Curtis was awakened about four o'clock by Wilson at his window. "Are you awake, Major?"
"Yes; what is it?"
"Two of the scouts have just come in from the hills. They are sure the ranchers are coming to make war. Bands of white men are crossing the county to join the camp. It certainly looks owly, Major."
Curtis rose and went to the window. "The troops will be here by nine o'clock at the furthest, and the mob will not move till sunrise, and can't reach here, even by hard riding, before eleven."
"Shall I send a courier out to meet the troops and hurry them on?" asked Wilson, whose voice was untouched of fear.
"It might be well. Send Two Horns to me if you can find him. Keep silent as to these reports."
"All right, Major."
Curtis did not underestimate the dangers of the situation. If the troops did not arrive, and if the armed posse of the settlers should come and attempt to arrest Elk, war would follow, that was certain. Meanwhile he was one day's hard riding from either the fort or the telegraph line, with the settlers between, and no news could reach him for twenty-four hours.
At that very moment the morning papers were being distributed bearing a burden of calumny. The department would open his telegram in a few minutes, but the Secretary's reply could not reach him before sunset at the earliest, "and by that time I will be master of the situation or there will be war. I must parley—delay them, by any means, till the troops arrive. Colonel Daggett will forward the men at once—I hope under Maynard—and Jack is no sluggard. He will be here if only the Colonel takes action."
The sun rose as usual in a cloudless sky, but the wind was again in the northwest, and as he stood on the little porch looking up the valley he could see the smoke of the camp-fires in Grayman's camp, and beyond him the Crawling Elk and his people occupied a larger circle of shining tepees. The two villages seemed as peaceful as if the people were waiting for their rations, but as he lifted his eyes to the hills he could see the mounted sentinels patiently waiting the coming of the sun, and he knew that beyond and to the east every butte was similarly crested with spies. These people of the wide spaces had their own signal service and were not to be taken unawares. Each movement of the enemy would be flashed from hill to hill, miles in advance of the beat of their horses' hoofs.
As he was returning to his library Elsie met him. "Good-morning, Captain. Did you sleep?"
"Oh yes, indeed!" He spoke as lightly as he could. "But my messengers reporting disturbed me a little during the early morning."
"With bad news?"
"Oh no, quite the contrary. I think we are well out of our difficulty."
"I'm sure I hope so. You look tired."
"I'm ashamed of it. You must have slept well—you are radiant. I am sorry I cannot promise you the Elk for a sitter to-day."
"I like him better as the leader of his people. Do we breakfast with the sheriff this morning?"
"That affliction is bearing down upon us," he replied. "He is even now moving morosely across the road. I fear he is in bad temper."
"I think I will be late to breakfast in that case," she said, with a little grimace, and fled.
Curtis greeted his guest pleasantly. "Good-morning, sheriff."
"Good-morning, Major. Have you seen anything of my deputy?"
"No; has he left you?"
"I didn't miss him till this morning," replied Winters, sourly. "But he's gone, horse and all."
"Well, the loss is not serious. Come in and break an egg with me."
Jennie was distinctly less cordial than before, but she made her unwelcome guest comfortable, and asked after his health politely. She was just pouring his second cup of coffee when the furious clanging of the office bell made them all start.
Curtis looked at his watch. "Good Heavens! It can't be the eight-o'clock bell. What time have you?"
"Seven thirty-three."
Curtis sprang up. "It's a signal of fire!"
At the word "fire" Jennie turned white and rose. Elsie came flying down-stairs, crying:
"The Indians are running!"
A wild shout arose, "Stop that bell!" and a moment later Wilson burst in at the door—"Major, the Indians are signalling from the buttes—everybody is taking to the hills—the mob is coming."
Curtis gave Elsie one piercing look. "I hope you will trust me; you are in no danger, even if this alarm is true. I think it is a mistake. I will return soon and let you know. I beg you not to be alarmed."
The alarum was true. On the buttes horsemen were riding to and fro excitedly crossing and recrossing the same ground—the sign which means an approaching enemy. On every hill-side mounted warriors were gathering and circling. Boys with wild halloos were bringing in the ponies. The women busy, swarming like bees, were dropping the tepees; even as the agent mounted the steps to the office and looked up the valley, the white canvases sank to the ground one by one as though melted by the hot sun. War times were come again, and the chanting cries of the old women came pulsing by on the soft west wind.
A grim smile settled on the agent's lips as he comprehended these preparations. He knew the history of these people and admired them for their skill and their bravery. War times were come again!
"Our cowboy friends have set themselves a memorable task in trying to wipe out this tribe. The ranchers never fight their own battles; they always call upon the federal government; and that is their purpose now, to stir up strife and leave the troops to bear the burden of the war."
"I don't see our fellers," said the sheriff, who was deeply excited. "I'll ride to meet them."
"They are a long way off yet," said Curtis. "The Tetong sentinels have only signalled their start. I hope the troops are on the way," he said to the two girls who had followed and now stood close beside him as if for protection. Then he called to the sheriff, who had started for his horse: "I depend on you to keep off this invasion, sheriff. I warn you and your men that this entrance here at this time is a crime against Washington."
Winters did not reply, and Curtis knew that he would join the majority; being a candidate for re-election, he could not afford to run counter to the wishes of his constituents. Hastily mounting his horse, he galloped furiously away.
Curtis strained his eyes down the valley, hoping for a sight of the guidons of the —th.
"What can you do?" asked Elsie.
"Nothing but await the issue," he replied. "I have sent another courier to hasten the troops; it is now a race between the forces of law and of order. If the mob arrives first, I must delay them—prevent their advance if possible. There is nothing else to be done."
"Can we help?"
"I'm afraid not. There will be two or three hundred of the invaders this time, if the sheriff is to be believed. I am afraid to have you meet them. I think it better for you all to keep within doors."
"I wish my father knew—he could stop this!" wailed Elsie, in sudden realization of her helplessness. "He could wire the authorities in Pinon City. I know they would listen to him."
"Here come the Parkers!" said Jennie. "Now look out for squalls."
"I had forgotten them," said Curtis, with a comic look of dismay.
Parker was running, half dragging his poor, breathless wife, while in their rear Lawson appeared, walking calmly, quite irreproachable in a gray morning suit, and the sight of him was a comfort to Curtis, for his forces were practically reduced to Wilson and four or five clerks.
"Now, Captain, what are you going to do?" called Parker. "You let us into this—"
Being in no mood for squalls, Curtis cut Parker short. "Be quiet; don't be uselessly foolish. Try and conduct yourself like a reasonable human being. Jennie, go into the house, and take the ladies with you. You'll have all the women of the agency to look after in a few minutes. Lawson, I can depend on you—will you go over to the office with me?"
When they reached the office Lawson threw back his coat and displayed two wicked-looking revolvers. "I've been known to fight when pushed too far," he said, smilingly.
In the space of an hour the panic had become preparation. On a low butte to the southwest a dark mass of armed and resolute warriors waited on their swift ponies ready for whatever came, while behind them on a higher ridge a smaller group of dismounted chieftains sat in council. Up the slopes below and to the right the women and old men were leading the ponies, laden with their tepees, children, and supplies, precisely as in the olden times. The wagons of the white men were of no use where they were now climbing. The ways of the wheel were no longer desirable. They sought the shelter of the trail.
"I am confident that the troops will arrive first," said Curtis.
"If the powers of evil have found a leader, it will be hard to control them even with a troop of cavalry," Lawson replied, soberly. "The sheriff will go with the mob when it comes to a show down."
"Oh, of course. I do not count on him; but Calvin is loyal."
Before the office stood two or three of the white employés of the agency with their wives and children about them. Two policemen alone remained of all the throng of red employés usually to be seen about the yards; the rest were out on duty or had joined their people in the hills.
"What shall we do?" cried Miss Colson, a look of mortal terror on her face. She crowded close to Curtis and laid her hands on his arm. "Let us stay near you."
"You are in no danger," he replied. "Those poor devils on the hill-side are the ones who will suffer. Where are your children?" he asked, sharply.
"They all disappeared like rabbits at sound of the bell; only the kindergarten class remains."
"Go and help take care of them," he commanded. "Sing to them—amuse them. Wolf Robe," he called to one of the policemen—he of the bow-legs—"go to the people on the hill and say to them to fear nothing, Washington protects them. Tell them they must not fight. Say to the mothers of the little ones that nothing shall hurt them. Go quick!"
Wolf Robe handed his sombrero, his coat, and his revolver to his friend, Beaver Kill, and ran away towards the corral, agile as a boy.
"What did he do that for?" asked Jennie.
Curtis smiled. "He is Indian now; he doesn't want to be mistaken for a cowboy."
When he reappeared on his pony, his long, dark hair streaming, a red handkerchief bound about his head, he looked like a warrior stripped for battle. "There isn't a faithfuler man in the world," said Curtis, and a lump rose in his throat. "He has been riding half the night for me, but he charges that hill as if he were playing a game."
"I don't understand how you can trust them to do such things," said Elsie. "Perhaps he will not come back. How do you know he will do as you commanded?"
"Because that ugly little bow-legged Tetong is a man!" replied Curtis. "He would die in performance of his duty." And something in his voice made the tears start to Elsie's eyes.
The sentinels on the hills were quiet now—facing the northeast, motionless as weather-vanes. The camps had disappeared as if by magic; nothing remained but a few wagons. Wolf Robe, diminishing to the value of a coyote, was riding straight towards the retreating women. Even as Curtis watched, the chieftains on the higher hill rose, and one of them started downward towards the warriors on the rounded hill-top. Then a small squad detached itself from the main command and slid down the grassy slope to meet the women. As they rode slowly on, the moving figures of those leading the camp horses gathered round them. Curtis understood some command was being shouted by the descending squad.
Separating themselves from the led ponies, these scouts swept on down the hill directly upon the solitary and minute figure of Wolf Robe, whose pony climbed slowly and in zigzag course.
"They will kill him," said a woman.
Wolf Robe halted and waited till the skirmishers rode up to him. They massed round him closely, listening while he delivered his message.
"When he returns we will know all that his people have learned of the invaders," said Curtis. "They will tell him what they have seen."
"It is strange," exclaimed Elsie, in a low voice, standing close beside him. "But I'm not afraid. It is like a story—a dream. That I should stand here watching Indians preparing for war and waiting for United States troops is incredible."
"I wish it were not true," he replied. "But it is. I have no fear of my people, only of the rash act of a vicious white man."
"Which way will the cattlemen come from?" asked Jennie.
"Probably down that trail." He pointed to the northeast. "Part of them may come up the valley road. Wolf Robe has started on his return."
The little squad of warriors returned to the group of chieftains, while the loyal Wolf Robe came racing down the slope, his hair streaming, his elbows flapping. In a few minutes he dropped rein at the gate and re-entered the yard. Standing before his chief, he delivered his message.
"Their hearts are very glad at your good words, but the women are crying for their babies. They ask that you send them away before the bad white men come. Send them out towards the hills and they will come down and get them—this they said."
"What did the scouts say?"
"They said that the sentinels on the hills saw the white men break camp and come this way—many of them—so they say."
"Where are they now?"
"They are hidden in the pines of the valley. They will soon be here—so they say."
"Take a fresh pony and ride back and tell all who have children here to come down and talk with me. Tell them I will turn the white men away. No one shall be harmed. The children are safe. There will be no war. I will meet them in the old camp. I keep repeating there is no danger because I believe it," he said to the silent group around him, after Wolf Robe rode away. "There is nothing to be done but wait. So go about your duties," he added, with a note of command.
One by one the employés dropped away till only Wilson remained. His only sign of nervousness was a quiver of the muscles of one cheek, where he held his quid of tobacco. His bright blue eyes were fixed on the sentinels, while he leaned negligently against the fence. Lawson, smoking a German pipe, was watching the warriors on the hills, a rapt expression on his face, as if he were working out some problem in ethics which demanded complete concentration and absorption of thought. The two girls had drawn close together as if for comfort, their nerves a-quiver with the strain.
"Are you waiting for something to go off?" suddenly asked Curtis.
Each one started a little, and all laughed together.
"I think I was," confessed Elsie.
"You seemed to be holding your breath. I wish you'd both go in and rest," he pleaded. "It is no use—"
"They're coming!" interrupted Lawson.
"Where? Where?"
"The sentinels are signalling again."
All turned to the east, but nothing could be seen—no smoke, no dust, no sign of horsemen—yet the swift circling of the sentinels and the turmoil among the warriors on the butte indicated the menace of an approaching army. Another little band detached itself from the huddle of the camp and came down the hill, slowly and in single file.
"The squaws are coming for their children, even before Wolf Robe reaches them," said Lawson.
"And there's the mob!" said Curtis, and at his words a keen thrill of fear ran through the hearts of the women. With set, pale faces they looked away beneath levelled finger.
"That's right," said Wilson, "and two hundred strong."
The sad-colored horsemen were pouring over a high, pine-clad ridge some two miles to the east, and streaming down into a narrow valley behind a sharp intervening butte.
"Now, girls, youmustgo in!" commanded Curtis, sharply. "You can do no good—"
"George, let us stay!" pleaded Jennie. "We saved you yesterday, and we may help to-day."
"What is the use of shutting us in the house? I'm not afraid," added Elsie. "These men will do us no harm."
"I beg you will not interfere," he said, looking at Jennie, but Elsie knew he included her as well. "It isn't a bit impressive to have an agent flanked with women—in a council of war."
"Hang the looks! they're mighty effective sometimes," remarked Lawson.
"That's right!" chimed in Wilson. "By the Lord! they look sassy," he added, referring back to the cowboys.
They formed a sinister cavalcade as they came streaming down the rough road, two and two, like a monstrous swift serpent, parti-colored, sinuous, silent, save for the muffled clatter of their horses' hoofs. Curtis nerved himself for the shock, and, though weakened and embarrassed by the presence of Elsie and Jennie, he presented a soldierly breast to the mob. Had it been a question of protecting the women, the case would have been different, but to argue a point of law with them at his elbow exposed him to ridicule and to interruption.
As the horsemen debouched upon the valley road, a prodigious cloud of dust arose and sailed away on the wind, completely hiding the rear ranks so that they could not be numbered. As they drew near, the sheriff could be seen riding at the head of the column side by side with a big man in a blue shirt. They approached at a shacking trot, which was more menacing than a gallop would have been—it was steady, inexorable, self-contained as a charge of cavalry.
As they reached the issue-house, Curtis opened the gate and stepped out into the road and faced them alone, and Elsie grew cold with fear as the sheriff and his formidable following rode steadily up. When almost upon the agent the leader turned, and, pushing his limp hat away from his eyes, shouted:
"Halt!" As the men pulled in their horses he added, "Keep back there!"
The mob had found a leader, and was organized for violence. Curtis, with folded arms, seemed small and weak as the army of invasion came to a stand, filling the lane between the office and the agency house with trampling horses and cursing men.
"Good-morning," growled the leader, surlily. "We're come for old Elk, and I want to say we get him this time. No monkey business goes with old Bill Yarpe. Women can't fool me."
Calvin Streeter rode out of the throng and pushed his way to the front.
Yarpe yelled: "H'yar! Keep in line there!"
"Go to hell!" replied Calvin, as he rode past him. "I'm no nigger. I want to hear what goes on, and I tell ye right now you treat these people fair or you'll hear from me."
"I'll shoot you up a few if you ain't keerful, young feller," replied the old ruffian.
"That's right, General, he's too fresh," called some one.
Calvin spurred his horse alongside Yarpe's and looked him in the eye with a glare which made the older man wince. "You be decent before these women or I'll cut the heart out o' ye. You hear me!"
Curtis stepped forward. "Careful, Streeter—don't provoke trouble; we'll protect the women."
The sheriff rode between the two men. "Cal, git away—you're my deputy, remember."
As Cal reined his horse away, Curtis went to him and said, in a low voice: "I appreciate your chivalry, Calvin, but be careful; don't excite them."
As he looked into the big, red, whiskey-bloated face of Yarpe, Curtis was frankly dismayed. The old ruffian was not only inflamed with liquor, he was intoxicated with a subtler elixir—the pride of command. As he looked back over his followers he visibly expanded and a savage glare lit up his eyes. "Keep quiet, boys; I'll settle this thing."
Curtis again stepped towards the sheriff. "What do you propose to do, Mr. Sheriff?"
Yarpe broke in boisterously. "We want old Elk. Bring him out or we go after him." A chorus of applause followed.
"On what authority do you make this demand?" asked Curtis, facing Yarpe.
"On the authority of the sheriff of Pinon City," replied Yarpe, "and we come along to see he does his duty."
"The sheriff is present and can speak for himself. He was my guest last night and made an agreement with me, which, as an honorable man, he is disposed to keep."
The sheriff avoided Curtis's eye, but Yarpe replied:
"He showed the white feather. He let you fool him, but you can't fool this crowd. Bring on your Injun, or we go get him."
"Have you a warrant?"
"Oh, damn the warrant!"
The sheriff cleared his throat. "Yes, I have a warrant for Crawling Elk and Grayman," he said, and began searching his pockets. The decisive moment had arrived.
Curtis minutely studied the crowd, which was made up very largely of reckless young men—cowboys from all over the range, together with the loafers and gamblers of the cow-towns. The sheriff's deputies were all well to the front, but were quiet; they seemed to be a little abashed by the gaze of the women to whom they were indebted for their dinner of yesterday. Each member of the gang was burdened with ammunition and carried both rifle and revolver.
The sheriff dismounted and handed a paper to Curtis, who took plenty of time to read it. It was manifestly bogus, manufactured for use as a bluff, and had not been properly sworn out; but to dispute it would be to anger the cattlemen. There was only one chance for delay.
"Very well," he said, at last. "This warrant calls for two of the head men among the Tetongs. Of course, I understand your motives. You do not intend to charge these chiefs with the crime, you only wish to force the tribe to yield some one else to your vengeance. In face of such a force as this of yours, Mr. Sheriff, I can only yield, though I deny your right to lay hand on one of my charges. I do all this under pressure. If your men will retire a little I will call a messenger and communicate with the chiefs named, and ask—"
Yarpe glared. "Communicate hell! Sheriff, say the word and we'll go and get 'em."
Curtis fixed a calm gaze upon him. "You are a brave man, Mr. Yarpe, but you'll need all your resolution when you charge up that hill in the face of those desperate warriors." As he swept his arm out towards the west all eyes were turned on the swarming mass of mounted Tetongs. The women had moved higher, and were halted just on the eastern brow of the high ridge, behind and to the right of the fighting men. "Now what will you do, Mr. Sheriff?" pursued Curtis; "act with me through the head men, or make your demand of the whole tribe?"
A dispute arose among the crowd. A few shouted, noisily, "Say the word and we'll sweep the greasy devils off the earth." But the larger number, like the sheriff's posse of the day before, found it not easy to overawe this quiet soldier.
Calvin harangued the leader. "No, I will not button my lip," he shouted again, confronting Yarpe, "for you nor no other man. You let the sheriff and the Captain fix this thing up. What are you in this thing for, anyhow? You don't own a foot of land nor a head o' stock. You're nothing but a bum! You can't get trusted for a pound of tobacco. Nice man to lead a mob—"
"Shut him up, Bill," shouted one fellow.
"Cal's right," called another.
"Don't let 'em fool ye, Bill; we come fer a redskin, and we'll have him or burn the town."
Calvin had a revolver in each hand, and on his face was a look that meant war.
Curtis called to Lawson. "Take the women in, quick!" He feared shooting among the leaders of the mob. "Don't shoot, Calvin. Keep the peace."
With tears of impotent rage filling her eyes, Elsie retreated towards the office under Lawson's care. Curtis stepped to the side of the leader. "Silence your gang," he said.
Yarpe raised his bellowing voice. "Keep quiet, there! I'll settle this thing in a minute."
"Keep back!" commanded the sheriff.
The crowd fell back a little, with Calvin crowding them hard, revolver in hand. "No more funny business with me," he said, and death blazed from his eyes. "Get back!"
Quiet having been restored, the sheriff, Curtis, and Yarpe were revealed in animated argument. Curtis was talking against time—every moment was precious.
"If you give in, your chances for re-election ain't worth a leatherette," Yarpe said to the sheriff.
"You crazy fool! You wouldn't charge that hill?" asked the sheriff.
"That's what I would, and that's what the boys come for."
"But what good would it do?"
"It would learn these red devils a lesson they wouldn't forget, and it would make you an' me the most popular men in the county. If you don't do it, you're dead as the hinges of hell."
"If you charge that hill, some of you will stay there," put in Curtis.
Yarpe turned and roared: "Boys, the sheriff has weakened. Will you follow me?"
"We will!" shouted the reckless majority.
At this precise moment, while looking over the sheriff's head towards the pinon-spotted hill to the west, Curtis caught the gleam of something white bobbing down the hill. It disappeared, but came into sight lower down, a white globe based in a splash of blue. It was a white helmet, topping the uniform of a cavalry officer. A sudden emotion seized Curtis by the throat—his heart warmed, swelled big in his bosom. Oh, the good old color! Now he could see the gauntleted gloves, the broad shoulders, the easy seat of blessed old Jack Maynard as he ambled peacefully across the flat.
"Look there!" he cried, turning to the group inside the gate, his finger pointing like a pistol. His voice rang out joyous as a morning bugle, and the girls thrilled with joy.
Yarpe looked. "Hell! The cavalry! We're euchred—clean."
Over the hill behind the officer appeared a squadron of gray horse, marching in single file, winding down the trail like a long serpent, spotted with blue and buff, the sun sparkling fitfully from their polished brass and steel. When Curtis turned to the sheriff his face was pale with excitement for the first time, quivering, exultant. "You'll have the federal troops to deal with now," he said. "At last we are on equal terms."
A deep silence fell on the mob. Every ruffian of them seemed suddenly frozen into immobility, and each sat with head turned and eyes wide-staring, watching the coming of the blue-shirted horsemen.
As the officer approached he was distinguishable as a powerful, smooth-faced young man in a captain's uniform. As his eyes rested on Curtis his plump, red face broke into a broad smile. It was plain that he was Irish, and not averse to a bit of a shindy.
Riding straight up to the agent, he formally saluted, and in a deep, dry, military voice, said:
"Colonel Daggett presents his compliments to Captain Curtis and tenders Squadron B, at your service. Captain Maynard in command."
With equally impersonal decorum Curtis acknowledged the courtesy.
"Captain Curtis returns the compliment, and thanks Captain Maynard for his prompt and most opportune arrival—Jack, I'm mighty glad to see you."
Maynard dismounted and they shook hands. "Same to you, old man. What's all the row?"
A clear, distant, boyish voice cried, "By columns of four into line!" and the bugle, breaking voice, caused the hair of the agent's head to stand; turning, he saw the squadron taking form as it crossed the stream. It required his most heroic effort to keep the tears from his eyes as his ear heard the dull rattle of scabbards and he watched the splendid play of the gray horses' legs and broad chests as they came on, weary but full of spirit yet. There was something inexorable in their advance. In their order, their clean glitter, their impersonal grace, was expressed the power of the general government.
Turning to the sheriff, he said: "Sheriff Winters, this warrant is bogus—forged this morning by some one of your lynching-party; the ink is hardly dry. I decline to serve it," and he tore it into strips and flung it on the ground.
"Halt!" cried the oncoming commander, and with creak of saddle and diminishing thunder of hoofs the Gray Squadron stopped within fifty feet of the agency gate, and out of the dust a young lieutenant rode forward and saluted.
"Hold your position, Mr. Payne," commanded Maynard.
"I justloveCaptain Maynard!" said Jennie, fervently.
"I'll tell him," said Lawson.
"Now," said Maynard, "what's it all about? Nice gang, this!"
The mob that had been so loud of mouth now sat in silence as profound as if each man had been smitten dumb. It was easy to threaten and flourish pistols in the face of an Indian agent with a dozen women to protect, but this wall of Uncle Sam's blue was a different barrier—not to be lightly overleaped. The cowboys were not accustomed to facing such men as these when they shot up towns and raced the Tetongs across the hills.
"Now what is it all about?" repeated Maynard, composing his comedy face into a look of military sternness.
Curtis explained swiftly in a low voice, and ended by saying: "This is, in effect, a lynching-party on federal territory. What would you do in such a case?"
"Order them off, instanter!"
"Precisely. I have done so, but they refuse to go."
"Do they?" Maynard turned and remounted his horse. Saluting, he said:
"Captain Curtis, I am ready to execute any order you may choose to give."
Curtis saluted. "You will see that these citizens, unlawfully assembled, leave the reservation at once. Sheriff Winters, with all due respect to your office, I request you to withdraw. Captain Maynard will escort you to the borders of the reservation. When you have a warrant properly executed, send or bring it to me and I will use every effort to serve it. Good-morning, sir."
Captain Maynard drew his sword. "'Tention, squadron!" The tired horses lifted their heads as the dusty troopers forced them into line.
Maynard's voice rang out: "Left wheel, into line—march!"
"You'll hear from this!" said the sheriff. "You'll find the State won't stand any such foolishness."
Yarpe's ferocity had entirely evaporated. "'Bout face, boys; we're not fightin' the United States army—I had enough o' that in '63. Clear out! Our bluff don't go."
The cowboys, cursing under breath, whirled their ponies and followed Yarpe, the redoubtable. The sheriff brought up the rear, still contending for the rights of the county, but he retreated. Small as the dusty squadron looked, it was too formidable, both because of its commanders and because of the majestic idea it embodied.
Calvin was the last to leave. "I done my best, Major," he said, loudly, in order that Jennie might hear.
"I know it, Calvin; come and see us again in your civil capacity," replied Curtis, and waved a cordial salute.
As the squadron fell in behind and was hidden by the dust of the passing cattlemen, Curtis turned to where Elsie still stood. He was smiling, but his limbs were stiffened and inert by reason of the rigidity of his long position before the posse.
"We are saved!" he said, in mock-heroic phrase.
"Oh, wasn't it glorious to see the good old blue-and-buff!" cried Jennie, the tears of her joy still on her cheeks. "I could have hugged Captain Maynard."
"There is chance yet," said Curtis. "He's coming back."
Elsie did not speak for a moment. "What would you have done if they had not come?" she asked, soberly.
"I could have delayed them a little longer by sending couriers to Elk and Grayman; but let's not think of that. Let's all go into the house; you look completely tired out."
Elsie fairly reeled with weakness, and Curtis took her arm. "You are trembling," he said, tenderly.
"I haven't stirred for a half-hour," she said. "I was so tense with the excitement. I feared you would be shot, and the tribe isn't worth the sacrifice," she added, with a touch of her old spirit.
"I was in no physical danger," he replied. "But I should have felt disgraced had the mob had its way."
"The people are coming back," said Lawson. "They have seen the soldiers."
"So they are!" exclaimed Curtis. "They are shouting with joy. Can't you hear them? The chiefs are riding this way already; they know the army will protect them."
The thick mass of horsemen was breaking up, some of them were riding towards the women with the camp stuff, others were crossing the valley, while a dozen head men, riding straight towards the agency, began to sing a song of deliverance and victory. Joyous shouts could be heard as the young men signalled the good news.
"The cattlemen are going—the soldiers have come!"
Upon reaching the library each member of the party sank into easy-chairs with sighs of deep relief, relaxed and nerveless. The storm was over. Jennie voiced the feeling as she said, "Thank the Lord and Colonel Daggett." Elsie was physically weary to the point of drowsiness, but her mind was active. Mrs. Parker was bewildered and silent. Even Parker was subdued by the grave face of the agent.
Lawson, with a curious half-smile, broke the silence. "There are times when I wish I owned a Gatling gun and knew how to use it."
Curtis started up. "Well, it's all over but the shouting. I must return to the office and set things in order once more."
"You ought to rest a little," said Elsie. "You must feel the strain."
"I am a little inert at the moment," he confessed, "but I'm Hamlet in the play, you know, and must be at my post. I'll meet you all at lunch. You need have no further worry."
The employés responded bravely to his orders. The cheerful clink of the anvil broke forth with tranquillizing effect. The school-bell called the children together, the tepees began to rise from the sod as before, and the sluggish life of the agency resumed its unhurried flow, though beneath the surface still lurked vague forms of fear. Parker returned to his studio, Lawson sought his den, and there stretched out to smoke and muse upon the leadings of the event, while Jennie planned a mid-day dinner for a round dozen. "It will be a sort of love-feast to Captain Maynard," she said, roguishly.
"Will he return so soon?" asked Elsie.
"Oh yes, he'll only go a little way. Jack Maynard can smell a good dinner across a range of foot-hills. Didn't he look beautiful as he smiled? I used to think he grinned, but to-day—well, he looked like a heavenly cherub in the helmet of an archangel as he rode up."
Elsie was genuinely amused. "What is the meaning of this fervor. Has there been something between you and Captain Maynard in the past?"
"Not a thing! Oh, I always liked him—he's so good-natured—and so comical. Can you peel potatoes?"
"I never did such a thing in my life, but I'll try."
About one o'clock Maynard came jogging back, accompanied by a sergeant and a squad of men, dusty, tired, and hungry.
Curtis met him at the gate. "Send your horses down to the corral, Captain. You're to take pot-luck with us."
Maynard dismounted, slowly, painfully. "I've been wondering about those girls," he said, after the horses were led away. "One is your sister Jennie, of course; but who is the other? She's what the boys would call a 'queen.'"
"You've heard of Andrew J. Brisbane?"
"You mean the erstwhile Senator?"
"Yes; this is his daughter."
"Great Himmel! What is she doing here?"
"She's an artist and is making some studies of Indians."
"I didn't suppose a man of Brisbane's blood and brawn could have a girl as fine as she looks to be."
"Oh, Brisbane has his good points—But come over to the house. Of course the mob gave no further trouble?"
"Not a bit, only the trouble of keeping them in sight; they rode like Jehu. I left the chase to Payne—it was what Cooper used to call a 'stern chase and a long chase.' Your quarters aren't so bad," he added, as they entered the library.
Jennie came in wearing an apron and looking as tasty as a dumpling. "How do you do, Colonel Maynard?" she cried out, most cordially.
He gave his head a comical flirt on one side. "I beg pardon! Why Colonel?"
"I've promoted you for the brave deed of this morning."
He recovered himself. "Oh!—oh—yes!—Hah! I had forgotten. You saw me put 'em to flight? I was a little late, but I gave service, don't you think?"
"You were wonderful, but I know you're hungry; we're to have dinner soon—a real dinner, not a lunch."
He looked a little self-conscious. "Well—I—shall be delighted. You see, I was awake most of the night, and in riding one gets hungry—and, besides, breakfast was a little hurried. In fact, I don't remember that I had any."
"Why, you poor thing! I'll hurry it forward. Cheer up," and she whisked out of the room.
Maynard flecked a little dust from his sleeve and inquired, carelessly: "Your sister isn't married?"
"No, she sticks to me still. She's a blessed, good girl, and I don't know what I should do without her."
"You mustn't be selfish," remarked Maynard, reflectively. "But see here, I must knock off some dust, or I will lose the good impression I made on the ladies."
"Make yourself at home here and we'll have something to eat soon," said Curtis at the door.
The dinner was unexpectedly merry. Every one felt like celebrating the army, and Maynard, as the representative of the cavalry arm, came near blushing at the praise which floated his way on toasts which were drunk from a bottle of sherry, a liquor Jennie had smuggled in for cooking purposes.
"I admit I did it," he rose to say, "but I hold it not meet to have it so set down."
Parker was extravagantly gay. "I'm going to do a statue of Maynard on his horse rushing to our rescue," he said. "It will be a tinted piece like the ancients used to do. That white helmet shall flash like snow. Sheridan will no longer be the great equestrian."
"Leave off the broad smile," interrupted Lawson. "Captain Maynard's smile made light of our tragic situation."
"I don't think so; it was the smile of combat," exclaimed Elsie. "It was thrilling."
Maynard bowed. "Thank you, Miss Brisbane."
"It was Jack Maynard's murderin' grin," said Curtis; "it was the look the boys used to edge away from at the Academy. I must tell you, Jack nearly got shunted into the ways of glory. He could whip any man in West Point in his day, and a New York sporting man offered to back him for a career. Thereupon Jack wrestled with the tempter and 'thrun 'im.' He now sees his mistake. He might have been 'Happy Jack, the Holy Terror,' by this time, earning two hundred thousand a year like the great O'Neill."
Maynard sighed. "Instead of which, here I am rescuing beleaguered damsels, like the hero of a dime novel, on two thousand a year."
Jennie spoke up sharply. "I will not have Captain Maynard made fun of any more. It was a noble deed, and he deserves better treatment for it."
Maynard bowed. "I have one defender," he said, soberly.
"Here's another," cried Elsie.
"With two such faithful defenders I defy the world!" he shouted, valorously. Thereupon they left off joking him.
As they rose from the table, Curtis turned to Elsie: "Would you like to go with me to make a tour of the camp?"
Her eyes lighted up. "I should like it exceedingly."
"Very well, about three o'clock we will go. You will have time for asiesta. You must be tired."
"Oh no, I am quite rested and ready to go any time," and her bright eyes and warm color confirmed her words.
With military promptness the horses were brought round, and, accompanied by Maynard and Jennie, Curtis, with Elsie by his side, led the way to the camp. She was a confident horsewoman and rode a fine brown pony, and Curtis, who had never ridden with her before, glowed with pleasure in her grace and skill.
As they galloped off up the road a keen twinge of remorseful pity for Lawson touched Elsie's heart. He was grown suddenly older, it seemed to her, as though he had definitely given up the attempt to remain young, and this thought made her rather sober. He was being left out of her plans now almost unconsciously, while the other—
"One of the real heroes in this affair," Curtis was saying, "is Crane's Voice. He has been in saddle nearly thirty-six hours, and is willing to start again to Pinon City if I ask it."
"Of course you will not?"
"No. I will send a white man. The settlers might do even Crane's Voice an injury."
All was quiet in the camps, with little sign of the precipitate flight of the morning, either in the faces of the men or in the disposal of the tepees. The old men and some of the women came out to greet their Little Father and the soldier of the good heart, and Curtis gave out a tranquillizing message and asked, "Have you called the council?"
"Ay, for sunrise to-morrow," answered Elk and Two Horns.
"That is good," he replied. "Where are your young men?"
"Some are in the hills, some are gone as messengers, others are watching the ponies."
"Call them all in. I don't want them riding about to-night. Keep them in camp, close by the soldiers—then no harm will come to them."
So, scattering greetings and commands, he rode through the two circles of tepees. The redmen were all eager to shake hands with Maynard, in whom they recognized a valiant friend as well as an old-time enemy.
They found the camp of Grayman less tranquil, for the stragglers were still coming in from the hills, and scores of women were busy resetting their tepees. Grayman himself came forth, nervous and eager. "Ho, Little Father, my heart is glad that the soldiers have come."
"We are all glad," replied Curtis. "Where is your son?"
Grayman looked troubled. "I do not know. He is away with Cut Finger, my sister's son."
"Cut Finger is bad company for your son."
"I know it; but they are blood-brothers, as is the way of young men. Where one is, there the other is also."
Maynard and Jennie were not as deeply interested in the camp as they had given out to be at starting. He was recalling to her mind some of the parties they had attended together at Fort Sibley. "Really, Captain Maynard," she was saying, as they rode up, "you would have it appear that we saw a great deal of each other in those days."
"That's my contention entirely," he replied, "and it is myintention to continue this Indian outbreak indefinitely in order to go into cantonment here."
"You always were susceptible to good dinners, Captain Maynard."
"Say good company, and you'll be right entirely."
Curtis, having caught Maynard's last remark, called out in the biting tone of the upper classman at West Point.
"Are you on special duty, Captain Maynard, or riding in the park?"
He saluted imperturbably. "By good luck I am doing both, at your service."
"Merely cast your eye around so that you can report the Tetongs peaceful and in camp, then you may ride where you please."
Maynard swept his eyes over the village. "It is done! Now, Miss Curtis, let's try for the top of that hill?"
"No, no, you have been riding all night."
"Why, so I have! In the charm of your presence I'd forgotten it. I'm supposed to be fagged."
"You don't look it," remarked Curtis, humorously, running his eyes over the burly figure before him. "At the same time, I think you'd better return. Your commissariat wagons will be rumbling in soon."
Maynard again saluted. "Very well, 'Major,' it shall be so," and, wheeling his horse in such wise as to turn Jennie's pony, they galloped off together, leaving Curtis and Elsie to follow.
"It's hard to realize that disaster came so near to us," he said, musingly, and Elsie shaded her eyes with her hand and looked up at the hills.
"There is a wonderful charm in this dry country! I have never seen such blinding sunshine. But life must be difficult here."
"You begin to feel that? I expect to stay here at least five years, providing I am not removed."
She shuddered perceptibly. "Five years is a long time to give out of one's life—with so little to show for it."
He hesitated a moment, then said, with deep feeling, "It's hard, it's lonely, but, after all, it has its compensations. I can see results. The worst side of it all is—I can never ask any woman to share such a life with me. I feel guilty when I consider Jennie—she ought to have a home of her own; she has no outlook here."
She looked straight ahead as she replied. "You would find life here intolerable without her."
"I know it; but in my best moments I realize how selfish it is in me to keep her."
"Suppose you were to resign, what would you do?"
"I would try to secure a chance at some field-work for the Ethnologic Bureau. It doesn't pay very well, but it would be congenial, and my proficiency in the sign language would, I think, make me valuable. I have determined never to go back to garrison life without some special duty to occupy my mind."
"Life isn't a bit simple when you are grown up, is it?"
"Life is always simple, if one does one's duty."
"That is a soldier's answer; it is not easy for me to enter into that spirit. I have my art, and no sense of duty at all."
"Your position is equally strange to me; but duties will discover themselves—later. A life without duties is impossible."
"I know what you mean, but I do not intend to allow any duty to circumscribe my art." This she uttered defiantly.
"I don't like to hear you say that. Life is greater than art."
She laughed. "How different our points of view! You are Anglo-Saxon, I am French. Art counts far more with us."
"Was your mother French? I did not know that."
"Yes—a Canadian. I have her nature rather than that of my father."
"Sometimes I think you are your father's daughter. Did your mother live to enjoy her husband's success?"
"Not to the full. Still, she had a nice home in Alta, where I was born. She died before he was elected Senator." They had nearly reached the agency now, and she shook off her sober mood. "Shall we go in with a dash?"
"I'm agreed."
She put quirt to her horse and they entered the lane at a flying gallop. As he assisted her to alight at the studio door he said:
"I hope your father will not require you to join him in the East. It is a great pleasure to have you here." His voice touched something vibrant in her heart.
"Oh, I don't think he will when he fully understands the situation. I'm sure I don't want to go. I shall write him so."
Curtis rode away elate as a boy. Something which he did not care to define had come to him from her, subtle as a perfume, intangible as light, and yet it had entered into his blood with most transforming effect. He put aside its analysis, and went about his duties content with the feeling that life was growing richer day by day.
Wilson, seeing his shining face, sighed and said to himself: "I guess the Major has found his girl. He's a lucky dog. I wish I could pick up even a piece of plain calico, I'd be satisfied." And he ran through a list of the unmarried women within reach, to no result, as usual.
Meanwhile the supply-wagons had arrived, and Captain Maynard was overseeing the laying-out of the camp just below the agency. Lieutenant Payne and his command returned at five o'clock, and in a short time the little village of white tents was in order. Curtis came over to insist that the officers take dinner with them at "the parsonage," and, as Captain Maynard had already spoken of the good company and the excellent dinner he had enjoyed in the middle of the day, Lieutenant Payne was quite ready to comply, especially as his lunch had been as light as his breakfast.
The meal was as enjoyable as the mid-day dinner, and the Parkers derived much comfort from the presence of the soldiers.
"I guess I'm not fitted to be a pioneer artist," Parker confessed, and the hearty agreement he met with quite disconcerted him.
Mrs. Parker was indignant at the covert ridicule of her husband, and was silent all through the meal; indeed, the burden of the conversation fell upon Jennie and Maynard, but they were entirely willing to bear it, and were not lacking for words.
"It is good to hear the bugles again," Jennie remarked, as one of the calls rang out on the still air, sweet and sad and as far removed from war as a love song.
"They're not so pleasant when they call to the same monotonous round of daily duties," said Mr. Payne.
Curtis smiled. "Here's another disgruntled officer. What would you do—kill off the Indians and move into the city?"
"To kill off a few measly whites might insure completer peace and tranquillity," replied Maynard.
"You fellows couldn't be more righteously employed," put in Lawson. "You might begin on the political whoopers round about."
"What blasphemy!" cried Jennie. "These 'noble pioneers!'"
"Founding a mighty State," added Curtis.
"Founding a state of anarchy!" retorted Lawson. "They never did have any regard for law, except a law that worked in their favor."
Parker got in a word. "Lawson, do you know what you are? You're what Norman Bass used to call 'a blame a-riss-to-crat.'" This provoked a laugh at Lawson's expense.
"I admit it," said Lawson, calmly. "I am interested in the cowboy and the miner—as wild animals—as much as any of you, but as founders of an empire! The hard and unlovely truth is, they are representatives of every worst form of American vice; they are ignorant, filthy, and cruel. Their value as couriers of the Christian army has never been great with me."
Maynard was unusually reflective as he stared at Lawson.
"That's mighty plain talk," he observed, in the pause that followed. "You couldn't run for office on speeches like that."
"Lawson's living doesn't depend on prevarication," remarked Curtis. "If it did—"
"If it did I'd lie like the best—I mean the worst of you," replied Lawson.
"In a few years there will not be an Indian left," Parker remarked.
"The world will be the poorer."
"They will all be submerged," continued Parker.
"Why submerge them? Is the Anglo-Saxon type so adorable in the sight of God that He desires all the races of the earth to be like unto it? If the proselytizing zeal of the missionaries and functionaries of the English-speaking race could work out, the world would lose all its color, all its piquancy. Hungary would be like Scotland, Scotland would be Cornwall, Cornwall would duplicate London, and London reflect New York. Beautiful scheme for tailors, shoe-makers, and preachers, but depressing to artists."
"You must be one of those chaps the missionaries tell about, who would keep men savage just to please your sense of the picturesque."
"Savage! There's a fine word. What is a savage?"
"A man who needs converting to our faith," said Jennie.
"A man to exercise the army on," said Maynard.
"A man to rob in the name of the Lord," said Parker.
"You're stealing all my oratorical thunder," complained Lawson. "When a speaker asks a question like that he doesn't want a detailed answer—he is pausing for effect. Speaking seriously—"
"Oh!" said Maynard, "then you werenotserious."
Lawson went his oratorical way. "My conviction is that savagery held more of true happiness than we have yet realized; and civilization, as you begin to see, does not, by any construction, advance the sum of human happiness as it should do."
"What an advantage it is to have an independent income!" mused Maynard, looking about the table. "There's a man who not only has opinions, but utters them in a firm tone of voice."
"I am being instructed," remarked Elsie. "I used to think no one took the Indian's side; now every one seems opposed to the cattlemen."
"When we are civilized enough to understand this redman, he will have disappeared," said Curtis, very soberly.
"Judging from the temper of this State at present, I reckon you're about right," replied Maynard. "Well, it's out o' my hands, as the fellah says; I'm not the Almighty; if I were I'd arrange things on a different basis."
"We are all transition types," remarked Curtis, harking back to a remark of Lawson's making.
"Even these settlers are immortal souls," said Parker.
"Consider!" exclaimed Lawson. "How could we live without the Indian question? Maynard would be like Othello—occupation gone. Curtis would cease to be a philanthropist. Elsie Bee Bee would go sadly back to painting 'old hats' and dead ducks. I alone of all this company would be busy and well paid. I would continue to study the remains of the race."
Jennie rose. "Put a period there," said she, "till we escape, and, remember, if we hear any loud talk we'll come out and fetch you away," and she hurried out into the sitting-room, where Elsie and Mrs. Parker yielded up valuable suggestions about dress.
As the Parkers rose to go, Lawson approached Elsie and asked in a low voice: "Areyou going home to the mess-house to-night? If you are, I want to go with you."
"I'll be ready in a moment," she replied, but her eyes wavered. As they stepped out together quite in the old way, he abruptly but gently began:
"It is significant of our changed relations when I say that this is the first time I've had an opportunity for a private word since our camping trip. There is no need of this constraint, Elsie. I want you to be your good, frank self with me. I'll not misunderstand it. I am not charging anything up against you. In fact, I can see that you are right in your decision, but it hurts me to have you avoid me as you have done lately."
There was something in his voice which brought the hot tears to her eyes and she replied, gently: "I'm very sorry, Osborne. I hoped you wouldn't care—so much, and I didn't mean—"
"I've tried not to show my hurt, for my own sake as well as yours, but the fact is I didn't realize how deeply you'd taken root in my thoughts till I tried to put you away. It is said that no two lovers are ever equal sharers in affection—one always gives more than the other—or one expects more than the other. I was perfectly sincere when I made that bargain with you, and I know you were; but you are younger than I, and that has changed the conditions for you. I am older than you thought, and I find myself naturally demanding more and more. I think I understand better than I did two days ago why you gave me back the ring, and I do not complain of it. I shall never again refer to it, but we can at least be friends. This cold silence—"
She put out her hand. "Don't, please don't."
"I can't bear your being stiff and uncomfortable in my presence, Bee Bee! You even called me Mister Lawson." There was a pathetic sort of humor in his voice which touched her. "Let us be good comrades again."
She gave him her hand. "Very well, Osborne. But you are mistaken if you think—"
"Time will tell!" he interrupted, and his voice was strenuously cheerful. "Anyhow, we are on a sound footing again. Good-night."
The presence of Maynard and the troop was a greater relief to Curtis than he realized. He laid down for a moment's rest on his couch and fell into a dreamless sleep at once, and Jennie, deciding not to arouse him, spread a light shawl over him and withdrew softly. Maynard's coming brought a deeper sense of security than a stranger could have given with twice the number of troops. "Jack Maynard is so dependable," she said, and a distinct note of tenderness trembled in her voice.
The messengers from both Riddell and Pinon reported to Curtis about daylight, laden with papers and telegrams. The telegrams naturally received first reading. There was one filled with instructions from the Secretary of the Interior, and one from the Commissioner, bidding him stand firm. Several anxious ones from various cities, all of this tenor: "Is there any danger? my niece is one of your teachers," etc. In the midst of the others, Curtis came upon a fat one for Elsie, plainly from her father. This he put aside till after breakfast, when he permitted himself the pleasure of carrying it to the studio. He found her at work, painting a little brown tot of a girl in the arms of her smiling mother.
"I have a telegram for you—from your father, no doubt."
She rose quickly and opened the envelope. As she read she laughed. "Poor papa; he is genuinely alarmed. Read it."
He took it with more interest than he cared to show, and found it most peremptory in tone.
"Reports from Fort Smith most alarming. Come out at once. Have wired the agent to furnish escort and conveyance. Shall expect you to reply immediately, giving news that you have left agency. You should not have gone there. I will meet you at Pinon City if possible; if I do not, take train for Alta. Wire me your plans. Country is much alarmed. I must hear from you at once or shall be worried."
Curtis looked up with an amused light in his eyes. "He's a little incoherent, but sufficiently mandatory. When will you start?"
"I will send a telegram out at once that I am safe, and all danger over. He will not want me to leave now."
"Very well. A messenger will start at once with all our letters and messages. Anything you wish to send can go at the same time."
"What news have you?"
"I only had time to glance at my mail, but the papers are all that Lawson has predicted. If you would know how important a criminal I am, read these"—he pointed at a bundle on a chair. "I must go back to the office now, but I will wait for your letters and telegrams before despatching a messenger. If you think it better to go than to stay, I will ask Captain Maynard to escort you to the station."
"I will stay," she replied.
She wrote a brief telegram to her father, saying: "I am quite safe and hard at work. All quiet; don't worry," and also composed a letter giving vital details of the situation and taking strong ground against the way in which the cattlemen had invaded the reservation. In conclusion she added: "I have a fine studio, plenty of models, and am in fine health; I cannot think of giving up my work because of this foolish panic. Don't let these settlers influence you against Captain Curtis; he's right this time."
As she ran through the papers and caught the full significance of their precipitate attack on the agent, her teeth clinched in hot indignation. At the first breath, before they were sure of a single item of news, they leaped upon an honorable man, accusing him of concealing stolen cattle and of harboring murderers and thieves. "As for the Indians, it is time to exterminate these vermin! Let the State wipe out this tribe and its agency, and send this fellow Curtis back to his regiment where he belongs," was the burden of their song.
As she read on, tingling with wrath at these vulgarly written and utterly un-Christian editorials, the girl caught an amazing side-glimpse of herself and the views she once held. She remembered reading just such reports once before, and joining with her father in his desire to punish the redmen. Was Lawson right? Had her notions of the "brave and noble pioneers fighting the wild beast and the savage" arisen from ignorance of their true nature? Had they always been as narrow, as bigoted, as relentless, and as greedy as these articles hinted at? Some of Lawson's clean-cut, relentless phrases came back to her at the moment, and she began to believe that he was nearer right than she had been. And her father? Would he sanction such libels as these? At last the essential grandeur of the position held in common by both Curtis and Lawson—of the right of the small people to their place on the planet—came to her, and in opposition to their grave, sweet eyes she saw again the brutal, leering faces of the mob, and comprehended the feelings of a chief like Grayman, as he confronts the oncoming hordes of a destroying race.
Meanwhile, in the grassy hollow between two round-top hills the bands of Elk and Grayman were gathered in extraordinary council. No one was in gala-dress, no one was painted, all were serious or sad or morose. Upon their folded blankets the head men sat in a small circle on the smooth sod, exposed to the blazing sun. Behind them stood or knelt a larger circle, the men and boys on one side, the women on the other, while in the rear, mounted on their fleetest ponies, some two hundred of the young men were ranked, enthralled listeners to the impassioned speeches of the old men.
Crawling Elk made the first address, repeating the story which the agent had told and calling upon all those who sat before him to search for the guilty one and report to him if they found him. His words were received in silence.
Then Grayman rose, and, stepping into the circle, began to speak in a low and sorrowful voice. Something in his manner as well as in his words enlisted the almost breathless interest of the crowd. There was a tragic pathos in his voice as he called out: "You see how it is, brothers; we are like a nest of ants in a white man's field, which he is ploughing. We are only a few and weak, while all around us our enemies press in upon us. We have only one friend—our Little Father. We must do as he says. We must give up a man to the war chief of the cowboys. They will never believe that any one else killed the sheep-man. The cattlemen and sheepmen are always quarrelling, but they readily join hands to do the Tetongs harm."
"It is death to us to fight the white man; I know it. Unless we all wish to be shot, we must not become angry this time; we must do as the Little Father says, and if we cannot find the man who did this thing, I will go and give myself into the hands of the white war chief." A murmur of protest and anger ran round the circle. "It is better for one to suffer than many," he said, in answer to the protest, "and I am old. My wife is dead. I have but one son, and he is estranged from me. I say, if we cannot find who did this thing, then I am willing to go and be killed of the white people in order to keep the peace. I have said it."
Standing Elk leaped to his feet, tall, gaunt, excitable. "We will not do this," he said. "We will fight first." And among the young warriors there was applause. "The Tetongs are not dogs to be always kicked in the ribs. I have fought the white man. I have met 'Long Hair' and 'Bear Robe' in battle. I am not afraid of the cattlemen. I am old, but my heart is yet big. Let us do battle and die like brave men."
Then Crawling Elk rose, and his broad, good-humored face shone in the sun like polished bronze as he turned his cheek to the wind.
"The words of my brother are loud and quick," he said, slowly. "In the ancient time it was always so. He was always ready to fight. I was always opposed to fighting. We must not talk of fighting now; all that is put away. It belongs to the suns that have gone over our heads. We must now talk of cattle-herding and ploughing. We must strive always to be at peace with the cowboys. I, too, am old. I have not many years to live; but you young men have a long time to live, and you cannot be always quarrelling with the settlers; you must be wise and patient. Our Little Father, Swift Eagle, is our friend; you can trust him. You can put your hand in his and find it strong and warm. His heart is good and his words are wise. If we can find the man who did this evil deed, we must give him up. It is not right that all of us should suffer for the wickedness of one man. No, it is not right that we who are old should die for one whose hands are red."
This speech was also received in silence, but plainly produced a powerful effect. Then one of the men who found the body rose and told what he knew of the case. "I do not think a Tetong killed the man," he said, in conclusion.
In this wise the talk proceeded for nearly two hours, and then the council rose to meet again at sunset, and word of what had been said was carried to Curtis by Crawling Elk and Grayman.
To them Curtis said: "I am pleased with you. Go over the names of all your reckless young men, and when you reach one you think might do such a deed, question him and his people closely. The shells of the rifle were the largest size—that may help you. Your old men would not do this thing—their heads are cool; but some of your young men have hot hearts and may have quarrelled with this herder."
The old men went away very sorrowful. Grayman was especially troubled, because he could not help thinking all the time of Cut Finger, his nephew.
Running Fox, or "Cut Finger," as the white people called him, he knew to be a morose and reckless young man, and probably possessed of some evil spirit, for at times he was quite crazy. Once he had forced his pony into the cooking-lodge of Bear Paw for no reason at all, and Bear Paw, in a rage, had snatched up his rifle and fired, putting a bullet through the bridle hand of Running Fox, who lost two fingers and gained a new name. At another time the mad fool had tried to force his horse to leap a cliff; and once he had attempted to drown himself; and yet, between these obsessions, he could be very winning, and there were many among Elk's band who pitied him. He was comely withal, and had married a handsome girl, the daughter of Standing Wolf. It was easy to imagine that Cut Finger was the guilty one, and yet to think of him was to think of his son's intimate friend.