108CHAPTER XSETH ATTEMPTS TO WRITE A LETTER
It is not usually a remarkable event in one’s life, the writing of a letter. In these days of telephone, however, it soon will be. In Seth’s case it nearly was so, but for a different reason. Seth could write, even as he could read. But he was not handy at either. He abominated writing, and preferred to read only that which Nature held out for his perusal. However, after some days of deep consideration, he had decided to write a letter. And, with characteristic thoroughness, he intended it to be very long, and very explicit.
After supper one evening, when Rube had gone out for his evening smoke, and that final prowl round necessary to see that all was prepared for the morrow’s work, and the stock comfortable for the night, and Ma Sampson and Rosebud were busy washing up, and, in their department, also seeing things straight for the night, Seth betook himself to the parlor, that haven of modest comfort and horsehair, patchwork rugs and many ornaments, earthen floor and low ceiling, and prepared for his task. He had no desire to advertise the fact of that letter,109so he selected this particular moment when the others were occupied elsewhere.
His ink and paper were on the table before him, and his pen was poised while he considered. Then the slow, heavy footfall of old Rube sounded approaching through the kitchen. The scribe waited to hear him pass up-stairs, or settle himself in an armchair in the kitchen. But the heavy tread came on, and presently the old man’s vast bulk blocked the doorway.
“Ah! Writin’?”
The deep tone was little better than a grunt.
Seth nodded, and gazed out of the window. The parlor window looked out in the direction of the Reservation. If he intended to convey a hint it was not taken. Old Rube had expected Seth to join him outside for their usual smoke. That after-supper prowl had been their habit for years. He wanted to talk to him.
“I was yarnin’ with Jimmy Parker s’afternoon,” said Rube.
Seth looked round.
The old man edged heavily round the table till he came to the high-backed, rigid armchair that had always been his seat in this room.
“He says the crops there are good,” he went on, indicating the Reservation with a nod of his head toward the window.
“It’ll be a good year all round, I guess,” Seth admitted.110
“Yes, I dare say it will be,” was the answer.
Rube was intently packing his pipe, and the other waited. Rube’s deep-set eyes had lost their customary twinkle. The deliberation with which he was packing his pipe had in it a suggestion of abstraction. Filling a pipe is a process that wonderfully indicates the state of a man’s mind.
“Jimmy’s worried some. ‘Bout the harvest, I guess,” Rube said presently, adjusting his pipe in the corner of his mouth, and testing the draw of it. But his eyes were not raised to his companion’s face.
“Injuns ain’t workin’ well?”
“Mebbe.”
“They’re a queer lot.”
“Ye-es. I was kind o’ figgerin’. We’re mostly through hayin’.”
“I’ve got another slough to cut.”
“That’s so. Down at the Red Willow bluff.” The old man nodded.
“Yes,” assented Seth. Then, “Wal?”
“After that, guess ther’s mostly slack time till harvest. I thought, mebbe, we could jest haul that lumber from Beacon Crossing. And cut the logs. Parker give me the ’permit.’ Seems to me we might do wuss.”
“For the stockade?” suggested Seth.
“Yes.”
“I’ve thought of that, too.” The two men looked into each other’s eyes. And the old man nodded.111
“Guess the gals wouldn’t want to know,” he said, rising and preparing to depart.
“No—I don’t think they would.”
The hardy old pioneer towered mightily as he moved toward the door. In spite of his years he displayed none of the uneasiness which his words might have suggested. Nothing that frontier life could show him would be new. At least, nothing that he could imagine. But then his imagination was limited. Facts were facts with him; he could not gild them. Seth was practical, too; but he also had imagination, which made him the cleverer man of the two in the frontiersman’s craft.
At the door Rube looked round.
“Guess you was goin’ to write some?”
He passed out with a deep gurgle, as though the fact of Seth’s writing was something to afford amusement.
Seth turned to the paper and dipped his pen in the ink. Then he wiped it clean on his coat sleeve and dipped it again. After that he headed his paper with much precision. Then he paused, for he heard a light footstep cross the passage between the parlor and the kitchen. He sighed in relief as it started up-stairs. But his relief was short-lived. He knew that it was Rosebud. He heard her stop. Then he heard her descend again. The next moment she appeared in the doorway.
“What, Seth writing?” she exclaimed, her laughing eyes trying to look seriously surprised. “I knew you were here by the smell of the smoke.”112
“Guess it was Rube’s.” Seth’s face relaxed for a moment, then it returned to its usual gravity.
“Then it must have been that pipe you gave him the other night,” she returned quick as thought.
Seth shook his head.
“Here it is,” he said, and drew a pipe from his pocket. “He ’lowed he hadn’t no nigger blood in him.”
“Too strong?”
“Wal—he said he had scruples.”
Rosebud laughed, and came and perched herself on the edge of Seth’s table. He leant back in his chair and smiled up at her. Resignation was his only refuge. Besides—
“So you’re writing, Seth,” the girl said, and her eyes had become really serious. They were deep, deep now, the violet of them was almost black in the evening light. “I wonder——”
Seth shook his head.
“Nobody yet,” he said.
“You mean I’m to go away?” Rosebud smiled, but made no attempt to move.
“Guess I ain’t in no hurry.”
“Well, I’m glad of that. And you’re not grumpy with me either, are you? No?” as Seth shook his head. “That’s all right, then, because I want to talk to you.”
“That’s how I figgered.”
“You’re always figuring, Seth. You figure so much in your own quiet way that I sometimes fancy113you haven’t time to look at things which don’t need calculating upon. I suppose living near Indians all your life makes you look very much ahead. I wonder—what you see there. You and Rube.”
“Guess you’re side-tracked,” Seth replied uneasily, and turning his attention to the blank paper before him.
The girl’s face took on a little smile. Her eyes shone again as she contemplated the dark head of the man who was now unconscious of her gaze. There was a tender look in them. The old madcap in her was taming. A something looked out of her eyes now which certainly would not have been there had the man chanced to look up. But he didn’t. The whiteness of the paper seemed to absorb all his keenest interest.
“I rather think you always fancy I’m side-tracked, Seth,” the girl said at last. “You don’t think I have a serious thought in my foolish head.”
Seth looked up now and smiled.
“Guess you’ve always been a child to me,” he said. “An’ kiddies ain’t bustin’ with brain—generly. However, I don’t reckon you’re foolish. ’Cep’ when you git around that Reservation,” he added thoughtfully.
There was a brief silence. The man avoided the violet eyes. He seemed afraid to look at them. Rosebud’s presence somehow made things hard for him. Seth was a man whom long years of a life fraught with danger had taught that careful thought114must be backed up by steady determination. There must be no wavering in any purpose. And this girl’s presence made him rebel against that purpose he had in his mind now.
“That has always been a trouble between us, hasn’t it?” Rosebud said at last. And her quiet manner drew her companion’s quick attention. “But it shan’t be any more.”
The man looked up now; this many-sided girl could still astonish him.
“You’re quittin’ the Reservation?” he said.
“Yes,—except the sewing and Sunday classes at the Mission,” Rosebud replied slowly. “But it’s not on your account I’m doing it,” she added hastily, with a gleam of the old mischief in her eyes. “It’s because—Seth, why do the Indians hate you? Why does Little Black Fox hate you?”
The man’s inquiring eyes searched the bright earnest face looking down upon him. His only reply was a shake of the head.
“I know,” she went on. “It’s on my account. You killed Little Black Fox’s father to save me.”
“Nottosave you,” Seth said. He was a stickler for facts. “Andsaved you.”
“Oh, bother! Seth, you are stupid! It’s on that account he hates you. And, Seth, if I promise not to go to the Reservation without some one, will you promise me not to go there without me? You see it’s safer if there are two.”115
Seth smiled at the naïve simplicity of the suggestion. He did not detect the guile at first. But it dawned on him presently and he smiled more. She had said she was not going to visit the Reservation again.
“Who put these crazy notions into your head, Rosebud?” he asked.
“No one.”
The girl’s answer came very short. She didn’t like being laughed at. And she thought he was laughing at her now.
“Some one’s said something,” Seth persisted. “You see Little Black Fox has hated me for six years. There is no more danger for me now than there was when I shot Big Wolf. With you it’s kind o’ different. You see—you’re grown——”
“I see.” Rosebud’s resentment had passed. She understood her companion’s meaning. She had understood that she was “grown” before. Presently she went on. “I’ve learned a lot in the last few days,” she said quietly, gazing a little wistfully out of the window. “But nobody has actually told me anything. You see,” with a shadowy smile, “I notice things near at hand. I don’t calculate ahead. I often talk to Little Black Fox. He is easy to read. Much easier than you are, Seth,” she finished up, with a wise little nod.
“An’ you’ve figgered out my danger?” Seth surveyed the trim figure reposing with such unconscious grace upon the table. He could have feasted116his eyes upon it, but returned to a contemplation of his note-paper.
“Yes. Will you promise me, Seth—dear old Seth?”
The man shook his head. The wheedling tone was hard to resist.
“I can’t do that,” he said. “You see, Rosebud, ther’s many things take me there which must be done. Guess I git around after you at times. That could be altered, eh?”
“I don’t think you’re kind, Seth!” The girl pouted her disappointment, but there was some other feeling underlying her manner. The man looked up with infinite kindness in his eyes, but he gave no sign of any other feeling.
“Little Rosebud,” he said, “if ther’s a creetur in this world I’ve a notion to be kind to, I guess she ain’t more’n a mile from me now. But, as I said, ther’s things that take me to the Reservation. Rube ken tell you. So——”
The man broke off, and dipped his pen in the ink. Rosebud watched him, and, for once in her wilful life, forgot that she had been refused something, and consequently to be angry. She looked at the head bending over the paper as the man inscribed, “Dear sirs,” and that something which had peeped out of her eyes earlier in their interview was again to be seen there.
She reached out a hand as she slid from the table and smoothed the head of dark hair with it.117
“All right, Seth,” she said gently. “We’ll have no promises, but take care of yourself, because you are my own old—‘Daddy.’”
At the door she turned.
“You can write your letter now,” she said, with a light laugh. The next moment she was gone.
118CHAPTER XITHE LETTER WRITTEN
But Seth’s trials were not yet over. The two interviews just passed had given Ma Sampson sufficient time to complete her household duties. And now she entered her parlor, the pride of her home.
She came in quite unaware of Seth’s presence there. But when she observed him at the table with his writing materials spread out before him, she paused.
“Oh,” she exclaimed, “I didn’t know you were writin’, Seth!”
The man’s patience seemed inexhaustible, for he smiled and shook his head.
“No, Ma,” he said with truth.
The little old woman came round the table and occupied her husband’s chair. If Seth were not writing, then she might as well avail herself of the opportunity which she had long wanted. She had no children of her own, and lavished all her motherly instincts upon this man. She was fond of Rosebud, but the girl occupied quite a secondary place in her heart. It is doubtful if any mother could have loved a son more than she loved Seth.119
She had a basket of sewing with her which she set upon the table. Then she took from it a bundle of socks and stockings and began to overhaul them with a view to darning. Seth watched the slight figure bending over its work, and the bright eyes peering through the black-rimmed glasses which hooked over her ears. His look was one of deep affection. Surely Nature had made a mistake in not making them mother and son. Still, she had done the next best thing in invoking Fate’s aid in bringing them together. Mrs. Sampson looked no older than the day on which Rosebud had been brought to the house. As Seth had once told her, she would never grow old. She would just go on as she was, and, when the time came, she would pass away peacefully and quietly, not a day older than she had been when he first knew her.
But Seth, understanding so much as he did of the life on that prairie farm, and the overshadowing threat which was always with them, had yet lost sight of the significance of the extreme grayness of this woman’s hair. Still her bright energy and uncomplaining nature might well have lulled all fears, and diverted attention from the one feature which betrayed her ceaseless anxiety.
“I kind o’ tho’t sech work was for young fingers, Ma,” Seth observed, indicating the stockings.
“Ah, Seth, boy, I hated to darn when I was young an’ flighty.”
The man smiled. His accusations had been made120to ears that would not hear. He knew this woman’s generous heart.
“I reckon Rosebud’ll take to it later on,” he said quietly.
“When she’s married.”
“Ye-es.”
Seth watched the needle pass through and through the wool on its rippling way. And his thoughts were of a speculative nature.
“She’s a grown woman now,” said Mrs. Sampson, after a while.
“That’s so.”
“An’ she’ll be thinkin’ of ’beaus,’ or I’m no prophet.”
“Time enough, Ma.”
“Time? I guess she’s goin’ on eighteen. Maybe you don’t know a deal o’ gals, boy.”
The bright face looked up. One swift glance at her companion and she was bending over her work again.
“I had ’beaus’ enough, I reckon, when I was eighteen. Makes me laff when I think o’ Rube. He’s always been like what he is now. Jest quiet an’ slow. I came nigh marryin’ a feller who’s got a swell horse ranch way up in Canada, through Rube bein’ slow. Guess Rube was the man for me, though, all through. But, you see, I couldn’t ask him to marry me. Mussy on us, he was slow!”
“Did you have to help him out, Ma?”121
“Help him? Did you ever know a gal who didn’t help her ’beau’ out? Boy, when a gal gets fixed on a man he’s got a job if he’s goin’ to get clear. Unless he’s like my Rube—ter’ble slow.”
“That’s how you’re sizin’ me now,” said Seth, with a short laugh.
Ma Sampson worked on assiduously.
“Maybe you’re slow in some things, Seth,” she ventured, after a moment’s thought.
“See here, Ma, I’ve always reckoned we’d get yarnin’ like this some day. It ’ud please you an’ Rube for me to marry Rosebud. Wal, you an’ me’s mostly given to talkin’ plain. An’ I tell you right here that Rosebud ain’t for the likes o’ me. Don’t you think I’m makin’ out myself a poor sort o’ cuss. ’Tain’t that. You know, an’ I know, Rosebud belongs to mighty good folk. Wal, before ther’s any thought of me an’ Rosebud, we’re goin’ to locate those friends. It’s only honest, Ma, and as such I know you’ll understand. Guess we don’t need to say any more.”
Mrs. Sampson had ceased working, and sat peering at her boy through her large spectacles. Seth’s look was very determined, and she understood him well.
She shook her head.
“Guess you’re reckoning out your side.” She laughed slyly and went on darning. “Maybe Rosebud won’t thank you a heap when you find those122friends. They haven’t made much fuss to find her.”
“No, Ma. An’ that’s just it.”
“How?” The darning suddenly dropped into Mrs. Sampson’s lap.
“Maybe they were killed by the Injuns.”
“You’re guessin’.”
“Maybe I am. But——”
“What do you know, boy?” The old woman was all agog with excitement.
“Not a great deal, Ma,” Seth said, with one of his shadowy smiles. “But what I do makes me want to write a letter. And a long one. An’ that sort of thing ain’t easy with me. You see, I’m ‘ter’ble slow.’”
Seth’s manner was very gentle, but very decided, and Ma Sampson did not need much explanation. She quietly stood up and gathered her belongings together.
“You get right to it, boy. What you do is right for me. I’ll say no more. As my Rube says, ther’ ain’t nothin’ like livin’ honest. An’ so I says. But if that letter’s goin’ to lose you Rosebud, I’d take it friendly of Providence if it would kind o’ interfere some. I’ll go an’ sit with Rube, an’ you can write your letter.”
At last Seth turned to his letter in earnest. He first pulled out a piece of newspaper from his pocket and unfolded it. Then he laid it on the table, and carefully read the long paragraph123marked by four blue crosses. He wanted to make no mistake. As he had said himself, letter-writing wasn’t easy to him. He read thoughtfully and slowly.
“The Estate of the Lost Colonel Raynor“Once more we are reminded of the mysterious disappearance of that distinguished cavalry officer, Colonel Landor Raynor. This reminder comes in the form of the legal proceedings relating to his estate.“For the benefit of our readers, and also in the gallant officer’s own interests, we give here a recapitulation of the events surrounding his sudden disappearance.“On May 18th, 18—, Colonel Raynor returned from service in Egypt, on six months’ leave, and rented a shooting-box in the Highlands. Hardly had he settled down when he suddenly declared his intention of crossing the Atlantic for a big game shoot in the Rockies. This purpose he carried out within four days of his announcement, accompanied by Mrs. Raynor and their little daughter Marjorie, aged eleven, a golden-haired little beauty with the most perfect violet eyes, which is a very rare and distinguishing feature amongst women. It has been clearly proved that the party arrived safely in New York, and proceeded on their way to the Rockies. Since that time nothing has been heard of any of the three.124“There is no definite pronouncement as to the administration of Colonel Raynor’s estate. He owns large property, valued roughly at nearly a quarter of a million sterling. It has come to light that he leaves a will behind him, but whether this will be executed or not remains to be seen. There are no near relations, except the colonel’s brother, Stephen, who was disinherited by their father in favor of the colonel, and who, it is believed, left this country at the time, and went to the United States. His whereabouts are also unknown, in spite of advertisement during the last six years.“We publish these details, even at this late hour, in the faint hope that some light may yet be thrown on the mystery which enshrouds the fate of the gallant colonel and his family, or, at least, that they may assist in discovering the whereabouts of his brother. Theories have been put forward. But the suggestion which seems most feasible comes from the New York police. They think he must have met with some accident in the obscurer mountains, for he was a daring climber, and that, unaccompanied as they were by any servants, his wife and daughter, left helpless, were unable to get back to civilization. There is a chance that misfortune of some other character overtook him, but of what nature it is impossible to estimate. It has been asserted by one of the officials at the railway station at Omaha that a party alighted from a transcontinental train there answering the description of Colonel Raynor’s party.125These people are supposed to have stayed the night at a hotel, and then left by a train going north. Inquiry, however, has thrown no further light in this direction, and so the police have fallen back on their original theory.”
“The Estate of the Lost Colonel Raynor
“Once more we are reminded of the mysterious disappearance of that distinguished cavalry officer, Colonel Landor Raynor. This reminder comes in the form of the legal proceedings relating to his estate.
“For the benefit of our readers, and also in the gallant officer’s own interests, we give here a recapitulation of the events surrounding his sudden disappearance.
“On May 18th, 18—, Colonel Raynor returned from service in Egypt, on six months’ leave, and rented a shooting-box in the Highlands. Hardly had he settled down when he suddenly declared his intention of crossing the Atlantic for a big game shoot in the Rockies. This purpose he carried out within four days of his announcement, accompanied by Mrs. Raynor and their little daughter Marjorie, aged eleven, a golden-haired little beauty with the most perfect violet eyes, which is a very rare and distinguishing feature amongst women. It has been clearly proved that the party arrived safely in New York, and proceeded on their way to the Rockies. Since that time nothing has been heard of any of the three.124
“There is no definite pronouncement as to the administration of Colonel Raynor’s estate. He owns large property, valued roughly at nearly a quarter of a million sterling. It has come to light that he leaves a will behind him, but whether this will be executed or not remains to be seen. There are no near relations, except the colonel’s brother, Stephen, who was disinherited by their father in favor of the colonel, and who, it is believed, left this country at the time, and went to the United States. His whereabouts are also unknown, in spite of advertisement during the last six years.
“We publish these details, even at this late hour, in the faint hope that some light may yet be thrown on the mystery which enshrouds the fate of the gallant colonel and his family, or, at least, that they may assist in discovering the whereabouts of his brother. Theories have been put forward. But the suggestion which seems most feasible comes from the New York police. They think he must have met with some accident in the obscurer mountains, for he was a daring climber, and that, unaccompanied as they were by any servants, his wife and daughter, left helpless, were unable to get back to civilization. There is a chance that misfortune of some other character overtook him, but of what nature it is impossible to estimate. It has been asserted by one of the officials at the railway station at Omaha that a party alighted from a transcontinental train there answering the description of Colonel Raynor’s party.125These people are supposed to have stayed the night at a hotel, and then left by a train going north. Inquiry, however, has thrown no further light in this direction, and so the police have fallen back on their original theory.”
Seth laid the cutting aside, and thoughtfully chewed the end of his pen. There were many things he had to think of, but, curiously enough, the letter he had to compose did not present the chief item. Nor did Rosebud even. He thought chiefly of that railway official, and the story which the police had so easily set aside. He thought of that, and he thought of the Indians, who now more than ever seemed to form part of his life.
Finally he took a fresh piece of paper and headed it differently. He had changed his mind. He originally intended to write to the New York police. Now he addressed himself to the Editor of the ——, London, England. And his letter was just the sort of letter one might have expected from such a man, direct, plain, but eminently exact.
As he finally sealed it in its envelope there was no satisfaction in the expression of his face. He drew out his pipe and filled it and lit it, and smoked with his teeth clenching hard on the mouthpiece. He sat and smoked on long after Rube had looked in and bade him good-night, and Ma had come in for a good-night kiss, and Rosebud had called out her nightly farewell. It was not until the lamp burnt126low and began to smell that he stole silently up to his bed. But, whatever thought had kept him up to this hour, he slept soundly, for he was a healthy-minded man.
127CHAPTER XIICROSS PURPOSES
Seth was out haying. It was noon, and his dinner hour. He and his old collie dog, General, were taking their leisure on the slope of Red Willow slough, while the horses, relieved of their bits and traces, were nibbling at the succulent roots of the grass over which the mower had already passed.
General possessed a sense of duty. His master was apparently sleeping, with his prairie hat drawn over his face. The dog crouched at his feet, struggling hard to keep his eyes open, and remain alert while the other rested from his labors. But the sun was hot, the scent of the grass overpowering, and it was difficult.
At last the man roused and sat up. The dog sprang to his feet. His ears were pricked, and he raced off across the slough. As he went, the sound of wheels became distinctly audible. Rosebud, seated in a buckboard, and driving the old farm mare, Hesper, appeared on the opposite side of the slough. She was bringing Seth his dinner.
A moment later the girl drew rein and sprang out of the vehicle. The heat in no way weighed upon her spirits. She looked as fresh and cool in her white linen dress and sun-hat as if it were an128early spring day. Her laughing face was in marked contrast to the man’s dark, serious countenance. Her dazzling eyes seemed to be endowed with something of the brilliancy of the sunlight that was so intensely pouring down upon them.
“Oh, Seth, I’m so sorry!” she cried, in anything but a penitent tone, “but just as I was starting Wana came up with a note for you, and I’m afraid we stopped and talked, and you know what a dozy old mare Hesper is, and she just went slower than ever, and I hadn’t the heart to whack her, she’s such a dear, tame old thing, and so I’m ever so late, and I’m afraid your dinner’s all spoiled, and you’ll be horribly angry.”
But Seth displayed no anger; he only held out his hand.
“An’ the note?”
Rosebud thought for a moment. “Whatever did I do with it?” she said, looking about her on the ground. Seth watched her a little anxiously.
“Who was it from?” he asked.
“Oh, just the old Agent. I don’t suppose it was important, but I know I put it somewhere.”
“Guess so.”
Seth lifted the dinner-box out of the buckboard. Suddenly Rosebud’s face cleared.
“That’s it, Seth. I put it in there. In with the dinner. Oh, and, Seth, I got Ma to let me bring my dinner out, so we can have a picnic, you and I, and General.”129
Seth was bending over the box.
“Then I guess your dinner’s kind o’ spoiled too,” he said.
“Oh, that doesn’t matter so long as yours isn’t. You see it’s my own fault, and serves me right. If it’s very nasty we can give it all to General; so it won’t be wasted.”
“No, it won’t be wasted.”
Rosebud watched her companion remove the things from the box, and wondered if he were glad or sorry that she was going to have her dinner with him. She had been wildly delighted at the thought of springing this surprise on him, but now she felt doubtful, and a certain shyness kept her usually busy tongue silent. She would have given much to know what Seth thought. That was just where she found the man so unsatisfactory. She never did know what he really thought about anything.
Seth found the note, and put it in his pocket. Now he set their meal on the newly cut grass. Rosebud, with a thoughtfulness hardly to be expected of her, turned Hesper loose. Then she sat down beside General and put the tin dishes straight, according to her fancy. In silence she helped Seth to a liberal portion of lukewarm stew, and cut the bread. Then she helped the dog, and, finally, herself.
“Ma’s a dear!” she suddenly exclaimed, when the silence had become irksome to her. “She’s130making me a new dress. It’s a secret, and I’m not supposed to know.”
“Ah! An’ how d’ you find out?”
“Oh, I asked Pa,” Rosebud laughed. “I knew it was something for me. So when he went to look at the new litter of piggies this morning I went with him, and just asked him. I promised not to give him away. Isn’t she a dear?”
“Sure. Guess you like dress fixin’s.”
“Love them.”
“Most gals do, I reckon.”
“Well, you see, Seth, most girls love to look nice. Mrs. Rankin, even, says that she’d give the world to get hold of a good dressmaker, and she’s married. Do you know even Wana likes pretty things, and that’s just what I’d like to talk to you about. You see, I’ve got twenty dollars saved, and I just thought I would get Wana a nice dress, like white people wear. I mean a good one. Do you know what store I could send to in Sioux City, or Omaha, or even New York?”
“I ain’t much knowledge o’ stores an’ things. But I ’lows it’s a good notion.”
The man’s brown eyes looked over at the girl as she plied her knife and fork.
“Maybe,” he went on, a moment later, “ther’ ain’t no need to spend them twenty dollars. I’ve got some. Say, you talk to Ma an’ fix the letter an’ I’ll mail it.”
The girl looked up. Seth’s kindness had banished131the ready laugh for the moment. If her tongue remained silent her eyes spoke. But Seth was concerned with his food and saw nothing. Rosebud did not even tender thanks. She felt that she could not speak thanks at that moment. Her immediate inclination was a childish one, but the grown woman in her checked it. A year ago she would have acted differently. At last Seth broke the silence.
“Say, Rosebud,” he said. “How’d you like a heap o’ dollars?”
But the girl’s serious mood had not yet passed. She held out her plate to General, and replied, without looking at her companion.
“That depends,” she said. “You see, I wouldn’t like to marry a man with lots of money. Girls who do are never happy. Ma said so. The only other way to have money is by being clever, and writing, or painting, or play-acting. And I’m not clever, and don’t want to be. Then there are girls who inherit money, but——”
“That’s jest it,” broke in Seth.
“Just what?” Rosebud turned from the dog and eyed her companion curiously.
“Why, s’pose it happened you inherited them dollars?”
“But I’m not likely to.”
“That’s so. But we know your folks must a’ been rich by your silk fixin’s. Guess you ain’t thought o’ your folks.”
The girl’s sunburnt face took on a confident little132smile as she looked out from under the wide brim of her hat.
“Oh, yes, I have. I’ve thought a lot. Where are they, and why don’t they come out and look for me? I can’t remember them, though I try hard. Every time I try I go back to Indians—always Indians. I know I’m not an Indian,” she finished up naïvely.
“No.” Seth lit his pipe. “Guess if we did find ’em you’d have to quit the farm.”
There was a short silence.
“Seth, you’re always looking for them, I know. Why do you look for them? I don’t want them.” Rosebud was patting the broad back of General. “Do you know, sometimes I think you want to be rid of me. I’m a trouble to you, I know.”
“’Tain’t that exactly.”
Seth’s reply sounded different to what he intended. It sounded to the girl as if he really was seeking her parents to be rid of her. And his manner was so deliberate, so short. She scrambled to her feet without a word, and began to gather up the dishes. Seth smoked on for a moment or two. But as Rosebud showed no sign of continuing the conversation he, too, rose in silence, and went over to Hesper and hitched her to the buckboard. Then he came back and carried the dinner-box to the vehicle, while Rosebud mounted to the driving-seat.
“Seth,” she said, and her face was slightly flushed, and a little sparkle of resentment was in her eyes, “when you find them I’ll go away. I never looked133at it as you do. Yes, I think I should like that heap of dollars.”
Seth smiled slowly. But he didn’t quite understand her answer.
“Wal, you see, Rosebud, I’m glad you take it that aways. You see it’s better you should go. Yes, much better.”
His thoughts had turned on the Reservations, that one direction in which they ever seemed to turn. Rosebud was thinking in another direction. Seth wanted to be rid of her, and was meanly cloaking his desire under the guise of her worldly welfare. The angry flush deepened, and she sat very erect with her head held high as she drove off. Nor did she turn for her parting shot.
“I hope you’ll find them; I want to go,” she said.
Seth made no answer. He watched her until the vehicle dropped down behind the brow of the farther slope. The girl’s attitude was as dignified as she could make it while she remained in view. After that it was different. And Seth failed to realize that he had not made his meaning plain. He saw that Rosebud was angry, but he did not pause to consider the cause of her anger.
He stood where she had left him for some time. He found his task harder than ever he had thought it would be. But his duty lay straight before him, and, with all his might, he would have hurried on his letter to England if he could. He knew he could see far ahead in the life of his little world as it affected134himself and those he loved. He might be a dull-witted lover, but he was keen and swift to scent danger here on the plains; and that was what he had already done. Cost him what it might, Rosebud must be protected, and this protection meant her removal.
He sighed and turned back to his work, but before he went on with it he opened and read the note which Rosebud had thought so unimportant.
He read it twice over.
“Little Black Fox applied for ’pass’ for hunting. He will probably leave the Reservation in three weeks’ time. He will take a considerable number of braves with him; I cannot refuse.“J. P.”
“Little Black Fox applied for ’pass’ for hunting. He will probably leave the Reservation in three weeks’ time. He will take a considerable number of braves with him; I cannot refuse.
“J. P.”
“J. P.”
135CHAPTER XIIITHE DEVOTION OF WANAHA
Nevil Steyne’s day’s labor, of whatever it consisted, was over. Wanaha had just lit the oil lamp which served her in her small home.
The man was stretched full length upon the bed, idly contemplating the dusky beauty who acknowledged his lordship, while she busied herself over her shining stove. His face wore a half smile, but his smile was in nowise connected with that which his eyes rested on.
Yet the sight he beheld was one to inspire pleasurable thoughts. For surely it falls to the lot of few men, however worthy, to inspire one woman with such a devotion as Wanaha yielded to him. Besides, she was a wonderful picture of beauty, colored it is true, but none the less fair for that. Her long black, braided hair, her delicate, high-bred face so delightfully gentle, and her great, soft black eyes which had almost, but not quite, lost that last latent glimmer of the old savage. Surely, she was worth the tenderest thought.
But Nevil’s thoughts were not with her, and his smile was inspired by his thoughts. The man’s mean, narrow face had nothing pleasant in it as he smiled. Some faces are like this. He was a degenerate136of the worst type; for he was a man who had slowly receded from a life of refinement, and mental retrogression finds painful expression on such a face. A ruffian from birth bears less outward trace, for his type is natural to him.
Wanaha always humored her husband’s moods, in which, perhaps, she made a grave error. She held silent until he chose to speak. And when she turned at last to arrange the supper table, he was so moved. The smile had died out of his thin face, and his pale blue eyes wore a look of anxious perplexity when he summoned her attention.
“Wana,” he said, as though rousing himself from a long worrying thought, “we must do something, my Wana. And—I hardly know what.”
The black eyes looked straight into the blue ones, and the latter shifted to the table on which the woman’s loving hands had carefully set the necessaries for supper.
“Tell me,” she said simply, “you who are clever—maybe I help.”
“That’s just it, my Wana. I believe you can. You have a keen brain. You always help me.”
Nevil relapsed into silence, and bit nervously at his thumb nail. The woman waited with the stoical patience of her race. But she was all interest, for had not the man appealed to her for help?
“It’s your brother,” Nevil said at last. “Your brother, and the white girl at the farm, Rosebud.”
“Yes.”137
The dark eyes suddenly lit. Here was a matter which lay very near her heart. She had thought so much about it. She had even dared at other times to speak to her husband on the subject, and advise him. Now he came to her.
“Yes,” the man went on, still with that look of perplexity in his shifty eyes; “perhaps I have been wrong. You have told me that I was. But, you see, I looked on your brother as a child almost. And if I let him talk of Rosebud, it was, as I once told you, because he is headstrong. But now he has gone far enough—too far. It must be stopped. The man is getting out of hand. He means to have her.”
Wanaha’s eyes dilated. Here indeed was a terrible prospect. She knew her brother as only a woman can know a man. She had not noted the melodramatic manner in which her husband had broken off.
“You say well. It must be stop. Tell your Wana your thought. We will pow-wow like great chiefs.”
“Well, that’s just it,” Nevil went on, rising and drawing up to the table. “I can’t see my way clearly. We can’t stop him in whatever he intends. He’s got some wild scheme in his head, I know; and I can’t persuade him. He’s obstinate as a mule.”
“It is so. Little Black Fox is fierce. He never listen. No. But you think much. You, who are clever more than all the wise men of my race.”138
Wanaha served her husband with his food. Whatever might be toward, her duty by him came first. Nevil sat eating in what appeared to be a moody silence. The velvety eyes watched his every expression, and, in sympathy, the woman’s face became troubled too.
“Well, of course we must warn—some one,” Nevil went on at last. “But the question is, who? If I go to the Agent, it’ll raise trouble. Parker is bullheaded, and sure to upset Black Fox. Likely he’ll stop his going hunting. If I warn old Rube Sampson it’ll amount to the same thing. He’ll go to the Agent. It must be either Seth or Rosebud.”
“Good, good,” assented the Indian woman eagerly. “You say it to Seth.”
Nevil ate silently for some minutes, while the woman looked on from her seat beside the stove. Whatever was troubling the man it did not interfere with his appetite. He ate coarsely, but his Indian wife only saw that he was healthily hungry.
“Yes, you’re right again, my Wana,” Nevil exclaimed, with apparent appreciation. “I’d prefer to tell Seth, but if I did he’d interfere in a manner that would be sure to rouse your brother’s suspicions. And you know what he is. He’d suspect me or you. He’d throw caution to the devil, and then there’d be trouble. It’s a delicate thing, but I can’t stand by and see anything happen to your chum, my Wana.”
“No; I love the paleface girl,” replied Wanaha, simply.139
“It comes to this,” Nevil went on, with something like eagerness in his manner. “We must warn her, and trust to her sense. And mind, I think she’s smart enough.”
“How?”
The woman’s dark eyes looked very directly into the man’s. Nevil was smiling again. His anxiety and perplexity seemed suddenly to have vanished, now that he had come to his point; as though the detailing of his fears to her had been the real source of his trouble.
“Why, I think it will be simple enough.”
The man left the table and came to the woman’s side. He laid one hand caressingly on her black hair, and she responded with a smiling upward glance of devotion. “See, you must tell her I want to speak with her. I can’t go to her. My presence at the farm is not welcome for one thing,” he said bitterly, “and, for another, in this matter I must not be seen anywhere near her. I’ve considered this thing well. She mustn’t come here either. No.”
He spoke reflectively, biting his long, fair moustache in that nervous way he so often betrayed.
“You, my Wana, must see her openly at the farm. You must tell her that I shall be in the river woods just below the bridge, cutting wood at sundown on Monday. That’s three days from now. She must come to me without being seen, and without letting any one know of her visit. The danger for me, for us, my Wana, is great, and so you must be extra140careful for all our sakes—and so must she. Then I will tell her all, and advise her.”
The woman’s eyes had never left his face. The trust and confidence her look expressed were almost touching. She did not question. She did not ask why she could not give the girl her warning. Yes, she understood. The proceeding appealed to her nature, for there is no being in the world to compare with the Indian when native cunning is required. She could do this thing. Was it not for Rosebud? But, above all, was it not for him? The honest man rarely puts faith in a woman’s capacity outside her domestic and social duties. The rascal is shrewder.
“It is a good way,” she said, in her deep, soft voice, after much thought. “And I go—yes. I tell her. I say to her that she must not speak. And she say ’yes.’ I know Rosebud. She clever too. She no child.” She paused, and the man moved away to his seat. She looked over at him and presently went on. “Rosebud, she love Seth. I know.”
Nevil suddenly swung round. Only the blind eyes of love could have failed to detect the absolute look of triumph which had leapt to the man’s face. Wanaha mistook the look for one of pleasure, and went on accordingly, feeling that she had struck the right note.
“Yes. And Seth, he love too. They are to each as the Sun and the Moon. But they not know this thing. She think Seth think she like sister. Like Black Fox and your Wana. But I know. I love141my man, so I see with live eyes. Yes, these love. So.” And the dark eyes melted with a consuming love for the man she was addressing.
Nevil sprang from his seat, and, crossing to the dark princess, kissed her with unwonted ardor.
“Good, my Wana; you are a gem. You see where I am blind.” And for once he was perfectly sincere.
“It good?” she questioned. Nevil nodded, and at once the woman went on. “So. I know much. Rosebud tell me much. She much angry with Seth. She say Seth always—always look for find her white folks. She not want them—these white folks. She love Seth. For her he is the world. So. She say Seth angry, and want her go away. Wana listen. Wana laugh inside. Wana love too. Seth good. He love her much—much. Then she say she think Seth find these white folks.”
“Seth has found Rosebud’s—folk?”
The man’s brows had drawn together over his shifty blue eyes, and a sinister look had replaced the look of triumph that had been there before.
“She say she think.”
“Ah! She only thinks.” Nevil’s thumb was at his mouth again.
“Yes.”
Wanaha finished. The change in the man’s face had checked her desire to pursue the subject. She did not understand its meaning, except that her talk142seemed no longer to please him; so she ceased. But Nevil was more interested than she thought.
“And what made her think so?” he asked sharply.
“She not say.”
“Ah, that’s a pity.”
The room became silent. The yellow light of the lamp threw vague shadows about, and these two made a dark, suggestive picture. The woman’s placid and now inscrutable face was in marked contrast to her husband’s. His displayed the swift vengeful thoughts passing behind it. His overshot jaws were clenched as closely as was physically possible, while his pallid eyes were more alight than Wanaha had ever seen them. As he sat there, biting his thumb so viciously, she wondered what had angered him.
“I don’t see how he could have found them,” he said at last, more to himself than to her. But she answered him with a quiet reassurance, yet not understanding why it was necessary.
“She only think,” she said.
“But he must have given her some cause to think,” he said testily. “I’m afraid you’re not as cute as I thought.”
Wanaha turned away. His words had caused her pain, but he did not heed. Suddenly his face cleared, and he laughed a little harshly.
“Never mind,” he said; “I doubt if he’ll lose her through that.”143
The ambiguity of his remark was lost upon the Indian. She heard the laugh and needed no more. She rose and began to clear the table, while Nevil stood in the open doorway and gazed out into the night.
Standing there, his face hidden from Wanaha, he took no trouble to disguise his thoughts. And from his expression his thoughts were pleasant enough, or at least satisfactory to him, which was all he could reasonably expect.
His face was directed toward White River Farm, and he was thinking chiefly of Seth, a man he hated for no stronger reason than his own loss of caste, his own degeneracy, while the other remained an honest man. The deepest hatreds often are founded on one’s own failings, one’s own obvious inferiority to another. He was thinking of that love which Wanaha had assured him Seth entertained for Rosebud, and he was glad. So glad that he forgot many things that he ought to have remembered. One amongst them was the fact that, whatever he might be, Wanaha was a good woman. And honesty never yet blended satisfactorily with rascality.