254CHAPTER XXIVROSEBUD’S FORTUNE
Something of the old spirit seemed to have gone out of Rosebud when Seth rode back to her. A strange fascination held her; and now, as he came up, she had no thought of questioning him, no desire. She was ready to obey. She watched the emaciated figure as it drew near with eyes that told a story which only he could have misinterpreted. She was ready for a scolding, a scolding which she felt she merited. But Seth made no attempt to blame her. And this very fact made her wish that he would.
“Say, Rosie, gal, I guess we’ll be gettin’ back,” he said, in a manner which suggested that they had been out together merely, and that it was time for returning.
“Yes, Seth.”
There was unusual humility in the reply. It may have been that the girl remembered that scene in the woods so many months ago. Perhaps the scene she had just witnessed had told her something that no explanations could have made so clear. Seth was always the dominating factor in their intercourse, but this outward submission was quite foreign to the girl.255
They rode off together, the man’s horse leading slightly. Neither spoke for a while, but Rosebud noticed that almost imperceptibly they had branched off and were heading for the bridge by unfrequented by-paths which frequently demanded their riding in Indian-file.
Seth displayed no haste and no inclination to talk, and the silence soon began to jar on the girl. It was one thing for her to give ready obedience, but to be led like some culprit marching to execution was something which roused her out of her docility. At the first opportunity she ranged her horse alongside her companion’s and asserted her presence.
“I want you to answer me a question, Seth,” she said quietly. “How did you get wounded?”
The man’s face never relaxed a muscle, but there was a dryness in the tone of his reply.
“Guess some bussock of a feller got monkeyin’ with a gun an’ didn’t know a heap.”
Rosebud favored him with a little knowing smile. They were still amidst the broken woodlands, and she was quick to observe her companion’s swift-moving eyes as they flashed this way and that in their ceaseless watchfulness.
“I’m not to be cheated. Some one shot at you who meant—business.”
“Guess I ain’t aware jest how he figgered, Rosie.” A smile accompanied Seth’s words this time.
“Well, who did it?”
“I never seen him; so I can’t rightly say.”256
“But you guess?”
“I ain’t good at guessin’.”
The girl laughed.
“Very well, I won’t bother you.”
Then after a little silence the man spoke again.
“Those letters of yours was mortal fine,” he said. “Seems to me I could most find my way around London, with its stores an’ nigglin’ trails. It’s a tol’ble city. A mighty good eddication, travelin’.”
“I suppose it is.” Rosebud seemed to have lost her desire for conversation.
“Makes you think some,” Seth went on, heedless of the girl’s abstraction. “Makes you feel as the sun don’t jest rise and set on your own p’tickler patch o’ ploughin’. Makes you feel you’re kind o’ like a grain o’ wheat at seedin’ time. I allow a man don’t amount to a heap noways.”
Rosebud turned on him with a bright smile in her wonderful eyes.
“That depends, Seth. I should say a man is as he chooses to make himself. I met a lot of men in England; some of them were much better than others. Some were extremely nice.”
“Ah.” Seth turned his earnest eyes on the girl’s face. He lost the significance of the mischievous down-turning of the corners of her mouth. “I guess them gilt-edge folk are a dandy lot. Y’ see them ’lords’ an’ such, they’ve got to be pretty nigh the mark.”
“Why, yes, I suppose they have.”257
There was another brief pause while the man’s eyes glanced keenly about.
“Maybe you mixed a deal with them sort o’ folk,” he went on presently.
“Oh, yes.” The violet eyes were again alight.
“Pretty tidy sort o’ fellers, eh?”
“Rather. I liked one or two very much—very much indeed. There was Bob—Bob Vinceps, you know—he was a splendid fellow. He was awfully nice to me. Took auntie and me everywhere. I wonder how he’s getting on. I must see if there’s a letter from him at Beacon. He asked me if he might write. And wasn’t it nice of him, Seth? He came all the way from London to Liverpool to see me, I mean us, off. It’s a long way—a dreadful long way.”
“Ah, mebbe when I go into Beacon Crossing I’ll fetch that letter out for you, Rosie.”
But Seth’s simple-heartedness—Rosebud called it “stupidity,”—was too much. The girl’s smile vanished in a second and she answered sharply.
“Thanks, I’ll get my own letters.” Then she went on demurely. “You see if there happened to be a letter from Bob I shouldn’t like auntie to see it. She is very—very—well, she mightn’t like it.”
“How?”
Seth looked squarely into the face beside him.
“She thinks—well, you see, she says I’m very young, and—and——”
“Ah, I tho’t mebbe ther’s suthin’ agin him. You258see, Rosie, ther’ mustn’t be anythin’ agin the man you marry. He’s got to be a jo-dandy clear thro’. I——”
“But I’m not going to marry Lord Vinceps, you silly, at least—I don’t think so. Besides,” as an afterthought, “it’s nothing to you who I marry.”
“Wal, no. Mebbe that’s so, only ef you’d get hitched, as the sayin’ is, to some mule-headed son of a gun that wa’n’t squar’ by you, I’d git around an’ drop him in his tracks, ef I had to cross the water to do it.”
Rosebud listened with a queer stirring at her heart, yet she could not repress the impatience she felt at the calm matter-of-fact manner in which the threat was made. The one redeeming point about it was that she knew one of Seth’s quiet assurances to be far more certain, far more deadly, than anybody’s else wildest spoken threats. However, she laughed as she answered him.
“Well, you won’t have to cross the ocean to find the man I marry. I’m not going to England again, except, perhaps, on a business visit. I intend to stay here, unless Pa and Ma turn me out.”
Seth caught his breath. For a second his whole face lit up.
“Say, I didn’t jest take you right,” he said. “You’re goin’ to stay right here?”
Rosebud gave a joyous little nod. She had stirred Seth out of his usual calm. There was no mistaking the light in his hollow eyes. He made no movement,259he spoke as quietly as ever, but the girl saw something in his eyes that set her heart beating like a steam hammer. The next moment she was chilled as though she had received a cold douche.
“Wal, I’m sorry,” he went on imperturbably. “Real sorry. Which I mean lookin’ at it reas’nable. ’Tain’t right. You belong ther’. Ther’s your folk an’ your property, an’ the dollars. You jest ought to fix up wi’ some high soundin’ feller——”
“Seth, mind your own business!”
Rosebud’s exasperation broke all bounds. If a look could have withered him Seth would have shriveled to bare bones. The next moment the girl’s lips trembled and two big tears rolled slowly down her cheeks. She urged her horse ahead of her companion and kept that lead until they had crossed the bridge. Seth’s eyes, busy in every other direction, had failed to witness her distress, just as he failed to take any heed of her words.
“You see, Rosie, ther’s a heap o’ trouble comin’ along here,” he said presently, when he had drawn level.
“Yes,” the girl replied, without turning her head; “and I’m going to stay for it. Auntie can go back when she likes, but this is my home, and—Seth, why do you always want to be rid of me?”
Seth remained silent for a moment. Then he spoke in a voice that was a little unsteady.
“I don’t want to be rid of you, Rosie. No; I’m jest thinkin’ of you,” he added.260
The old impulsive Rosebud was uppermost in an instant. She turned on him, and reached out a hand which he took in both of his.
“Seth, you are a dear, and I’m sorry for being so rude to you. It’s always been like this, hasn’t it? You’ve always thought of me, for me. I wish, sometimes, you wouldn’t think—for me.”
She withdrew her hand, and, touching her horse with her heel, galloped on toward the farm, leaving Seth to come on behind. She gave him no chance of overtaking her this time.
Supper-time brought a lively scene with it. Rosebud, for some unexplained reason, was in a more than usually contradictory mood. Mrs. Rickards had thoroughly enjoyed her day in spite of the sloppy condition of everything outside the house. She was a woman who took a deep interest in life. She was worldly and practical in all matters which she considered to be the business of a woman’s life, but her mental vision was not bounded by such a horizon.
Everything interested her, provided her personal comfort was not too much disturbed. The farm was strange, new, and as such was welcome, but Ma Sampson was a study which fascinated her. She was in the best of spirits when the little family gathered for the evening meal. This had been much elaborated by Ma in her visitors’ honor.
At this repast came her first real chance of observing Seth. She studied him for some time in silence while the others talked. Then she joined in the conversation261herself, and quickly contrived to twist it into the direction she required.
They were laughing over Rosebud’s attempt to scare her cousin with her threat of the Indians.
“You see, auntie,” the girl said roguishly, “you are a ’tenderfoot.’ It is always the privilege of ’old hands’ to ridicule newcomers. In your world there is little for you to learn. In ours you must be duly initiated.”
“In my world?” Mrs. Rickards smiled and raised her eyebrows. She had a pleasant smile which lit up her round fat face till she looked the picture of hearty good-nature. And she was on the whole decidedly good-natured. Only her good-nature never ran away with her. “My dear, why not your world also? This is not your world any longer.”
Ma smiled down upon the teapot, while the men waited expectantly. With all their simplicity, these people understood Rosebud as far as it was possible to understand her. Without appearing too keen, each watched the violet eyes as they opened wide and wondering by upon the cousin.
“Why, auntie! I—I don’t understand.”
“You belong to the same world as I do. Dakota no longer claims you.”
“You mean—England.” Rosebud laughed; and at least three people understood that laugh.
Mrs. Rickards turned to Ma.
“You know, Mrs. Sampson, Rosebud has never262yet regarded her position seriously. She is curiously situated—but pleasantly, if she will only enter into the spirit of her father’s will. Has she told you about it?”
Ma shook her head. The men went on with their meal in silence. At this point the subject of her aunt’s talk broke in.
“Go on, auntie, you tell the story. You are the prosecution, I am the defendant, and these are the judges. I’ll have my say last, so fire ahead.” There was a look of determination in the girl’s eyes as she laughingly challenged her aunt.
Mrs. Rickards smiled indulgently.
“Very well, my dear; but for goodness’ sake don’t be so slangy. Now Mrs. Sampson and—gentlemen of the jury. Is that right, Rosie?” The girl nodded, and her aunt went on. “You must quite understand I am entirely disinterested in Rosie’s affairs. My only interest is that I have found it possible to—er—tolerate this madcap, and she has found it possible to put up with me; in fact I am her nominal guardian—by mutual choice.”
“You’ve hit it dead centre, auntie,” interrupted the girl mischievously.
“Don’t interrupt or—I’ll clear the court. Well, the child comes to me fresh from the prairie. She is good as good can be; but she is quite helpless in her new life. And more than this she is burdened—I say it advisedly—with great wealth under, what I consider, an extraordinary will. How the colonel came263to make such a will I cannot understand. The only thing I can think of is that when that will was made he feared there might be some person or persons, possibly relatives, into whose hands she might fall, when she was young, and who might misuse her fortune. This is surmise. Anyway, after providing for her mother he leaves everything to Rosebud. But the legacy is not to take effect until the day she marries.
“Further, the property left to her mother devolved upon her at her mother’s death. This, of course, she has already inherited; the rest still remains in trust. Now, of course, as the child’s social mother, it is my first duty to watch the men with whom she comes into contact. I have given her every opportunity to meet the most eligible bachelors. Men of title and wealth. Men who cannot possibly be charged with fortune-hunting. What is the result? She sends them all to the right-about. She is positively rude to them—little barbarian. And the others—the undesirables—well, she just encourages them outrageously.”
“Oh, auntie!”
“Wait a minute. The prosecution has not done yet. Now, Mrs. Sampson, I ask you, what am I to do? The truth is she can marry whom she pleases. I have no power over her. I feel sure she will throw herself away on some dreadful, undesirable fortune-hunter. She is in such a position that no poor man can ask her to marry him without becoming a fortune-hunter.264Why, out of all the people she has met since she has been with me, who do you think she encourages? Quite the worst man I know. Lord Vinceps. He’s a peer, I know; but he’s poor, and up to his neck in debts. She is a great trial.”
She smiled fondly at the girl whose shortcomings were causing her so much anxiety. But there was no answering smile to meet hers. Rosebud’s face was serious for once, and her beautiful eyes quite cold. Mrs. Rickards had addressed herself to Ma, but the girl knew well enough, and resented the fact, that her words were meant for another. Rube and Seth still remained silent. But the impeachment was not allowed to pass unchallenged. Rosebud was up in arms at once.
“About Lord Vinceps, auntie; you know that is all nonsense. I don’t care if I never see him again. I understood him within five minutes of our meeting. And that understanding would never permit me to think twice about him. He is a cheerful companion; but—no, auntie, count him out. As for the others—no, thanks. The man I marry will have to be a man, some one who, when I do wrong, can figuratively take me across his knee. The man I marry must be my master, auntie. Don’t be shocked. I mean it. And I haven’t met such a man under your roof. You see all my ideas are savage, barbarous.”
The girl paused. Ma’s smile had broadened. Rosebud had not changed. Rube listened in open-mouthed astonishment. He was out of his depth,265but enjoying himself. Seth alone gave no sign of approval or otherwise.
“Now, look here, auntie,” Rosebud had gathered herself together for a final blow. One little hand was clenched, and it rested on the edge of the table ready to emphasize her words. “I do regard my position seriously. But I have to live my life myself, and will not be trammeled by any conventions of your social world. I’ll marry whom I please, because I want to, and not because the world says I ought to do so. Rest assured, I won’t marry any fortune-hunter. The man I marry I shall be able to love, honor, and obey, or I’ll not marry at all.”
The girl suddenly rose from her seat. Her color heightened. There was something in her manner that kept her aunt’s eyes fixed upon her in wondering anticipation. She watched her move round the table and lean over and kiss Ma on the crown of the head, and then pass on to Rube, round whose neck she gently placed her arms. Thus she stood for a second looking smilingly over the great rough head across at Ma, who, like the others, was wondering what was coming.
“Furthermore I am not going back to England any more unless I am turned out of here. You won’t turn me out, Pa, will you?” She bent down and softly rubbed her cheek against Rube’s bristling face.
There was a dead silence. Then Mrs. Rickards broke in weakly.266
“But—but your—property?”
“I arranged that with Mr. Irvine before I came out. It’s no use, auntie, I am quite determined. That is—you won’t—you won’t turn me out, Pa, will you? I’ll be so good. I’ll never do anything wrong, and I’ll—I’ll even hoe potatoes if any one wants me to.”
The girl’s laughing eyes shot a mischievous glance in Seth’s direction. Rube raised one great hand and drew her face to his and kissed her.
“Guess this is your home if you’ve a notion to it, Rosie, gal. Guess Ma wants you, jest as we all do.”
Ma nodded and beamed through her glasses. Seth smiled in his slow fashion.
“An’ I guess I ain’t bustin’ fer you to hoe p’taters neither,” he said.
For a moment Mrs. Rickards looked about her helplessly; she hardly knew what to say. Then, at last, she, too, joined in the spirit which pervaded the party.
“Well, you are the strangest creature—but there, I said you were a little savage, and so did Mr. Seth.”
267CHAPTER XXVIN WHICH THE UNDERCURRENT BELIES THE SUPERFICIAL CALM
THE snow is gone, and the earth is passing through a process of airing. The sun licks up the moisture like some creature possessed of an unquenchable thirst. Wherever it is sufficiently dry the settlers are already at work seeding. Some are even breaking virgin soil, or turning over old ploughing. There is an atmosphere of leisurely industry about the plains. Even in these unsettled regions work goes forward with precision. The farmer’s life is one of routine with which he permits nothing to interfere. He lives by the fruits of the earth which ripen in due season. If fortune favors him he reaps the harvest. Whatever his lot he must accept it. The elements rule his life. The Indians may or may not disorganize the process.
The folk on White River Farm are in no way behind their neighbors. Seth’s returning strength permits him to take his share in the work, and thus Rube finds his burden lightened. But only partially, for Seth has much else to do, or seems to have, for he has many comings and goings which take up time.
Mrs. Rickards is still staying on at the farm. She thoroughly enjoys this new, simple life. Besides, in268the brief fortnight which has elapsed since her coming, she has learnt something of the true worth, the wonderful kindliness and honesty of these frontier-folk.
Even Seth, whom at first she was less certain about, she has learned to look upon with favor. His silent, direct fashion of going through his daily life has given her an inkling of qualities, which, if not altogether companionable, show a manliness she has not always been accustomed to.
Her change of opinion found vent one night at bedtime. Rosebud listened to the worldly-wise woman’s remarks with a glow of pleasure and pride.
“Seth is a queer fellow, Rosie, so darkly reticent and all that,” she said, with a thoughtful smile. “Do you know I sometimes think if I were in great danger—personal danger, you know—he’s the sort of man I’d like to have about. He gives me the impression of a great reserve of strength. He is what one might—well, what you would call a ‘man.’”
Rosebud added her word without the least hesitation.
“He’s more than that, auntie; he’s the bravest and best man in the world.”
“Just so, my dear; and in consequence you don’t want to return to England,” Mrs. Rickards said slyly.
Rosebud encountered the glance which accompanied the words. She shook her head with a little despairing gesture.269
“But he loves me only as a sort of daughter.”
“Does he, my dear?”
Mrs. Rickards’ tone was quite incredulous; she was at home in matters of love and marriage.
The object of all this thought went about blissfully unconscious of the heart stirrings he was causing. Every moment of his life was full—full to the brim and even overflowing. There was not a settler in the district whom he had not visited during the fortnight. And his business was with the men alone.
The result of his visits would have been visible to the eye of only the most experienced. Work went on the same as before, but there were many half hours which might have been spent in well-earned idleness now devoted by the men to a quiet, undemonstrative overhauling of their armory.
As it was at these outlying farms so it was at White River. In the short twilight of evening Rube and Seth would wander round their buildings and the stockade, noting this defect, suggesting this alteration, or that repair. All their ideas were based on the single thought of emergency. Large supplies of cord-wood were brought in and stacked on the inner side of the stockade, thus adding to its powers of resistance. Every now and then Ma would receive casually dropped hints on the subject of her storeroom. A large supply of ammunition arrived from Beacon Crossing. Many cases of tinned provisions came along, and Ma, wondering, took them270in without question or comment at the time. Later in the day when she happened to find Seth alone she told him of them, adopting a casual tone, the tone which these people invariably assumed when the signs of the times wore their most significant aspect.
“There was a heap of canned truck come from the Crossing, Seth,” she said. “I laid it down in the cellars. Maybe you sent it along?”
And Seth replied—
“Why, yes, Ma. I figgered we’d like a change from fresh meat. You see I happened along to Beacon Crossing, an’ I guessed I’d save a journey later.”
“I see.”
Ma’s bright old eyes read all there was underlying her boy’s words, and she, like the rest, continued steadily on with her work.
So the days crept slowly by. Now the snow and ice were gone, and the tawny hue of the prairie was tinged with that perfect emerald of budding spring. The woodlands of the river and the Reservation had lost their barren blackness. The earth was opening its eyes and stretching itself after its months of heavy slumber. Life was in the very air of the plains. The whole world seemed to be bursting with renewed life.
Seth was now restored to something like his old self. His vigor was a thing to marvel at. His regular day’s work was only a tithe of what he did.271That which went on after the rest of the household had retired to rest was known to only two others. Rube possessed the younger man’s confidence, and Jimmy Parker was in constant communication with him. Seth and the latter worked hand in hand for the common welfare, but they were silent. Each knew the character of the dangers which ever surrounded them. Each knew that an absolute silence and apparent indifference were the only means of learning the plans, the meaning of the furtive unrest of the warlike Sioux. All that they learned was carefully stored and docketed for future reference.
Parker’s responsibility was official. Seth’s was voluntary and humanitarian. Now he had a double incentive. Rosebud was in danger. He knew that he alone stood between her and the treacherous machinations of Nevil Steyne, and the lawless passion of an unscrupulous savage. He dared not spare himself. He must know of every movement on the Reservation. He quite understood the men he was dealing with. He knew the motive of each. All he hoped was that he might prove himself just a shade cleverer, a shade quicker in emergency when the time came for him to act.
It was impossible, however, that Seth should leave the house night after night and no member of the household be the wiser. Oddly enough it was Mrs. Rickards’ maid who discovered his movements. She, with a discretion which a confidential servant272may always be expected to possess, whispered her discovery to her mistress, and her mistress was not slow in drawing Rosebud’s attention. As they were retiring one night she told the girl of her maid’s discovery.
“Janet tells me that Mr. Seth goes out every night and doesn’t return till two or three in the morning, Rosie,” she said abruptly, as she was preparing for bed. “You know the girl sleeps over the kitchen, and some nights ago she saw him ride off from the barn in the moonlight. Last night she was awake when he got back. It was daylight. I wonder where he goes?”
Rosebud responded in a matter-of-fact tone, but with a quick look at her friend.
“I wonder.”
Mrs. Rickards wondered and speculated on, but Rosebud’s manner gave her no encouragement, and she was fain to let the matter drop. There was no malice in her remarks, but a very profound curiosity.
Her announcement had its effect.
The next night Rosebud did not go to bed after retiring to their room. She made no explanation, merely telling her aunt that she was not going to bed yet. And Mrs. Rickards nodded a comprehensive smile at her.
The girl waited a reasonable time till she thought the others were asleep, then she crept softly down-stairs. She went into the kitchen, but it was dark and empty. The parlor was also in darkness, except273for the moonlight pouring in through the window. But as she stood in the doorway, peering closely into the remoter corners, she felt a cool draught playing upon her face. Then she saw that the door opening on the verandah was open.
She walked across the room, and, looking out on the moonlit scene, was promptly greeted by a low growl from General. The next moment she stepped out, and beheld Seth’s tall figure leaning against one of the great gate-posts of the stockade, while General came over to her and rubbed his keen nose against her skirts.
Just for a moment she hesitated. It suddenly occurred to her that her action might be construed into spying, and she was possessed by a sense of shame at the bare thought. She knew that she was not spying in the baser sense of the word. She had no doubts of Seth. Instinct told her why he was out. She had come to find out the facts, but not by spying. She meant to question him.
She felt her heart thumping in her chest as she stepped quickly across the verandah. She was nervous, and a strange feeling of shyness made her long to turn back before the man became aware of her presence. But she controlled the impulse, and, though feeling herself flush in the cool air of the night, walked bravely on.
She believed she was unobserved. Her slippers gave out no sound, but as she came within a few yards of the still figure, the man’s voice greeted her.274
“Thought you was abed, Rosie.”
The girl started at the sound. Seth had not moved, had not even turned his head. Then she answered.
“How did you know I was here?” she said quickly.
“Guess I heard General talkin’ to you.”
She was at his side now.
“But you never looked round?”
“Ef it was Rube, I’d have heard his feet. Ma ain’t wanderin’ around o’ nights. An’ I guess your auntie ain’t bustin’ fer a moonlight ramble. It didn’t need a heap o’ figgerin’.”
Rosebud had no answer ready. The argument was so simple.
A brief silence fell, while both looked out across the moonlit plains at the dark line of distant woods. There was a slight glow in the sky in two different directions. One was away over the Pine Ridge Reservation, the other was nearer at hand, but on the far side of the Rosebud Reservation. The girl saw these things and they held her silent. Her breathing came quickly. There was a sensation of excitement running through her body. She knew these lights were what Seth was staring at.
The man stirred at last.
“Guess you’d best git back to bed, Rosie,” he said. “I’m goin’ to saddle up my plug. I’m goin’ to ride some.”
“Where are you going?” The girl’s question came with a little nervous energy.275
The man turned upon her gravely.
“I’m meetin’ Parker to-night,” he said briefly.
“What for?” The violet eyes held the other’s with their steady gaze. The pretty, irregular face was set and determined.
Seth moved. Then he turned away to glance at the lurid reflection in the sky. Presently his eyes came back to her face.
“It’s them,” he said, indicating the reflected fires.
“And what are they?” Rosebud’s voice was quietly commanding. The irresponsible girl had gone from the woman talking now.
“Sun-dances. They’re doin’ it at night to cover their tracks. The Injuns are gettin’ wise.”
“You mean?”
There was no avoiding the sharp, direct questioning.
“We’re goin’ to git it, and when it comes it’ll be—sudden. Sudden an’ bad. It’s both Reservations. All of ’em.”
Rosebud was silent. Her wide open eyes were on the lights, but her thoughts were on other things,—so many other things, that her head whirled. At last she spoke again, in a tense, nervous manner.
“Tell me about it. Tell me all.”
Seth shook his head.
“Ther’ ain’t a deal.”
“Tell me.”
“See you, Rosie, ef I go out o’ here presently, will276you jest close these gates an’ fix ’em? An’ will you be up to open ’em for me?”
“Yes. But tell me.”
Seth gazed at the horizon again.
“As I said, ther’ ain’t much,” he began presently. “This has been goin’ on fer days. Ther’s Injuns out most every night, an’ they are lyin’ this side o’ the fort. They’re all about it, an’ them soldier-fellers ain’t wise to it. What’s more we darsen’t to put ’em wise. They’re li’ble to butt right in, an’ then ther’ won’t be any stoppin’ them pesky redskins. Y’ see ther’s only a handful at the fort, an’ the Injuns could eat ’em.”
“Yes, you always said it was a mistake to bluff with soldiers so near the Reservation. I suppose the Indians resent their presence. Is that it?”
“Mebbe.”
“There’s another reason?”
“Can’t rightly say.”
Rosebud knew that the man was prevaricating.
She stood lost in thought for some moments. And as she thought a sudden light came to her. She drew closer to her companion and laid one hand on his arm.
“I think I see, Seth,” she said, and then became silent.
The man moved, and his action was almost a rebuff. That touch had stirred him. The gentle pressure of her hand sent the blood coursing through his277veins, and he restrained the hot, passionate words that sprang to his lips only with a great effort. The girl accepted his movement as a rebuff and shrank away. But she spoke vehemently.
“If I’d only thought—oh, if I’d only thought! I should have known. All that has gone before should have told me. It is my coming back that has precipitated matters.” Her voice had sunk to a low tone of humility and self-accusation. “And, Seth, now I understand why you were shot. It was Little Black Fox. And I, fool that I was, dared to show myself on the Reservation. And he saw me. I might have known, I might have known.”
There was a piteous ring in her low tones. Seth stirred again, but she went on desperately.
“Yes, I see it all. A descent will be made upon us, upon this farm. You will be done to death for me. Ma and Pa, and auntie and—and you.”
She paused, but went on again at once.
“Yes, and I see further now. I see what you have already grasped. They have these scouts out around the fort to watch. When it comes they mean to cut the soldiers off. There will be no help for us. Only—only this stockade. Oh, Seth, how can you forgive me! You and Pa have foreseen all this trouble. And you have prepared for it all you can. Is there no help? Can I do nothing to atone for what I have done? You stand there without a word of blame for me. You never blame me—any of you. I wish I were dead! Seth, why don’t you kill me?”278
But as the girl’s hysterical outburst reached its culminating point, Seth regained perfect mastery of himself. He noted the rush of tears which followed her words with a pang of infinite pity, but he told himself that he dare not attempt to comfort her. Instead, his calm voice, with its wonderful power of reassurance, fell upon the stillness of the night.
“Little gal, things are jest as they must be. The blame is on me fer not bein’ quicker an’ handier wi’ my gun when I had the chance. But, howsum, Parker’s a hefty man. He ken think an’ act quick. We’re ready, far as we ken be.”
Rosebud dried her tears. Never in her life had Seth appeared to her as he appeared now. The steady, unruffled purpose of the man exalted him in her eyes to an impossible position. Somehow the feelings he roused in her lifted her out of her womanly weakness. She, too, was capable of great, unswerving devotion, but she did not realize it. She only felt that she, too, must bear her part in whatever fortune had in store for them. She would range herself beside this man and share in his success or failure. If it were to be failure she was ready to die at his side. If it were success—a great exultation swept over her at the thought. She went no further. Success at his side would be worth—everything.
“Tell me what I can do—anything!” she cried. Her tone was low, but it rang with a note the man had never heard in it before. There was a joy in279it that startled him. “Seth, I believe—I know—I want to—to fight. My blood is running like fire. Tell me what I am to do.”
It was a few moments before Seth answered her. He was thinking hard. He knew she could do much. But he was debating with himself. A great pride was his as he contemplated the small face with its wonderful eyes out of which looked such steadfast courage. He, too, thrilled at the thought of fighting at her side, but he tried to tell himself that he had no right to ask anything of her. Perhaps Rosebud saw the drift of his thoughts in his face, for she gave him no chance of denial.
“Yes, the gates. That’s all right. I understand. Now, what else? Can’t I reconnoitre, or—or something in the meantime?”
Her enthusiasm carried the day.
“No, I guess not. But——”
“Yes, yes——”
“See, Rosie, we want time. I kind o’ think it’s to-morrow. Parker thinks so too. So does Hargreaves. We may be wrong. But—see right here, I’m due back here by two o’clock sure. If I’m not here by ten minutes after ther’s this you ken do. Go straight back o’ the barn ’bout a hundred paces; on the hill are two bunches of stuff piled up, one’s wood, t’other’s dried grass an’ stuff. You go right out an’ kindle ’em both. They’re signals to the settlers around. Guess ther’s eyes watchin’ for ’em at every farm. When you see ’em burnin’ steady, git right back and280rouse Rube an’ Ma. I’ll git back later—sure. An’ ther’ll be others with me.”
“Yes. Anything more?”
“Nope. I ’lows I’ll saddle up.”
They walked back to the barn in silence. Seth saddled his horse and brought him out. Together they walked to the gate of the stockade. They still remained silent. At the gate the man mounted. Rosebud, very frail looking in the moonlight, stood beside him smoothing the horse’s silky neck. Her face was anxious but determined. Suddenly she looked up. Her great eyes were full of appeal. There was no wavering in her gaze, nothing but sincerity and appeal.
“Seth, dear,” she said in a steady voice, “be careful of yourself—for my sake.” Then, lowering her gaze, and turning to the distant reflection of the fires, “Remember, we all depend on you.”
“I’ll remember, Rosie, gal,” the man replied, with a tender inflection he could not altogether repress. “So long.”
The horse moved away with General at its heels.
For a long time Rosebud stood where the parting had left her. Now that Seth had gone she was a prey to every womanly anxiety. And her anxiety was solely for him. None of those peacefully slumbering in the house entered into her thoughts. Her care was for this one man; his image filled her heart. At that moment hers was the selfishness of a maiden’s281first great love. Even in her anxiety her thoughts were not unhappy ones.
At last she moved away, and with the action came a desire to do. Unknown to her the spirit of her dead father and mother roused within her. She was a woman, gentle, loving, but strong with an invincible courage which had been handed down to her from those two brave souls of whom she had no recollection. Time would prove if the tragedy of the parents should fall upon the child.
Quietly she stole up-stairs to her bedroom. Her cousin was still sleeping. She opened a chest of drawers and drew out an old leather belt filled with ammunition, and bearing two holsters containing a pair of revolvers. These had been a present from Seth in the old days. She loaded both weapons, and then secured them about her waist. Then she closed the drawer, and crept noiselessly down-stairs again.
She made her way out into the moonlight. Passing out of the stockade she located the exact position of the beacon-fires. The forethought in their arrangement pleased her. She understood that the wood-fire was for night, and the grass and dung for day. The smoke of the latter would be easily detected in the brightest sunlight. She came back and barred the gates, and sat out on the verandah with a small metal clock beside her. Thus her vigil began.
The time crept by. Twelve, one, two o’clock. Seth had not returned. She gave him the exact ten282minutes’ grace. Then, her face pale and a little drawn by the unaccustomed strain, she went out and lit the beacons. She obeyed implicitly. There was no haste, no fear. Her heart was thumping hard in her bosom as she came and went, but it was not with fear.
Finally she roused Rube and Ma. Returning to the verandah she was in time to answer a sharp summons at the gates. To her dismay she discovered that Seth had not returned. The Agent and Mr. Hargreaves had brought their womenfolk. The minister greeted the girl with a quiet announcement which lost nothing of its significance by the easy manner in which it was made.
“They’re out, Rosie,” he said. And a moment later the gates were closed behind the party.
283CHAPTER XXVITHE SUN-DANCE
The pale moon shone down upon a strange scene.
Four great fires marked the limits of a wide clearing. And these were set with consummate accuracy at the cardinal points. Superstition demanded this setting.
The ruddy glow threw into uncertain relief the faces and unkempt figures of a vast concourse of men and women gathered, in one great circle, within the boundary limits of the fires. On the faces of all was an expression of fierce revelry. A dark setting completed the picture. Beyond the fires all was shadow, profound, ghostly. The woods in all directions closed in that weird concourse of beings, and even the devilish light of the fires could not relieve the savagery of the scene.
Like the hub of a gigantic wheel, in the midst of the circle stood a cluster of leafless trees, mighty patriarchs, gnarled and twisted, with great overhanging limbs as stout and rugged as only hoary age can make them.
The clearing inside the human circle was empty for a time, but the crowd without was momentarily increasing, augmented by an incessant stream of284dusky, silent figures pouring from the adjacent forest depths. As the minutes wore on the human tide slackened; it became broken, finally it ceased altogether. Men, women and children, all the able-bodied inhabitants of the Rosebud Reservation had foregathered, and the significance of the gathering could not be mistaken.
Now a distant murmur comes from out of the blackness of the woods. At first it is low, faint, and without character. But it grows, it gains in power till its raucous din breaks upon the waiting multitude, and immediately a responsive murmur rises from ten thousand voices. Those who hear know the meaning of the discordant noise. The “med’cine” men of the tribe are approaching, chanting airs which accord with their “med’cine,” and serve at the same time to herald the coming of the great Sioux chief, Little Black Fox.
Nearer and nearer, louder and louder. All eyes are upon the black fringe of the forest where the trees no longer have power to obstruct the moonlight. And of a sudden a number of writhing, twisting figures come dancing into view.
They draw nearer to the expectant throng. Necks are craned, eyes are straining to watch the antics so significant to these creatures of superstition. For have not these strange beings power to invoke the spirits, to drive away evil influence from the path of him whose approach they herald?
They reach the clearing; they leap within the285human circle. Their painted faces are distorted with the effort of their wild exertions; their befeathered heads are rendered still more hideous by the lurid blending of conflicting lights. Thirty creatures, hardly recognizable as human beings, dance to the accompaniment of a strange crooning of the women onlookers; to the beating of sad-toned drums, and the harsh scraping of stringed instruments. But the dance is marked by a distinct time. It has unmistakable features and figures, and it proceeds to its natural finish which leaves the dancers prostrate upon the ground, with their faces pressed hard into the dusty earth. It is a wild scene.
But the Sun-dance has only begun. There is much to follow.
Now a single figure moves out of the crowd, and takes its position in the arena. It is the young chief. His attitude is one of sublime dignity. His erect figure and haughty carriage bear the indelible stamp of his illustrious forbears. Silently he raises one hand, and a deathly hush falls upon his people.
And Little Black Fox speaks.
Tall, handsome, lithe, a frame of great bone and smooth sinewy muscle, he is an imposing figure. He wears no blanket, just the buckskin, beaded as becomes his high rank.
He harangues mightily, now working himself into an almost uncontrolled fury, again letting his voice die down to that plaintive, musical note which alone belongs to the Sioux tongue. And his speech is of286war—wild, fierce, unreasonable war, such as his people love. He is thrilling with the untamed spirit of his ancestors, and every word he utters carries a ready conviction to the untutored souls to whom it is addressed.
He sweeps on in a torrential flow of passion, and those who listen are roused at once to a savage enthusiasm. There are no interruptions. The oration is received in complete silence. These are Indians taken into their sovereign’s council; they are there to hear while the young brave pronounces, with all the fire of his ardent, aboriginal nature, the doom of their white masters.
The wise men of the council are grouped together and sit aloof. They sit like mummies, smoking, and with every appearance of indifference. But their ears are wide open. One alone displays interest, and it is noticeable that he is different from all the rest of the aged group. He is younger. He has blue eyes and fair hair, and his skin is pale. Yet he, too, is blanketed like his companions. He listens acutely to the end of the speech. Then he silently moves away, and, unheeded, becomes lost in the adjacent woods.
As the chieftain’s last words die away the men of “med’cine” rise from their groveling attitude and a fresh dance begins. But this time it is not confined to the clearing. It is one which launches them into the midst of the audience. Hither and thither they caper, and from their tracks emerge a number of287very young men. It might be that this is the “Dance of Selection,” for it undoubtedly has the result of bringing forth a number of striplings from the ranks of the onlookers.
The dancers have made the complete circuit, and about one hundred young men, little more than boys, join in the great Sun-dance.
Now ensues one of the most terrible scenes of human barbarity conceivable. In the course of the dance the “med’cine” men seize upon each of the willing victims in turn. On the breast of each boy incisions are made with long, keen knives; two parallel incisions on each side of the chest. The flesh between each two of these is then literally torn from the underlying tissues, and a rough stick is thrust through the gaping wounds. So the would-be brave is spitted.
Now a rawhide rope is attached to the centre of the stick, the end of it is thrown over the gnarled limb of one of the trees in the centre of the clearing, and the youth is lifted from the ground and remains suspended, the whole weight of his body borne by the two straps of bloody flesh cut from his chest.
The dance proceeds until each youth is spitted and suspended from the central cluster of trees, then, with one accord, the men of the audience break from their places and join in the war-dance. They dance about the victims with a fierce glee like hundreds of fiends; they beat them, they slash them with knives, they thrust lighted brands upon the288fresh young flesh till it blisters and throws out nauseous odors. Their acts are acts of diabolical torture, inconceivably savage. But the worst agony is endured in desperate silence by each victim. That is, by all but one.
Out of all the number hanging like dead men upon the trees only one youth finds the torture unendurable.
He cries aloud for mercy, and his shrieks rise high above the pandemonium going on about him.
Instantly he is cut down, the stick is removed from his body, and he is driven from the ceremony by the waiting squaws, amidst a storm of feminine vituperation. He is the only one whose heart is faint. He will never be permitted to fight. He must live with the squaws all his days. He is considered a squaw-man, the greatest indignity that can be put upon him.
Thus are the braves made.
While the Sun-dance was still at its height two men who had taken no part in it, except that of secret spectators, moved quickly and silently away through the forest. Their gait was almost a flight, but not of fear.
Ten minutes of half running and half walking brought them to a spot where two horses were tethered under the guardianship of the fierce General. Here they mounted, and, without a word, proceeded with all speed in the direction of the Agency.
At the door they halted, and Seth spoke for the289first time since leaving the Sun-dance. Parker had already dismounted, but the other remained in his saddle.
“Say, you’ll move right off,” he said quickly, “an’ git Hargreaves an’ his wimminfolk clear, too. Guess you’ll make the farm ’fore me, sure. Take the bridge for it. Rosebud ’ll let you in. Guess you’ll find plenty o’ company ’fore daylight. Rosie ’ll see to the signals.”
“Yes,” Parker nodded. “They’re moving to-night. This is a carefully planned surprise.”
Seth glanced at the eastern sky.
“Four hours to daylight,” he mused. Then: “Yes, guess there’s more’n Black Fox’s hand in this. So long.”
He rode off with his faithful dog at his heels, making for the ford, and watchful of every shadow as he went. His night’s work was yet only half done.
Crossing the river he climbed the opposite bank and rode out upon the prairie. Making a wide detour he came to within a hundred yards of the front of Nevil Steyne’s hut. Here he halted and dismounted. Crouching upon the ground he scanned the sky-line carefully in every direction. At last he seemed satisfied, and, flinging his bridle reins to the dog, who promptly took them in his powerful jaws and quietly sat down in front of the horse’s head, moved cautiously forward.
In a few moments he came upon two horses standing asleep, tethered by long ropes to picket-pins.290One of these he released and led back to his own. Then he remounted and rode on. Again he circled wide of his destination, and this time struck into the woods that lined the river. His way now lay down the black aisles of tree trunks which he pursued until he came to a spot he was evidently in search of. Then he again dismounted, and, entrusting the two horses to the dog’s care, moved forward on foot.
With unerring judgment he broke cover directly in rear of Nevil’s log hut. There was neither window nor door on this side, a fact which he was evidently aware of, for, without hesitation, but with movements as silent as any Indian, he crept round to the front, and sidled to the window. Here there was a light shining dully, but no means of obtaining a view of the interior. He moved on, and, crouching at the doorway, listened intently. A few seconds satisfied him. Wanaha was inside; she was awake, for he heard her moving about. He knew at once that Nevil was out.
With a satisfied sigh he moved away. This time he walked eastward toward the bridge, keeping close in the shadow of the woods. A couple of hundred yards from the hut he stopped and took up a position just within the shelter of the undergrowth, whence he had a perfect view of the open plain in front, and yet was sufficiently sheltered by the echoing woods to hear the least movement of any one passing that way. And so he waited.
Nor did he wait long. Eyes and ears trained to291this sort of work were kept ever on the alert. But it was his ears which told him at last of some one approaching. Some one was moving through the woods. The sound was faint and distant, but he heard it. There was no mistake. And he knew it was Nevil Steyne returning home.
Clearing the brush he made his way into the midst of the aisles of leafless tree-trunks. Pausing in the shadow of one of the forest giants he waited. The footsteps came nearer. He shifted his position again; for his ears told him that he was not yet on the track which Nevil would take.
At last, however, he came to a stand, and did not move again. Guided by a wonderful hearing, he knew that he was in a direct line between the man approaching and his home.
He leant against a tree, his eyes and ears straining. Some few yards away there was a shaft of moonlight stretching right across the path which Nevil must take, and on this path Seth kept his eyes.
The man came on all unconscious of who and what was awaiting him. He had no thought of his presence at the Sun-dance having been detected. His thoughts were on what the morrow was to bring forth; on what it would mean to him when Rosebud was removed from his path. She alone stood between him and that which he had schemed for ever since the arrival of the memorable letter from his brother. He was in a mood of intense satisfaction. He knew that at last he was to realize his desires,292that at last he was to pay off a long score which he owed Seth of White River Farm.
He stepped into the moonlit patch. The sudden flash of light made him pause. It startled him. He looked beyond apprehensively, then he looked up, and the great moon above reassured him. He moved on. The next moment he stopped dead. He could proceed no further. A ring of metal was pressing against his forehead, and Seth was behind it, and his smooth, even voice, coldly compelling, held him.
“Say, I’ve been lookin’ fer you,” it said. “You’re comin’ right up to the farm. The Injuns are out. Savee? Jest fer once you’re goin’ to work on our side. Say, you’re goin’ to fight ’em—with us.”
There was a deathly silence. Neither moved. The gun was pressing the man’s forehead still. Nevil stood like one paralyzed.
“Wal?” questioned the cold voice, proceeding from Seth’s shadowy figure.
And Nevil was driven to speech.
“I’m not a fighting man. I——”
But his denial was cut short.
“You’ve jest got ten seconds to make up your mind. You’re goin’ to fight—for us, or——”
Seth had in no way raised his tones from the cold level of his manner at the beginning. His victim had only a shadowy impression of him. He saw only a hazy outline in the blackness of the forest; and he needed no further sight to convince him. There was sufficient in the tone, and in the pressure293of the gun at his head. He knew the rest. Here was a sudden collapse of all his schemes. There could be no resistance. Seth had the drop on him.
“I’ll go,” he said sullenly.