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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/23178-h.zip b/23178-h.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..f5a1f55 --- /dev/null +++ b/23178-h.zip diff --git a/23178-h/23178-h.htm b/23178-h/23178-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..791ec5c --- /dev/null +++ b/23178-h/23178-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,932 @@ +<?xml version="1.0" encoding="us-ascii"?> + +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd" > + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" lang="en"> + <head> + <title> + The Indian's Hand, by Lorimer Stoddard + </title> + <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> + + body { margin:5%; background:#faebd0; text-align:justify} + P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } + hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} + .foot { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; text-indent: -3em; font-size: 90%; } + blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} + .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} + .toc2 { margin-left: 20%;} + div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; } + div.middle { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; } + .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} + .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} + .pagenum {display:inline; font-size: 70%; font-style:normal; + margin: 0; padding: 0; position: absolute; right: 1%; + text-align: right;} + pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} + +</style> + </head> + <body> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Indian's Hand, by Lorimer Stoddard + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Indian's Hand + 1892 + +Author: Lorimer Stoddard + +Release Date: October 24, 2007 [EBook #23178] +Last Updated: February 6, 2013 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE INDIAN'S HAND *** + + + + +Produced by David Widger + + + + + +</pre> + <div style="height: 8em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h1> + THE INDIAN'S HAND + </h1> + <h2> + By Lorimer Stoddard + </h2> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <h4> + Copyright, 1892, by J. B. Lippincott & Co. + </h4> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <p> + The men had driven away. Their carts and horses disappeared behind the + roll of the low hills. They appeared now and then, like boats on the crest + of a wave, further each time. And their laughter and singing and shouts + grew fainter as the bushes hid them from sight. + </p> + <p> + The women and children remained, with two old men to protect them. They + might have gone too, the hunters said. "What harm could come in the broad + daylight?—the bears and panthers were far away. They'd be back by + night, with only two carts to fill." + </p> + <p> + Then Jim, the crack shot of the settlement, said, "We'll drive home the + bears in the carts." + </p> + <p> + The children shouted and danced as they thought of the sport to come, of + the hunters' return with their game, of the bonfires they always built. + </p> + <p> + One pale woman clung to her husband's arm. "But the Indians!" she said. + </p> + <p> + That made the men all laugh. "Indians!" they cried; "why, there've been + none here for twenty years! We drove them away, down there"—pointing + across the plain—"to a hotter place than this, where the sand burns + their feet and they ride for days for water." + </p> + <p> + The pale woman murmured, "Ah, but they returned." + </p> + <p> + "Yes," cried her big husband, whose brown beard covered his chest, "and + burned two cabins. Small harm they did, the curs!" + </p> + <p> + "Hush," said the pale woman, pressing her husband's arm; and the men + around were quiet, pretending to fix their saddles, as they glanced at + another woman, dressed in black, who turned and went into her house. + </p> + <p> + "I forgot her boy," said the bearded man, as he gravely picked up his gun. + </p> + <p> + They started off in the morning cool, toward the mountains where the trees + grew. And the long shadows lessened as the sun crept up the sky. + </p> + <p> + The woman in black stood silent by her door. No one bade her good-by. The + other women went back to their houses to work. The children played in the + dust; clouds rose as they shouted and ran. A day's freedom lay before + them. + </p> + <p> + But the woman in black still stood by her door, like a spectre in the + sunshine, her thin hands clasped together as she gazed away over the plain + toward Mexico. + </p> + <p> + Her face was parched and drawn, as if the sun from the sand had burned + into the bone. Her eyes alone seemed to live; they were hard and bright. + </p> + <p> + Her house was a little away from the rest, on the crest of a hill facing + the desert plain. + </p> + <p> + She had heard the words of the bearded man: "Small harm the Indians did." + Had he forgotten her boy? How could he forget, while she was there to + remind them of the dead? Near her house was a small rock roughly marked. + The rude letters "Will, gone, '69," she had cut on it with her own hands. + It marked the last place where her boy had played. She remembered how she + went away softly—so he should not cry to follow her—without a + word, without a kiss. + </p> + <p> + Here her hands beat the side of the house. + </p> + <p> + "Oh, to have that kiss now and die!" But she had gone, unthinking, up the + road where the pale woman lived, then a rosy-cheeked happy bride, not a + widow like herself. They laughed and discussed the newcomers at the + settlement. It was a holiday, for the men were away over the hills, + cutting down trees to build their houses with. + </p> + <p> + As they talked there idly, they heard what they thought was the shrill + bark of dogs running up the hill. Startled, they went to the window. Round + the curve of the road came horses wildly galloping, and upon their backs—Here + the pale woman shrieked and fled. They were Indians, beating their horses + with their bare legs, their black hair streaming in the wind. + </p> + <p> + Like a flash, she had bolted the door and barred the shutters as they + galloped up. She turned then. Through the open back door she saw the women + run screaming up the hill, their children in their arms. + </p> + <p> + Their children! Where was hers? She stopped as if turned to stone, then + undid the door. + </p> + <p> + They dragged her out by the wrists, by the hair. She fought with them + stronger than ten men. But there were twenty; she was alone. The little + street was empty. They strangled her, beat down her face, dragged her upon + a horse, and, with her crosswise on the saddle, galloped up and down, as + they fired the cabins and the sheds. Her hands were shackled, and her eyes + blind with blood, but she thought only of her child. "Where could he be?" + </p> + <p> + There were gunshots. Down the hills like mad came the white men for their + wives and children. + </p> + <p> + Then the Indians turned back toward the plain. They rode past her house. + </p> + <p> + There, where she had left him, stood the child, dazed with surprise. She + held out her arms tied together and called to him to come. + </p> + <p> + "Fool! fool!" Here the woman in black struck her temples with her hands. + "Fool!" Why had she not galloped by and never noticed him? + </p> + <p> + But she begged, caught at the horse's head, struggled to get to him; and + the Indian stopped for a moment in his flight and caught up the child and + went on. + </p> + <p> + Then the thought came to her of the end of that ride—what was to + come—after. And she tried to drop the boy, to let him slide gently + to the ground; but the Indian held them fast. + </p> + <p> + Behind, nearer, came the following men, louder the guns. The horse she was + on snorted, staggered under the weight of the three, and as they reached + the plain the child was torn from her, she was pushed away. But she rose + and staggered after them amid the blinding dust. They must take her too. + Sobbing, she called to them as she stumbled on. Many times she fell. Then + she could go no more. + </p> + <p> + That was all. Her story ended there, with the thundering of horses' hoofs + and the taste of dust in her mouth. They found her there unconscious. Her + friends tended her. When she came back to life she asked no questions but + left her neighbor's house and came to her door, where she was standing + now, and gazed away over the sand where <i>he</i> had gone, down toward + Mexico. + </p> + <p> + The years went by, and she was still alone in the house where <i>two</i> + should have been. And now far off she saw the dust blowing in a long, + rolling, pinkish line. But the dust blew so often, and nothing came of it—not + even the Indians. + </p> + <p> + The boy she knew was dead, but they—his murderers—remained, + somewhere. + </p> + <p> + If she could have one now in her power! + </p> + <p> + The woman in black pondered, as she had so many times, how she should + torture him. No pain could be too horrible. She looked at the fire in the + stove, and piled on the logs—the logs that were brought with such + trouble from the mountains where the trees grew. She could not make it hot + enough. She dropped on her knees and watched the iron grow red. And the + letters of the maker's name stamped on it grew distinct, and the word + "Congress," half defaced, and the figures "64." Ah, those letters! she + could have kissed the spot, for her child had touched it Charmed by the + glow, when left alone, he laid his baby hand flat on it, and burned deep + into the palm were those letters, "S S, 64." + </p> + <p> + She would know him among a million by that mark. + </p> + <p> + But he was dead. The Indians remained. + </p> + <p> + The woman in black stood up. Why should she not go to them? There were + pools in the plain where she could drink. That would be enough. + </p> + <p> + The men were away; the women were at work. Who could stop her? + </p> + <p> + She put on her bonnet and started off down the hill through the green + bushes. The air was still crisp, though the sun was hot. + </p> + <p> + The desert must have an end. She would keep on to Mexico. She walked + quickly, and her dress grew gray with dust, and the air scorching, as she + reached the plain. But she kept on, and only looked back once at the house + on the hill, and at the window where the pale woman sat. + </p> + <p> + The dust choked her, and she stumbled, and the sole of one shoe came half + off, and slapped, and banged, and delayed her as she walked. She tore it + off and went on, but the sand cut and burned her so that she sat down and + wept, and wanted to go back for her other pair, the ones she wore on + Sundays. The hill, though, looked so distant that she wearily got up and + went on, on, till she could go no more, and crept under the shadow of a + rock. There was no water near. Her throat was parched, and her temples + beat wildly. She must go back and start again, strengthened, fortified. + She would start tomorrow, or at night, when the cool would let her get too + far to return. + </p> + <p> + By slow degrees she dragged herself up the hill. The pale woman came out + of her house, and nodded, but the woman in black did not smile in return. + She closed her door, and went up to her bed, and fell on it, and slept, + amid the buzzing of the flies and the fitful flapping of the window-shade + in the breeze. + </p> + <p> + The pale woman sighed and glanced across the plain. The roll of blowing + dust was larger, and more regular, and nearer. The woman shuddered as she + watched it creep slowly along behind the sand mounds. "It always blows," + she said to herself, "but not like that, so steadily, so even." She + strained her eyes, but there was only dust to be seen. Then she thought of + a telescope that belonged to the minister's wife, who came from a seaport + town, and ran to fetch it. The two women came out with it together, the + minister's wife laughing at her friend, she was such a timid thing! But + the pale woman was paler than ever, and trembled so she could not steady + it. The laughing one looked through it, and laughed no more. + </p> + <p> + "I see a head over the mound there," she said. + </p> + <p> + The pale woman shrieked. + </p> + <p> + "They are miles away. We may have time." + </p> + <p> + "For what?" + </p> + <p> + "To get away." + </p> + <p> + "They may be friends—" + </p> + <p> + "They are Indians! White men would not live through that sand. We must go + to the woods. Help me. Warn the women. Gather the children. Come." + </p> + <p> + She rushed into her house. The other still stood and looked. + </p> + <p> + The dust cloud was a little nearer. In a moment all was wild confusion, + names were called, but not loudly, girls sobbed, some carried their little + treasures, mothers held their children. All gathered together, hidden from + the plain by a house. + </p> + <p> + The pale woman led out her father, then ran to her neighbor's door. She + opened it, and called clearly, but softly, "Mary, Mary." There was no + answer. The woman in black, on her bed, slept on. Her neighbor hesitated, + then hurried after the others, as they ran up the low hills toward the + mountains, where their men had gone. + </p> + <p> + The dust cloud grew nearer. Now and then a head could be seen. But all was + as still as the grave. The woman in black slept heavily and dreamed that + revenge had come at last—that in her hand she held an Indian's head. + </p> + <p> + The window-shade flapped loudly, and she woke with an apprehension + crushing her. She went to the window and looked out. There was no blowing + dust upon the plains, and the street was empty. The doors of the houses + stood open; a shawl lay in the middle of the road. The woman leaned out + and looked toward the woods. + </p> + <p> + She saw on the crest of a hill the white skirts of the flying women, and + then, below, down the road, her ears sharpened, her heart tightening, she + heard the soft, regular thumping of horses' feet. + </p> + <p> + Then she <i>knew</i>. + </p> + <p> + She sat on the edge of the bed. This was what she had waited for! Was it + her turn now?—or theirs again? + </p> + <p> + She could kill <i>one</i>. + </p> + <p> + Where was her gun? + </p> + <p> + She had loaned it to the men. + </p> + <p> + But her axe—that was below. + </p> + <p> + As she started for it, there was a burst of war cries. + </p> + <p> + She ran down the narrow stairs, and took the axe from its place on the + wall. + </p> + <p> + They were passing her door. The room grew lighter. She turned. One stood + in the open doorway, black against the sunshine. She set her teeth hard, + hid the axe behind her skirts, watched him motionless. + </p> + <p> + He stretched out his hand clawlike, and laughed, his eyes gleaming, as + catlike he moved nearer, A terror seized her: with a hoarse cry, she + sprang up the stairs, flinging down a chair as he followed panting. + </p> + <p> + Quickly she climbed up the ladder to the loft, threw down the trapdoor, + fell on it, bolted it, waited. All was still. Outside she heard the + distant yells. She stooped noiselessly and put her ear upon the floor. + There was soft breathing underneath, and through a crack in the floor she + saw an eye peering up at her. + </p> + <p> + She stood a long time, motionless, axe in hand, ready. + </p> + <p> + Her back was to the bolt, but suddenly she <i>felt</i> that there was + something there. She turned softly. A slim brown hand was almost through a + crevice in the floor. + </p> + <p> + She raised her axe. The slender fingers touched the bolt and gently drew + it back. + </p> + <p> + Then with the force of all her hatred fell the axe upon the wrist. The + hand sprang up at her. With a howl of agony the creature fell bumping + beneath. + </p> + <p> + Then all again was still. + </p> + <p> + Her face was wet and warm with the spattered blood. + </p> + <p> + Outside she heard the crackling of a burning house, then gunshots far + away, and distant shouts. On tiptoe she went to the garret window, and + peeped round its edge. Over the hills, quite near, she saw the men + returning. One house was blazing—the minister's. The Indians were + retreating. Near her door, grazing, stood a riderless horse. <i>She</i> + knew its owner. As they rode past, they caught at it, but were stopped by + a shout from her door. An Indian rushed out, handsome, young, holding + aloft a bare right arm without a hand. In his language he shrieked to them + for revenge, pointing up with his red wrist to the attic where she stood. + </p> + <p> + The eyes of the woman shot fire. She leaned far out and shook her fist + from the garret window. + </p> + <p> + "One Indian at least!" + </p> + <p> + She hurled the axe at them. It fell far short. They fired as they passed, + but none hit her. Nearer came the men. + </p> + <p> + The wounded man leaped to his horse and with a curse rode on. The woman + laughed as he passed beneath, then sat down in the dusky loft with a red + pool at her feet. + </p> + <p> + Shortly the men returned. Some went by down the hill, after the Indians. + Others put out the fire. All was confusion, bustle, shouts. + </p> + <p> + Then the women and the children came and added to the din, and the men who + had followed returned. But the woman in black sat alone in the loft, till + she heard the crowd at her door below, and the voice of the pale woman + say: + </p> + <p> + "Where is Mary?" + </p> + <p> + She rose and lifted the trap-door—it was unbolted—and went + down. + </p> + <p> + The pale woman came to her, but she pushed her aside, and wiped her face + with her sleeve. + </p> + <p> + "Are they killed? any of them?" she said. Her friend answered, "No, Mary, + not one." "No harm this time," said the bearded man. "Except my house, it + is burned," said the minister's wife. "We'll soon have another." + </p> + <p> + "I don't mean <i>you!</i>" cried the woman in black. "I mean them—red + devils. Have you got any?—killed any? <i>You</i>"—this to Jim, + who never missed a shot—"you"—this to the bearded man—"have + <i>you</i> killed any?" + </p> + <p> + And the men answered, "No." + </p> + <p> + And one man said, "Their horses were faster than ours." + </p> + <p> + "Not one!" The woman in black drew herself up proudly. "Yes, one; better + than killed. Wait." The women shrunk from her as she darted up the stair. + They looked at each other wonderingly. The woman returned with something + in her grasp. She flung it on the table. "It is an Indian's hand. His arm + will shrivel to the bone. They will leave him some day to die in the + sand." The women shuddered and drew back; the men crowded round, but they + did not touch the hand. + </p> + <p> + "Are you afraid?" said the woman in black. "Afraid of that thing!" + </p> + <p> + She bent back the fingers and looked in it with a smile of contempt. Her + face took an ashen hue: the hand struck the table edge and fell upon the + floor. She seemed to be trying to think for a second, then she gave one + awful cry, and leaned her face against the wall, with her hands hanging at + her side. + </p> + <p> + The pale woman tried to go to her, but her husband drew her back, and, + with a silent crowd around, slowly picked up the hand. + </p> + <p> + For a second he hesitated, then did as she had done, but gently. He bent + back the fingers of the severed hand and read its history written there, + "S S, 64," in white letters on the palm. + </p> + <p> + He remembered then how, twenty years ago, when she brought the child to + him, he had tied its little hand in cooling salve. + </p> + <p> + It was larger now. + </p> + <p> + The whisper went around, "It is her boy's hand," and they crept toward the + door. + </p> + <p> + The pale woman took a flower from her dress, one she had put there hours + before, and placed it in the brown fingers on the table and went out. + </p> + <p> + The woman did <i>not</i> stir from the wall. "Leave the hand," she said. + </p> + <p> + "It is there," and the bearded man closed the door gently behind him. + </p> + <p> + The woman in black turned. Her hard eyes were dim now.. She took the hand + from the table and undid her dress and placed it in her breast, and went + to the window, and watched, far off, a cloud of dust made golden by the + sun, as it rolled away across the plain, down toward Mexico. + </p> + <div style="height: 6em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Indian's Hand, by Lorimer Stoddard + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE INDIAN'S HAND *** + +***** This file should be named 23178-h.htm or 23178-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/2/3/1/7/23178/ + +Produced by David Widger + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Indian's Hand + 1892 + +Author: Lorimer Stoddard + +Release Date: October 24, 2007 [EBook #23178] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE INDIAN'S HAND *** + + + + +Produced by David Widger + + + + + + +THE INDIAN'S HAND + +By Lorimer Stoddard + +Copyright, 1892, by J. B. Lippincott & Co. + + +The men had driven away. Their carts and horses disappeared behind the +roll of the low hills. They appeared now and then, like boats on the +crest of a wave, further each time. And their laughter and singing and +shouts grew fainter as the bushes hid them from sight. + +The women and children remained, with two old men to protect them. They +might have gone too, the hunters said. "What harm could come in the +broad daylight?--the bears and panthers were far away. They'd be back by +night, with only two carts to fill." + +Then Jim, the crack shot of the settlement, said, "We'll drive home the +bears in the carts." + +The children shouted and danced as they thought of the sport to come, of +the hunters' return with their game, of the bonfires they always built. + +One pale woman clung to her husband's arm. "But the Indians!" she said. + +That made the men all laugh. "Indians!" they cried; "why, there've been +none here for twenty years! We drove them away, down there"--pointing +across the plain--"to a hotter place than this, where the sand burns +their feet and they ride for days for water." + +The pale woman murmured, "Ah, but they returned." + +"Yes," cried her big husband, whose brown beard covered his chest, "and +burned two cabins. Small harm they did, the curs!" + +"Hush," said the pale woman, pressing her husband's arm; and the men +around were quiet, pretending to fix their saddles, as they glanced at +another woman, dressed in black, who turned and went into her house. + +"I forgot her boy," said the bearded man, as he gravely picked up his +gun. + +They started off in the morning cool, toward the mountains where the +trees grew. And the long shadows lessened as the sun crept up the sky. + +The woman in black stood silent by her door. No one bade her good-by. +The other women went back to their houses to work. The children played +in the dust; clouds rose as they shouted and ran. A day's freedom lay +before them. + +But the woman in black still stood by her door, like a spectre in the +sunshine, her thin hands clasped together as she gazed away over the +plain toward Mexico. + +Her face was parched and drawn, as if the sun from the sand had burned +into the bone. Her eyes alone seemed to live; they were hard and bright. + +Her house was a little away from the rest, on the crest of a hill facing +the desert plain. + +She had heard the words of the bearded man: "Small harm the Indians +did." Had he forgotten her boy? How could he forget, while she was there +to remind them of the dead? Near her house was a small rock roughly +marked. The rude letters "Will, gone, '69," she had cut on it with +her own hands. It marked the last place where her boy had played. She +remembered how she went away softly--so he should not cry to follow +her--without a word, without a kiss. + +Here her hands beat the side of the house. + +"Oh, to have that kiss now and die!" But she had gone, unthinking, up +the road where the pale woman lived, then a rosy-cheeked happy bride, +not a widow like herself. They laughed and discussed the newcomers at +the settlement. It was a holiday, for the men were away over the hills, +cutting down trees to build their houses with. + +As they talked there idly, they heard what they thought was the shrill +bark of dogs running up the hill. Startled, they went to the window. +Round the curve of the road came horses wildly galloping, and upon their +backs--Here the pale woman shrieked and fled. They were Indians, beating +their horses with their bare legs, their black hair streaming in the +wind. + +Like a flash, she had bolted the door and barred the shutters as they +galloped up. She turned then. Through the open back door she saw the +women run screaming up the hill, their children in their arms. + +Their children! Where was hers? She stopped as if turned to stone, then +undid the door. + +They dragged her out by the wrists, by the hair. She fought with them +stronger than ten men. But there were twenty; she was alone. The little +street was empty. They strangled her, beat down her face, dragged her +upon a horse, and, with her crosswise on the saddle, galloped up and +down, as they fired the cabins and the sheds. Her hands were shackled, +and her eyes blind with blood, but she thought only of her child. "Where +could he be?" + +There were gunshots. Down the hills like mad came the white men for +their wives and children. + +Then the Indians turned back toward the plain. They rode past her house. + +There, where she had left him, stood the child, dazed with surprise. She +held out her arms tied together and called to him to come. + +"Fool! fool!" Here the woman in black struck her temples with her hands. +"Fool!" Why had she not galloped by and never noticed him? + +But she begged, caught at the horse's head, struggled to get to him; and +the Indian stopped for a moment in his flight and caught up the child +and went on. + +Then the thought came to her of the end of that ride--what was to +come--after. And she tried to drop the boy, to let him slide gently to +the ground; but the Indian held them fast. + +Behind, nearer, came the following men, louder the guns. The horse she +was on snorted, staggered under the weight of the three, and as they +reached the plain the child was torn from her, she was pushed away. But +she rose and staggered after them amid the blinding dust. They must take +her too. Sobbing, she called to them as she stumbled on. Many times she +fell. Then she could go no more. + +That was all. Her story ended there, with the thundering of horses' +hoofs and the taste of dust in her mouth. They found her there +unconscious. Her friends tended her. When she came back to life she +asked no questions but left her neighbor's house and came to her door, +where she was standing now, and gazed away over the sand where _he_ had +gone, down toward Mexico. + +The years went by, and she was still alone in the house where _two_ +should have been. And now far off she saw the dust blowing in a long, +rolling, pinkish line. But the dust blew so often, and nothing came of +it--not even the Indians. + +The boy she knew was dead, but they--his murderers--remained, somewhere. + +If she could have one now in her power! + +The woman in black pondered, as she had so many times, how she should +torture him. No pain could be too horrible. She looked at the fire in +the stove, and piled on the logs--the logs that were brought with such +trouble from the mountains where the trees grew. She could not make it +hot enough. She dropped on her knees and watched the iron grow red. And +the letters of the maker's name stamped on it grew distinct, and the +word "Congress," half defaced, and the figures "64." Ah, those letters! +she could have kissed the spot, for her child had touched it Charmed by +the glow, when left alone, he laid his baby hand flat on it, and burned +deep into the palm were those letters, "S S, 64." + +She would know him among a million by that mark. + +But he was dead. The Indians remained. + +The woman in black stood up. Why should she not go to them? There were +pools in the plain where she could drink. That would be enough. + +The men were away; the women were at work. Who could stop her? + +She put on her bonnet and started off down the hill through the green +bushes. The air was still crisp, though the sun was hot. + +The desert must have an end. She would keep on to Mexico. She walked +quickly, and her dress grew gray with dust, and the air scorching, as +she reached the plain. But she kept on, and only looked back once at the +house on the hill, and at the window where the pale woman sat. + +The dust choked her, and she stumbled, and the sole of one shoe came +half off, and slapped, and banged, and delayed her as she walked. She +tore it off and went on, but the sand cut and burned her so that she sat +down and wept, and wanted to go back for her other pair, the ones she +wore on Sundays. The hill, though, looked so distant that she wearily +got up and went on, on, till she could go no more, and crept under the +shadow of a rock. There was no water near. Her throat was parched, and +her temples beat wildly. She must go back and start again, strengthened, +fortified. She would start tomorrow, or at night, when the cool would +let her get too far to return. + +By slow degrees she dragged herself up the hill. The pale woman came +out of her house, and nodded, but the woman in black did not smile in +return. She closed her door, and went up to her bed, and fell on it, +and slept, amid the buzzing of the flies and the fitful flapping of the +window-shade in the breeze. + +The pale woman sighed and glanced across the plain. The roll of blowing +dust was larger, and more regular, and nearer. The woman shuddered as +she watched it creep slowly along behind the sand mounds. "It always +blows," she said to herself, "but not like that, so steadily, so even." +She strained her eyes, but there was only dust to be seen. Then she +thought of a telescope that belonged to the minister's wife, who came +from a seaport town, and ran to fetch it. The two women came out with +it together, the minister's wife laughing at her friend, she was such a +timid thing! But the pale woman was paler than ever, and trembled so she +could not steady it. The laughing one looked through it, and laughed no +more. + +"I see a head over the mound there," she said. + +The pale woman shrieked. + +"They are miles away. We may have time." + +"For what?" + +"To get away." + +"They may be friends--" + +"They are Indians! White men would not live through that sand. We must +go to the woods. Help me. Warn the women. Gather the children. Come." + +She rushed into her house. The other still stood and looked. + +The dust cloud was a little nearer. In a moment all was wild confusion, +names were called, but not loudly, girls sobbed, some carried their +little treasures, mothers held their children. All gathered together, +hidden from the plain by a house. + +The pale woman led out her father, then ran to her neighbor's door. She +opened it, and called clearly, but softly, "Mary, Mary." There was +no answer. The woman in black, on her bed, slept on. Her neighbor +hesitated, then hurried after the others, as they ran up the low hills +toward the mountains, where their men had gone. + +The dust cloud grew nearer. Now and then a head could be seen. But all +was as still as the grave. The woman in black slept heavily and dreamed +that revenge had come at last--that in her hand she held an Indian's +head. + +The window-shade flapped loudly, and she woke with an apprehension +crushing her. She went to the window and looked out. There was no +blowing dust upon the plains, and the street was empty. The doors of +the houses stood open; a shawl lay in the middle of the road. The woman +leaned out and looked toward the woods. + +She saw on the crest of a hill the white skirts of the flying women, and +then, below, down the road, her ears sharpened, her heart tightening, +she heard the soft, regular thumping of horses' feet. + +Then she _knew_. + +She sat on the edge of the bed. This was what she had waited for! Was it +her turn now?--or theirs again? + +She could kill _one_. + +Where was her gun? + +She had loaned it to the men. + +But her axe--that was below. + +As she started for it, there was a burst of war cries. + +She ran down the narrow stairs, and took the axe from its place on the +wall. + +They were passing her door. The room grew lighter. She turned. One stood +in the open doorway, black against the sunshine. She set her teeth hard, +hid the axe behind her skirts, watched him motionless. + +He stretched out his hand clawlike, and laughed, his eyes gleaming, as +catlike he moved nearer, A terror seized her: with a hoarse cry, she +sprang up the stairs, flinging down a chair as he followed panting. + +Quickly she climbed up the ladder to the loft, threw down the trapdoor, +fell on it, bolted it, waited. All was still. Outside she heard the +distant yells. She stooped noiselessly and put her ear upon the floor. +There was soft breathing underneath, and through a crack in the floor +she saw an eye peering up at her. + +She stood a long time, motionless, axe in hand, ready. + +Her back was to the bolt, but suddenly she _felt_ that there was +something there. She turned softly. A slim brown hand was almost through +a crevice in the floor. + +She raised her axe. The slender fingers touched the bolt and gently drew +it back. + +Then with the force of all her hatred fell the axe upon the wrist. The +hand sprang up at her. With a howl of agony the creature fell bumping +beneath. + +Then all again was still. + +Her face was wet and warm with the spattered blood. + +Outside she heard the crackling of a burning house, then gunshots far +away, and distant shouts. On tiptoe she went to the garret window, +and peeped round its edge. Over the hills, quite near, she saw the +men returning. One house was blazing--the minister's. The Indians were +retreating. Near her door, grazing, stood a riderless horse. _She_ knew +its owner. As they rode past, they caught at it, but were stopped by +a shout from her door. An Indian rushed out, handsome, young, holding +aloft a bare right arm without a hand. In his language he shrieked to +them for revenge, pointing up with his red wrist to the attic where she +stood. + +The eyes of the woman shot fire. She leaned far out and shook her fist +from the garret window. + +"One Indian at least!" + +She hurled the axe at them. It fell far short. They fired as they +passed, but none hit her. Nearer came the men. + +The wounded man leaped to his horse and with a curse rode on. The woman +laughed as he passed beneath, then sat down in the dusky loft with a red +pool at her feet. + +Shortly the men returned. Some went by down the hill, after the Indians. +Others put out the fire. All was confusion, bustle, shouts. + +Then the women and the children came and added to the din, and the men +who had followed returned. But the woman in black sat alone in the loft, +till she heard the crowd at her door below, and the voice of the pale +woman say: + +"Where is Mary?" + +She rose and lifted the trap-door--it was unbolted--and went down. + +The pale woman came to her, but she pushed her aside, and wiped her face +with her sleeve. + +"Are they killed? any of them?" she said. Her friend answered, "No, +Mary, not one." "No harm this time," said the bearded man. "Except +my house, it is burned," said the minister's wife. "We'll soon have +another." + +"I don't mean _you!_" cried the woman in black. "I mean them--red +devils. Have you got any?--killed any? _You_"--this to Jim, who never +missed a shot--"you"--this to the bearded man--"have _you_ killed any?" + +And the men answered, "No." + +And one man said, "Their horses were faster than ours." + +"Not one!" The woman in black drew herself up proudly. "Yes, one; better +than killed. Wait." The women shrunk from her as she darted up the +stair. They looked at each other wonderingly. The woman returned with +something in her grasp. She flung it on the table. "It is an Indian's +hand. His arm will shrivel to the bone. They will leave him some day +to die in the sand." The women shuddered and drew back; the men crowded +round, but they did not touch the hand. + +"Are you afraid?" said the woman in black. "Afraid of that thing!" + +She bent back the fingers and looked in it with a smile of contempt. Her +face took an ashen hue: the hand struck the table edge and fell upon the +floor. She seemed to be trying to think for a second, then she gave one +awful cry, and leaned her face against the wall, with her hands hanging +at her side. + +The pale woman tried to go to her, but her husband drew her back, and, +with a silent crowd around, slowly picked up the hand. + +For a second he hesitated, then did as she had done, but gently. He bent +back the fingers of the severed hand and read its history written there, +"S S, 64," in white letters on the palm. + +He remembered then how, twenty years ago, when she brought the child to +him, he had tied its little hand in cooling salve. + +It was larger now. + +The whisper went around, "It is her boy's hand," and they crept toward +the door. + +The pale woman took a flower from her dress, one she had put there hours +before, and placed it in the brown fingers on the table and went out. + +The woman did _not_ stir from the wall. "Leave the hand," she said. + +"It is there," and the bearded man closed the door gently behind him. + +The woman in black turned. Her hard eyes were dim now.. She took the +hand from the table and undid her dress and placed it in her breast, and +went to the window, and watched, far off, a cloud of dust made golden by +the sun, as it rolled away across the plain, down toward Mexico. + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Indian's Hand, by Lorimer Stoddard + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE INDIAN'S HAND *** + +***** This file should be named 23178.txt or 23178.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/2/3/1/7/23178/ + +Produced by David Widger + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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