CHAPTER XIX—ON DANGEROUS GROUND

CHAPTER XIX—ON DANGEROUS GROUNDBehind a clump of mesquite stood John Swiftwing, and he had heard the entire conversation. He was there when Frank and Inza met Carver, and he did not stir. He had not sought to listen, and he did not think it his duty to reveal himself.Swiftwing’s eyes flashed fire and his brow grew dark as he listened to the words of the gambler, but a softer light came to his face when he heard Inza defending him so bravely.He folded his arms upon his breast and stood there in a proud pose, his nostrils dilated.At that moment he would have made a perfect model for an artist or sculptor.Swiftwing’s face was far from expressionless, for various emotions were depicted upon it as he heard the words of the three beyond the mesquite. He betrayed rage, pride and gratitude, and his broad chest arose and fell tumultuously.When Carver strolled on, Frank and Inza turned about and retraced their steps toward the Pueblo. As they departed, the unseen Indian heard Inza say:“I will not believe John Swiftwing is a bad Indian! He has a noble face, and you told me, Frank, that you thought him a fine fellow.”“I did,” said Merry, “but I know very little of him. Physically, he is a marvel, which is rather strange, as he is a Pueblo Indian, and they are not remarkable for their physical development. But I must confess that Carver’s opinion of all Indians seems to be the general belief of those who associate with them, and know them best.”“I don’t want to believe it, and I am not going to believe it!”Swiftwing could hear no more. He had heard quite enough.“She is a fair white dove!” came from his lips in a murmur that was like liquid music. “She believes there may be some good in an Indian.”Then he bowed his head, and for a long time he stood there motionless as an image of stone. The beating of the drums at the Pueblo aroused him.His face was heavy with something that seemed a sullen look of despair.“The white men say all Indians are bad. Carver says all the education I may receive will not change my nature—I shall be an Indian still. I believe he is right! It is useless for the red man to try to be like the white man. God made them in different molds. He spoke truly when he said the heart remained the same for all of any outward change. Once more I am back here with my people, and I feel that I am like them. What is all my education? What does it amount to? The white man looks on me with scorn. But for the White Dove there would be no more courage left in my heart. I would give it all up, and go back to live with my people. After all, when I have finished at school, that is what I will do.”He turned his face toward the Pueblo, on the topmost terrace of which the lone drummer could be seen.“I have seen the great stone cities of the white men,” he said. “The home of my people is but a shadow beside the monster buildings that tower into the air. The white men do many wonderful things. They have the railroad, the telegraph, the telephone, and soon all the secrets of electricity will be theirs. What can my people do? Nothing! It is fate! God willed it so, and we cannot change it.”His heart was heavy as he moved toward the Pueblo.In the meantime Frank had left Inza at the tent of the rancher, while he had gone to see what arrangement could be made about getting a chance to take part in the Indian sports and games that day. He hoped he and his friends would be permitted to compete in some of the contests.Frank was gone more than half an hour.When he returned he found Inza standing near the tent, chatting to Swiftwing, who was listening with quiet dignity.Merry scowled a bit.“I must caution her,” he said. “She should be careful.”He came up and offered his hand to the young Indian.“Good-morning, Swiftwing,” he said, heartily in his pleasant manner. “I am glad to see you.”The Carlisle student took the proffered hand and shook it warmly.“Thank you, Mr. Merriwell,” he said, simply.“Oh, Frank!” cried Inza; “what do you think?”“I think a number of things,” laughed Merry. “What do you mean?”“Why, that Indian who grasped me in his arms at the station is here—I saw him!”“What!”“It is true! I saw him watching me, but he put off quickly enough when Mr. Swiftwing came up.”“It is Whirling Bear, the great wrestler of our people,” said Swiftwing. “He was drunk when he molested you yesterday, else he would not have done it. He was drunk on rum, which he obtained from some conscienceless white man.”“White men should be ashamed to sell such stuff to the poor Indians!” cried Inza.“They make money by selling it,” Swiftwing observed, with a touch of scorn in his voice.“And some white men will do anything for money,” said Inza.“That is true,” confessed Frank. “There are plenty of scoundrels among the white men, and not a few of them are Indian agents. But I have something of which I wish to speak to you, Swiftwing.”“I am listening, Mr. Merriwell.”“If possible, I wish to find an opportunity for my friends and myself to take part in some of the sports and games to-day. Can it be arranged?”The Indian looked doubtful.“I do not know, but I will see. It is certain you will not be permitted to take part in the religious ceremonies.”“We do not care for that, but I have heard you have a kind of queer ball game.”“Yes.”“We’d like to try you at your own game.”A faint smile came to the Indian’s face.“You have never seen one of our ball games?”“No.”“Then you know very little about it?”“Only what I have heard of it.”“How many in your party?”“Nine.”“It can be played with nine on a side, but it is better with fifty on a side.”“Whew! Fifty? Why, that’s a small army!”“The game does not resemble a game of ball in the least.”“I have heard so.”“You will be defeated.”“Never mind. We shall have some sport, and we are here for that.”“Is there anything else you wish to do?”“You said something about wrestling.”“Yes.”“Some of the fellows are good wrestlers.”“It will take a good wrestler to match Whirling Bear.”“I will find a match for him.”“Very well. There is to be another race beside the religious race. Will you care to take part in that?”“Yes. I wouldn’t mind trying to see what I can do at that myself.”“I am not sure you will be allowed to take part in these things, but I will find out about it.”Then, lifting his hat to Inza and nodding to Frank, he strode away. The girl watched his retreating figure, and Frank watched her face.“I don’t care, I won’t believe it of him!” she exclaimed. “No matter what Dan Carver says, I feel sure Swiftwing is a noble fellow.”“I am afraid, Inza, you are getting altogether too interested in him,” said Frank, reproof in his voice.She turned on him swiftly, indignation and surprise showing on her face and in her eyes.“What do you mean to insinuate?” she flashed.“Now, don’t flare up like that, Inza!” urged Merry. “It is for your good that I wish to caution you.”“Oh, indeed!”“Yes, indeed. I fear your admiration for John Swiftwing may lead you to treat him with such friendliness that he may mistake your motives.”“Frank Merriwell!” she cried; “I did not think this of you!”“Don’t misunderstand me,” he hastened to say. “You cannot treat John Swiftwing as you might an ordinary savage. He has been educated in the East, and he is accustomed to Eastern ways. Already I am sure he admires you greatly, and——”“And you don’t like it!”“It is not that, Inza, but——”“It is that!” she flung back, in her impulsive manner. “I am astonished at you, Mr. Merriwell!”“Inza, listen——”“I don’t care to listen, sir!”“You must listen!”“Must! You cannot force me to listen!”“No, I will not try; but you must listen for your own sake. I am saying this for your good.”“Oh, thank you!”How cutting her words and manner were! He felt the sting, and his face went from red to white, but he continued, firmly:“If you were to continue to be so friendly with John Swiftwing he might think you in love with him.”“What of it!”“It would be an easy thing for you to arouse a responsive passion in his heart.”Inza clapped her hands.“How jolly that would be! Think of having an Indian lover! Why, it is just awfully romantic!”“It may seem very romantic, and all that, but it would be dangerous.”“Dangerous! Pooh!”“Yes, dangerous. For all of his education, Swiftwing is an Indian, and he would not fancy being fooled and toyed with. If he fancied you had deceived him, there is no telling what he might take it into his head to do.”“Now you are trying to make out, like Dan Carver, that he is a common bad Indian. I thought better of you than that, Mr. Merriwell!”Frank made a gesture of despair.“You are very unreasonable this morning.”“And you are jealous—jealous of an Indian!” taunted the girl. “I did not think that of you!”Frank straightened up proudly.“You are at liberty to think what you like,” he said. “I am not jealous, for I think you have more sense than to fall in love with John Swiftwing or any other redskin.”“Oh, I don’t know!” Inza tossed back, tauntingly. “You can’t always tell.”Frank turned away.“Excuse me,” he said. “I must find him and learn what he has been able to do about making arrangements for us.”He lifted his cap and walked away.The look on Inza’s face as she watched him depart told that she was not entirely pleased with herself.“To think he should be jealous of John Swiftwing!” she murmured, “that’s enough to stir any one up! And he is jealous! He needn’t deny it! I’ll make him still more so before I quit. I’ll make him think I am really in love with John.”Little did she know how dangerous was the ground upon which she was so fearlessly treading.

CHAPTER XIX—ON DANGEROUS GROUNDBehind a clump of mesquite stood John Swiftwing, and he had heard the entire conversation. He was there when Frank and Inza met Carver, and he did not stir. He had not sought to listen, and he did not think it his duty to reveal himself.Swiftwing’s eyes flashed fire and his brow grew dark as he listened to the words of the gambler, but a softer light came to his face when he heard Inza defending him so bravely.He folded his arms upon his breast and stood there in a proud pose, his nostrils dilated.At that moment he would have made a perfect model for an artist or sculptor.Swiftwing’s face was far from expressionless, for various emotions were depicted upon it as he heard the words of the three beyond the mesquite. He betrayed rage, pride and gratitude, and his broad chest arose and fell tumultuously.When Carver strolled on, Frank and Inza turned about and retraced their steps toward the Pueblo. As they departed, the unseen Indian heard Inza say:“I will not believe John Swiftwing is a bad Indian! He has a noble face, and you told me, Frank, that you thought him a fine fellow.”“I did,” said Merry, “but I know very little of him. Physically, he is a marvel, which is rather strange, as he is a Pueblo Indian, and they are not remarkable for their physical development. But I must confess that Carver’s opinion of all Indians seems to be the general belief of those who associate with them, and know them best.”“I don’t want to believe it, and I am not going to believe it!”Swiftwing could hear no more. He had heard quite enough.“She is a fair white dove!” came from his lips in a murmur that was like liquid music. “She believes there may be some good in an Indian.”Then he bowed his head, and for a long time he stood there motionless as an image of stone. The beating of the drums at the Pueblo aroused him.His face was heavy with something that seemed a sullen look of despair.“The white men say all Indians are bad. Carver says all the education I may receive will not change my nature—I shall be an Indian still. I believe he is right! It is useless for the red man to try to be like the white man. God made them in different molds. He spoke truly when he said the heart remained the same for all of any outward change. Once more I am back here with my people, and I feel that I am like them. What is all my education? What does it amount to? The white man looks on me with scorn. But for the White Dove there would be no more courage left in my heart. I would give it all up, and go back to live with my people. After all, when I have finished at school, that is what I will do.”He turned his face toward the Pueblo, on the topmost terrace of which the lone drummer could be seen.“I have seen the great stone cities of the white men,” he said. “The home of my people is but a shadow beside the monster buildings that tower into the air. The white men do many wonderful things. They have the railroad, the telegraph, the telephone, and soon all the secrets of electricity will be theirs. What can my people do? Nothing! It is fate! God willed it so, and we cannot change it.”His heart was heavy as he moved toward the Pueblo.In the meantime Frank had left Inza at the tent of the rancher, while he had gone to see what arrangement could be made about getting a chance to take part in the Indian sports and games that day. He hoped he and his friends would be permitted to compete in some of the contests.Frank was gone more than half an hour.When he returned he found Inza standing near the tent, chatting to Swiftwing, who was listening with quiet dignity.Merry scowled a bit.“I must caution her,” he said. “She should be careful.”He came up and offered his hand to the young Indian.“Good-morning, Swiftwing,” he said, heartily in his pleasant manner. “I am glad to see you.”The Carlisle student took the proffered hand and shook it warmly.“Thank you, Mr. Merriwell,” he said, simply.“Oh, Frank!” cried Inza; “what do you think?”“I think a number of things,” laughed Merry. “What do you mean?”“Why, that Indian who grasped me in his arms at the station is here—I saw him!”“What!”“It is true! I saw him watching me, but he put off quickly enough when Mr. Swiftwing came up.”“It is Whirling Bear, the great wrestler of our people,” said Swiftwing. “He was drunk when he molested you yesterday, else he would not have done it. He was drunk on rum, which he obtained from some conscienceless white man.”“White men should be ashamed to sell such stuff to the poor Indians!” cried Inza.“They make money by selling it,” Swiftwing observed, with a touch of scorn in his voice.“And some white men will do anything for money,” said Inza.“That is true,” confessed Frank. “There are plenty of scoundrels among the white men, and not a few of them are Indian agents. But I have something of which I wish to speak to you, Swiftwing.”“I am listening, Mr. Merriwell.”“If possible, I wish to find an opportunity for my friends and myself to take part in some of the sports and games to-day. Can it be arranged?”The Indian looked doubtful.“I do not know, but I will see. It is certain you will not be permitted to take part in the religious ceremonies.”“We do not care for that, but I have heard you have a kind of queer ball game.”“Yes.”“We’d like to try you at your own game.”A faint smile came to the Indian’s face.“You have never seen one of our ball games?”“No.”“Then you know very little about it?”“Only what I have heard of it.”“How many in your party?”“Nine.”“It can be played with nine on a side, but it is better with fifty on a side.”“Whew! Fifty? Why, that’s a small army!”“The game does not resemble a game of ball in the least.”“I have heard so.”“You will be defeated.”“Never mind. We shall have some sport, and we are here for that.”“Is there anything else you wish to do?”“You said something about wrestling.”“Yes.”“Some of the fellows are good wrestlers.”“It will take a good wrestler to match Whirling Bear.”“I will find a match for him.”“Very well. There is to be another race beside the religious race. Will you care to take part in that?”“Yes. I wouldn’t mind trying to see what I can do at that myself.”“I am not sure you will be allowed to take part in these things, but I will find out about it.”Then, lifting his hat to Inza and nodding to Frank, he strode away. The girl watched his retreating figure, and Frank watched her face.“I don’t care, I won’t believe it of him!” she exclaimed. “No matter what Dan Carver says, I feel sure Swiftwing is a noble fellow.”“I am afraid, Inza, you are getting altogether too interested in him,” said Frank, reproof in his voice.She turned on him swiftly, indignation and surprise showing on her face and in her eyes.“What do you mean to insinuate?” she flashed.“Now, don’t flare up like that, Inza!” urged Merry. “It is for your good that I wish to caution you.”“Oh, indeed!”“Yes, indeed. I fear your admiration for John Swiftwing may lead you to treat him with such friendliness that he may mistake your motives.”“Frank Merriwell!” she cried; “I did not think this of you!”“Don’t misunderstand me,” he hastened to say. “You cannot treat John Swiftwing as you might an ordinary savage. He has been educated in the East, and he is accustomed to Eastern ways. Already I am sure he admires you greatly, and——”“And you don’t like it!”“It is not that, Inza, but——”“It is that!” she flung back, in her impulsive manner. “I am astonished at you, Mr. Merriwell!”“Inza, listen——”“I don’t care to listen, sir!”“You must listen!”“Must! You cannot force me to listen!”“No, I will not try; but you must listen for your own sake. I am saying this for your good.”“Oh, thank you!”How cutting her words and manner were! He felt the sting, and his face went from red to white, but he continued, firmly:“If you were to continue to be so friendly with John Swiftwing he might think you in love with him.”“What of it!”“It would be an easy thing for you to arouse a responsive passion in his heart.”Inza clapped her hands.“How jolly that would be! Think of having an Indian lover! Why, it is just awfully romantic!”“It may seem very romantic, and all that, but it would be dangerous.”“Dangerous! Pooh!”“Yes, dangerous. For all of his education, Swiftwing is an Indian, and he would not fancy being fooled and toyed with. If he fancied you had deceived him, there is no telling what he might take it into his head to do.”“Now you are trying to make out, like Dan Carver, that he is a common bad Indian. I thought better of you than that, Mr. Merriwell!”Frank made a gesture of despair.“You are very unreasonable this morning.”“And you are jealous—jealous of an Indian!” taunted the girl. “I did not think that of you!”Frank straightened up proudly.“You are at liberty to think what you like,” he said. “I am not jealous, for I think you have more sense than to fall in love with John Swiftwing or any other redskin.”“Oh, I don’t know!” Inza tossed back, tauntingly. “You can’t always tell.”Frank turned away.“Excuse me,” he said. “I must find him and learn what he has been able to do about making arrangements for us.”He lifted his cap and walked away.The look on Inza’s face as she watched him depart told that she was not entirely pleased with herself.“To think he should be jealous of John Swiftwing!” she murmured, “that’s enough to stir any one up! And he is jealous! He needn’t deny it! I’ll make him still more so before I quit. I’ll make him think I am really in love with John.”Little did she know how dangerous was the ground upon which she was so fearlessly treading.

Behind a clump of mesquite stood John Swiftwing, and he had heard the entire conversation. He was there when Frank and Inza met Carver, and he did not stir. He had not sought to listen, and he did not think it his duty to reveal himself.

Swiftwing’s eyes flashed fire and his brow grew dark as he listened to the words of the gambler, but a softer light came to his face when he heard Inza defending him so bravely.

He folded his arms upon his breast and stood there in a proud pose, his nostrils dilated.

At that moment he would have made a perfect model for an artist or sculptor.

Swiftwing’s face was far from expressionless, for various emotions were depicted upon it as he heard the words of the three beyond the mesquite. He betrayed rage, pride and gratitude, and his broad chest arose and fell tumultuously.

When Carver strolled on, Frank and Inza turned about and retraced their steps toward the Pueblo. As they departed, the unseen Indian heard Inza say:

“I will not believe John Swiftwing is a bad Indian! He has a noble face, and you told me, Frank, that you thought him a fine fellow.”

“I did,” said Merry, “but I know very little of him. Physically, he is a marvel, which is rather strange, as he is a Pueblo Indian, and they are not remarkable for their physical development. But I must confess that Carver’s opinion of all Indians seems to be the general belief of those who associate with them, and know them best.”

“I don’t want to believe it, and I am not going to believe it!”

Swiftwing could hear no more. He had heard quite enough.

“She is a fair white dove!” came from his lips in a murmur that was like liquid music. “She believes there may be some good in an Indian.”

Then he bowed his head, and for a long time he stood there motionless as an image of stone. The beating of the drums at the Pueblo aroused him.

His face was heavy with something that seemed a sullen look of despair.

“The white men say all Indians are bad. Carver says all the education I may receive will not change my nature—I shall be an Indian still. I believe he is right! It is useless for the red man to try to be like the white man. God made them in different molds. He spoke truly when he said the heart remained the same for all of any outward change. Once more I am back here with my people, and I feel that I am like them. What is all my education? What does it amount to? The white man looks on me with scorn. But for the White Dove there would be no more courage left in my heart. I would give it all up, and go back to live with my people. After all, when I have finished at school, that is what I will do.”

He turned his face toward the Pueblo, on the topmost terrace of which the lone drummer could be seen.

“I have seen the great stone cities of the white men,” he said. “The home of my people is but a shadow beside the monster buildings that tower into the air. The white men do many wonderful things. They have the railroad, the telegraph, the telephone, and soon all the secrets of electricity will be theirs. What can my people do? Nothing! It is fate! God willed it so, and we cannot change it.”

His heart was heavy as he moved toward the Pueblo.

In the meantime Frank had left Inza at the tent of the rancher, while he had gone to see what arrangement could be made about getting a chance to take part in the Indian sports and games that day. He hoped he and his friends would be permitted to compete in some of the contests.

Frank was gone more than half an hour.

When he returned he found Inza standing near the tent, chatting to Swiftwing, who was listening with quiet dignity.

Merry scowled a bit.

“I must caution her,” he said. “She should be careful.”

He came up and offered his hand to the young Indian.

“Good-morning, Swiftwing,” he said, heartily in his pleasant manner. “I am glad to see you.”

The Carlisle student took the proffered hand and shook it warmly.

“Thank you, Mr. Merriwell,” he said, simply.

“Oh, Frank!” cried Inza; “what do you think?”

“I think a number of things,” laughed Merry. “What do you mean?”

“Why, that Indian who grasped me in his arms at the station is here—I saw him!”

“What!”

“It is true! I saw him watching me, but he put off quickly enough when Mr. Swiftwing came up.”

“It is Whirling Bear, the great wrestler of our people,” said Swiftwing. “He was drunk when he molested you yesterday, else he would not have done it. He was drunk on rum, which he obtained from some conscienceless white man.”

“White men should be ashamed to sell such stuff to the poor Indians!” cried Inza.

“They make money by selling it,” Swiftwing observed, with a touch of scorn in his voice.

“And some white men will do anything for money,” said Inza.

“That is true,” confessed Frank. “There are plenty of scoundrels among the white men, and not a few of them are Indian agents. But I have something of which I wish to speak to you, Swiftwing.”

“I am listening, Mr. Merriwell.”

“If possible, I wish to find an opportunity for my friends and myself to take part in some of the sports and games to-day. Can it be arranged?”

The Indian looked doubtful.

“I do not know, but I will see. It is certain you will not be permitted to take part in the religious ceremonies.”

“We do not care for that, but I have heard you have a kind of queer ball game.”

“Yes.”

“We’d like to try you at your own game.”

A faint smile came to the Indian’s face.

“You have never seen one of our ball games?”

“No.”

“Then you know very little about it?”

“Only what I have heard of it.”

“How many in your party?”

“Nine.”

“It can be played with nine on a side, but it is better with fifty on a side.”

“Whew! Fifty? Why, that’s a small army!”

“The game does not resemble a game of ball in the least.”

“I have heard so.”

“You will be defeated.”

“Never mind. We shall have some sport, and we are here for that.”

“Is there anything else you wish to do?”

“You said something about wrestling.”

“Yes.”

“Some of the fellows are good wrestlers.”

“It will take a good wrestler to match Whirling Bear.”

“I will find a match for him.”

“Very well. There is to be another race beside the religious race. Will you care to take part in that?”

“Yes. I wouldn’t mind trying to see what I can do at that myself.”

“I am not sure you will be allowed to take part in these things, but I will find out about it.”

Then, lifting his hat to Inza and nodding to Frank, he strode away. The girl watched his retreating figure, and Frank watched her face.

“I don’t care, I won’t believe it of him!” she exclaimed. “No matter what Dan Carver says, I feel sure Swiftwing is a noble fellow.”

“I am afraid, Inza, you are getting altogether too interested in him,” said Frank, reproof in his voice.

She turned on him swiftly, indignation and surprise showing on her face and in her eyes.

“What do you mean to insinuate?” she flashed.

“Now, don’t flare up like that, Inza!” urged Merry. “It is for your good that I wish to caution you.”

“Oh, indeed!”

“Yes, indeed. I fear your admiration for John Swiftwing may lead you to treat him with such friendliness that he may mistake your motives.”

“Frank Merriwell!” she cried; “I did not think this of you!”

“Don’t misunderstand me,” he hastened to say. “You cannot treat John Swiftwing as you might an ordinary savage. He has been educated in the East, and he is accustomed to Eastern ways. Already I am sure he admires you greatly, and——”

“And you don’t like it!”

“It is not that, Inza, but——”

“It is that!” she flung back, in her impulsive manner. “I am astonished at you, Mr. Merriwell!”

“Inza, listen——”

“I don’t care to listen, sir!”

“You must listen!”

“Must! You cannot force me to listen!”

“No, I will not try; but you must listen for your own sake. I am saying this for your good.”

“Oh, thank you!”

How cutting her words and manner were! He felt the sting, and his face went from red to white, but he continued, firmly:

“If you were to continue to be so friendly with John Swiftwing he might think you in love with him.”

“What of it!”

“It would be an easy thing for you to arouse a responsive passion in his heart.”

Inza clapped her hands.

“How jolly that would be! Think of having an Indian lover! Why, it is just awfully romantic!”

“It may seem very romantic, and all that, but it would be dangerous.”

“Dangerous! Pooh!”

“Yes, dangerous. For all of his education, Swiftwing is an Indian, and he would not fancy being fooled and toyed with. If he fancied you had deceived him, there is no telling what he might take it into his head to do.”

“Now you are trying to make out, like Dan Carver, that he is a common bad Indian. I thought better of you than that, Mr. Merriwell!”

Frank made a gesture of despair.

“You are very unreasonable this morning.”

“And you are jealous—jealous of an Indian!” taunted the girl. “I did not think that of you!”

Frank straightened up proudly.

“You are at liberty to think what you like,” he said. “I am not jealous, for I think you have more sense than to fall in love with John Swiftwing or any other redskin.”

“Oh, I don’t know!” Inza tossed back, tauntingly. “You can’t always tell.”

Frank turned away.

“Excuse me,” he said. “I must find him and learn what he has been able to do about making arrangements for us.”

He lifted his cap and walked away.

The look on Inza’s face as she watched him depart told that she was not entirely pleased with herself.

“To think he should be jealous of John Swiftwing!” she murmured, “that’s enough to stir any one up! And he is jealous! He needn’t deny it! I’ll make him still more so before I quit. I’ll make him think I am really in love with John.”

Little did she know how dangerous was the ground upon which she was so fearlessly treading.

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