Illustration: YAMANATZYAMANATZ
YAMANATZ
"Me no see Colorow." Then taking courage by the kindly look in Yamanatz's eyes, Jack said slowly, taking Yamanatz's hands in his own.
"Mebbe so Colorow want to kill white man Jack?"
Yamanatz shrugged his shoulders but made no answer and Jack continued.
"If Colorow meet white man, Colorow got no bullets—got knife—suppose white man kill Colorow, will Utes kill white man?"
Yamanatz evaded the question but made the reply: "Colorow heap bad Indian, mebbe so make heap trouble. Utes 'fraid Colorow—big chief 'fraid Colorow. White man mebbe so kill Colorow, no tell what 'em happen. Old Utes not much care. Antelope, Bennett, Douglas, Washington. Mebbe so heap mad, kill all white men if white man Jack kill Colorow."
In this honest avowal Jack found little comfort, but Yamanatz's next words gave him a hope that all might be well.
"Utes got no lead, no powder, no deer meat. Mebbe so Colorow take many ponies, go Sulphur Springs, get 'em bullets, bacon, flour, then be good Injun till all gone."
In this logic of plenty to eat lay the safety of the white trappers for that winter, so Jack prayed fervently for the early departure of the Indians for Sulphur Springs to the end of his own personal safety. He knew now that certain sign language the Utes had so often indulged in represented Agent Meeker in his attempts to teach the Indians how to plow; that bits of tragic, practical joking were tests of his own bravery, and that the uneasy red devils but waited opportunity and excuse for an uprising, after they should obtain the necessary munitions of war, of which they had none.
Chiquita grew more and more interested in the ways of the pale face with each visit, and Jack found her waiting for his return oftener, even following him portions of the route in his attentions to the traps. Her desire for knowledge seemed to him incomprehensible and old Yamanatz was equally at a loss to understand why his daughter should prefer to hear about her white sisters' habits and what they did, rather than matters of more moment. When she finally told Yamanatz her desire to do wonderful things, such as building a big "medicine tepee" with lots of Indian maidens in "medicine clothes" to care for the sick, the aged and infirm, the old chief's face gladdened and his actions spoke louder than words, so that Jack knew it was safe to humor them both in their dream.
Within a few days Yamanatz sprung a joke on Jack that left Bennett's fun hanging high and dry on the trees. Chiquita had arrayed herself in more gorgeous raiment than had been recorded of a society debutante in Indian stories—beaded cape, waist, shirt, leggings, and moccasins; medals of gold, silver and pewter; ornaments of brass, tin and iron; necklaces of elk teeth and grizzly claws; hair decorations of lion skin, beaver and otter fur, and in her hand a rawhide shield just dazzling with highly polished brass knobs. Her bright eyes fairly danced with joy as she posed before Jack in her "Sunday best." Yamanatz watched her with that same benevolent kindness which characterized him above other Utes. After the usual salutations, the old chief took a leather bag from the saddle and opened it, turning its contents upon Jack's best dish towel, which happened to be near. To say that Jack's heart jumped is drawing it very mild. The contents of the bag were gold nuggets from the size of a mustard seed to a navy bean and there was at least a quart.
Yamanatz saw the sparkle in Jack's eyes and laconically remarked, "Sabe?"
"Heap big gold mine somewhere?" asked Jack,
To which question Yamanatz made two replies—"Me dunno; mebbe so."
Jack waited for him to continue, wondering what reason the two Utes had for appearing as they did, one in royal raiment, the other with a good sized ransom, for Jack estimated that there was twenty pounds of pure gold worth twenty dollars an ounce, or in all nearly five thousand dollars.
"Does the white man sabe?" again inquired Yamanatz.
"Me no sabe, no sabe," Jack shook his head.
Chiquita now spoke up. "Does the white man sabe, what you call 'em when white sister learn A, B, C?"
"School?"
Chiquita shook her head.
"College?" asked Jack.
This time she nodded her head and pointed to the gold. "How much cost Chiquita in college?"
It dawned on him that Chiquita wanted to go to college and that Yamanatz would furnish the necessary money to defray the expenses. Visions of a red savage in full forest costume ascending the steps of a great university or college was too much for Jack and he had to laugh, much to the disgust of his friends, but he quickly restored good faith.
Yamanatz put his finger to his tongue, indicating that he did not lie. "Yamanatz's tongue not split, no lie. Yamanatz show white man Jack heap big pile gold, some for Jack, some for Chiquita. White man take Chiquita, do as Chiquita say."
Jack was puzzled; he thought they were bargaining in a matrimonial deal, and he saw a little brown-eyed girl back East peering through the camp fire at him.
Chiquita, however, came to his rescue. "Yamanatz has said it. White man take Chiquita college. Chiquita learn, heap study, make Chiquita like white sister. Yamanatz show Jack heap big mine, lots gold, some for Jack; some for Chiquita."
As he at last comprehended this great undertaking—the stupendous task of educating a blanket Indian girl in a modern college of refined Caucasians—Jack was dismayed, even more so than the matrimonial possibility had suggested, for he could get out of that, but here was a poser. Perhaps the colleges would draw the line on Indians as some institutions did on negroes. As he made no answer Chiquita continued.
"How many moons take Chiquita college?"
Jack answered slowly, "Take Chiquita four snows little A, B, C's, two snows big A, B, C's, four snows college."
Both Yamanatz and Chiquita understood, and Chiquita replied, "Ten snows Chiquita like white sister, know heap?"
Jack nodded "Yes," but in his heart he did not believe she would in a hundred years be any more than a half-educated savage, under the most rigid masters.
Yamanatz then spoke up. "How much gold Jack want make Chiquita like white sister?"
Jack made a rough estimate and ventured at a thousand dollars a year, "Twelve thousand dollars."
Yamanatz could not understand so much money in American coin, so he talked with Chiquita, then pointed at the pile of gold nuggets.
Jack held up three fingers, meaning three times as much to make sure. Yamanatz looked scornfully at the three fingers, then pointed at the big grain bag in which Jack had his sugar, saying, "Yamanatz show Jack where get a big bag full. Some for Jack and some for Chiquita, if Jack promise Yamanatz take Chiquita"—but Chiquita had to supply the word "college."
Jack pondered a long time while the would-be college girl and her father watched his ever varying expression as he thought, "How can it be done?" He finally agreed to make the attempt and replied: "Jack will take Chiquita to the A, B, C school, then a little bigger school, then college. He will see Chiquita become a great queen if Yamanatz so speaks."
"It shall be so. Yamanatz will show Jack a big cave of gold where the sun goes down. Blazing-Eye-By-The-Big-Water, heaps of gold, and Yamanatz will give it half to Jack, half to Chiquita and Chiquita shall be a big queen." Then they both smoked the pipe of tobacco pledging each in their mission.
Afterwards the more detailed plan was arranged. Yamanatz indicated that in the early spring they would start for the cave of gold, which he explained was in a great sun-burned valley where no life existed except snakes and scorpions; furthermore, that the trip to the cave was one of deadly peril and hardships.
"The Great Manitou gave to the Utes this cave of gold. Many big chief go to the land of the setting sun and bring back plenty gold. Yamanatz the last chief who can show Jack, and when Yamanatz go to the Happy Hunting Ground the big cave is all for Jack and Chiquita."
Solemnly he outlined all the details for the undertaking. As they finished, Yamanatz gathered up the gold nuggets and handed the bag to Jack, saying, "This is for white man—Yamanatz has more."
Jack hid the gold in his war bag, after the chief and his gorgeously arrayed daughter had gone, then he pondered long over the unexpected mission upon which he found himself launched and his dreams were full of colleges, gold mines and savages being educated.
It was nearing Christmas time and the snow was deep on the mountain side. The warm sun penetrated the cañons but a few hours each day. Chiquita had become a daily visitor to the camp fire, near which she would sit and listen to Jack as he told of the wonders of the civilized world. Chiquita knew many English words of common usage and Jack knew as many Mexican, or rather a mixture of Spanish, Mexican and Indian, which, with the sign language, did service in these conversations. "Tell Chiquita how many sleeps Rock Creek to Denver City."
"Six sleeps," was the reply of Jack, meaning it was a six days' ride on horseback.
"Sabe usted the great white chief at Washington City?" was the next query, meaning the President of the United States.
"Me sabe."
"Tell Chiquita how many sleeps on the cars Washington City from Denver City."
"Five sleeps on the cars Denver City to Washington City."
Jack happened to have in his kit a railroad map of the United States and with this spread before them on a blanket, he would point out Rock Creek and then explain the distances from one place to another, telling of the great buildings, the industries, the immense amount of fuel used in the big shops and the number of men employed in making guns, wagons, saddles, harness, boots, blankets and the like, articles that appeared in the camp and which were in everyday use at the White River Agency. This was a very arduous but pleasing task, in that it required all of Jack's ingenuity to portray the information intelligently, and frequently Chiquita would be the instructor because of her better ability, as a child of the forest, to convey thought by means of signs and comparative objects. He taught her the alphabet, also words of one and two syllables, and she showed how wonderful is the Indian mind in its retention of the slightest impression when the will power to receive it is acquiescent.
"Tell Chiquita, does the white man's squaw carry the wood for the fire so the warrior can cook his venison?"
"No," said Jack, laughing, "the warrior of the white man is the soldier at the fort."
Chiquita interrupted quickly, a deep scowl causing her inky black eyebrows to meet over her flashing eyes, and with her head thrown back, displaying the full, rounded throat, her beautiful arm bared save for the wide beaded bracelets and amulets, she pointed to the sky, almost hissing through her marvelously white teeth, "Chiquita comprehends, the warrior of the white man is the hired pale face, sent by the Great White Chief at Washington City to slay my people; even now mebbe so the hired man rides to take Chiquita back to the White River; but her people are brave. Her people were as the stars above, as the drops that make the big river, but they are gone to the Great Spirit, where their ponies await their coming in the Happy Hunting Ground that the pale face knows not of, and to where the spirit of Chiquita will some day fly. Let the white man Jack beware. It is well for him that Yamanatz is his friend, and Chiquita will see that no harm comes to the friend of Yamanatz. Mebbe so Colorow is no friend of the white man Jack, but Colorow has no bullets. The gun of Colorow is empty, but the knife in the belt of Colorow is pointed. It is sharp and the arm of Colorow is as the young tree, and his step is as the step of the fawn when the dew is on the grass. Let the white man Jack beware. Colorow will come to tell the white man to go to the land which was taken from Colorow's people; that this is the Utes' land and that the Utes will no more let the white man hunt the deer and trap the wolf, which run by the tepee of the red man. So let the white man Jack be cunning and let not Colorow find the white man asleep under the big tree."
She was all excitement. The cords stood out upon her graceful throat, while her rounded cheeks crimsoned as the frosted leaf in the autumn time. Jack was spellbound as the words of that eloquent warning fell upon his ears, but at the last subdued, almost beseeching plea, he started as if the knife was already at his throat, for it was but yesterday, in the warm sunshine far beyond the snowy range, at noon time, he had taken a short nap under a big pine tree, where a bed of pine needles made an inviting spot, little dreaming that a living being, much less an Indian, was within five miles of him. Chiquita guessed his thoughts, and in that musical tone found only among the old blanket Indian tribes, told Jack how she followed him and Colorow from the camp on Rock Creek, fearing all the while that that cunning war chief would slay the young man from the east and upset all plans of Chiquita becoming a medicine tepee queen.
Chiquita knew that Colorow, of all the discontented Utes on Rock Creek, desired especially to be rid of Jack's presence. That the old warrior had a grudge against the trapper was evident, and the trapper's departure, leaving Jack alone to attend to the traps, was to her mind clear proof that Colorow had been instrumental in causing the departure.
She had heard the leaders of the renegade band denounce all trappers who sought the region contiguous to the White River reservation, and in particular the trapper who had built the cabin on Rock Creek. She knew that this trapper had the winter before wantonly killed seventy-six elk, which he had stumbled upon in a little willow grown park where the deep snow had stalled them, and that he did not kill any more because his ammunition had given out. She knew that the Utes, as well as the white settlers, had in unmeasured terms condemned this wanton slaying of so much game, but she did not think this episode was the cause of Colorow's animosity. There was but one reason that sufficed in her opinion. She believed Colorow had told the trapper to abandon the camp under penalty of death if he remained, and she reasoned that the trapper went alone because he had been ashamed to tell Jack the truth. Consequently Jack would be the next to go, and as she already knew that Colorow had openly declared his intention of driving the young paleface away, she determined to watch that cunning Ute every day and give him no opportunity for any hostile movement against Jack.
The gray dawn of the day referred to in her impassioned warning found Chiquita swiftly and silently making her way toward the Rock Creek cabin, where she took up a position commanding a view of the camp and the trails leading to it.
The first rays of the sun were just tipping the snow on the high mountain peaks when Jack came from the cabin and proceeded to get his breakfast over the camp fire. As Chiquita watched him she was tempted many times to make her presence known, for the savory viands made her "heap hungry," but at last Jack started up the gulch on his rounds to the traps. Chiquita knew that Colorow would put in an early appearance, expecting to find Jack at the cabin, so she waited patiently. It was not long before she heard the plaintive call of a camp bird mewing for something to eat, and she mimicked it, saying to herself, "camp bird and Colorow all same." She carefully screened herself in the willows and saw Colorow suddenly dart from one big tree to another, then creep to a big rock, wait a moment and glide along until he was close to the cabin. He waited some time, evidently reading by the signs of the smoldering fire that the object of his visit had made an early start. Seeing this, he boldly walked out and picked up the coffee pot. As it was empty he threw it spitefully down into the ashes and looked for a piece of bread. Being disappointed in this also he made a big fuss of brandishing his knife, executing a few steps as though he had discovered an enemy and in pantomime had slain and scalped him. During this time he kept up a continual jargon of curses and imprecations.
Finally he drew back the blanket which constituted the "door" of the cabin and peered in. Satisfied with his observations, he carefully scanned the trail leading up the gulch, and seeing the fresh made tracks, set out rapidly after Jack.
Chiquita followed, darting along from one side of the trail to the other or diverging obliquely across portions of the territory which she knew Jack had to traverse in order to examine the traps, knowing Colorow would ultimately appear.
The sun had reached the meridian when she noted the Indian standing under a big tree watching intently something not far distant from him. Pretty soon she saw a thin spiral of white smoke gradually becoming more dense as if from burning damp wood, and occasionally she could hear the crackle of the flames. She knew Jack was busy getting a little lunch. She scented the bacon as he toasted it before the fire and again she felt that ravenous gnawing which now was doubly aggravating.
The cooking evidently made Colorow furious, for he vanished into some brush and made noises as of a wolf growling with hunger just as he prepares to tear at a bone. Then the Indian disappeared down the ever handy gulch to watch Jack in his effort to find the wolf.
Jack proceeded to investigate, and, with gun ready, he entered the brush, but there were so many signs of wolf tracks, fresh ones, too, that he was at a loss to understand where they could so suddenly have disappeared.
As he slowly returned to his lunch camp—a spot free from snow in a little pine grove where the sun shone bright and warm—he passed very near where Chiquita was hiding, and then discovered a moccasin track, which he examined critically. He knew the track had been made since sunrise, but could not tell whether before or after he started to make his little camp fire. He carefully set his big boot alongside the footprint, making a deep impression in the earth. He also deposited the end of one of his rifle bullets in the moccasin track, feeling sure that the owner of the moccasin was sure to discover the significance thereof. Colorow saw the action from his hiding place, but well knew that a hunting knife was of little avail against a fearless man protected by a rifle, six-shooter and belt full of ammunition.
Jack looked at the sun, then at Rock Creek a long way off, and sat down to smoke a pipeful of tobacco. The pleasing, soothing narcotic made him drowsy and he fell asleep.
Colorow made a circle around the camp and in doing so discovered the trail which Jack had made on previous trips from the little grove. This led toward a big gulch which was divided at the lower portion by a steep ridge. Colorow took the one showing the most usage and ambushed himself in a thicket close to Pony Creek, at a point convenient to a spot where Jack would be obliged to pass within leap of the hidden foe. Here he waited.
Chiquita watched Colorow disappear down the gulch and divined his purpose, then returned to see Jack as he awakened and witness his surprise at having so forgotten his prudence.
Picking up his rifle and skins Jack started swiftly down the gulch, intending to follow the one selected by Colorow, as he had some venison protected by two big traps and was certain to get at least a bobcat there.
But at the last moment he changed his mind or neglected to watch the trail and entered the left-hand gulch.
It was getting late when he discovered his error, but decided not to retrace his steps, and the ridge was too precipitous to climb at that point.
Chiquita followed Jack to Pony Creek and on down to where it joined Rock Creek. Then Jack went to his cabin and Chiquita to the Indian village, where she later saw Colorow come in, baffled in his mission, at least for the time being.
Jack now thoroughly realized the dangerous position in which he was placed and made up his mind to protect himself very carefully against any mishap. He knew that Colorow would not dare to attack him openly, and that safety depended on constantly guarding against all chance of surprise.
"Jack is heap glad to hear Chiquita tell of how she watches for the white man's safety. Does Chiquita sabe?" said Jack in a half apologetic manner, speaking abstractedly and not knowing what was best to say under the circumstances. His mind was taken up with the uncertainties of "good Indians." He wanted to trust Yamanatz and Chiquita, but did not know how far either one would dare to go in their evident desire to protect him. His recent talk with Yamanatz, of less than a week before, was pictured vividly in Chiquita's story of her long day's tramp and vigil over him, and he knew that if Colorow made any attempt at his life in the presence of either Chiquita or Yamanatz, they might resist, but even their resistance would possibly be unavailing.
Making an early start on the day following to go the reversed route of the trip during which he had taken the nap Chiquita had so graphically described, Jack found himself in the gulch where the venison lay and a couple of bobcats in the traps near the carcasses. Killing and skinning these took some time, and with the heavy pelts added to a haunch of deer meat, Jack found it no easy task to climb to the top of the snowy ridge, down which he must go in order to reach camp. The frozen, well-worn trail he must reach before darkness set in, but despite his most desperate exertion it was some time after daylight had departed that he reached the long stretch of white covered slope. Not a trail could he find—not a welcome footprint to guide him over the deep ravines filled with snow, or away from precipitous rocks where a misstep would land him far below. There was but one course to take—straight down the mountain side. Throwing away caution, he started on a swift swinging trot, each foot breaking the crust of snow beneath him. Arriving at the edge of a ravine, which appeared only smooth snow, he went into it up to his waist; then, thoroughly alarmed, he struggled deeper into the ravine until the snow was up to his armpits. His revolver was lost and wolves were already giving tongue to dismal howls as the air carried to their nostrils the scent of the venison to which Jack clung.
His unequal combat with the yielding snow gradually exhausted his strength and, growing each moment weaker, tired nature finally succumbed, and he fell unconscious. But the cold air quickly revived him. Nearer and nearer came those dreadful deep-mouthed tongue signals, augmented by additional ones from new directions and made still more heartbreaking by the yippy-yappy of a bunch of coyotes which also joined the big timber wolves. The six-shooter was found first, then Jack used a little reason. Taking off his coat and placing the furs and coat as a support on the snow, he rolled over and over until his foot struck solid earth. Then gathering his furs and leg of venison, he more carefully descended, his enemies keeping at a safe distance, for in America wild animals of any sort rarely attack man when not molested, even in the dead of winter.
Slipping and sliding, he at last reached camp, only to find both feet badly frozen at the heels and toes. As he cut his boots off and plunged his extremities into the cold water a whole lot of adventure went out of his heart with the frost.
It was Sunday, the eighth day after Jack had taken that memorable trip so near unto death. In the warm sunshine at Rock Creek camp the major part of the day had been passed by the young hunter in writing up his journal, carefully jotting down all the incidents of latest development, even to the extra spread given in his honor to himself and three imaginary guests. He, being present, had a good meal, but the "invited" guests had to feast by proxy. The menu started with a hambone soup, and a nice broiled mountain trout, captured in a big hole where Pony and Rock Creek join forces. Winter trout being so great a luxury, Jack forgot his table etiquette and asked for a second portion, and being refused, he made a fierce onslaught upon the piece de resistance, no more and no less than a blue grouse roasted before the fire, as they roasted turkeys in the days of the Pilgrim Fathers. Jack used one of the metal joints of the cleaning rod belonging to his rifle as a spit, and as he turned the bird slowly and basted it with venison fat he wondered, if his guests could really drop in for a moment, what they would say about his culinary efforts. The bird was stuffed with real sage dressing; not quite so good as mother used to make, as the mountain sage is a trifle stronger. When finished the grouse was garnished with juniper berries and spruce buds, these being the winter food of the grouse. There was a distinct flavor of the juniper in the meat. Then came an entree of young elk brains and another of Big Horn kidney stew. Jack was shy on vegetables of any kind, except Rock Creek baked beans, cooked all night in a Dutch oven sunk in the hot ashes of the camp fire; two kinds of bread, baking powder and sour dough, the first being hot biscuit, the latter nice big slices of cold white bread, never free from the name it bears. Stewed prunes and baked apple dumpling constituted the pastry, while black coffee in a tin cup and sparkling Rock Creek water served for liquids.
Jack had finished the "dishes," the last rattle of tin plates, pans, cup and skillets had re-echoed from the depths of the "china" closet, and he had settled himself for a chat with his pipe, when Chiquita bounded into camp all excitement and panting for breath.
"Colorow gone Sulphur Springs. Take 'em many ponies" (counting forty with her fingers). "All Utes except old men and Yamanatz go too. Mebbe so come back with bullets, powder, bacon, flour," and she stopped to breathe.
Jack contemplated, and while he did so Chiquita cast wistful eyes at the remains of the midday banquet. The longing expression was not a new one to Jack. He knew from experience that Chiquita was a good eater, in fact all Indians had that failing, so he motioned the belle of the village to a seat on the end of a log near by and proceeded to dish her up a square meal. He knew that Yamanatz would be coming along soon, so he reserved some odds and ends for him. When Chiquita had advanced far enough so she could have time between mouthfuls—not bites—to answer, Jack gave utterance to his thoughts.
"Colorow's ponies make pretty big track in snow—make heap big trail. Mebbe so good for two sleeps on high mountain where wind blow."
Chiquita understood and stopped her struggles, with a rib of venison in one hand and a grouse wing in the other, long enough to articulate:
"Chiquita comprehends. White man follow Utes; white man leave Chiquita and Yamanatz to go Sulphur Springs, mebbe so Denver City."
Her smiles were gone, but not her appetite, as she renewed her attacks on the remnant counter. Jack replied:
"Mebbe so Jack be gone four moons. Come back when honeysuckle on mountainside and cactus on plain in bloom. Will Chiquita and Yamanatz go then with Jack to Blazing-Eye-by-Big-Water?"
Jack decided to get out of the Ute country while the scalp was yet on his head and not dangling at the belt of any warrior, or braided into the make-up of any tepee pole. Just then the clatter of two ponies down the trail caused him to look around. In a moment or two the willows parted and Yamanatz, accompanied by a white man, whom Jack recognized as old Joe Riggs, entered the camp. To Jack's greeting of "How?" the newcomers both made response. Joe inquired as to the condition of Jack's feet, and upon being assured that those necessary adjuncts to a man's safety on Rock Creek were in fairly good order, the cattleman suggested the opportunity presented for Jack to make an attempt to connect with civilization.
Old Joe Riggs was known from the Cache le Poudre to the Rio Grande; to cowman, miner, prospector and goods store folks. Old Joe was a part and parcel of the main range. Forty-niners had bunked with him and fifty-niners had divided buffalo steaks with him, while sixty-niners from Missouri allowed old Joe could rock a cradle or shovel tailings from the sluice boxes, and seventy-niners found him as ready to take his turn at the drill or windlass as the best of them. In appearance old Joe was a weird, uncanny being that made the creeps run up and down one's crupper bone. Seated upon a chair in a room full of average-sized people, Joe appeared a dwarf. His anatomy seemed to rest on the ends of his shoulder blades, while his knees formed the hypothenuse of an inverted right-angle triangle. When standing he overtopped every man in a regiment of six-footers. His arms swung listlessly to his knees from the shoulder socket, as if lacking in elbow joints, terminating in hands fashioned more after the talons of an eagle than those of a human being. His nose was also like the beak of that fierce bird, while his chin retreated from his underlip in a direct line to the "Adam's apple." High cheek bones and protruding forehead caused the deep sunken orbital spaces to appear sightless, except for the nervous batting of his eyelids. His shoulders were broad, but being thin chested, he was short on lung capacity, which caused a most extraordinary mixture of guttural whispers and shrill wheezes every time he tried to talk. His strength was prodigious, and on more than one occasion he had won his drink by taking hold of the chines of a full barrel of liquor, raising it from the ground to his lips and drinking his fill from the bunghole. The most startling of all, though, was his wardrobe, and it was an open secret that Joe had his surname thrust upon him by reason of the various rigs in which he was clad. As the winter season approached and Joe got cold, he would appropriate any and all old garments he could find lying around loose; old pants, overalls, shirts, vests and socks which others had cast away as useless. These he would patch and sew together where necessity demanded, lengthening or widening, and pull one garment on over another. In this semi-annual outfitting he would appear one day with overalls reaching just below the knees, the pair under them revealing their "frazzled" ornamentations for a foot or more. The next day, as like as not, he would find an old pair of red drawers, and these would go on right over the last pair of overalls. When the spring came and warm weather got the best of his clothes, Joe proceeded to divest himself of a lot of useless and uncomfortable rags, for by that time they could not be called garments.
Joe at the present time was conducting a vest-pocket ranch on the sunny slopes of the cedar-treed hills rising from the Grand River tributaries and in what were termed "warm holes," being little areas of sage-brush covered mesas found upon the banks of the streams. These miniature parks were quite fertile in bunch and even buffalo grass, and varied from five acres to a whole section in extent. His herd of cattle consisted of two heifers, six old cows and ten three-year-old steers. This constituted the nucleus of an expectant million-dollar stock farm. It represented more than the average fortune accumulated by constant and attentive prospecting for forty years.
Joe's hint at the opportunity of connecting with God's country struck Jack as a coincidence upon which there might turn a contingency, so he reasoned with himself: "Why does Joe think I might want to get away from the Indians? Does he think I will desert my camp outfit and provisions? Besides, what is the old trapper to do when he returns?"
These questions were immediately answered by the cattleman just the same as though Jack had asked the information point blank, a proceeding which added to the weirdness of Joe's presence, and the most uncanny feature of it was the total inability of the hearer to locate whence came the sound that emanated from that sepulchral living cadaver. No lips moved in unison with a voice, nor even did the gleaming teeth, just visible through the parted mouth, open or close as if responsive to any oral exertions. The sound came from everywhere. Joe was a heaven-born ventriloquist.
"Yer needn't be slow about gittin' away from Rock Creek ef yer want ter go. 'Taint nothin' ter me. That ther' trapper ain't comin' back 'til ther beaver gets to usin' thar cutters on the trees a-buildin' dams, an' then he won't cum back ef thar's goin' to be trubble. He tol' me that ther day afore he struck out, savvey?"
Jack did not need to have the cabin fall on him nor an upheaval of the earth to realize that the trapper had "cut loose" from the Rock Creek possibilities. There was an ominous silence for a couple of minutes. One thing was certain in the minds of the two white men, alone, as they were, far from aid of any sort in the event of an uprising, and the thought uppermost in both their minds was as patent to each other as if branded in letters of fire—the trapper had deserted the tenderfoot.
As soon as this thought had coursed through Jack's brain other thoughts surged one upon another in quick succession. Was it a frontier conspiracy in which both white and red men were equally interested? Was it a put-up job between the trapper and Joe and the Indians—merely a coincidence in the commission of the trade? Perhaps the trapper had sold the camp outfit and Joe had come to take possession. This last thought made his heart sick, for he knew only too well that he could make no resistance except that which would end in a tragedy. Again the supernatural mind-reading Joe proclaimed himself in a few disjointed sentences, but to Jack they were most welcome in their honesty of purpose and implication of the trapper as a coward.
"I reckon yer might be calkerlatin' on what yer would do with this yere plunder," said Joe, as he pointed at the camp outfit, the provisions and the furs hanging on the side of the cabin. Continuing in that monotonous sing-song of gutturals and whispers, he allowed the plunder belonged to Jack, for the trapper had acknowledged as much.
"That trapper got 'skeered' of Colorow and lit out. Mebbe yer don't know it, but the Utes don't like him any too much, and when Colorow said 'Vamoose' yer pardner left yer to yer own cogitashuns. He tol' me that nothin' in the camp belonged to him; thet 'twas all your'n except the traps and harness. 'Taint likely he'll come back 'til next March, so ef yer don't want ter stay 'til then yer'll have to git a move on yerself. Thet trail won't stay open an hour on the high divide, but yer can rastle a couple Ute cayuses through ten feet of snow like a hot bullet goin' through a piece of ham fat, and onct on the other side of the divide it will be an easy trail to Kremling's, at the mouth of the Big Muddy. Yer don't need ter take much along. Yer will be out but one night, and mebbe yer will git ter the old hunter's cabin about forty mile from here 'fore that. Ef yer don't ther is a good campin' ground on the crik in a big pocket five miles this side."
It did not take long to make a trade. Jack reserved his six-shooters, blankets and three or four fine cat and fox skins. Joe gave him a good Indian pony, a silver watch, and the balance in money for the provisions, rifle, ammunition and other paraphernalia, except the remaining furs, traps and cooking utensils, which were the legitimate belongings of the trapper.
But the awful perils of a trip over an unknown trail in midwinter rose up as a barrier between Jack and civilization. The night had come on and Yamanatz, with Chiquita, as silent witnesses to the exchange of chattels, sat beside the camp fire. Grotesque shadows wavered and wandered back and forth in and out of the gloom as Jack replenished the disappearing embers with new fuel preparatory to a pow-wow in which the final arrangements were to be completed concerning his escape from Rock Creek, his return later when the winter passed, when Yamanatz should conduct him to the great gold deposit. It was a matter of a hundred miles to the nearest ranch in Middle Park, before reaching which was a "divide," the top of which soared far above the surrounding hills, and then came the Gore, or Park range, split by the Grand River into an impassable cañon, along whose steep side ran the old Ute trail, up, up, until it crossed the snow-covered summit beyond timber line, and thence descended by serpentine and circuitous windings to the southern entrance of the Park. From there to the ranch on the Troublesome was open level country, across which was comparatively easy traveling. The other pass over the Gore range, which was used by the trapper and Jack when they made their incoming trip to Rock Creek, was already closed by snow as far as travel by horses was concerned, and for that matter the Ute trail was closed, except for being opened by the band of Indians and thirty or forty ponies bucking their way through to Sulphur Springs.
The most difficult portions of the journey would be encountered the first day over the numerous ridges of barren waste intervening between Rock Creek and the high divide. Old Joe shook his head in uncertain manner when Jack asserted his confidence in being able to follow after Colorow. Yamanatz nodded in assent at the dangers confronted by the dilemma of Jack's unfamiliarity with the trail, and then in that portentous monosyllabic manner of Indians in brief words conveying whole paragraphs of information but adding to the dismal forebodings, said:
"White man all right. Plenty sign when trail in big woods. Heap sign on big trees. Come big open, no trees, no sign; one look, two look, three look, all same. All snow, no trail, no tree. Get lost; sundown, no fire, no camp. White man cold. Pretty soon sleep; fall off pony; sleep long time."
Then Jack knew that "three looks" would carry him from the top of one high hill to the top of another, as far as the eye could reach to the horizon, into a country absolutely treeless, and where even an Indian would be lost if he had never been shown the trail. To attempt the trip alone would be sheer madness and only result in that subtle overpowering sleep into eternity—death by freezing.
Yamanatz stopped speaking for a moment to give his hearers ample time to fully understand him, then continued: "White man sabe? Colorow gone one sleep, mebbe so not make 'em Gore range. White man catch 'em pony tomorrow. Two sleeps before can take 'em trail to follow Colorow, sabe? Colorow mebbe so come back meet 'em white man. Colorow then heap mad, no get 'em flour, bacon. Colorow, Antelope, Bennett all heap hungry. White man no got 'em big gun; little gun not much good, mebbe so?" and Yamanatz lapsed into silence.
There was no need to ask anything more. The cunning old warrior knew only too well the fate that awaited Jack if Colorow and his ugly renegade Indians should fail to get through to Sulphur Springs and had to return empty handed to Rock Creek. Old Joe knew, too, that his own safety would be problematical, even with his years of familiarity with the whole Ute tribe. The gloom that settled over them was full of foreboding. Each one was striving to hatch out a plan that would dispel the dangers now besetting Jack's safety.
It was useless to think of old Joe attempting the trip with Jack, and Yamanatz made no sign of being willing to assume the role of guide. At last as Jack was about to abandon all hope, Chiquita arose and, crossing over to where Jack was, bid him to be of good cheer.
Pointing to the stars, she said: "What Yamanatz has said is in the sky. The Great Spirit who watches over the Indian maiden has told Chiquita to lead the white man that he may go to meet his white brothers. Chiquita knows the trail. Chiquita is not afraid. It is but one moon since Chiquita's pony did paw the deep snow and carry Chiquita on the big divide to meet the Ute braves coming from the Grand River. One sleep, and the white man Jack must get his ponies, and two sleeps before the sun shall show on top of the high mountain. Chiquita will be ready at the tepee of Yamanatz to lead the white man over big divide, where make 'em one camp for Chiquita and one camp for white man Jack. One sleep and Chiquita say adios to white man, then come back Indian village on same day. White man go to his white brothers on Troublesome, then go long way Denver City."
Here was a dilemma that confronted Jack, even more embarrassing than anything yet thrown in his path—the would-be leader of the select four hundred at White River acting as guide over a wild country, to say nothing of a one-night camp among the willows at the edge of some little creek. It must have amused him to a great degree, for, serious as it was, a smile lurked around the corners of his mouth, causing Chiquita to become a little disdainful, as an Indian is very sensitive to ridicule, but Jack quickly relinquished the comical side of the question and his features again became as grave as those of old Yamanatz. Old Joe was the first to speak:
"The Injun gal is made of the right stuff and will pilot yer to ther right place, an' she can take care of herself goin' an' comin'. I've seen her throw that knife in her belt twenty feet as straight as yer can shoot a bullet outen that six-shooter of your'n."
Then the old Ute spoke:
"Chiquita all same Yamanatz show 'em trail to white man. White man sabe?"
Jack could do nothing but take Chiquita's hands in his own and bow his humblest thanks. It occurred to him he had an old sealskin cap in his war bag and that it might please the dusky maiden. He soon produced it and, with another friendly greeting, presented it to her. It was lined with bright red silk, and she proceeded to put it on with the silk on the outside, to which Jack made no remonstrance. Although it made him bite his tongue, he did not "crack a smile."
Yamanatz and Chiquita immediately started on the trail for the Indian village. It was ten o'clock. After a chat with Joe they both turned into the bunk, Jack to dream of home, sheets and pillowcases, barber shops, chinaware and a real live dining-room table. It took all next day and far into the night to get his Ute ponies in readiness for Tuesday's long journey, but at last the packs were made up. Three days' supply for two, of bread, bacon, tea and coffee, were made into a convenient bundle, to be rolled into the blankets, which would in turn be strapped behind Jack's saddle. All the other paraphernalia—Indian moccasins, buckskin shirts, beaded tobacco bags and a real Ute war bonnet, with lots of pipes, elk teeth, bears' claws, arrow heads and Jack's clothing—were packed in rubber blankets, canvas covers and grain bags, ready for the pack-saddle on the other pony.
It was just daybreak when Jack bid the old Rock Creek camp farewell, leaving it to be put in shape by old Joe, who had helped the young man from the far east in his preparations. Old Joe did not waste words in his good-bye speech, but there was at least a perceptible tremor in his voice and a decided reluctance in withdrawing his hand after the adios shake. The Indian village was reached at exactly sunrise, and as a chorus of yelping dogs greeted the arrival of the ponies, a few squaws poked their heads out of the tepees, nodding a salute of recognition to Jack. Chiquita was ready to mount her pony as soon as Jack gave her the word. He had tightened the diamond hitch on the pack pony and his own saddle girth preparatory for a long lope over the sage-brush flat that extended from the Indian village across the small mesa at the foot of the first hills, which form the steps of the high divide. Chiquita, dressed in her buckskin shirt, skirt, leggings and moccasins heavily trimmed with beads, quickly sprang into her saddle and pulled the blanket up around her shoulders Indian fashion. Her hair hung in heavy braids at either side of her cheeks, while the sealskin cap with showy red silk lining crowned her head. Into the peak of the cap she had thrust an immense eagle feather. The chorus of yelping dogs again took part in the ceremony attending their departure. As they ascended the first bench several blacktail deer ran directly across their path—beautiful animals that cleared the sage brush in graceful, easy bounds, looking first to the right and then to the left, as much as to say, "Come on, I'm ready."
It was noon when the last long snow-covered ridge lay behind them. For two hours it had been a battle with snowdrift after snowdrift. The trail cut by the Colorow Indian ponies had been filled by the wind with drifting snow until not a sign was left. Parapets of snow ten feet high were encountered, which had to be cut and the trail again located by Chiquita. First one pony would take the lead and, reared on his hind feet, paw the snow down beneath him, while the next in line trampled it a second time, until a cut was formed at a low point in that endless chain of banks stretching for miles in either direction. Towering forty feet in the air were mountains of the same dazzling white, which had to be circled, sometimes leaving the trail to the right or left for a mile. At times these detours were made only to be retraced because of the impassable blockades rising in sheer precipices, and once the trail opened by these detours was found to be refilled within an hour, so fierce was that icy blast, blowing its wanton breath in seeming malice against the weary beasts and their equally weary riders.
Jack had tramped snow for the ponies on many occasions when they refused to move. Chiquita had lent her encouragement time and again as Jack seemed ready to abandon the trip, but at last behind them towered the top of the big divide, on whose crest ran a snow bank higher than any before encountered. Giving a few moments' rest to the panting ponies, Jack took the lead, for now the trail was easily discernible and followed without a break, down, down, over and through a few more banks of that mealy substance, affording neither footing nor shelter for man or beast, until the warm forests of pine once more protected them from the frightful cold.
At the first convenient spot Jack cleared away the snow from a huge rock and soon had a cheerful fire roaring, which furnished warmth to their numbed bodies; then from his tin cup in which snow was melted he brewed a refreshing draught of tea, which, with a bite of frozen bread thawed out on the hot rock, appeased their hunger for the time being. By the aid of a pocket thermometer Jack ascertained the temperature to be 36 degrees below zero. The sky was clear, but even at the edge of the timber a thousand feet below that terrible snow-turreted ridge the wind screamed in its fury and pierced the heavy garments and blankets within which Chiquita and Jack were encased. The ponies humped their backs at the lee side of the fire and seemed grateful for a few mouthsful of smoke in lieu of a wisp of dry buffalo grass. Conversation was almost impossible, as words were not audible three feet distant. Both were too numb to talk, and it was difficult even to eat. The half hour at an end, Jack struck into the trail, leading his pony. Chiquita had not dismounted since leaving the Indian village, and was getting pretty stiff with cold. At the end of another half hour she managed to make Jack hear her, and after considerable trouble he found a log by the side of the trail, where she could stand and swing first one leg and then the other to restore circulation. After ten minutes' vigorous exercise she remounted, and the little procession again started through the down timber.
They had reached a portion of heavy forest that had been ravaged by timber fires. Miles and miles of immense trees lay in chaotic confusion. Tall spires of limbless bark-burned pines stretched eighty, one hundred and even a hundred and fifty feet skyward, the weather-beaten trunks white with the storm-scouring of years. Through this desolate stretch of ghostyard (a veritable birthplace for spooks and goblins, the terror of that docile animal known as the Rocky Mountain canary, but usually called a jackass) the party moved in silent Indian trot, each step taking them nearer and nearer the warmer region of cedar, piñon and sage brush, through groves of quaking asps, whose leaves in the summer time never cease their eternal and restless quiver and upon whose smooth trunks were Indian signs galore. On the larger and older trees could be found those subtle knifecuts, conveying intelligence through representations of chickens, horses, snakes, hatchets, knives, guns, arrows and other characters which in the past had warned of the approaching enemy or told of the chase, of the success or the defeat not only of Utes, but of Sioux, Apaches, Arapahoes and Kiowas. Many an hour had Jack spent in studying these trees which are scattered over the Rocky Mountain region, bearing whole histories, trees generally found within an altitude of 6,000 to 8,000 feet above sea level.
It was not long after passing through this belt that they came to the south hillsides, whose slopes were free from snow and where the runways for deer, elk and mountain sheep became more and more numerous. Stocky little cedar trees stretched forth their long arms over the trail, sending forth fragrance of lead-pencils and giving a slap on the face if the rider neglected to duck in season to avoid the branch. Entering a sage-brush covered mesa, immense jack-rabbits bounded hither and thither, sage hens flew up with a whir of their wings and the shrill scream of an eagle greeted their ears as if to warn them against entering his domain. As the trail led them nearer and nearer to the banks of a good sized creek the ponies became restive, and finally the pack animal resorted to that well-known method of suggesting that it was time to make camp by "bucking"—not a stop in the bucking process until blankets, bags and bundles were scattered for a mile over the sage-brush flat. It was an hour's work for both Jack and Chiquita to get the plunder together and again pack it on the refractory cayuse, and it was all the more aggravating, as it was only a couple of miles from the spot selected for camp.
Arriving at a bend in the creek—rather it was a fair sized river—they proceeded to make the best of everything at their command. There was a space along the edge of the river about two hundred feet wide, covered here and there with wild rye, at the roots of which was dried buffalo grass. This strip of land ran back to a cañon wall, a precipice some forty feet high, sheer and without foothold for even a wildcat. Thick willows grew along the base of this wall, and it was but a few minutes after the ponies were relieved of their saddles ere Jack had selected two favorable spots which would afford reasonably good beds, one for Chiquita and one for himself. Cutting away the willows up to the wall in a narrow space just big enough for one to lie down, and forming a mattress of others occupied but a little time. Meanwhile, Chiquita had brought driftwood and dry sticks until an immense pile of fuel was in readiness for the long night. The ponies were picketed, one on each side of the camp and the third one close to the edge of the stream, forming a guard past which no wild animal would attempt to go. It was now dark and the ponies were foraging for buffalo grass, while Jack toasted some bacon on a stick, made coffee in an old baked-bean can, which he had thoughtfully tied to the pack-saddle, and toasted the frozen bread on a hot rock. During the early dusk the mew of a plaintive camp bird gave notice that that mountain sentinel was at hand, and the handsome gray-coated camp follower would spread his black-tipped wings and fly down to the edge of the fire, looking for crumbs and refuse of the "kitchen." Chiquita gave him a few morsels, but there was little to spare from the stock at hand.
After they had satisfied their hunger Jack and Chiquita settled themselves for a long talk. It was the first opportunity that had been presented since old Joe and Yamanatz interrupted them the Sunday before after the six-course banquet Jack had given his eastern friends by proxy.
The ponies tugged at their picket ropes, wandering around in search of overlooked patches of grass. Occasionally a wolf howl mournfully awakened the stillness of the gathering darkness, to be answered by others of the same species, each animal in the common quest of something to eat, and all probably attracted by the camp fire and its attendant odors.
A first-quarter moon shed its cold, silvery light on the drama at the base of the precipitous rock. The air was crisp and still. The splashing stream dashing its burden along the confines of its narrow channel to the Pacific Ocean was the orchestra, keeping in touch with the scene, staged by no artificial hand and curtained by the star-spangled canopy of night. The camp fire sent showers of sparks far aloft and its warmth unloosened the tense-drawn muscles, every one of which had been called upon to its utmost capacity in the battles that the weary travelers had encountered with the snowdrifts. Jack lay stretched upon the sand by the fire, while Chiquita stood beside him. They had recounted the perils of the day and had outlined their respective trips for the morrow—she to face again the dangers of the divide and go back to the uneducated, primitive life of the forest man, degraded by the deceits and intrigues of the avaricious, land-grabbing representatives of schools, colleges and institutions, proclaiming the law to be justice, he to face the vicissitudes of an unknown trail, the possibility of meeting a murderous band of these forest men while on his way back to that realm of advanced civilization, educated to the highest degree of refinement of "doing" others legally.
Both had remained silent for a long time after the exchanges of the day's experiences. Jack wanted to express his gratitude to Chiquita for her bravery and self-imposed task in conducting him over the trail, for he now fully realized the certain death that awaited him had he undertaken the trip alone. But he was not master of words that the Indian maiden would understand in their fullest import, nor did he hope to be able to convey by signs that which was uppermost in his mind.
It may be Chiquita read his thoughts, but was equally at loss to find adequate words to impart any assistance. Finally, after many misgivings as to what she might consider an ample word reward, he started in at random:
"Chiquita sabe that she has been good to Jack?"
"Me no sabe, Señor."
Jack was nonplussed. In her he found the same ability to dissemble that predominated in the well-known character of the first lady in the Garden of Eden. He tried to recall some Spanish words that she might understand, but none of the few which he essayed to use met with any better reception.
"Chiquita heap brave," said Jack, to which she made no reply.
"Chiquita save Jack; make 'em glad Jack's heart. What Jack do to make Chiquita's heart glad?"
He at last had struck the right chord, as her face beamed with a glad response, but it brought questions causing a train of thought which made him smile even at the risk of incurring her displeasure. To express gratitude to an Indian requires much more diplomacy and skill than is required under like circumstances in civilized communities.
"Would the fair-faced sister of the white man save Jack all same Chiquita? Would the pale-face maiden bring firewood and sleep in willow bed to save white man's life?"
Her eyes blazed in the consciousness of knowing that in the present age on the American Continent no white woman had ever been put to a like test. Whether she felt this intuitively or whether she had learned it from the squaws who had visited the big cities as they recounted the adoration extended by the male to the weaker sex as a part and parcel of civilization, it matters not.
Jack knew that he was at as great a disadvantage in her presence as if at the mercy of the divinest coquette in all of God's country. He essayed to answer, but something restrained him. It was not fear; it was not because he had his own misgivings on the subject, nor was it because he had no ready reply. Nevertheless, he waited and in his mind he tried to picture one of the belles of society bucking snow to save some football graduate from death, or one sleeping in the open air, without a chaperon, and a man in the same cañon. WhatwouldMrs. Grundy say? Of course he thought of the story by an eminent author where there was a scuttled ship laden with gold, a clergyman and a rich man's daughter cast upon an unknown island, and Jack acknowledged he had never heard of Mrs. Grundy making unkind remarks about that tale. But that was the result of accident, and mortuary tables classify accidental risks in a category by themselves.
Chiquita had suggested the society belle who would voluntarily give up half her estate for a real live, accidental romance that did not incur too much danger. Would she leave her maid and steam radiator and in the midst of a western blizzard sally forth to carry coal up three flights of stairs to a poor, benighted student, and then sleep on the doormat, for any reward there might be in store for her, either from a consciousness of having performed a creditable act or because she loved him?
Of course, Jack knew there was no occasion ever presented where a loving young thing, just out of the sixth grade, had been called upon to carry anything any more formidable than a bunch of roses to a sick friend, and the modern equipages splashed only a little dirty water over roads well kept from snowdrifts by indulgent taxpayers. Still, the question had been asked, and he manfully determined to stand up for the fair ones across the range.
"Si, Señorita Chiquita, the Indian maiden has said it. The pale-faced sisters of Jack would save their white brothers—even their red brothers and their black brothers. The fair sisters of the white man brave death in many ways for their white brothers. See, Chiquita, the medicine tepee of the white man is great as the high rock. It has many beds, more than the number of all Yamanatz's ponies. The young man who makes the gun, the maiden who makes the pretty cap mebbe so breaks the leg. Mebbe so the big steam cars come together all in big smash—kill many, heap hurt all. Then taken 'em to white man's medicine tepee. Medicine man tie up head, arms, legs, and white maiden in medicine clothes, all clean dress, white cap, red cross on the arm, give sick man medicine, wash sick man's hands, feet; give little something to eat, sit beside 'em, feel of hot head; stay all day, stay all night; watch 'em little blood knocks on the wrist, count all same on little watch. Mebbe so one get well, go way, good-bye. Mebbe so some die, go way too. Some more come bad hurt. Mebbe so like mountain fever; mebbe so heap sick inside. Big medicine man takes little knife, cut 'em all open, so. Cut out big chunk, mebbe so little chunk, all same; sew 'em up again, so, sabe? White maiden stand by, help big medicine man. 'Nother medicine man stand by give 'em heap strong stuff on cloth, sabe? Sick man all same breathe 'em in, byme by go sleep; no feel 'em knife. Big medicine man heap cut. Sick man no feel all same. Byme by wake up. Heap sick now long time; mebbe get all well; mebbe so one moon, mebbe so two moons; mebbe so die. All same pale face maiden heap brave; save many white man like Jack."
Chiquita never took her eyes from Jack's countenance. That she fully understood every phase of the hospital life as portrayed by him was evident from the dilated nostril, the wide-open eyes and the tumultuous heaving of the bosom through the heavy folds of her buckskin. She waited a full two minutes after Jack had finished, and then in a voice just above a whisper asked: "Will the white man Jack take Chiquita to see the medicine tepee of the white people that she may see the fair white sister in her medicine clothes?"
Jack little realized that he had touched the one chord in Chiquita's character that she yearned to follow. The imaginings of her young life had met with no sympathetic response. She revolted at the cruelty often displayed by the warriors in the Indian village, and the atrocities committed on captives while she was but a child were hideous recollections.
Jack quickly replied: "When Jack comes back to go with Yamanatz to Blazing-Eye-by-Big-Water then Chiquita will see big medicine tepee in Denver City and the fair sister in her medicine clothes."
"Will Jack come back Rock Creek when beaver cut 'em big tree?" asked the Indian girl.
Jack figured that April would be early enough, and even that would require him to use snowshoes a great part of the distance. The Berthoud pass would not be open until June, and he doubted if the snow would be passable for ponies on the high divide they had just crossed, but the Gore range could be crossed farther north and obviate the high ridge and its deep snow.
"Jack will come back the first new moon after beaver begin cut. Will Chiquita be in tepee near Pony Creek or White River?" He both answered one question and asked another.
"Me no sabe where Chiquita then," she replied, in a rather sorrowful tone, continuing: "Mebbe so all go to agency, mebbe so stay on Pony Creek. White man no find Chiquita on Pony Creek, go all same agency find 'em Yamanatz. Where Yamanatz there Chiquita wait for white man Jack."
That being settled, Jack took the blankets and distributed them on the willow beds. He then replenished the fire with some half-green logs pulled from a pile of drift wood, examined the picket ropes of the ponies and lit his pipe for another smoke. Chiquita wrapped herself in her blanket, tucked herself into a big wildcat-skin bag, which made a part of her bed on the willow branches, and was soon asleep.
Through the rings of smoke which curled from his pipe Jack sensed the future, as a spiritualist would say, and, realizing that this would in all probability be his last night of outdoor life for some time to come, he was loath to close his eyes in sleep, shutting out the grand retrospect of independence which a few months' experience on the frontier had taught him—a life absolutely free from conventionalities, police interference and taxes.
"No wonder," he soliloquized, "that the red man prefers the avenues of the forest, the virgin plains of grass, the rugged cañons running with sparkling water, the smoke of his tepee fire and a starry dome for his homestead, to the cobblestones, the plowed ground, the artificial goose ponds, the greasy-surfaced rivers, the steam-heated, foul-smelling hothoused monuments of man's industry and civilization."
The ponies snorted as though an intruder was lurking on the outskirts of the camp. Jack kicked one of the smoldering logs and a shower of sparks were borne upward into the dark night air. A few moments later and the prowler's deep, dismal howl wafted along the river course, supplemented by the short, snappy yelps of half a dozen coyotes. The interruption was ended and the man of the house again lapsed into speculation.
"Who would believe that Jack Sheppard would be here alone with that Indian girl in the middle of January, over a thousand miles from his home, where are velvet carpets and feather beds for old folks, eiderdown quilts for his sisters and probably a good hair mattress and blankets for the butler?"
Knocking the ashes from his pipe and placing that article of luxury safely in an Indian-beaded buckskin tobacco pouch, he drew one foot up and clasped his hands over the greasy overalled knee, resting his back against one of the log "divans" which go to make up every camp, even be they temporary ones. He had divested himself of his outer coat and relied upon the heavy buckskin shirt and the camp fire for protection from the cold. Long strings, demanded by frontier fashion, dangled idly from the sleeves and yoke of the garment. As he silently contemplated his wardrobe he gave an additional sigh and wondered, almost aloud:
"I suppose these will have to give way to a 'biled' shirt, tailor-made clothes and white collar, to say nothing of getting a haircut regularly."
This last "think" made Jack unclasp his hands rather hastily, but having assured himself that his hair was still intact, he gave vent to more soliloquy.
"If I were to walk into that Sunday-school class of mine, of ten-year-olds, in this rig, I wonder if the shorter catechism would stand any show?"
With a smile he proceeded to throw on a couple more logs, refresh himself with a drink of water and, having divested himself of his boots, using a saddle and coat for a pillow, he pulled the blankets around himself and was soon fast asleep.