to a set of pillars standing like two sentries at the front entrance. When they reached the large front door and knocked, they were met by a tall butler dressed in a dark suit, who smiled at once, saying, “Mr. Winslow—Miss Cates said to bring you to her as soon as you arrived.”

  “Where is she, Jordan?” Lewis asked eagerly.

  “The guests are meeting in the small ballroom on the east side. Do you know where it is, or should I take you?”

  “I know the way,” Lewis said. “Come along!” He led Aaron and Esther down a series of halls and then through a double door. Inside, at least thirty people were gathered in the large room, and the sound of animated conversation bubbled through the air. It was growing dark, but two large chandeliers glittered overhead, throwing their golden light across the polished hard-pine floor. At once, a young woman dressed in a cream-colored gown with an emerald necklace adorning her neck separated herself from a group and came forward, saying, “Lewis, where have you been? You’re late!”

  “I’m sorry,” Lewis said, taking the young woman’s hands. “I had to wait on this brother of mine—he’s always late. Let me introduce—my brother, Aaron Winslow. This is Alice Cates, Aaron.”

  Alice put her hand out, and when Aaron took it, she said, “I’ve heard so much about you! Come, sit down—we want to hear all about your adventure in the Yukon. Everybody’s talking about it!”

  “I’m afraid I’m not one of the winners, Miss Cates,” Aaron shrugged. “For every ten people who went looking for gold, nine of them came back discouraged and, in fact, empty-handed. I’m one of the quitters.”

  “Oh, I can’t believe that!” Alice said, raising her eyebrows in an arched look. “Come now—there are some gentlemen who were just talking about this.” She led them to a small cluster of men who were standing around a table savoring some hors d’oeuvres a servant had just brought in. One of them turned at once. He had a long face, matched with an equally long nose and a pair of pale blue eyes.

  “Mr. Hearst, you were talking about the Klondike, and this is Mr. Aaron Winslow—he’s jus
t returned from there! Aaron, this is Mr. William Randolph Hearst, the newspaper publisher.”

  Aaron shook the hand of the newspaper tycoon and found it strong and firm.

  “I’m glad to meet you, Winslow,” Hearst said. “You say you’ve just come back from the Yukon?”

  “I’ve still got some of the mud on my feet, Mr. Hearst. But I’m no expert—I got stopped at the Chilkoot Pass.”

  “I’d like to hear all about it,” Hearst said. As the others listened, he began to draw Aaron out, and the young man soon found that Hearst had an analytical mind. He was a natural-born conversationalist, always interested in hearing about people’s lives. Hearst probed Aaron’s experience and had the newpaperman’s gift for picking out the dramatic details. The whole time, Alice clung to Lewis’s arm, listening intently to Aaron’s description of the hardships he faced in the far north.

  After a while, Aaron grew restless from all the questions. “Really, Mr. Hearst, I’m not the man to tell you about all of this. Surely there are others with more experience, and more success.”

  “No, no, my young man. Americans want to know what’s going on. You may not have made it to the gold fields, but just the struggle to get there—they’re interested in that and in the people who are making this great venture!” Hearst stood there silently for a moment, then said, “Would it be possible for you to write down some of your experiences? I think there’d be some interesting points that could make for a feature story.”

  “Why, I’m no writer!” scoffed Aaron.

  “Of course you’re a writer,” Lewis said, nudging him suddenly. “Remember how you were always writing something in college. It would be a good chance for you to get your experiences before the public.”

  Of all the things Aaron did not want, getting his experience “before the public” was one of them. The death of Jubal still burned in Aaron like an open and painful wound. He wanted to put all that behind him and get on with his life. Suddenly, now he was being asked to lay it bare before the public. Not knowing why, he shrugged, and said, “I’ll do the best I can, Mr. Hearst.”