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diff --git a/27438-h/27438-h.htm b/27438-h/27438-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..5d47f71 --- /dev/null +++ b/27438-h/27438-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,9803 @@ +<!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"> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=iso-8859-1" /> +<title> +The Project Gutenberg eBook of "Me-Smith", by Caroline Lockhart. +</title> + +<style type="text/css"> +/*<![CDATA[ XML blockout */ +<!-- + p {margin-top: 0.5em; text-align: justify; margin-bottom: 0.5em;} + body {margin-left: 11%; margin-right: 10%;} + a {text-decoration: none;} + @media screen { + hr.ppg-pb {margin:30px 0; width:100%; border:none;border-top:thin dashed silver;} + .pagenum {display: inline; font-size: x-small; text-align: right; position: absolute; right: 2%; padding: 1px 3px; font-style: normal; font-variant:normal; font-weight:normal; text-decoration: none; background-color: inherit; border:1px solid #eee;} + .pncolor {color: silver;} + } + @media print { + hr.ppg-pb {border:none;page-break-after: always;} + .pagenum { display:none; } + } + .figleft {padding: .5em .5em 0 0; float: left;} + h3 {text-align:center; font-weight:normal; font-size: 1.2em;} + div.ce p {text-align: center; margin: auto 0;} + .figcenter {margin: 2em auto 2em auto; text-align: center;} + hr.mini {width: 2em; margin-top: 0.5em; margin-bottom: 0.5em; border:none; border-bottom:1px solid black; clear:both;} + .caption {font-size:.8em;} + table {margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; clear: both;} + hr.tb {width: 35%; margin-top: 0.5em; margin-bottom: 0.5em; border:none; border-bottom:1px solid black; clear:both;} + .blockquot {margin:0.5em 5% 0.5em 5%;} + hr.minor {width: 35%; margin-top: 1em; margin-bottom: 1em; border:none; border-bottom:1px solid black; clear:both;} + div.ra p {text-align: right; margin: auto 0;} + hr.major {width: 65%; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 2em; border:none; border-bottom:1px solid black; clear:both;} + h2 {text-align:center; font-weight:normal; font-size: 1.4em;} +// --> +/* XML end ]]>*/ +</style> + +</head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of 'Me-Smith', by Caroline Lockhart + +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: 'Me-Smith' + +Author: Caroline Lockhart + +Illustrator: Gayle Hoskins + +Release Date: December 8, 2008 [EBook #27438] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 'ME-SMITH' *** + + + + +Produced by Roger Frank and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +</pre> + + +<div class='figcenter'> +<a name='linki_1' id='linki_1'></a> +<img src='images/img-fpc.jpg' alt='' title='' style='width: 367px; height: 546px;' /><br /> +<p class='caption' style='margin: 0 auto; text-align:center;width: 367px;'> +“THAT LOOK IN YOUR EYES—THAT LOOK AS IF YOU HADN’T NOTHIN’ TO HIDE—IS IT TRUE?” <i>Page 59</i><br /> +</p> +</div> + +<hr class='ppg-pb' /> +<div class='ce'> +<p style='font-size:2.2em; margin-bottom:1em;'>“ME-SMITH”</p> +<p>BY</p> +<p style='font-size:1.4em; margin-bottom:4em;'>CAROLINE LOCKHART</p> +<p>WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY</p> +<p style='font-size:1.2em;'>GAYLE HOSKINS</p> +</div> + +<div class='figcenter'> +<img src='images/img-emb.jpg' alt='' title='' style='width: 32px; height: 30px;' /><br /> +</div> + +<div class='ce'> +<p>NEW YORK</p> +<p style='font-size:1.4em;'>GROSSET & DUNLAP</p> +<p>PUBLISHERS</p> +</div> + +<hr class='ppg-pb' /> +<div class='ce' style='font-size:0.8em;'> +<p>Copyright 1911</p> +<p style='margin-bottom:1em;'>By J. B. Lippincott Company</p> +<p>Published February 15, 1911</p> +<p>Second printing, February 25, 1911</p> +<p>Third printing, March 5, 1911</p> +<p>Fourth printing, March 20, 1911</p> +<p>Fifth Printing, June 5, 1911</p> +<p>Sixth Printing, July 1, 1911</p> +<p>Seventh Printing, August 17, 1911</p> +</div> + +<hr class='ppg-pb' /> +<div class='ce'> +<p style='font-size:1.4em; margin-bottom:1em;'>CONTENTS</p> +</div> + +<table border='0' width='500' cellpadding='2' cellspacing='0' summary='Contents' style='margin:1em auto;'> +<tr> + <td align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'><span style='font-size:small;'>CHAPTER</span></td> + <td></td> + <td align='right'><span style='font-size:small;'>PAGE</span></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>I.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left'><span style='font-variant: small-caps'>“Me—Smith”</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#I__ME_SMITH'>11</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>II.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left'><span style='font-variant: small-caps'>On the Alkali Hill</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#II_ON_THE_ALKALI_HILL'>18</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>III.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left'><span style='font-variant: small-caps'>The Empty Chair</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#III_THE_EMPTY_CHAIR'>29</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>IV.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left'><span style='font-variant: small-caps'>A Swap in Saddle Blankets</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#IV_A_SWAP_IN_SADDLE_BLANKETS'>48</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>V.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left'><span style='font-variant: small-caps'>Smith Makes Medicine with the Schoolmarm</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#V_SMITH_MAKES_MEDICINE_WITH_THE_SCHOOLMARM'>58</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>VI.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left'><span style='font-variant: small-caps'>The Great Secret</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#VI_THE_GREAT_SECRET'>79</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>VII.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left'><span style='font-variant: small-caps'>Cupid “Wings” a Deputy Sheriff</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#VII_CUPID__WINGS__A_DEPUTY_SHERIFF'>95</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>VIII.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left'><span style='font-variant: small-caps'>The Bug-hunter Elucidates</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#VIII_THE_BUGHUNTER_ELUCIDATES'>110</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>IX.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left'><span style='font-variant: small-caps'>Speaking Of Grasshoppers——</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#IX_SPEAKING_OF_GRASSHOPPERS'>123</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>X.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left'><span style='font-variant: small-caps'>Mother Love and Savage Passion Conflict</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#X_MOTHER_LOVE_AND_SAVAGE_PASSION_CONFLICT'>130</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XI.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left'><span style='font-variant: small-caps'>The Best Horse</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#XI_THE_BEST_HORSE'>142</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XII.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left'><span style='font-variant: small-caps'>Smith Gets “Hunks”</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#XII_SMITH_GETS__HUNKS'>156</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XIII.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left'><span style='font-variant: small-caps'>Susie’s Indian Blood</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#XIII_SUSIE_S_INDIAN_BLOOD'>162</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XIV.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left'><span style='font-variant: small-caps'>The Slayer of Mastodons</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#XIV_THE_SLAYER_OF_MASTODONS'>169</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XV.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left'><span style='font-variant: small-caps'>Where a Man Gets a Thirst</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#XV_WHERE_A_MAN_GETS_A_THIRST'>190</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XVI.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left'><span style='font-variant: small-caps'>Tinhorn Frank Smells Money</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#XVI_TINHORN_FRANK_SMELLS_MONEY'>205</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XVII.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left'><span style='font-variant: small-caps'>Susie Humbles Herself to Smith</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#XVII_SUSIE_HUMBLES_HERSELF_TO_SMITH'>213</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XVIII.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left'><span style='font-variant: small-caps'>A Bad “Hombre”</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#XVIII_A_BAD__HOMBRE'>228</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XIX.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left'><span style='font-variant: small-caps'>When The Clouds Played Wolf</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#XIX_WHEN_THE_CLOUDS_PLAYED_WOLF'>240</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XX.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left'><span style='font-variant: small-caps'>The Love Medicine of the Sioux</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#XX_THE_LOVE_MEDICINE_OF_THE_SIOUX'>248</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XXI.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left'><span style='font-variant: small-caps'>The Murderer of White Antelope</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#XXI_THE_MURDERER_OF_WHITE_ANTELOPE'>272</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XXII.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left'><span style='font-variant: small-caps'>A Mongolian Cupid</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#XXII_A_MONGOLIAN_CUPID'>293</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XXIII.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left'><span style='font-variant: small-caps'>In Their Own Way</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#XXIII_IN_THEIR_OWN_WAY'>303</a></td> +</tr> +</table> +<hr class='ppg-pb' /> +<div class='ce'> +<p style='font-size:1.4em; margin-bottom:1em;'>LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS</p> +</div> + +<table border='0' width='500' cellpadding='2' cellspacing='0' summary='Illustrations' style='margin:1em auto'> +<col style='width:80%;' /> +<col style='width:20%;' /> +<tr> + <td></td> + <td align='right'><span style='font-size:small'>PAGE</span></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='left'>“That Look in Your Eyes—That Look as if You Hadn’t Nothin’ to Hide—is it True?”</td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#linki_1'> <i>Frontispiece</i></a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='left'>“She’s a Game Kid, All Right,” Said Smith to Himself at the Top of the Hill.</td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#linki_2'>22</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='left'>It Meant Death—but it was Wet!—it was Water!</td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#linki_3'>196</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='left'>Smith Reached for the Trailing Rope and They Were Gone!</td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#linki_4'>284</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='left'>They Quirted Their Horses at Breakneck Speed In the Direction of the Bad Lands.</td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#linki_5'>308</a></td> +</tr> +</table> +<hr class='ppg-pb' /> +<div class='ce'> +<p style='font-size:1.6em;'>“ME—SMITH”</p> +</div> + +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<a name='I__ME_SMITH' id='I__ME_SMITH'></a> +<h2>I</h2> +<h3>“ME—SMITH”</h3> +</div> + +<p>A man on a tired gray horse reined in where +a dim cattle-trail dropped into a gulch, and looked +behind him. Nothing was in sight. He half closed +his eyes and searched the horizon. No, there was +nothing—just the same old sand and sage-brush, +hills, more sand and sage-brush, and then to the +west and north the spur of the Rockies, whose +jagged peaks were white with a fresh fall of snow. +The wind was chill. He shivered, and looked to the +eastward. For the last few hours he had felt snow +in the air, and now he could see it in the dim, +gray mist—still far off, but creeping toward him.</p> +<p>For the thousandth time, he wondered where he +was. He knew vaguely that he was “over the line”—that +Montana was behind him—but he was riding +an unfamiliar range, and the peaks and hills which +are the guide-boards of the West meant nothing +to him. So far as he knew, he was the only human +being within a hundred miles. His lips drew back +in a half-grin and exposed a row of upper teeth +unusually white and slightly protruding. He was +thinking of the meeting with the last person to +whom he had spoken within twenty-four hours. +He closed one eye and looked up at the sun. Yes, +it was just about the same time yesterday that a +dude from the English ranch, a dude in knee +breeches and shiny-topped riding boots, had galloped +confidently toward him. He had dismounted +and pretended to be cinching his saddle. When +the dude was close enough Smith had thrown down +on him with his gun.</p> +<p>“Feller,” he had said, “I guess I’ll have to trade +horses with you. And fall off quick, for I’m in +kind of a hurry.”</p> +<p>The grin widened as he thought of the dude’s +surprised eyes and the dude’s face as he dropped +out of the saddle without a word. Smith had +stood his victim with his hands above his head +while he pulled the saddle from his horse and threw +it upon his own. The dude rode a saddle with +a double cinch, and the fact had awakened in +the Westerner a kind of interest. He had even +felt a certain friendliness for the man he was robbing.</p> +<p>“Feller,” he had asked, “do you come from +the Maņana country?”</p> +<p>“From Chepstow, Monmouth County, Wales,” +the dude had replied, in a shaking voice.</p> +<p>“Where did you get that double-rigged saddle, +then?”</p> +<p>“Texas.”</p> +<p>The answer had pleased Smith.</p> +<p>“You ain’t losin’ none on this deal,” he had +then volunteered. “This horse that you just +traded for is a looker when he is rested, and he +can run like hell. You can go your pile on him. +Just burn out that lazy S brand and run on your +own. You can hold him easy, then. I like a +feller that rides a double-rigged saddle in a single-rigged +country. S’long, and keep your hands up +till I’m out of range.”</p> +<p>“Thank you,” the dude had replied feebly.</p> +<p>When Smith had ridden for a half a mile he +had turned to look behind him. The dude was +still standing with his hands high above his head.</p> +<p>“I wonder if he’s there yet?” The man on +horseback grinned.</p> +<p>He reached in the pocket of his mackinaw coat +and took out a handful of sugar.</p> +<p>“You can travel longer on it nor anything,” +he muttered.</p> +<p>He congratulated himself that he had filled his +pocket from the booze-clerk’s sugar-bowl before the +mix came. The act was characteristic of him, as +was the forethought which had sent him to the door +to pick the best saddle-horse at the hitching-post, +before the lead began to fly.</p> +<p>The man suddenly realized that the mist in the +east was denser, and spreading. He jabbed the +spurs into his horse and sent the jaded animal +sliding on its fetlocks down the steep and rocky +trail that led into the dry bed of a creek which +in the spring flowed bank high. In the bottom +he pulled his horse to its haunches and leaned from +his saddle to look at a foot-print in a little patch +of smooth sand no larger than his two hands. +The print had been made by a moccasined foot, and +recently; otherwise the wind would have wiped it +out.</p> +<p>He threw his leg over the cantle of the saddle +and stepped softly to the ground. Dropping the +reins, he looked up and down the gulch. Then +he drew his rifle from the scabbard and began to +hunt for more tracks. As he searched, his movements +were no longer those of a white man. His +pantomime, stealthy, cautious, was the pantomime +of the Indian. He crept up the gulch to a point +where it turned sharply. His stealth became the +stealth of the coyote. In spite of the leather soles +and exaggerated high heels of the boots he wore +his movements were absolutely noiseless.</p> +<p>An Indian of middle age, in blue overalls, moccasins, +a limp felt hat coming far down over his +braided hair, a gaily striped blanket drawn about +his shoulders, stood in an attitude of listening, +carelessly holding a cheap, single-barrelled shotgun. +He had heard the horse sliding down the +trail and was waiting for it to appear on the +bench above.</p> +<p>The stranger took in the details of the Indian’s +costume, but his eye rested longest upon the gay +blanket. He might need a blanket with that snow +in the air. It looked like a good blanket. It +seemed to be thick and was undoubtedly warm.</p> +<p>The Indian saw him the instant he rose from +his hiding-place behind a huge sage-brush. +Startled, the red man instinctively half raised his +gun. The stranger gave the sign of attention, +then, touching his breast and lifting his hand +slightly, told him in the sign language used by +all tribes that “his heart was right”—he was a +friend.</p> +<p>The Indian hesitated and lowered his gun, but +did not advance. The stranger then asked him +where he would find the nearest house, and whether +it was that of a white or a red man. In swift +pantomime, the Indian told him that the nearest +house was the home of a “full-blood,” a woman, +a fat woman, who lived five miles to the southeast, +in a log cabin, on running water.</p> +<p>Before he turned to go, the stranger again +touched his breast and raised his hand above his +heart to reiterate his friendship. He took a half-dozen +steps, then whirled on his heel. As he did so, +he brought his rifle on a line with the Indian’s +back, which was toward him. Simultaneously with +the report, the Indian fell on his back on the side +of the gulch. He drew up his leg, and the +stranger, thinking he had raised it for a gun-rest, +riddled him with bullets.</p> +<p>The white man’s bright blue eyes gleamed; the +pupils were like pin-points. The grin which disclosed +his protruding teeth was like the snarl of a +dog before it snaps. The expression of the man’s +face was that of animal ferocity, pure and simple. +He edged up cautiously, but there was no further +movement from the Indian. He had been dead +when he fell. The white man gave a short laugh +when he realized that the raising of the leg had +been only a muscular contraction. To save the +blanket from the blood which was soiling it, he +tore it from the limp, unresisting shoulders, and +rubbed it in the dirt to obliterate the stain. He +cursed when he saw that a bullet had torn in it two +jagged, tell-tale holes.</p> +<p>He glanced at the Indian’s moccasins, then, +stooping, ripped one off. He examined it with interest. +It was a Cree moccasin. The Indian was +far from home. He examined the centre seam: +yes, it was sewed with deer-sinew.</p> +<p>“The Crees can tan to beat the world,” he muttered, +“but I hates the shape of the Cree moccasin. +The Piegans make better.” He tossed it +from him contemptuously and picked up the shotgun.</p> +<p>“No good.” He threw it down and straightened +the Indian’s head with the toe of his boot. +“I despises to lie cramped up, myself.”</p> +<p>Returning to his horse, he removed his saddle, +and folded the Indian’s blanket inside of his own. +Then he recinched his saddle, and turned his horse’s +head to the southeast, where “the full-blood—the +woman, the fat woman—lived in a log cabin by +running water.”</p> +<p>He glanced over his shoulder as he spurred his +horse to a gallop.</p> +<p>“I’m a killer, me—Smith,” he said, and grinned.</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<a name='II_ON_THE_ALKALI_HILL' id='II_ON_THE_ALKALI_HILL'></a> +<h2>II</h2> +<h3>ON THE ALKALI HILL</h3> +</div> + +<p>There was at least an hour and a half of daylight +left when Smith struck a wagon-road. He +looked each way doubtfully. The woman’s house +was quite as likely to be to the right as to the +left; there was no way of telling. While he hesitated, +his horse lifted its ears. Smith also thought +he heard voices. Swinging his horse to the right, +he rode to the edge of the bench where the road +made a steep and sudden drop.</p> +<p>At the bottom of the hill he saw a driver on +the spring-seat of a round-up wagon urging two +lean-necked and narrow-chested horses up the hill. +They were smooth-shod, and, the weight of the +wagon being out of all proportion to their +strength, they fell often in their futile struggles. +At the side of the road near the top of the hill +the water oozed from an alkali spring, which kept +the road perpetually muddy. The horses were +straining every nerve and muscle, their eyes bulging +and nostrils distended, and still the driver, loudmouthed +and vacuously profane, lashed them mercilessly +with the stinging thongs of his leather +whip. Smith, from the top of the hill, watched +him with a sneer on his face.</p> +<p>“He drives like a Missourian,” he muttered.</p> +<p>He could have helped the troubled driver, knowing +perfectly well what to do, but it would have +entailed an effort which he did not care to make. +It was nothing to him whether the round-up wagon +got up the hill that night—or never.</p> +<p>Smith thought the driver was alone until he +began to back the team to rush the hill once more. +Then he heard angry exclamations coming from +the rear of the wagon—exclamations which sounded +not unlike the buzzing of an enraged bumble-bee. +He stretched his neck and saw that which suggested +an overgrown hoop-snake rolling down the hill. At +the bottom a little mud-coated man stood up. The +part of his face that was visible above his beard +was pale with anger. His brown eyes gleamed behind +mud-splashed spectacles.</p> +<p>“Oscar Tubbs,” he demanded, “why did you not +tell me that you were about to back the wagon?”</p> +<p>“I would have did it if I had knowed myself +that the team were goin’ to back,” replied Tubbs, +in the conciliatory tone of one who addresses the +man who pays him his wages.</p> +<p>The man in spectacles groaned. “Three inexcusable +errors in one sentence. Oscar Tubbs, you +are hopeless!”</p> +<p>“Yep,” replied that person resignedly; “nobody +never could learn me nothin’. Onct I +knowed——”</p> +<p>“Stop! We have no time for a reminiscence. +Have you any reason to believe that we can get +up this hill to-night?”</p> +<p>“No chanst of it. These buzzard-heads has +drawed every poun’ they kin pull. But I has some +reason to believe that if you don’t hist your hoofs +out’n that mud-hole, you’ll bog down. You’re up +to your pant-leg now. Onct I knowed——”</p> +<p>The little man threw out his hand in a restraining +gesture, and Tubbs, foiled again, closed his +lips and watched his employer stand back on one +leg while he pulled the other out of the mud with +a long, sucking sound.</p> +<p>“What for an outfit is that, anyhow?” mused +Smith, watching the proceedings with some interest. +“He looks like one of them bug-hunters. He’s +got a pair of shoulders on him like a drink of +water, and his legs look like the runnin’-gears +of a katydid.”</p> +<p>So intently were they all engaged in watching +the man’s struggles that no one observed a girl +on a galloping horse until she was almost upon +them. She sat her sturdy, spirited pony like a +cowboy. She was about sixteen, with a suggestion +of boyishness in her appearance. Her brown hair, +worn in a single braid, was bleached to a lighter +shade on top, as if she rode always with bared +head. Her eyes were gray, in curious contrast +to a tawny skin. She was slight to scrawniness, +and, one might have thought, insufficiently clad for +the time of year.</p> +<p>“Bogged down, pardner?” she inquired in a +friendly voice, as she rode up behind and drew +rein. “I’ve been in that soap-hole myself. Here, +ketch to my pommel, and I’ll snake you out.”</p> +<p>Smiling dubiously he gripped the pommel. The +pony had sunk to its knees, and as it leaped to +free itself the little man’s legs fairly snapped in +the air.</p> +<p>“I thank you, Miss,” he said, removing his plaid +travelling cap as he dropped on solid ground. +“That was really quite an adventure.”</p> +<p>“This mud is like grease,” said the girl.</p> +<p>“Onct I knowed some mud——” began the +driver, but the little man, ignoring him, said:</p> +<p>“We are in a dilemma, Miss. Our horses seem +unable to pull our wagon up the hill. Night is +almost upon us, and our next camping spot is +several miles beyond.”</p> +<p>“This is the worst grade in the country,” replied +the girl. “A team that can haul a load up +here can go anywhere. What’s the matter with +that fellow up there? Why don’t he help?”—pointing +to Smith.</p> +<p>“He has made no offer of assistance.”</p> +<p>“He must be some Scissor-Bill from Missouri. +They all act like that when they first come out.”</p> +<p>“Onct some Missourians I knowed——”</p> +<p>“Oscar Tubbs, if you attempt to relate another +reminiscence while in my employ, I shall make a +deduction from your wages. I warn you—I warn +you in the presence of this witness. My overwrought +nerves can endure no more. Between your +inexpiable English and your inopportune reminiscences, +I am a nervous wreck!” The little man’s +voice ended on high C.</p> +<p>“All right, Doc, suit yourself,” replied Tubbs, +temporarily subdued.</p> +<p>“And in Heaven’s name, I entreat, I implore, +do not call me ‘Doc’!”</p> +<p>“Sorry I spoke, Cap.”</p> +<p>The little man threw up both hands in exasperation.</p> +<p>“Say, Mister,” said the girl curtly to Tubbs, +“if you’ll take that hundred and seventy pounds +of yourn off the wagon and get some rocks and +block the wheels, I guess my cayuse can help +some.” As she spoke, she began uncoiling the +rawhide riata which was tied to her saddle.</p> +<p>“I appreciate the kindness of your intentions, +Miss, but I cannot permit you to put yourself in +peril.” The little man was watching her preparations +with troubled eyes.</p> +<p>“No peril at all. It’s easy. Croppy can pull +like the devil. Wait till you see him lay down +on the rope. That yap up there at the top of +the hill could have done this for you long ago. +Here, Windy”—addressing Tubbs—“tie this rope +to the X, and make a knot that will hold.”</p> +<div class='figcenter'> +<a name='linki_2' id='linki_2'></a> +<img src='images/img-023.jpg' alt='' title='' style='width: 323px; height: 489px;' /><br /> +<p class='caption' style='margin: 0 auto; text-align:center;width: 323px;'> +“SHE’S A GAME KID, ALL RIGHT,” SAID SMITH TO HIMSELF AT THE TOP OF THE HILL.<br /> +</p> +</div> + +<p>The girl’s words and manner inspired confidence. +Interest and relief were in the face of the little +man standing at the side of the road.</p> +<p>“Now, Windy, hand me the rope. I’ll take +three turns around my saddle-horn, and when I +say ’go’ you see that your team get down in +their collars.”</p> +<p>“She’s a game kid, all right,” said Smith to +himself at the top of the hill.</p> +<p>When the sorrel pony at the head of the team +felt the rope grow taut on the saddle-horn, it lay +down to its work. The grit and muscle of a +dozen horses seemed concentrated in the little cayuse. +It pulled until every vein and cord in its +body appeared to stand out beneath its skin. It +lay down on the rope until its chest almost touched +the ground. There was a look of determination +that was almost human in its bright, excited eyes +as it strained and struggled on the slippery hillside +with no word of urging from the girl. She +was standing in one stirrup, one hand on the cantle, +the other on the pommel, watching everything with +keen eyes. She issued orders to Tubbs like a general, +telling him when to block the wheels, when +to urge the exhausted team to greater efforts, +when to relax. Nothing escaped her. She and +the little sorrel knew their work. As the man +at the roadside watched the gallant little brute +struggle, literally inch by inch, up the terrible +grade he felt himself choking with excitement and +making inarticulate sounds. At last the rear +wheels of the wagon lurched over the hill and stood +on level ground, while the horses, with spreading +legs and heaving sides, gasped for breath.</p> +<p>“Awful tired, ain’t you, Mister?” the girl asked +dryly, of the stranger on horseback, as she recoiled +her rope with supple wrist and tied it again to the +saddle by the buckskin thongs.</p> +<p>“Plumb worn to a frazzle,” Smith replied with +cool impudence, as he looked her over in much the +same manner as he would have eyed a heifer on +the range. “I was whipped for working when I +was a boy, and I’ve always remembered.”</p> +<p>“It must be quite a ride—from the brush back +there in Missouri where you was drug up.”</p> +<p>“I ranges on the Sundown slope,” he replied +shortly.</p> +<p>“They have sheep-camps over there, then?”</p> +<p>Again the slurring insinuation pricked him.</p> +<p>“Oh, I can twist a rope and ride a horse fast +enough to keep warm.”</p> +<p>“So?”—the inflection was tantalizing. “Was +that horse gentled for your grandmother?”</p> +<p>He eyed her angrily, but checked the reply on +his tongue.</p> +<p>“Say, girl, can you tell me where I can find that +fat Injun woman’s tepee who lives around here?”</p> +<p>“You mean my mother?”</p> +<p>He looked at her with new interest.</p> +<p>“Does she live in a log cabin on a crick?”</p> +<p>“She did about an hour ago.”</p> +<p>“Is your mother a widder?”</p> +<p>“Lookin’ for widders?”</p> +<p>“I likes widders. It happens frequent that widders +are sociable inclined—especially if they are +hard up,” he added insolently.</p> +<p>“Oh, you’re ridin’ the grub-line?” Her insolence +equalled his own.</p> +<p>“Not yet;” and he took from his pocket a thick +roll of banknotes.</p> +<p>“Blood money? Some sheep-herder’s month’s +pay, I guess.”</p> +<p>“You’re a good guesser.”</p> +<p>“Not very—you’re easy.”</p> +<p>The girl’s dislike for Smith was as unreasoning +and violent as was her liking for the excitable +little man whom she had helped up the hill, and +whose wagon was now rumbling close at her horse’s +heels.</p> +<p>They all travelled together in silence until, after +a mile and a half on the flat, the road sloped +gradually toward a creek shadowed by willows. On +the opposite side of the creek were a ranch-house, +stables, and corrals, the extent of which brought a +glint of surprise to Smith’s eyes.</p> +<p>“That’s where the widder lives who might be +sociable inclined if she was hard up,” said the girl, +with a sneer which made Smith’s fingers itch to +choke her. “Couldn’t coax you to stop, could I?”</p> +<p>“I aims to stay,” Smith replied coolly.</p> +<p>“Sure—it won’t cost you nothin’.”</p> +<p>The girl waited for the wagon, and, with a +change of manner in marked contrast to her impudent +attitude toward Smith, invited the little +man to spend the night at the ranch.</p> +<p>“We should not be intruders?” he asked doubtfully.</p> +<p>“You won’t feel lonesome,” she answered with +a laugh. “We keep a kind of free hotel.”</p> +<p>“Colonel, I cakalate we better lay over here,” +broke in Tubbs.</p> +<p>His employer winced at this new title, but nodded +assent; so they all forded the shallow stream +and entered the dooryard together.</p> +<p>“Mother!” called the girl.</p> +<p>One of the heavy plank doors of the long log-house +opened, and a short woman, large-hipped, +full-busted—in appearance a typical blanket squaw—stood +in the doorway. Her thick hair was +braided Indian fashion, her fingers adorned with +many rings. The wide girdle about her waist was +studded with brass nail-heads, while gaily-beaded +moccasins covered her short, broad feet. Her eyes +were soft and luminous, like an animal’s when it +is content; but there was savage passion too in +their dark depths.</p> +<p>“This is my mother,” said the girl briefly. “I +am Susie MacDonald.”</p> +<p>“My name is Peter McArthur, madam.”</p> +<p>The little man concealed his surprise as best he +could, and bowed.</p> +<p>The girl, quick to note his puzzled expression, +explained laconically:</p> +<p>“I’m a breed. My father was a white man. +You’re on the reservation when you cross the crick.”</p> +<p>Recovering himself, the stranger said politely:</p> +<p>“Ah, MacDonald—that good Scotch name is a +very familiar one to me. I had an uncle——”</p> +<p>“I go show dem where to turn de horses,” interrupted +the Indian woman, to whom the conversation +was uninteresting. So, without ceremony, +she padded away in her moccasins, drawing her +blanket squaw-fashion across her face as she waddled +down the path.</p> +<p>At the mission the woman had obtained the rudiments +of an education. There, too, she had learned +to cut and make a dress, after a crude, laborious +fashion, and had acquired the ways of the white +people’s housekeeping. She was noted for the +acumen which she displayed in disposing of the +crop from her extensive hay-ranch to the neighboring +white cattlemen; and MacDonald, the big, +silent Scotch MacDonald who had come down from +the north country and married her before the reservation +priest, was given the credit for having instilled +into her some of his own shrewdness and +thrift.</p> +<p>In the corral the Indian woman came upon Smith. +He turned his head slowly and looked at her. For +a second, two, three seconds, or more, they looked +into each other’s eyes. His gaze was confident, +masterful, compelling; hers was wondering, until +finally she dropped her eyes in the submissive, +modest, half-shy way of Indian women.</p> +<p>Smith moistened his short upper lip with the +tip of his tongue, while the shadow of a smile +lurked at the corner of his mouth. He turned +to his saddle, again, and without speaking, she +watched him until he had gone into the barn. His +saddle lay on the ground, half covering his blankets. +Something in this heap caught the woman’s eyes +and held them. Swooping forward, she caught a +protruding corner between her thumb and finger +and pulled a gay, striped blanket from the rest. +Lifting it to her nose, she smelled it. Smith saw +the act as he came out of the door, but there was +neither consternation nor fear in his face. Smith +knew Indian women.</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<a name='III_THE_EMPTY_CHAIR' id='III_THE_EMPTY_CHAIR'></a> +<h2>III</h2> +<h3>THE EMPTY CHAIR</h3> +</div> + +<p>Peter McArthur came into the big living-room +of the ranch-house bearing tenderly in his +arms a long brown sack. He set it upon a chair, +and, as he patted it affectionately, he said to the +Indian woman in explanation:</p> +<p>“These are some specimens which I have been +fortunate enough to find in a limestone formation +in the country through which we have just passed. +No doubt you will be amused, madam, but the +wealth of Crœsus could not buy from me the contents +of this canvas sack.”</p> +<p>“I broke a horse for that son-of-a-gun onct. He +owes me a dollar and six bits for the job yet,” +remarked Tubbs.</p> +<p>The fire of enthusiasm died in McArthur’s eyes +as they rested upon his man.</p> +<p>“What for a prospect do you aim to open up +in a limestone formation?”</p> +<p>Smith, tipped on the rear legs of his chair, with +his head resting comfortably against the unbleached +muslin sheeting which lined the walls, winked at +Tubbs as he asked the question.</p> +<p>“‘What for a prospect’?” repeated McArthur.</p> +<p>“Yes, ‘prospect’—that’s what I said. You +say you’ve got your war-bag full of spec’mens.”</p> +<p>McArthur laughed heartily.</p> +<p>“Ah, my dear sir, I understand. You are referring +to mines—to mineral specimens. These are +the specimens of which I am speaking.”</p> +<p>Opening the sack, McArthur held up for inspection +what looked to be a lump of dried mud.</p> +<p>“This is a magnificent specimen of the crustacean +period,” he declared.</p> +<p>The Indian woman looked from the prized object +to his animated face; then, with puzzled eyes, she +looked at Smith, who touched his forehead with his +finger, making a spiral, upward gesture which in +the sign language says “crazy.”</p> +<p>The woman promptly gathered up the rag rug +she was braiding and moved to a bench in the farthermost +corner of the room.</p> +<p>“I can get you a wagon-load of chunks like +that.”</p> +<p>“Oh, my dear sir——”</p> +<p>“Smith’s my name.”</p> +<p>“But, Mr. Smith——”</p> +<p>“I trusts no man that ’Misters’ me,” Smith +scowled. “Every time I’ve ever been beat in a +deal, it’s been by some feller that’s called me +’Mister.’ Jest Smith suits me better.”</p> +<p>“Certainly, if you prefer,” amicably replied +McArthur, although unenlightened by the explanation.</p> +<p>He replaced his specimen and tied the sack, +convinced that it would be useless to explain to +this person that fossils like this were not found +by the wagon-load; that perhaps in the entire world +there was not one in which the branchiocardiac +grooves were so clearly defined, in which the emostigite +and the ambulatory legs were so perfectly +preserved.</p> +<p>He seemed a singular person, this Smith. +McArthur was not sure that he fancied him.</p> +<p>“Say, Guv’ner, what business do you follow, +anyhow?” Tubbs asked the question in the tone +of one who really wanted to get at the bottom +of a matter which had troubled him. “Air you a +bug-hunter by trade, or what? I’ve hauled you +around fer more’n a month now, and ain’t figgered +it out what you’re after. We’ve dug up ant-hills +and busted open most of the rocks between here +and the North Fork of Powder River, but I’ve +never seen you git anything yet that anybuddy’d +want.”</p> +<p>In the beginning of their tour, Tubbs’s questions +and caustic comment would have given McArthur +offense, but a longer acquaintance had taught him +that none was intended; that his words were merely +those of a man entirely without knowledge upon +any subject save those which had come under his +direct observation. While Tubbs frequently exasperated +him beyond expression, he found at the +same time a certain fascination in the man’s incredible +ignorance. In many respects his mind +was like that of a child, and his horizon as narrow +as McArthur’s own, though his companion did not +suspect it. The little scientist saw life from the +viewpoint of a small college and a New England +village; Tubbs knew only the sage-brush plains.</p> +<p>McArthur now replied dryly, but without irritation:</p> +<p>“My real trade—‘job,’ if you prefer—is anthropology. +Strictly speaking, I might, I think, be +called an anthropologist.”</p> +<p>“Gawd, feller!” ejaculated Smith in mock dismay. +“Don’t tip your hand like that. I’m a +killer myself, but I plays a lone game. I opens +up to no man or woman livin’.”</p> +<p>Tubbs looked slightly ashamed of his employer.</p> +<p>“Pardon me?”</p> +<p>“I say, never give nobody the cinch on you. +Many a good man’s tongue has hung him.”</p> +<p>McArthur studied Smith’s unsmiling face in perplexity, +not at all sure that he was not in earnest.</p> +<p>They sat in silence after this, even Tubbs being +too hungry to indulge in reminiscence.</p> +<p>The odor of frying steak filled the room, and +the warmth from the round sheet-iron stove gave +Smith, in particular, a delicious sense of comfort. +He felt as a cat on a comfortable cushion must +feel after days and nights of prowling for food +and shelter. The other two men, occupied with +their own thoughts, closed their eyes; but not +so Smith. Nothing, to the smallest detail, escaped +him. He appraised everything with as perfect an +appreciation of its value as an auctioneer.</p> +<p>Through the dining-room door which opened into +the kitchen, he could see the kitchen range—a big +one—the largest made for private houses. Smith +liked that. He liked things on a big scale. Besides, +it denoted generosity, and he had come to regard +a woman’s kitchen as an index to her character. +He distinctly approved of the big meat-platter +upon which the Chinese cook was piling +steak. He eyed the mongrel dog lying at the +Indian woman’s feet, and noted that its sides were +distended with food. He was prejudiced against, +suspicious of, a woman who kept lean dogs.</p> +<p>In the same impersonal way in which he eyed +her belongings, he looked at the woman who owned +it all. She was far too stout to please his taste, +but he liked her square shoulders and the thickness +of them; also her hair, which was long for +an Indian woman’s. She was too short in the body. +He wondered if she rode. He had a peculiar aversion +for women short in the body who rode on +horseback. This woman could love—all Indian +women can do that, as Smith well knew—love to +the end, faithfully, like dogs.</p> +<p>In the general analysis of his surroundings, Smith +looked at Tubbs, openly sneering as he eyed him. +He was like a sheep-dog that never had been +trained. And McArthur? Innocent as a yearling +calf, and honest as some sky-pilots.</p> +<p>“Glub’s piled!” yelled the cook from the kitchen +door. “Come an’ git it.”</p> +<p>Tubbs all but fell off his chair.</p> +<p>At the back door the cook hammered on a huge +iron triangle with a poker, in response to which +sound a motley half-dozen men filed from a nearby +bunk-house at a gait very nearly resembling a +trot.</p> +<p>The long dining-table was covered with a red +table-cloth, and at each end piles of bread and +fried steak rose like monuments. At each place +there was a platter, and beside it a steel knife, +a fork, and a tin spoon.</p> +<p>The bunk-house crowd wasted no time in ceremony. +Poising their forks above the meat-platter +in a candid search for the most desirable piece, +they alternately stabbed chunks of steak and bread.</p> +<p>Their platters once loaded with a generous +sample of all the food in sight, they fell upon it +with unconcealed relish. Eating, McArthur observed, +was a business; there was no time for the +amenities of social intercourse until the first pangs +of hunger were appeased. The Chinese cook, too, +interested him as he watched him shuffling over the +hewn plank floor in his straw sandals. A very different +type, this swaggering Celestial, from the +furtive-eyed Chinamen of the east. His tightly +coiled cue was as smooth and shining as a king-snake, +his loose blouse was immaculate, and the +flippant voice in which he demanded in each person’s +ear, “Coffee? Milk?” was like a challenge. +Whatever the individual’s choice might be, he got +it in a torrent in his stone-china cup.</p> +<p>There was no attempt at conversation, and only +the clatter and rattle of knives, forks, and dishes +was heard until a laugh from an adjoining room +broke the silence—a laugh that was mirthless, shrill, +and horrible.</p> +<p>McArthur sent a startled glance of inquiry about +the table. The laugh was repeated, and the sound +was even more wild and maniacal. The little man +was shocked at the grin which he noted upon each +face.</p> +<p>“She ought to take a feather and ile her voice,” +observed a guest known as “Meeteetse Ed.”</p> +<p>McArthur could not resist saying indignantly:</p> +<p>“The unfortunate are to be pitied, my dear sir.”</p> +<p>“This is jest a mild spasm she’s havin’ now. +You ought to hear her when she’s warmed up.”</p> +<p>McArthur was about to administer a sharper +rebuke when the door opened and Susie came out.</p> +<p>“How’s that for a screech?” she demanded +triumphantly.</p> +<p>“You’d sure make a bunch of coyotes take fer +home,” Meeteetse Ed replied flatteringly.</p> +<p>“You have come in my way not once or twice, +but thrice; and now you die! Ha! Ha!” Reaching +for a spoon, Susie stabbed Meeteetse Ed on +the second china button of his flannel shirt.</p> +<p>“I’d rather die than have you laff in my ear +like that,” declared Meeteetse.</p> +<p>“Next time I’m goin’ to learn a comical piece.”</p> +<p>“Any of ’em’s comical enough,” replied a husky +voice from the far end of the table. “I broke +somethin’ inside of me laffin’ at that one about +your dyin’ child.”</p> +<p>“I don’t care,” Susie answered, unabashed by +criticism. “Teacher says I’ve got quite a strain +of pathos in me.”</p> +<p>“You ought to do somethin’ for it,” suggested +a new voice. “Why don’t you bile up some Oregon +grape-root? That’ll take most anything out of +your blood.”</p> +<p>“Or go to Warm Springs and get your head +examined.” This voice was Smith’s.</p> +<p>“Could they help <i>you</i> any?” The girl’s eyes +narrowed and there was nothing of the previous +good-natured banter in her shrill tones.</p> +<p>Smith flushed under the shout of mocking laughter +which followed. He tried to join in it, but +the glitter of his blue eyes betrayed his anger.</p> +<p>The incident sobered the table-full, and silence +fell once more, until McArthur, feeling that an +effort toward conversation was a duty he owed his +hostess, cleared his throat and inquired pleasantly:</p> +<p>“Have any fragments ever been found in that +red formation which I observed to the left of us, +which would indicate that this vicinity was once the +home of the mammoth dinosaur?”</p> +<p>Too late he realized that the question was ill-advised. +As might be expected, it was Tubbs who +broke the awkward silence.</p> +<p>“Didn’t look to me, as I rid along, that it +ever were the home of anybuddy. A homestid’s no +good if you can’t git water on it.”</p> +<p>McArthur hesitated, then explained: “The +dinosaur was a prehistoric reptile,” adding modestly, +“I once had the pleasure of helping to +restore an armored dinosaur.”</p> +<p>“If ever I gits a rope on one of them things, +I’ll box him up and ship him on to you,” said +Tubbs generously. Then he inquired as an afterthought: +“Would he snap or chaw me up +a-tall?”</p> +<p>“What’s a prehysteric reptile?” interrupted +Susie.</p> +<p>“This particular reptile was a big snake, with +feet, that lived here when this country was a +marsh,” McArthur explained simply, for Susie’s +benefit.</p> +<p>The guests exchanged incredulous glances, but +it was Meeteetse Ed who laughed explosively and +said:</p> +<p>“Why, Mister, they ain’t been a sixteenth of +an inch of standin’ water on this hull reserve in +twenty year.”</p> +<p>“Better haul in your horns, feller, when you’re +talkin’ to a real prairie man.” Smith’s contemptuous +tone nettled McArthur, but Susie retorted +for him.</p> +<p>“Feller,” mocked Susie, “looks like you’re +mixed. You mean when he’s talkin’ to a Yellow-back. +No real prairie man packs a chip on his +shoulder all the time. That buttermilk you was +raised on back there in Missoury has soured you +some.”</p> +<p>Again an angry flush betrayed Smith’s feeling.</p> +<p>“A Yellow-back,” Susie explained with gusto in +response to McArthur’s puzzled look, “is one of +these ducks that reads books with buckskin-colored +covers, until he gets to thinkin’ that he’s a Bad +Man himself. This here country is all tunnelled +over with the graves of Yellow-backs what couldn’t +make their bluffs stick; fellers that just knew +enough to start rows and couldn’t see ’em +through.”</p> +<p>“Generally,” said Smith evenly, as he stared +unblinkingly into Susie’s eyes, “when I starts +rows, I sees ’em through.”</p> +<p>“And any time,” Susie answered, staring back +at him, “that you start a row on <i>this</i> ranch, +you’ve <i>got</i> to see it through.”</p> +<p>The grub-liners raised their eyes in surprise, for +there was unmistakable ill-feeling in her voice. It +was unlike her, this antagonistic attitude toward +a stranger, for, as they all knew, her hospitality +was unlimited, and every passer-by whose horse +fed at the big hayrack was regarded and treated as +a welcome friend.</p> +<p>There was rarely malice behind the sharp personalities +which she flung at random about the +table. Knowing no social distinctions, Susie was +no respecter of persons. She chaffed and flouted +the man who wintered a thousand head of cattle +with the same impartiality with which she gibed +his blushing cowpuncher. Her good-nature was a +byword, as were her generosity and boyish daring. +Susie MacDonald was a local celebrity in +her way, and on the big hay-ranch her lightest +word was law.</p> +<p>But the mere presence of this new-comer seemed +to fill her with resentment, making of her an irrepressible +young shrew who gloated openly in his +angry confusion.</p> +<p>“Speakin’ of Yellow-backs,” said Meeteetse, with +the candid intent of being tactful, “reminds me +of a song a pardner of mine wrote up about ’em +once. Comical? <i>T’—t’—t’—!</i>” He wagged his +head as if he had no words in which to describe +its incomparable humor. “He had another song +that was a reg’lar tear-starter: ‘Whar the Silver +Colorady Wends Its Way.’ Ever hear it? It’s +about a feller that buried his wife by the silver +Colorady, and turned outlaw. This pardner of +mine used to beller every time he sung it. He +cried like he was a Mormon, and he hadn’t no +more wife than a jack rabbit.”</p> +<p>“Some songs is touchin’,” agreed Arkansaw +Red.</p> +<p>“This was,” declared Meeteetse. “How she +faded day by day, till a pale, white corp’ she lay! +If I hadn’t got this cold on me——”</p> +<p>“I hate to see you sufferin’, Meeteetse, but if it +keeps you from warblin’——”</p> +<p>He ignored Susie’s implication, and went on +serenely:</p> +<p>“Looks like it’s settled on me for life, and it +all comes of tryin’ not to be a hog.”</p> +<p>“I hope it’ll be a lesson to you,” said Susie +soberly.</p> +<p>“That there Bar C cowpuncher, Babe, comes +over the other night, and, the bunk-house bein’ +full, I offers him half my blankets. I never put +in such a night since I froze to death on South +Pass. For fair, I’d ruther sleep with a two-year-ole +steer—couldn’t kick no worse than that Babe. +Why them blankets was in the air more’n half the +time, with him pullin’ his way, and me snatchin’ +of ’em back. Finally I gits a corner of a soogan +in my teeth, and that way I manages a little sleep. +I vows I’d ruther be a hog and git a night’s rest +than take in such a turrible bed-feller as him.”</p> +<p>Apropos of the restless Babe, one James Padden +observed: “They say he’s licked more’n half the +Bar C outfit.”</p> +<p>“Lick ’em!” exclaimed Meeteetse, with enthusiasm. +“Why, he could eat ’em! He jest tapped +me an easy one and nigh busted my jaw. If he +ever reely hit you with that fist of his’n, it ud sink +in up to the elbow. I ast him once: ’Babe,’ I +says, ‘how big are you anyhow?’ ‘Big?’ he +says surprised. ‘I ain’t big. I’m the runt of the +family. Pa was thirty-two inches between the eyes, +and they fed him with a shovel.’”</p> +<p>Susie giggled at some thought, and then inquired:</p> +<p>“Did anybody ever see that horse he’s huntin’? +He says it’s a two-year-old filly that he thinks +the world of. It’s brown, with a star in its forehead, +and one hip is knocked down. He never +hunts anywhere except on that road past the +school-house, and he stops at the pump each way—goin’ +and comin’. I never saw anybody with such +a thirst. He looks in the window while he’s drinkin’, +and swallows a gallon of water at a time, and +don’t know it.”</p> +<p>“Love is a turrible disease.” Tubbs spoke with +the emphasis of conviction. “It’s worse’n lump-jaw +er blackleg. It’s dum nigh as bad as glanders. +It’s ketchin’, too, and I holds that anybody that’s +got it bad ought to be dipped and quarantined. +I knowed a feller over in Judith Basin what suffered +agonies with it for two months, then shot +hisself. There was seven of ’em tyin’ their horses +to the same Schoolmarm’s hitchin’-post.”</p> +<p>“Take a long-geared Schoolmarm in a woolly +Tam-o’-shanter, and she’s a reg’lar storm-centre,” +vouchsafed the husky voice of “Banjo” Johnson.</p> +<p>“They is! They is!” declared Meeteetse, with +more feeling than the occasion seemed to warrant.</p> +<p>The knob of a door adjoining the dining-room +turned, and the grub-liners straightened in their +chairs. Susie’s eyes danced with mischief as she +leaned toward Meeteetse and asked innocently:</p> +<p>“They is <i>what</i>?”</p> +<p>But with the opening of the door the voluble +Meeteetse seemed to be stricken dumb.</p> +<p>As a young woman came out, Smith stared, and +instinctively McArthur half rose from his chair. +Believing his employer contemplated flight, Tubbs +laid a restraining hand upon his coat-tail, while +inadvertently he turned his knife in his mouth with +painful results.</p> +<p>The young woman who seated herself in one of +the two unoccupied chairs was not of the far West. +Her complexion alone testified to this fact, for +the fineness and whiteness of it were conspicuous +in a country where the winter’s wind and burning +suns of summer tan the skins of men and women +alike until they resemble leather in color and in +texture. Had this young woman possessed no +other good feature, her markedly fine complexion +alone would have saved her from plainness. But +her thick brown hair, glossy, and growing prettily +about her temples, was equally attractive to the +men who had been used to seeing only the straight, +black hair of the Indian women, and Susie’s sun-bleached +pigtail, which, as Meeteetse took frequent +occasion to remind her, looked like a hair-cinch. +Her eyes, set rather too far apart for beauty, +were round, with pupils which dilated until they +all but covered the blue iris; the eyes of an emotional +nature, an imaginative mind. Her other +features, though delicate, were not exceptional, but +the <i>tout ensemble</i> was such that her looks would +have been considered above the average even in a +country where pretty girls were plentiful. In her +present surroundings, and by contrast with the +womenfolk about her, she was regarded as the +most beautiful of her sex. Her manner, reserved +to the point of stiffness, and paralyzing, as it +did, the glibbest masculine tongue among them, was +also looked upon as the acme of perfection and +all that was desirable in young ladyhood; each +individual humbly admitting that while he never +before had met a real lady, he knew one when he +saw her.</p> +<p>The young woman returned McArthur’s bow +with a friendly smile, his action having at once +placed him as being “different.” Noting the fact, +the grub-liners resolved not to be outdone in +future in a mere matter of bows.</p> +<p>While nearly every arm was outstretched with an +offer of food, Susie leaned forward and whispered +ostentatiously behind her hand to Smith:</p> +<p>“Don’t you make any cracks. That’s the +Schoolmarm.”</p> +<p>“I’ve been around the world some,” Smith replied +curtly.</p> +<p>“The south side of Billings ain’t the world.”</p> +<p>It was only a random shot, as she did not know +Billings or any other town save by hearsay, but +it made a bull’s-eye. Susie knew it by the startled +look which she surprised from him, and Smith +could have throttled her as she snickered.</p> +<p>“Mister McArthur and Mister Tubbs, I’ll make +you acquainted with Miss Marshall.”</p> +<p>With elaborate formality of tone and manner, +Susie pointed at each individual with her fork while +mentioning them by name.</p> +<p>“Miss Marshall,” McArthur murmured, again +half rising.</p> +<p>“Much obliged to meet you,” said Tubbs +heartily as, bowing in imitation of his employer, +he caught the edge of his plate on the band of +his trousers and upset it.</p> +<p>Everybody stopped eating during this important +ceremony, and now all looked at Smith to +see what form his acknowledgment of the coveted +introduction to the Schoolmarm would take.</p> +<p>Smith in turn looked expectantly at Susie, who +met his eyes with a mocking grin.</p> +<p>“Anything I can reach for you, Mister Smith?” +she inquired. “Looks like you’re waitin’ for something.”</p> +<p>Smith’s face and the red table-cloth were much +the same shade as he looked annihilation at the +little half-breed imp.</p> +<p>Each time that Dora Marshall raised her eyes, +they met those of Smith. There was nothing of +impertinence in his stare; it was more of awe—a +kind of fascinated wonder—and she found herself +speculating as to who and what he was. He +was not a regular “grub-liner,” she was sure +of that, for he was as different in his way as +McArthur. He had a personality, not exactly +pleasant, but unique. Though he was not uncommonly +tall, his shoulders were thick and broad, +giving the impression of great strength. His jaw +was square, but it evidenced brutality rather than +determination. His nose, in contrast to the intelligence +denoted by his high, broad forehead, was +mediocre, inconsequential, the kind of a nose seldom +seen on the person who achieves. The two features +were those of the man who conceives big things, +yet lacks the force to execute them.</p> +<p>His eyes were unpleasantly bloodshot, but +whether from drink or the alkali dust of the desert, +it was impossible to determine; and when Susie +prodded him they had in them all the vicious meanness +of an outlaw bronco. His expression then +held nothing but sullen vindictiveness, while every +trait of a surly nature was suggested by his voice +and manner.</p> +<p>During the Schoolmarm’s covert study of him, +he laughed unexpectedly at one of Meeteetse Ed’s +sallies. The effect was little short of marvellous; +it completely transformed him. An unlooked-for +dimple deepened in one cheek, his eyes sparkled, +his entire countenance radiated for a moment a +kind of boyish good-nature which was indescribably +winning. In the brief space, whatever virtues he +possessed were as vividly depicted upon his face +as were his unpleasant characteristics when he was +displeased. So marked, indeed, was his changed +expression, that Susie burst out with her usual +candor as she eyed him:</p> +<p>“Mister, you ought to laugh all the time.”</p> +<p>Contributing but little toward the conversation, +and that little chiefly in the nature of flings at +Susie, Smith was yet the dominant figure at the +table. While he antagonized, he interested, and +although his insolence was no match for Susie’s +self-assured impudence, he still impressed his individuality +upon every person present.</p> +<p>He was studied by other eyes than Dora’s and +Susie’s. Not one of the looks which he had given +the former had escaped the Indian woman. With +the Schoolmarm’s coming, she had seen herself ignored, +and her face had grown as sullen as Smith’s +own, while the smouldering glow in her dark eyes +betrayed jealous resentment.</p> +<p>“Have a cookie?” urged Susie hospitably, +thrusting a plate toward Tubbs. “Ling makes +these ’specially for White Antelope.”</p> +<p>“No, thanks, I’ve et hearty,” declared Tubbs, +while McArthur shuddered. “I’ve had thousands.”</p> +<p>“Why, where is White Antelope?” Susie looked +in surprise at the vacant chair, and asked the +question of her mother.</p> +<p>Involuntarily Smith’s eyes and those of the +Indian woman met. He read correctly all that +they contained, but he did not remove his own +until her eyelids slowly dropped, and with a peculiar +doggedness she drawled:</p> +<p>“He go way for l’il visit; ’bout two, t’ree sleeps +maybe.”</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<a name='IV_A_SWAP_IN_SADDLE_BLANKETS' id='IV_A_SWAP_IN_SADDLE_BLANKETS'></a> +<h2>IV</h2> +<h3>A SWAP IN SADDLE BLANKETS</h3> +</div> + +<p>“Madam,” said McArthur, intercepting the +Indian woman the next morning while she was on +her way from the spring with a heavy pail, “I +cannot permit you to carry water when I am +here to do it for you.”</p> +<p>In spite of her surprised protest, he gently took +the bucket from her hand.</p> +<p>“Look at that dude,” said Smith contemptuously, +viewing the incident through the living-room +window. “Queerin’ hisself right along. No +more <i>sabe</i> than a cotton-tail rabbit. That’s the +worse thing he could do. Feller”—turning to +Tubbs—“if you want to make a winnin’ with a +woman, you never want to fetch and carry for +her.”</p> +<p>“I knows it,” acquiesced Tubbs. “Onct I was +a reg’lar doormat fer one, and I only got stomped +on fer it.”</p> +<p>“I can wrangle Injuns to a fare-ye-well,” Smith +continued. “Over on the Blackfoot I was the +most notorious Injun wrangler that ever jumped +up; and, feller, on the square, I never run an +errant for one in my life.”</p> +<p>“It’s wrong,” agreed Tubbs.</p> +<p>“There’s that dude tryin’ to make a stand-in, +and spilin’ his own game all the time by talkin’. +You can’t say he talks, neither; he just opens +his mouth and lets it say what it damn pleases. +Is them real words he gets off, or does he make +’em up as he goes along?”</p> +<p>“Search me.”</p> +<p>“I’ll tip you off, feller: if ever you want to +make a strong play at an Injun woman, you don’t +want to shoot off your mouth none. Keep still +and move around just so, and pretty soon she’ll +throw you the sign. Did you ever notice a dog +trottin’ down the street, passin’ everybody up till +all to once it takes a sniff, turns around, and +follers some feller off? That’s an Injun woman.”</p> +<p>“I never had no luck with squaws, and the likes +o’ that,” Tubbs confessed. “They’re turrible +hands to git off together and poke fun at you.”</p> +<p>As McArthur and the Indian woman came in +from the kitchen, he was saying earnestly to her:</p> +<p>“I feel sure that here, madam, I should entirely +recover my health. Besides, this locality seems +to me such a fertile field for research that if you +could possibly accommodate my man and me with +board, you may not be conferring a favor only +upon me, but indirectly, perhaps, upon the world +of science. I have with me my own bath-tub and +pneumatic mattress.”</p> +<p>Tubbs, seeing the Indian woman’s puzzled expression, +explained:</p> +<p>“He means we’ll sleep ourselves if you will eat +us.”</p> +<p>The woman nodded.</p> +<p>“Oh, you can stay. I no care.”</p> +<p>Smith frowned; but McArthur, much pleased +by her assent, told Tubbs to saddle a horse at +once, that he might lose no time in beginning his +investigations.</p> +<p>“If it were my good fortune to unearth a +cranium of the Homo primogenus, I should be the +happiest man in the world,” declared McArthur, +clasping his fingers in ecstasy at the thought of +such unparalleled bliss.</p> +<p>“What did I tell you?” said Smith, accompanying +Tubbs to the corral. “He’s tryin’ to win +himself a home.”</p> +<p>“Looks that way,” Tubbs agreed. “These here +bug-hunters is deep.”</p> +<p>The saddle blanket which Tubbs pulled from +their wagon and threw upon the ground, with +McArthur’s saddle, caught Smith’s eye instantly, +because of the similarity in color and markings to +that which he had folded so carefully inside his +own. This was newer, it had no disfiguring holes, +or black stain in the corner.</p> +<p>“What’s the use of takin’ chances?” he asked +himself as he looked it over.</p> +<p>While Tubbs was catching the horse in the corral, +Smith deftly exchanged blankets, and Tubbs, +to whom most saddle blankets looked alike, did not +detect the difference.</p> +<p>Upon returning to the house, Smith found the +Indian woman wiping breakfast dishes for the +cook. She came into the living-room when he +beckoned to her, with the towel in her hand. Taking +it from her, he wadded it up and threw it back +into the kitchen.</p> +<p>“Don’t you know any better not to spoil a +cook like that, woman?” he asked, smiling down +upon her. “You never want to touch a dish for +a cook. Row with ’em, work ’em over, keep ’em +down—but don’t humor ’em. You can’t treat a +cook like a real man. Ev’ry reg’lar cook has +a screw loose or he wouldn’t be a cook. Cookin’ +ain’t no man’s job. I never had no use for reg’lar +cooks—me, Smith.</p> +<p>“All you women need ribbing up once in awhile,” +he added, as, laying his hand lightly on her arm, +he let it slide its length until it touched her fingers. +He gave them a gentle pressure and resumed his +seat against the wall.</p> +<p>The woman’s eyes glowed as she looked at him. +His authoritative attitude appealed to her whose +ancestors had dressed game, tanned hides, and +dragged wood for their masters for countless generations. +The growing passion in her eyes did +not escape Smith.</p> +<p>In the long silence which followed he looked at +her steadily; finally he said:</p> +<p>“Well, I guess I’ll saddle up. You look ‘just +so’ to me, woman—but I got to go.”</p> +<p>She laid down the rags of her mat and “threw +him the sign” for which he had waited. It said:</p> +<p>“My heart is high; it is good toward you. Talk +to me—talk straight.”</p> +<p>He shook his head sadly.</p> +<p>“No, no, Singing Bird; I am headed for the +Mexican border—many, many sleeps from here.”</p> +<p>She arose and walked to his side.</p> +<p>He felt a sudden and violent dislike for her +flabby, swaying hips, her heavy step, as she moved +toward him. He knew that the game was won, +and won so easily it was a school-boy’s play.</p> +<p>“Why you go?” she demanded, and the disappointment +in her eyes was so intense as to resemble +fear. “What you do dere?”</p> +<p>He looked at her through half-closed eyes.</p> +<p>“Did you ever hear of wet horses?”</p> +<p>She shook her head.</p> +<p>“I deals in wet horses—me, Smith.”</p> +<p>The woman stared at him uncomprehendingly.</p> +<p>“Down there on the border,” he explained, “you +buy the horses on the Mexico side. You buy ’em +when the Mexican boss is asleep in his ’dobe, so +there’s no kick about the price. You swim ’em +across the Rio Grande and sell ’em to the Americano +waitin’ on the other side.”</p> +<p>“You buy de wet horse?”</p> +<p>“No, by Gawd,—I wet ’em!”</p> +<p>“Why you steal?”</p> +<p>He looked at her contemptuously.</p> +<p>“Why does anybody steal? I need the dinero—me, +Smith.”</p> +<p>“You want money?”</p> +<p>He laughed.</p> +<p>“I always want money. I never had enough +but once in my life, and then I had too much. +Gold is hell to pack,” he added reminiscently.</p> +<p>“I have de fine hay-ranch, white man, de best +on de reservation. Two, four t’ousand dollars I +have when de hay is sold. De ranch is big”—her +arms swept the horizon to show its extent. +“You stay here and make de bargain with de +cattlemen, and I give you so much”—she measured +a third of her hand with her forefinger. +“If dat is not enough, I give you so much”—she +measured the half of her hand with her forefinger. +“If dat not enough, I give you all.” She swept +the palm of one hand with the other.</p> +<p>Smith dropped his eyelids, that she might not see +the triumph shining beneath them.</p> +<p>“I must think, Prairie Flower.”</p> +<p>“No, white man, you no think. You stay!”</p> +<p>Smith, who had arisen, slipped his arm about her +ample waist. She pulled aside his Mackinaw coat +and laid her head upon his breast.</p> +<p>“The white man’s heart is strong,” she said +softly.</p> +<p>“It beats for you, Little Fawn;” and he ran +out his tongue in derision.</p> +<p>All the morning she sat on the floor at his +feet, braiding the rags for her mat, content to +hear him speak occasionally, and to look often into +his face with dog-like devotion. It was there Susie +saw her when she returned from school earlier in +the afternoon than usual, and was beckoned into +the kitchen by Ling.</p> +<p>“He’s makin’ a mash,” said Ling laconically, +as he jerked his thumb toward the open door of +the living-room.</p> +<p>All the girlish vivacity seemed to go out of +Susie’s face in her first swift glance. It hardened +in mingled shame and anger.</p> +<p>“Mother,” she said sharply, “you promised me +that you wouldn’t sit on the floor like an Injun.”</p> +<p>“We’re gettin’ sociable,” said Smith mockingly.</p> +<p>The woman glanced at Smith, and hesitated, +but finally got up and seated herself on the bench.</p> +<p>“Why don’t you try bein’ ’sociable’ with the +Schoolmarm?” Susie sneered.</p> +<p>“Maybe I will.”</p> +<p>“And <i>maybe</i> you won’t get passed up like a +white chip!”</p> +<p>“Oh, I dunno. I’ve made some winnings.”</p> +<p>“I can tell that by your eyes. You got ’em +bloodshot, I reckon, hangin’ over the fire in squaw +camps. White men can’t stand smoke like Injuns.”</p> +<p>This needle-tongued girl jabbed the truth into +him in a way which maddened him, but he said +conciliatingly:</p> +<p>“We don’t want to quarrel, kid.”</p> +<p>“You mean <i>you</i> don’t.” Susie slammed the +door behind her.</p> +<p>The child’s taunt reawakened his interest in the +Schoolmarm. He thought of her riding home +alone, and grew restless. Besides, the dulness began +to bore him.</p> +<p>“I’ll saddle up, Prairie Flower, and look over +the ranch. When I come back I’ll let you know +if it’s worth my while to stay.”</p> +<p>Tubbs was sitting on the wagon-tongue, mending +harness, when Smith went out,</p> +<p>“Aimin’ to quit the flat?” inquired Tubbs.</p> +<p>“Feller, didn’t that habit of askin’ questions +ever git you in trouble?”</p> +<p>“Well I guess <i>so</i>,” Tubbs replied candidly. +“See that scar under my eye?”</p> +<p>“I’d invite you along to tell me about it,” said +Smith sardonically, “only, the fact is, feller, I’m +goin’ down the road to make medicine with the +Schoolmarm.”</p> +<p>Tubbs’s eyes widened.</p> +<p>“Gosh!” he ejaculated enviously. “I wisht I +had your gall.”</p> +<p>Before Smith swung into the saddle he pulled +out a heavy silver watch attached to a hair watch-chain.</p> +<p>“Just the right time,” he nodded.</p> +<p>“Huh?”</p> +<p>“I say, if it was only two o’clock, or three, I +wouldn’t go.”</p> +<p>“You wouldn’t? I’ll tell you about me: I’d +go if it was twelve o’clock at night and twenty +below zero to ride home with that lady.”</p> +<p>“Feller,” said Smith, in a paternal tone, “you +never want to make a break at a woman before four +o’clock in the afternoon. You might just as well +go and lay down under a bush in the shade from +a little after daylight until about this time. You +wouldn’t hunt deer or elk in the middle of the +day, would you? No, nor women—all same kind +of huntin’. They’ll turn you down sure; white or +red—no difference.”</p> +<p>“Is that so?” said Tubbs, in the awed voice +of one who sits at the feet of a master.</p> +<p>“When the moon’s out and the lamps are lit, +they’ll empty their sack and tell you the story of +their lives. I don’t want to toot my horn none, but +I’ve wrangled around some. I’ve hunted big game +and humans. Their habits, feller, is much the same.”</p> +<p>While Smith was galloping down the road +toward the school-house, Susie was returning from +a survey of the surrounding country, which was to +be had from a knoll near the house.</p> +<p>“Mother,” she said abruptly, “I feel queer +here.” She laid both hands on her flat, childish +breast and hunched her shoulders. “I feel like +something is goin’ to happen.”</p> +<p>“What happen, you think?” her mother asked +listlessly.</p> +<p>“It’s something about White Antelope, I +know.”</p> +<p>The woman looked up quickly.</p> +<p>“He go visit Bear Chief, maybe.” There was +an odd note in her voice.</p> +<p>“He wouldn’t go away and stay like this without +telling you or me. He never did before. He +knows I would worry; besides, he didn’t take a +horse, and he never would walk ten miles when +there are horses to ride. His gun isn’t here, so he +must have gone hunting, but he wouldn’t stay all +night hunting rabbits; and he couldn’t be lost, +when he knows the country as well as you or me.”</p> +<p>“He go to visit,” the Indian woman insisted +doggedly.</p> +<p>“If he isn’t home to-morrow, I’m goin’ to hunt +him, but I know something’s wrong.”</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<a name='V_SMITH_MAKES_MEDICINE_WITH_THE_SCHOOLMARM' id='V_SMITH_MAKES_MEDICINE_WITH_THE_SCHOOLMARM'></a> +<h2>V</h2> +<h3>SMITH MAKES MEDICINE WITH THE SCHOOLMARM</h3> +</div> + +<p>Once out of sight of the house, Smith let +his horse take its own gait, while he viewed the +surrounding country with the thoughtful consideration +of a prospective purchaser. As he gazed, +its possibilities grew upon him. If water was to +be found somewhere in the Bad Lands the location +of the ranch was ideal for—certain purposes.</p> +<p>The Bar C cattle-range bounded the reservation +on the west; the MacDonald ranch, as it was +still called, after the astute Scotch squawman who +had built it, was close to the reservation line; and +beyond the sheltering Bad Lands to the northeast +was a ranch where lived certain friendly persons +with whom he had had most satisfactory business +relations in the past.</p> +<p>A plan began to take definite shape in his active +brain, but the head of a sleepy white pony appearing +above the next rise temporarily changed the +course of his thoughts, and with his recognition +of its rider life took on an added zest.</p> +<p>Dora Marshall, engrossed in thought, did not +see Smith until he pulled his hat-brim in salutation +and said:</p> +<p>“You’re a thinker, I take it.”</p> +<p>“I find my work here absorbing,” she replied, +coloring under his steady look.</p> +<p>He turned his horse and swung it into the road +beside her.</p> +<p>“I was just millin’ around and thought I’d +ride down the road and meet you.” Further than +this brief explanation, he did not seem to feel +it incumbent upon him to make conversation. +Apparently entirely at his ease in the silence which +followed, he turned his head often and stared at +her with a frank interest which he made no effort +to conceal. Finally he shifted his weight to one +stirrup and, turning in his saddle so that he faced +her, he asked bluntly:</p> +<p>“That look in your eyes—that look as if you +hadn’t nothin’ to hide—is it true? Is it natural, +as you might say, or do you just put it on?”</p> +<p>Her astonished expression led him to explain.</p> +<p>“It’s like lookin’ down deep into water that’s +so clear you can see the sand shinin’ in the bottom; +one of these places where there’s no mud or black +spots; nothin’ you can’t see or understand. <i>Sabe</i> +what I mean?”</p> +<p>Since she did not answer, he continued:</p> +<p>“I’ve met up with women before now that had +that same look, but only at first. It didn’t last; +they could put it on and take it off like they did +their hats.”</p> +<p>“I don’t know that I am quite sure what you +mean,” the girl replied, embarrassed by the personal +nature of his questions and comments; “but +if you mean to imply that I affect this or that +expression, for a purpose, you misjudge me.”</p> +<p>“I was just askin’,” said Smith.</p> +<p>“I think I am always honest of purpose,” the +girl went on slowly, “and when one is that, I +think it shows in one’s eyes. To be sure, I often +fall short of my intentions. I mean to do right, +and almost as frequently do wrong.”</p> +<p>“You do?” He eyed her with quick intentness.</p> +<p>“Yes, don’t you? Don’t all of us?”</p> +<p>“I does what I aims to do,” he replied ambiguously.</p> +<p>So she—this girl with eyes like two deep springs—did +wrong—frequently. He pondered the admission +for a long time. Smith’s exact ideas of +right and wrong would have been difficult to define; +the dividing line, if there were any, was so vague +that it had never served as the slightest restraint. +“To do what you aim to do, and make a clean +get-away”—that was the successful life.</p> +<p>He had seen things, it is true; there had been +incidents and situations which had repelled him, +but why, he had never asked himself. There was +one situation in particular to which his mind frequently +reverted, as it did now. He had known +worse women than the one who had figured in it, +but for some reason this single scene was impressed +upon his mind with a vividness which seemed never +to grow less.</p> +<p>He saw a woman seated at an old-fashioned +organ in a country parlor. There was a rag-carpet +on the floor—he remembered how springy +it was with the freshly laid straw underneath it. +Her husband held a lamp that she might see the +notes, while his other hand was upon her shoulder, +his adoring eyes upon her silly face. He, Smith, was +rocking in the blue plush chair for which the fool +with the calloused hands had done extra work that +he might give it to the woman upon her birthday. +Each time that she screeched the refrain, “Love, +I will love you always,” she lifted her chin to +sing it to the man beaming down upon her, while +upstairs her trunk was packed to desert him.</p> +<p>Smith always remembered with satisfaction that +he had left her in Red Lodge with only the price +of a telegram to her husband, in her shabby purse.</p> +<p>“I like your style, girl.” His eyes swept Dora +Marshall’s figure as he spoke.</p> +<p>There was a difference in his tone, a familiarity +in his glance, which sent the color flying to the +Schoolmarm’s cheeks.</p> +<p>“I think we could hit it off—you and me—if we +got sociable.”</p> +<p>He leaned toward her and laid his gloved hand +upon hers as it rested on the saddle-horn.</p> +<p>The pupils of her eyes dilated until they all but +covered the iris as she turned them, blazing, upon +Smith.</p> +<p>“Just what do you mean by that?”</p> +<p>There was no mistaking the genuineness nor the +nature of the emotion which made her voice vibrate. +But Smith considered. Was she deeper—“slicker,” +as he phrased it to himself—than he had thought, +or had he really misunderstood her? Surprising as +was the feeling, he hoped some way, that it was +the latter. He looked at her again before he +answered gently:</p> +<p>“I didn’t mean to make you hot none, Miss. +I’m ignorant in handlin’ words. I only meant to +say that I hoped you and me would be good +friends.”</p> +<p>His explanation cleared her face instantly.</p> +<p>“I am sorry if I misunderstood you; but one +or two unpleasant experiences in this country have +made me quick—too quick, perhaps—to take +offense.”</p> +<p>“There’s lots just lookin’ for game like you. +No better nor brutes,” said Smith virtuously, entirely +sincere in his sudden indignation against +these licentious characters.</p> +<p>Yes, the Schoolmarm had rebuffed him, as Susie +had prophesied, but the effect of it upon him was +such as neither he nor she had reckoned. As they +rode along a swift, overpowering infatuation for +Dora Marshall grew upon him. He felt something +like a flame rising within him, burning him, bewildering +him with its intensity. She seemed all at +once to possess every attribute of the angels, +from mere prettiness her face took on a radiant +beauty which dazzled him, and when she spoke her +lightest word held him breathless. As the mountain +towers above the foothills, so, of a sudden, +she towered above all other women. He had known +sensations—all, he had believed, that it was possible +to experience; but this one, strange, overwhelming, +dazed him with its violence.</p> +<p>Love frequently comes like this to people in +the wilds, to those who have few interests and +much time to think. The emotional side of their +natures has been held in check until a trifle is +sometimes sufficient to loose a torrent which nothing +can then divert or check.</p> +<p>She asked him to loop her latigo, which was +trailing, and his hand shook as he fumbled with +the leather strap.</p> +<p>“Gawd!” he swore in bewilderment as he returned +to his own horse, wiping his forehead with +the back of his gauntlet, “what feelin’ is this +workin’ on me? Am I gettin’ locoed, me—Smith?”</p> +<p>“I’m glad I’ve found a friend like you,” said +the Schoolmarm impulsively. “One needs friends +in a country like this.”</p> +<p>“A friend!” It sounded like a jest to Smith. +“A friend!” he repeated with an odd laugh. +Then he raised his hand, as one takes an oath, and +whatever of whiteness was left in Smith’s soul +illumined his face as he added: “Yes, to a killin’ +finish.”</p> +<p>If Smith had met Dora among many, the result +might have been the same in the end, but here, +in the isolation, she seemed from the first the centre +of everything, the alpha and omega of the universe, +and his passion for her was as great as though +it were the growth of many months instead of less +than twenty-four hours. The depth, the breadth, +of it could not quickly be determined, nor the +lengths to which it would take him. It was something +new to be reckoned with. To what extent +it would control him, neither Smith nor any one +else could have told. He knew only that it now +seemed the most real, the most sincere, the best +thing which had ever come into his life.</p> +<p>Dora Marshall knew nothing of men like Smith, +or of natures like those of the men of the mountains +and ranges, who paid her homage. Her +knowledge of life and people was drawn from +the limited experiences of a small, Middle West +town, together with a year at a Middle West co-ed +college, and as a result of the latter the Schoolmarm +cherished a fine belief in her worldly wisdom, whereas, +in a measure, her lack of it was one of her +charms. Susie, in her way, was wiser.</p> +<p>The Schoolmarm’s attitude toward her daily +life was the natural outcome of a romantic nature +and an imaginative mind. She saw herself as the +heroine of an absorbing story, the living of which +story she enjoyed to the utmost, while every incident +and every person contributed to its interest. +Quite unconsciously, with unintentional egotism, +the Schoolmarm had a way of standing off and +viewing herself, as it were, through the rosy glow +of romance. Yet she was not a complex character—this +Schoolmarm. She had no soaring ambitions, +though her ideals for herself and for +others were of the best. To do her duty, to help +those about her, to win and retain the liking of +her half-savage little pupils, were her chief desires.</p> +<p>She had her share of the vanity of her sex, +and of its natural liking for admiration and attention, +yet in the freedom of her unique environment +she never overstepped the bounds of the +proprieties as she knew them, or violated in the +slightest degree the conventionalities to which she +had been accustomed in her rather narrow home +life. It was this reserve which inspired awe in +the men with whom she came in contact, used +as they were to the greater camaraderie of Western +women.</p> +<p>In her unsophistication, her provincial innocence, +Dora Marshall was exactly the sort to misunderstand +and to be misunderstood, a combination sometimes +quite as dangerous in its results, and as +provocative of trouble, as the intrigues of a designing +woman.</p> +<p>“I reckon you think I’m kind of a mounted +bum, a grub-liner, or something like that,” said +Smith after a time.</p> +<p>“To be frank, I <i>have</i> wondered who you are.”</p> +<p>“Have you? Have you, honest?” asked Smith +delightedly.</p> +<p>“Well—you’re different, you know. I can’t explain +just how, but you are not like the others +who come and go at the ranch.”</p> +<p>“No,” Smith replied with some irony; “I’m +not like that there Tubbs.” He added laconically, +“I’m no angel, me—Smith.”</p> +<p>The Schoolmarm laughed. Smith’s denial was +so obviously superfluous.</p> +<p>“There was a time when I’d do ’most any old +thing,” he went on, unmindful of her amusement. +“It was only a few years ago that there was no +law north of Cheyenne, and a feller got what he +wanted with his gun. I got my share. I come +from a country where they sleep between sheets, but +I got a lickin’ that wasn’t comin’ to me, and I +quit the flat when I was thirteen. I’ve been out +amongst ’em since.”</p> +<p>The desire to reform somebody, which lies dormant +in every woman’s bosom, began to stir in +the Schoolmarm’s.</p> +<p>“But you—you wouldn’t ’do any old thing’ +now, would you?”</p> +<p>Smith hesitated, and a variety of expressions +succeeded one another upon his face. It was an +awkward moment, for, under the uplifting influence +of the feeling which possessed him, he had an +odd desire to tell this girl only the truth.</p> +<p>“I wouldn’t do some of the things I used to +do,” he replied evasively.</p> +<p>The Schoolmarm beamed encouragement.</p> +<p>“I’m glad of that.”</p> +<p>“I used to kill Injuns for fifty dollars a head, +but I wouldn’t do it now,” he said virtuously, +adding: “I’d get my neck stretched.”</p> +<p>“You’ve killed people—Indians—for money!” +The Schoolmarm looked at him, wide-eyed with +horror.</p> +<p>“They was clutterin’ up the range,” Smith explained +patiently, “and the cattlemen needed it +for their stock. I’d ’a’ killed ’em for nothin’, +but when ’twas offered, I might as well get the +bounty.”</p> +<p>The Schoolmarm scarcely knew what to say; his +explanation seemed so entirely satisfactory to himself.</p> +<p>“I’m glad those dreadful days have gone.”</p> +<p>“They’re gone all right,” Smith answered +sourly. “They make dum near as much fuss +over an Injun as a white man now, and what +with jumpin’ up deputies at every turn in the +road, ’tain’t safe. Why, I heard a judge say a +while back that killin’ an Injun was pure murder.”</p> +<p>“I appreciate your confidence—your telling me +of your life,” said the Schoolmarm, in lieu of something +better.</p> +<p>She found him a difficult person with whom to +converse. They seemed to have no common meeting-ground, +yet, while he constantly startled and +shocked, he also fascinated her. In one of those +illuminating flashes to which the Schoolmarm was +subject, she saw herself as Smith’s guiding-star, +leading him to the triumphant finish of the career +which she believed his unique but strong personality +made possible.</p> +<p>It was Smith’s turn to look at her. Did she +think he had told her of his life? The unexpected +dimple deepened in Smith’s cheek, and as he +laughed the Schoolmarm, again noting the effect +of it, could not in her heart believe that he was +as black as he had painted himself.</p> +<p>“I wisht our trails had crossed sooner, but, +anyhow, I’m on the square with you, girl. And +if ever you ketch me ’talkin’ crooked,’ as the +Injuns say, I’ll give you my whole outfit—horse, +saddle, blankets, guns, even my dog-gone shirt. +Excuse me.”</p> +<p>The Schoolmarm glowed. Her woman’s influence +for good was having its effect! This was +a step in the right direction—a long step. He +would be “on the square” with her—she liked +the way he phrased it. Already her mind was +busy with air-castles for Smith, which would have +made that person stare, had he known of them. +An inkling of their nature may be had from her +question:</p> +<p>“Would you like to study, to learn from books, +if you had the opportunity?”</p> +<p>“I learned my letters spellin’ out the brands +on cattle,” he said frankly, “and that, with bein’ +able to write my name on the business end of a +check, and common, everyday words, has always +been enough to see me through.”</p> +<p>“But when one has naturally a good mind, like +yours, don’t you think it is almost wicked not to +use it?”</p> +<p>“I got a mind all right,” Smith replied complacently. +“I’m kind of a head-worker in my +way, but steady thinkin’ makes me sicker nor a +pup. I got a headache for two days spellin’ out +a description of myself that the sheriff of Choteau +County spread around the country on handbills. +It was plumb insultin’, as I figgered it out, callin’ +attention to my eyes and ears and busted thumb. +I sent word to him that I felt hos-tile over it. +Sheriffs’ll go too far if you don’t tell ’em where +to get off at once in awhile.”</p> +<p>The Schoolmarm ignored the handbill episode +and went on:</p> +<p>“Besides, a lack of education is such a handicap +in business.”</p> +<p>“The worst handicap I has to complain of,” +said Smith grimly, “is the habit people has got +into of sending money-orders through the mail, +instead of the cash. It keeps money out of circulation, +besides bein’ discouragin’ and puttin’ many +a hard-workin’ hold-up on the bum.”</p> +<p>“But,” she persisted, the real meaning of +Smith’s observations entirely escaping her, “even +the rudiments of an education would be such a +help to you, opening up many avenues that now +are closed to you. What I want to say is this: +that if you intend to stop for a time at the ranch, +I will be glad to teach you. Susie and I have an +extra session in the evening, and I will be delighted +to have you join us.”</p> +<p>It had not dawned upon Smith that she had +questioned him with this end in view. He looked +at her fixedly, then, from the depths of his experience, +he said:</p> +<p>“Girl, you must like me some.”</p> +<p>Dora flushed hotly.</p> +<p>“I am interested,” she replied.</p> +<p>“That’ll do for now;” and Smith wondered if +the lump in his throat was going to choke him. +“Will I join that night-school of yours? <i>Will</i> +I? Watch me! Say,” he burst out with a kind +of boyish impulsiveness, “if ever you see me doin’ +anything I oughtn’t, like settin’ down when I +ought to stand up, or standin’ up when I ought +to set down, will you just rope me and take a turn +around a snubbin’-post and jerk me off my feet?”</p> +<p>“We’ll get along famously if you really want +to improve yourself!” exclaimed the Schoolmarm, +her eyes shining with enthusiasm. “If you really +and truly want to learn.”</p> +<p>“Really and truly I do,” Smith echoed, feeling +at the moment that he would have done dressmaking +or taken in washing, had she bid him.</p> +<p>Once more the world looked big, alluring, and +as full of untried possibilities as when he had +“quit the flat” at thirteen.</p> +<p>“Have you noticed me doin’ anything that isn’t +manners?” he asked in humble anxiety. “Don’t +be afraid of hurtin’ my feelin’s,” he urged, “for +I ain’t none.”</p> +<p>“If you honestly want me to tell you things, +I will; but it seems so—so queer upon such a +very short acquaintance.”</p> +<p>“Shucks! What’s the use of wastin’ time pretendin’ +to get acquainted, when you’re acquainted +as soon as you look at each other? What’s the +use of sashayin’ around the bush when you meet +up with somebody you like? You just cut loose +on me, girl.”</p> +<p>“It’s only a little thing, in a way, and not in +itself important perhaps; yet it would be, too, if +circumstances should take you into the world. It +might make a bad impression upon strangers.”</p> +<p>Smith looked slightly alarmed. He wondered +if she suspected anything about White Antelope. +At the moment, he could think of nothing else +he had done within the last twenty-four hours, +which might prejudice strangers.</p> +<p>“I noticed at the table,” the Schoolmarm went +on in some embarrassment, “that you held your +fork as though you were afraid it would get +away from you. Like this”—she illustrated with +her fist.</p> +<p>“Like a ranch-hand holdin’ onto a pitch-fork,” +Smith suggested, relieved.</p> +<p>“Something,” she laughed. “It should be like +this. Anyway,” she declared encouragingly, “you +don’t eat with your knife.”</p> +<p>Smith beamed.</p> +<p>“Did you notice that?”</p> +<p>“Naturally, in a land of sword-swallowers, I +would;” the Schoolmarm made a wry face.</p> +<p>“Once I run with a high-stepper from Bowlin’ +Green, Kentucky, and she told me better nor that,” +he explained. “She said nothin’ give a feller +away like his habit of handlin’ tools at the table. +She was a lady all right, but she got the dope +habit and threw the lamp at me. The way I +quit her didn’t trouble <i>me</i>. None of ’em ever +had any holt on me when it come to a show-down; +but you, girl, <i>you</i>——”</p> +<p>“Look!”</p> +<p>Her sharp exclamation interrupted him, and, +following her gesture, he saw a flying horseman +in the distance, riding as for his life, while behind +him two other riders quirted their horses +in hot pursuit.</p> +<p>“Is it a race—for fun?”</p> +<p>“I don’t think it,” Smith replied dryly, noting +the direction from which they came. “It looks +like business.”</p> +<p>He knew that the two behind were Indians. He +could tell by the way they used their quirts and +sat their horses. Neither was there any mistaking +the bug-hunter on his ewe-necked sorrel, which, +displaying unexpected bursts of speed, was keeping +in the lead and heading straight for the ranch-house. +With one hand McArthur was clinging to +the saddle-horn, and with the other was clinging +quite as tightly to what at a distance appeared +to be a carbine.</p> +<p>“He’s pulled his gun—why don’t he use it?” +Smith quickened his horse’s gait.</p> +<p>He knew that the Indians had learned White +Antelope’s fate. That was a lucky swap Smith +had made that morning. He congratulated himself +that he had not “taken chances.” He wondered +how effective McArthur’s denial would prove +in the face of the evidence furnished by the saddle-blanket. +Personally, Smith regarded the bug-hunter’s +chances as slim.</p> +<p>“They’ll get him in the corral,” he observed.</p> +<p>“Oh, it’s Mr. McArthur!” Dora cried in distress.</p> +<p>Smith looked at her in quick jealousy.</p> +<p>“Well, what of it?” In her excitement, the +gruffness of his tone passed unobserved.</p> +<p>“Come,” she urged. “The Indians are angry, +and he may need us.”</p> +<p>Hatless, breathless, pale, McArthur rolled out +of his saddle and thrust a long, bleached bone into +Tubbs’s hand.</p> +<p>“Keep it!” he gasped. “Protect it! It may +be—I don’t say it is, but it <i>may</i> be—a portion +of the paroccipital bone of an Ichthyopterygian!” +Then he turned and faced his pursuers.</p> +<p>Infuriated, they rode straight at him, but he +did not flinch, and the horses swerved of their +own accord.</p> +<p>Susie had run from the house, and her mother +had followed, expectancy upon her stolid face, for, +like Smith, she had guessed the situation.</p> +<p>The Indians circled, and, returning, pointed +accusing fingers at McArthur.</p> +<p>“He kill White Antelope!”</p> +<p>By this time, the grub-liners had reached the +corral, among them four Indians, all friends of +the dead man. Their faces darkened.</p> +<p>“White Antelope is dead in a gulch!” cried +his accusers. “He is shot to pieces—here, there, +everywhere!”</p> +<p>A murmur of angry amazement arose. White +Antelope, the kindly, peaceable Cree, who had not +an enemy on the reservation!</p> +<p>“This is dreadful!” declared McArthur. “Believe +me”—he turned to them all—“I had but +found the corpse myself when these men rode up. +The Indian was cold; he certainly had been dead +for hours. Besides,” he demanded, “what possible +motive could I have?”</p> +<p>“Them as likes lettin’ blood don’t need a motive.” +The sneering voice was Smith’s.</p> +<p>“But you, sir, met us on the hill. You know +the direction from which we came.”</p> +<p>“It’s easy enough to circle.”</p> +<p>“But why should I go back?” cried McArthur.</p> +<p>“They say there’s that that draws folks back +for another look.”</p> +<p>Smith’s insinuations, the stand he took, had its +effect upon the Indians, who, hot for revenge, +needed only this to confirm their suspicions. One +of the Indians on horseback began to uncoil his +rawhide saddle-rope. All save McArthur understood +the significance of the action. They meant to +tie him hand and foot and take him to the Agency, +with blows and insults plentiful en route.</p> +<p>They edged closer to him, every savage instinct +uppermost, their faces dark and menacing. McArthur, +his eyes sweeping the circle, felt that he +had not one friend, not one, in the motley, +threatening crowd fast closing in upon him; for +Tubbs, hearing himself indirectly included in the +accusation, had discreetly, and with perceptible +haste, withdrawn.</p> +<p>The Indian swung from his saddle, rope in +hand, and advanced upon McArthur with unmistakable +purpose; but he did not reach the little +scientist, for Susie darted from the circle, her +flashing gray eyes looking more curiously at +variance than ever with her tawny skin.</p> +<p>“No, no, Running Rabbit!” She pushed him +gently backward with her finger-tips upon his chest.</p> +<p>There was a murmur of protest from the crowd, +and it seemed to sting her like a spur. Susie was +not accustomed to disapproval. She turned to +where the murmurs came loudest—from the white +grub-liners, who were eager for excitement.</p> +<p>“Who are you,” she cried, “that you should be +so quick to accuse this stranger? You, Arkansaw +Red, that skipped from Kansas for killin’ a nigger! +You, Jim Padden, that shot a sheep-herder in cold +blood! You, Banjo Johnson, that’s hidin’ out this +minute! Don’t you all be so darned anxious to +hang another man, when there’s a rope waitin’ +somewhere for your own necks!</p> +<p>“And lemme tell you”—she took a step toward +them. “The man that lifts a finger to take this +bug-hunter to the Agency can take his blankets +along at the same time, for there’ll never be a +bunk or a seat at the table for him on this ranch +as long as he lives. Where’s your proof against +this bug-hunter? You can’t drag a man off without +something against him—just because you want +to <i>hang</i> somebody!”</p> +<p>Some sound from Smith attracted her attention; +she wheeled upon him, and, with her thin arm outstretched +as she pointed at him in scorn, she cried +shrilly:</p> +<p>“Why, I’d sooner think <i>you</i> did it, than him!”</p> +<p>There was not so much as the flicker of an +eyelid from Smith.</p> +<p>“I know you’d <i>sooner</i> think I did it than him,” +he said, playing upon the word. “You’d like to +see <i>me</i> get my neck stretched.”</p> +<p>His bravado, his very insolence, was his protection.</p> +<p>“And maybe I’ll have the chanst!” she retorted +furiously.</p> +<p>Turning from him to the Indians, her voice +dropped, the harsh language taking on the soft +accent of the squaws as she spoke to them in their +own tongue. Like many half-breeds, Susie seldom +admitted that she either understood or could speak +the Indian language. She had an amusing fashion +of referring even to her relatives as “those Injuns”; +but now, with hands outstretched, she +pleaded:</p> +<p>“We are all Indians together in this—friends +of White Antelope! Our hearts are down; they +are heavy—so. You all know that he came from +the great Cree country with my father, and he +has told us many times stories of the big north +woods, where they hunted and trapped. You know +how he watched me when I was little, and sat with +his hand upon my head when I had the big fever. +He was like no one else to me except my father. +He was wise and good.</p> +<p>“I could kill with my own hand the man who +killed White Antelope. I want his blood as much +as you. I’d like to see a stake driven through his +black heart on White Antelope’s grave. But let us +not be too quick because the hate is hot in us. My +heart tells me that the white man talks straight. Let +us wait—wait until we find the right one, and when +we do we will punish in our own way. You hear? +<i>In our own way!</i>”</p> +<p>Smith understood something of her plea, and +for the second time he paid her courage tribute.</p> +<p>“She’s a game kid all right,” he said to himself, +and a half-formed plan for utilizing her gameness +began to take definite shape.</p> +<p>That she had won, he knew before Running Rabbit +recoiled his rope. After a moment’s talk among +themselves, the Indians went to hitch the horses +to the wagon, to bring White Antelope’s body +home.</p> +<p>Smith was well aware that he had only to point +to the saddle blanket, the barest edge of which +showed beneath the leather skirts of McArthur’s +saddle, to make Susie’s impassioned defense in vain. +Why he did not, he was not himself sure. Perhaps +it was because he liked the feeling of power, +of knowing that he held the life of the despised +bug-hunter in the hollow of his hand; or perhaps +it was because it would serve his purpose better +to make the accusation later. One thing was +certain, however, and that was that he had not +held his tongue through any consideration for +McArthur.</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<a name='VI_THE_GREAT_SECRET' id='VI_THE_GREAT_SECRET'></a> +<h2>VI</h2> +<h3>THE GREAT SECRET</h3> +</div> + +<p>It was the day they buried White Antelope +that Smith approached Yellow Bird, a Piegan, who +was among the Indians paying visits of indefinite +length to the MacDonald ranch. “Eddie” Yellow +Bird, he was called at the Blackfoot mission +where he had learned to read and write—though +he would never have been suspected of these accomplishments, +since to all appearances he was a +“blanket Indian.”</p> +<p>Smith spoke the Piegan tongue almost as fluently +as his own, so he and Yellow Bird quickly +became <i>compadres</i>, relating to each other stories +of their prowess, of horses they had run off, of +cattle they had stolen, and hinting, Indian fashion, +with significant intonations and pauses, at crimes +of greater magnitude.</p> +<p>“How is your heart to-day, friend? Is it +strong?”</p> +<p>“Weak,” replied Yellow Bird jestingly, touching +his breast with a fluttering hand.</p> +<p>“It would be stronger if you had red meat in +your stomach,” Smith suggested significantly.</p> +<p>“The bacon is not for Indians,” agreed Yellow +Bird.</p> +<p>“But the woman would have no cattle left if she +killed only her own beef.”</p> +<p>“Many people stop here—strangers and +friends,” Yellow Bird admitted.</p> +<p>“There is plenty on the range.” Smith looked +toward the Bar C ranch.</p> +<p>“He is a dog on the trail, that white man, +when his cattle are stolen,” Yellow Bird replied +doubtfully.</p> +<p>“I’ve killed dogs—me, Smith—when they got +in my way. Yellow Bird, are you a woman, that +you are afraid?”</p> +<p>“Wolf Robe, who stole only a calf, sits like +this”—Yellow Bird looked at Smith sullenly +through his spread fingers.</p> +<p>“You have talked with the forked tongue, Yellow +Bird. You are not a Piegan buck of the great +Blackfoot nation; you are a woman. Your fathers +killed men; <i>you</i> are afraid to kill cattle.” Smith +turned from him contemptuously.</p> +<p>“My heart is as strong as yours. I am ready.”</p> +<p>It was dusk when Smith returned and held out +a blood-stained flour sack to the squaw.</p> +<p>“Liver. A two-year ole.”</p> +<p>The squaw’s eyes sparkled. Ah, this was as it +should be! Her man provided for her; he brought +her meat to eat. He was clever and brave, for it +was other men’s meat he brought her to eat. MacDonald +had killed only his own cattle, and secretly +it had shamed her, for she mistook his honesty +for lack of courage. To steal was legitimate; it +was brave; something to be told among friends +at night, and laughed over. Susie, she had observed +with regret, was honest, like her father. She +patted the back of Smith’s hand, and looked at +him with dog-like, adoring eyes as they stood in +the log meat-house, where fresh quarters hung.</p> +<p>“I’d do more nor this for you, Prairie Flower;” +and, laying his hand upon her shoulder, he pressed +it with his finger-tips.</p> +<p>“Say, but that’s great liver!” Tubbs reached +half the length of the table and helped himself +a third time. “That’d make a man fight his +grandmother. Who butchered it?”</p> +<p>“Me,” Smith answered.</p> +<p>“It tastes like slow elk,” said Susie.</p> +<p>“Maybe you oughtn’t to eat it till you’re showed +the hide,” Smith suggested.</p> +<p>“Maybe I oughtn’t,” Susie retorted. “I didn’t +see any fresh hide a-hangin’ on the fence. We <i>always</i> +hangs <i>our</i> hides.”</p> +<p>“I <i>never</i> hangs <i>my</i> hides. I cuts ’em up in strips +and braids ’em into throw-ropes. It’s safer.”</p> +<p>The grub-liners laughed at the inference which +Smith so coolly implied.</p> +<p>The finding of White Antelope’s body, and its +subsequent burial, had delayed the opening of +Dora’s night-school, so Smith, for reasons of his +own, had spent much of his time in the bunk-house, +covertly studying the grub-liners, who passed the +hours exchanging harrowing experiences of their +varied careers.</p> +<p>A strong friendship had sprung up between +Susie and McArthur. While Susie liked and +greatly admired the Schoolmarm, she never yet +had opened her heart to her. Beyond their actual +school-work, they seemed to have little in common; +and it was a real disappointment and regret to +the Schoolmarm that, for some reason which she +could not reach, she had never been able to break +through the curious reserve of the little half-breed, +who, superficially, seemed so transparently frank. +Each time that she made the attempt, she found +herself repulsed—gently, even tactfully, but repulsed.</p> +<p>Dora Marshall did not suspect that these rebuffs +were due to an error of her own. In the beginning, +when Susie had questioned her naïvely of the outside +world, she had permitted amusement to show in her +face and manner. She never fully recognized the +fact that while Susie to all appearances, intents, and +purposes was Anglo-Saxon, an equal quantity of +Indian blood flowed in her veins, and that this blood, +with its accompanying traits and characteristics, +must be reckoned with.</p> +<p>As a matter of fact, Susie was suspicious, unforgiving, +with all the Indians’ sensitiveness to +and fear of ridicule. She meant never again to +entertain the Schoolmarm by her ignorant questions, +although she yearned with all a young girl’s +yearning for some one in whom to confide—some one +with whom she could discuss the future which she +often questioned and secretly dreaded.</p> +<p>With real adroitness Susie had tested McArthur, +searching his face for the glimmer of amusement +which would have destroyed irredeemably any +chance of real comradeship between them. But invariably +McArthur had answered her questions +gravely; and when her tears had fallen fast and +hot at White Antelope’s grave, she had known, +with an intuition both savage and childish, that +his sympathy was sincere. She had felt, too, the +genuineness of his interest when, later, she had +repeated to him many of the stories White Antelope +had told her of the days when he and her +father had trapped and hunted together in the big +woods to the north.</p> +<p>So to-night, when the living-room was deserted +by all save her mother, at work on her rugs in the +corner, Susie confided to him her Great Secret, and +McArthur, some way, felt strangely flattered by +the confidence. He had no desire to laugh; indeed, +there were times when the tears were perilously +close to the surface. He had been a shy, +lonely student, and quite as lonely as a man, yet +through the promptings of a heart sympathetic +and kind and with the fine instinct of gentle birth, +he understood the bizarre little half-breed in a way +which surprised himself.</p> +<p>There was a settee on one side of the room, made +of elk-horns and interwoven buckskin thongs, and +it was there, in the whisper which makes a secret +doubly alluring, that Susie told him of her plans; +but first she brought from some hiding-place outside +a long pasteboard box, carefully wrapped and +tied.</p> +<p>McArthur, puffing on the briar-wood pipe which +he was seldom without, waited with interest, but +without showing curiosity, for he felt that, in a +way, this was a critical moment in their friendship.</p> +<p>“If you didn’t see me here on the reservation, +would you know I was Injun?” Susie demanded, +facing him.</p> +<p>McArthur regarded her critically.</p> +<p>“You have certain characteristics—your rather +high cheek-bones, for instance—and your skin has +a peculiar tint.”</p> +<p>“I got an awful complexion on me,” Susie +agreed, “but I’m goin’ to fix that.”</p> +<p>“Then, your movements and gestures——”</p> +<p>“That’s from talkin’ signs, maybe. I can talk +signs so fast that the full-bloods themselves have +to ask me to slow up. But, now, if you saw me +with my hair frizzled—all curled up, like, and +pegged down on top of my head—and a red silk +dress on me with a long skirt, and shiny shoes +coming to a point, and a white hat with birds and +flowers staked out on it, and maybe kid gloves on +my hands—would you know right off it was me? +Would you say, ‘Why, there’s that Susie MacDonald—that +breed young un from the reservation’?”</p> +<p>“No,” declared McArthur firmly; “I certainly +never should say, ‘Why, there’s that Susie MacDonald—that +breed young un from the reservation.’ +As a matter of fact,” he went on gravely, +“I should probably say, ‘What a pity that a +young lady so intelligent and high-spirited should +frizz her hair’!”</p> +<p>“Would you?” insisted Susie delightedly.</p> +<p>“Undoubtedly,” McArthur replied, with satisfying +emphasis.</p> +<p>“And how long do you think it would take me +to stop slingin’ the buckskin and learn to talk like +you?—to say big words without bitin’ my tongue +and gettin’ red in the face?”</p> +<p>“Do I use large words frequently?” McArthur +asked in real surprise.</p> +<p>“Whoppers!” said Susie.</p> +<p>“I do it unconsciously.” McArthur’s tone was +apologetic.</p> +<p>“Sure, I know it.”</p> +<p>“I shrink from appearing pedantic,” said McArthur, +half to himself.</p> +<p>“So do I,” Susie declared mischievously. “I +don’t know what it is, but I shrink from it. Do +you think I could learn big words?”</p> +<p>“Of course.” McArthur wondered where all +these questions led.</p> +<p>“Did you ever notice that I’m kind of polite +sometimes?”</p> +<p>“Frequently.”</p> +<p>“That I say ’If you please’ and ’Thank you,’ +and did you notice the other morning when I asked +Old Man Rulison how his ribs was getting along +that Arkansaw Red kicked in, and said I was sorry +the accident happened?”</p> +<p>McArthur nodded.</p> +<p>“Well, I didn’t mean it.” She giggled. “That +was just my manners that I was practisin’ on him. +He was onery, and only got what was comin’ to +him; but if you’re goin’ to be polite, seems like +you dassn’t tell the truth. But Miss Marshall says +that ’Thank you,’ ‘If you please,’ and ‘Good +morning, how’s your ribs?’ are kind of pass-words +out in the world that help you along.”</p> +<p>“Yes, Susie; that’s true.”</p> +<p>“So I’m tryin’ to catch onto all I can, because”—her +eyes dilated, and she lowered her voice—“I’m +goin’ out in the world pretty soon.”</p> +<p>“To school?”</p> +<p>She shook her head.</p> +<p>“I’m goin’ to hunt up Dad’s relations; and +when I find ’em, I don’t want ’em to be ashamed of +me, and of him for marryin’ into the Injuns.”</p> +<p>“They need never be ashamed of you, Susie.”</p> +<p>“Honest? Honest, don’t you think so?” She +looked at him wistfully. “I’d try awful hard not +to make breaks,” she went on, “and make ’em feel +like cachin’ me in the cellar when they saw company +comin’. It’s just plumb awful to be lonesome +here, like I am sometimes; to be homesick for something +or somebody—for other kind of folks besides +Injuns and grub-liners, and Schoolmarms that +look at you as if you was a new, queer kind of +bug, and laugh at you with their eyes.</p> +<p>“Dad’s got kin, I know; for lots of times +when I would go with him to hunt horses, he would +say, ‘I’ll take you back to see them some time, +Susie, girl.’ But he never said where ’back’ was, +so I’ve got to find out myself. Wouldn’t it be +awful, though”—and her chin quivered—“if after +I’d been on the trail for days and days, and my +ponies were foot-sore, they wasn’t glad to see me +when I rode up to the house, but hinted around +that horse-feed was short and grub was scarce, and +they couldn’t well winter me?”</p> +<p>“They wouldn’t do that,” said McArthur reassuringly. +“Nobody named MacDonald would do +that.”</p> +<p>Susie began to untie the pasteboard box which +contained her treasures.</p> +<p>“Nearly ever since Dad died, I’ve been getting +ready to go. I don’t mean that I would leave +Mother for keeps—of course not; but after I’ve +found ’em, maybe I can coax ’em to come and live +with us. I used to ask White Antelope every question +I could think of, but all he knew was that +after they’d sold their furs to the Hudson Bay +Company, they sometimes went to a lodge in Canada +called Selkirk, where almost everybody there was +named MacDonald or MacDougal or Mackenzie or +Mac something. Lots of his friends there married +Sioux and went to the Walla Walla valley, and +maybe I’ll have to go there to find somebody who +knew him; but first I’ll go to Selkirk.</p> +<p>“I’ll take a good pack-outfit, and Running Rabbit +to find trails and wrangle horses. See—I’ve +got my trail all marked out on the map.”</p> +<p>She unfolded a worn leaf from a school geography.</p> +<p>“It looks as if it was only a sleep or two away, +but White Antelope said it was the big ride—maybe +a hundred sleeps. And lookee”—she unfolded +fashion plates of several periods. “I’ve +even picked out the clothes I’ll buy to put on +when I get nearly to the ranch where they live. I +can make camp, you know, and change my clothes, +and then go walkin’ down the road carryin’ this +here parasol and wearin’ this here white hat and +holdin’ up this here long skirt like Teacher on +Sunday.</p> +<p>“Won’t they be surprised when they open the +door and see me standin’ on the door-step? I’ll +say, ‘How do you do? I’m Susie MacDonald, +your relation what’s come to visit you.’ I think +this would be better than showin’ up with Running +Rabbit and the pack-outfit, until I’d kind of broke +the news to ’em. I’d keep Running Rabbit cached +in the brush till I sent for him.</p> +<p>“You see, I’ve thought about it so much that +it seems like it was as good as done; but maybe +when I start I won’t find it so easy. I might have +to ride clear to this Minnesota country, or beyond +the big waters to the New York or Connecticut +country, mightn’t I?”</p> +<p>“You might,” McArthur replied soberly.</p> +<p>“But I’d take a lot of jerked elk, and everybody +says grub’s easy to get if you have money, +I’d start with about nine ponies in my string, so +it looks like I ought to get through?”</p> +<p>She waited anxiously for McArthur to express +his opinion.</p> +<p>He wondered how he could disillusionize her, +shatter the dream which he could see had become a +part of her life. Should he explain to her that +when she had crossed the mountains and left behind +her the deserts which constituted the only world +she knew, and by which, with its people, she judged +the country she meant to penetrate, she would find +herself a bewildered little savage in a callous, complex +civilization where she had no place—wondered +at, gibed at, defeated of her purpose?</p> +<p>“Are you sure you have no other clues—no +old letters, no photographs?”</p> +<p>She was about to answer when a tapping like the +pecking of a snowbird on a window-sill was heard +on the door.</p> +<p>Susie opened it.</p> +<p>In ludicrous contrast to the timid rap, a huge +figure that all but filled it was framed in the doorway.</p> +<p>It was “Babe” from the Bar C ranch; “Baby” +Britt, curly-haired, pink-cheeked, with one innocent +blue eye dark from recent impact with a fist, +which gave its owner the appearance of a dissipated +cherub.</p> +<p>“Evenin’,” he said tremulously, his eyes roving +as though in search of some one.</p> +<p>“I lost a horse——” he began.</p> +<p>“Brown?” interrupted Susie, with suspicious +interest. “With a star in the forehead?”</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>“One white stockin’?”</p> +<p>“Uh-huh.”</p> +<p>“Roached mane?”</p> +<p>“Ye-ah.”</p> +<p>“Kind of a rat-tail?”</p> +<p>“Yep.”</p> +<p>“Left hip knocked down?”</p> +<p>“Babe” nodded.</p> +<p>“Saddle-sore?”</p> +<p>“That’s it. Where did you see him?”</p> +<p>“I didn’t see him.”</p> +<p>“Aw-w-w,” rumbled “Babe” in disgust.</p> +<p>“Teacher!”</p> +<p>Dora Marshall’s door opened in response to +Susie’s lusty call.</p> +<p>“Have you seen a brown horse with a star in +its forehead, roached mane——”</p> +<p>“Aw, g’wan, Susie!” In confusion, “Babe” +began to remove his spurs, thereby serving notice +upon the Schoolmarm that he had “come to set a +spell.”</p> +<p>So the Schoolmarm brought her needlework, and +while she explained to Mr. Britt the exact shadings +which she intended to give to each leaf and flower, +that person sat with his entranced eyes upon her +white hands, with their slender, tapering fingers—the +smallest, the most beautiful hands, he firmly +believed, in the whole world.</p> +<p>It was not easy to carry on a spirited conversation +with Mr. Britt. At best, his range of +topics was limited, and in his present frame of +mind he was about as vivacious as a deaf mute. +He was quite content to sit with the high heels of +his cowboy boots—from which a faint odor of the +stable emanated—hung over the rung of his chair, +and to watch the Schoolmarm’s hand plying the +needle on that almost sacred sofa-pillow.</p> +<p>“Your work must be very interesting, Mr. +Britt,” suggested Dora.</p> +<p>“I dunno as ’tis,” replied Mr. Britt.</p> +<p>“It’s so—so picturesque.”</p> +<p>Mr. Britt considered.</p> +<p>“I shouldn’t say it was.”</p> +<p>“But you like it?”</p> +<p>“Not by a high-kick!”</p> +<p>If there was one thing upon which Mr. Britt +prided himself more than another, it was upon +knowing how to temper his language to his company.</p> +<p>“Why do you stick to it, then?”</p> +<p>“Don’t know how to do anything else.”</p> +<p>“You don’t get much time to read, do you?”</p> +<p>“Oh, yes; <i>P’lice Gazette</i> comes reg’lar.”</p> +<p>“But you have no church or social privileges?”</p> +<p>“What’s that?”</p> +<p>“I say, you have no entertainment, no time or +opportunity for amusement, have you?”</p> +<p>“Oh, my, yes,” Mr. Britt declared heartily. +“We has a game of stud poker nearly every +Sunday mornin’, and races in the afternoon.”</p> +<p>“Ain’t he sparklin’?” whispered Susie across +the room to Dora, who pretended not to hear.</p> +<p>“You are fond of horses?” inquired the Schoolmarm, +desperately.</p> +<p>“Oh, I has nothin’ agin ’em.” He qualified his +statement by adding: “Leastways, unless they +come from the Buffalo Basin country. Then I +shore hates ’em.” At last Mr. Britt was upon a +subject upon which he could talk fluently and for +an indefinite length of time. “You take that there +Buffalo Basin stock,” he went on earnestly, “and +they’re nothin’ but inbred cayuse outlaws. They’re +treach’rous. Oneriest horses that ever wore hair. +Can’t gentle ’em—simply can’t be done. They’ve +piled me up more times than any horses that run. +Sunfishers—the hull of ’em; rare up and fall over +backwards. ’Tain’t pleasant ridin’ a horse like +that. Wheel on you quicker’n a weasel; shy +clean acrost the road at nothin’; kick—stand up +and strike at you in the corral. It’s irritatin’. +Hard keepers, too. Maybe you’ve noticed +that blue roan I’m ridin’. Well, sir, the way +I’ve throwed feed into that horse is a scandal, +and the more he eats the worse he +looks. Besides, it spoils them Buffalo Basin +buzzard-heads to eat. Give ’em three square +meals, and you can’t hardly ride ’em. They ain’t +stayers, neither; no bottom, seems-like. Forty +miles, and that horse of mine is played out. What +for a horse is that? Is that a horse? Not by a +high-kick! Gimme a buckskin with a black line +down his back, and zebra stripes on his legs—high +back, square chest—say, then you got a <i>horse!</i>”</p> +<p>It was apparent enough that Mr. Britt had not +commenced to exhaust the subject of the Buffalo +Basin stock. As a matter of fact, he had barely +started; but the sound of horses coming up the +path, and a whoop outside, caused a suspension of +his conversation.</p> +<p>Something heavy was thrown against the door, +and when Susie opened it a roll of roped canvas +rolled inside, while the lamplight fell upon the +grinning faces of two Bar C cowpunchers.</p> +<p>“What’s that?” The Schoolmarm looked wonderingly +at the bundle.</p> +<p>“Aw-w-w!” Mr. Britt replied, in angry confusion. +“It’s my bed. I’ll put a crimp in them +two for this.” He shouldered his blankets sheepishly +and went out.</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<a name='VII_CUPID__WINGS__A_DEPUTY_SHERIFF' id='VII_CUPID__WINGS__A_DEPUTY_SHERIFF'></a> +<h2>VII</h2> +<h3>CUPID “WINGS” A DEPUTY SHERIFF</h3> +</div> + +<p>Riding home next morning with his bed on a +borrowed pack-horse, morose, his mind occupied +with divers plans for punishing the cowpunchers +who had spoiled his evening and made him ridiculous +before the Schoolmarm, “Babe” came upon +something in a gulch which caused him to rein +his horse sharply and swing from the saddle.</p> +<p>With an ejaculation of surprise, he pulled a +fresh hide from under a pile of rock, it having +been partially uncovered by coyotes. The brand +had been cut out, and with the sight of this significant +find, the two cowpunchers, their obnoxious +joke, even the Schoolmarm, were forgotten; for +there was a new thief on the range, and a new +thief meant excitement and adventure.</p> +<p>Colonel Tolman’s deep-set eyes glittered when +he heard the news. As Running Rabbit had said, +on the trail of a cattle-thief he was as relentless +as a bloodhound. He could not eat or sleep in +peace until the man who had robbed him was behind +the bars. The Colonel was an old-time Texas +cattleman, and his herds had ranged from the +Mexican border to the Alberta line. He had made +and lost fortunes. Disease, droughts, and blizzards +had cleaned him out at various times, and always +he had taken his medicine without a whimper; but +the loss of so much as a yearling calf by theft +threw him into a rage that was like hysteria.</p> +<p>His hand shook as he sat down at his desk and +wrote a note to the Stockmen’s Association, asking +for the services of their best detective. It +meant four days of hard riding to deliver the note, +but the Colonel put it into “Babe’s” hand as if +he were asking him to drop it in the mail-box +around the corner.</p> +<p>“Go, and git back,” were his laconic instructions, +and he turned to pace the floor.</p> +<p>When “Babe” returned some eight days later, +with the deputy sheriff, he found the Colonel +striding to and fro, his wrath having in no wise +abated. The cowboy wondered if his employer +had been walking the floor all that time.</p> +<p>“My name is Ralston,” said the tall young +deputy, as he stood before the old cattleman.</p> +<p>“Ralston?” The Colonel rose on his toes a +trifle to peer into his face.</p> +<p>“Not Dick Ralston’s boy?”</p> +<p>The six-foot deputy smiled.</p> +<p>“The same, sir.”</p> +<p>The Colonel’s hand shot out in greeting.</p> +<p>“Anybody of that name is pretty near like kin +to me. Many’s the time your dad and I have +eaten out of the same frying-pan.”</p> +<p>“So I’ve heard him say.”</p> +<p>“Does he know you’re down here on this job?”</p> +<p>The young man shook his head soberly.</p> +<p>“No.”</p> +<p>The Colonel looked at him keenly.</p> +<p>“Had a falling out?”</p> +<p>“No; scarcely that; but we couldn’t agree +exactly upon some things, so I struck out for +myself when I came home from college.”</p> +<p>“No future for you in this sleuthing business,” +commented the old man tersely. “Why didn’t +you go into cattle with your dad?”</p> +<p>“That’s where we disagreed, sir. I wanted to +buy sheep, and he goes straight into the air at the +very word.”</p> +<p>The Colonel laughed.</p> +<p>“I can believe that.”</p> +<p>“Over there the range is going fast, and it’s +fight and scrap and quarrel all the time to keep +the sheep off what little there is left; and then +you ship and bottom drops out of the market as +soon as your cattle are loaded. There’s nothing +in it; and while I don’t like sheep any better +than the Governor, there’s no use in hanging on +and going broke in cattle because of a prejudice.”</p> +<p>“Dick’s stubborn,”—the Colonel nodded knowingly—“and +I don’t believe he’ll ever give in.”</p> +<p>“No; I don’t think he will, and I’m sorry for +his sake, because he’s getting too old to worry.”</p> +<p>“Worry? Cattle’s nothing but worry!—which +reminds me of what you are here for.”</p> +<p>“Have you any suspicions?”</p> +<p>“No. I don’t believe I can help you any. The +Injuns been good as pie since we sent Wolf Robe +over the road. Don’t hardly think it’s Injuns. +Don’t know what to think. Might be some of +these Mormon outfits going north. Might be some +of these nesters off in the hills. Might be anybody!”</p> +<p>“Is he an old hand?”</p> +<p>“Looks like it. Cuts the brand out and buries +the hide.” The Colonel began pacing the floor. +“Cattle-thieves are people that’s got to be nipped +in the bud <i>muy pronto</i>. There ought to be a lynching +on every cattle-range once in seven years. It’s +the only way to hold ’em level. Down there on +the Rio Grande we rode away and left fourteen +of ’em swinging over the bluff. It’s got to be done +in all cattle countries, and since they’ve started +in here—well, a hanging is overdue by two years.” +The Colonel ejected his words with the decisive click +of a riot-gun.</p> +<p>So Dick Ralston, Jr., rode the range for the +purpose of getting the lay of the country, and, +on one pretext or another, visited the squalid homes +of the nesters, but nowhere found anybody or +anything in the least suspicious. He learned of +the murder of White Antelope, and of the “queer-actin’” +bug-hunter and his pal, who had been +accused of it. It was rather generally believed +that McArthur was a desperado of a new and +original kind. While it was conceded that he +seemed to have no way of disposing of the meat, +and certainly could not kill a cow and eat it himself, +it was nevertheless declared that he was +“worth watching.”</p> +<p>While the hangers-on at the MacDonald ranch +were all known to have records, no particular suspicion +had attached to them in this instance, because +the squaw was known to kill her own beef, and +no shadow of doubt had ever fallen upon the good +name of the ranch.</p> +<p>The trapping of cattle-thieves is not the work +of a day or a week, but sometimes of months; and +when evidence of another stolen beef was found +upon the range, Ralston realized that his efforts +lay in that vicinity for some time to come. He +decided to ride over to the MacDonald ranch that +evening and have a look at the bad <i>hombre</i> who +masqueraded as a bug-hunter—bug-hunter, it +should be explained, being a Western term for any +stranger engaged in scientific pursuits.</p> +<p>While Ralston was riding over the lonely road +in the moonlight, Dora was arranging the dining-room +table for her night-school, which had been in +session several evenings. Smith was studying +grammar, of which branch of learning Dora had +decided he stood most in need, while Susie groaned +over compound fractions.</p> +<p>Tubbs, with his chair tilted against the wall, +looked on with a tolerant smile. In the kitchen, +paring a huge pan of potatoes for breakfast, Ling +listened with such an intensity of interest to what +was being said that his ears seemed fairly to quiver. +From her bench in the living-room, the Indian +woman braided rags and darted jealous glances at +teacher and pupil. Smith, his hair looking like +a bunch of tumble-weed in a high wind, hung over +a book with a look of genuine misery upon his +face.</p> +<p>“I didn’t have any notion there was so much +in the world I didn’t know,” he burst out. “I +thought when I’d learnt that if you sprinkle your +saddle-blanket you can hold the biggest steer that +runs, without your saddle slippin’, I’d learnt about +all they was worth knowin’.”</p> +<p>“It’s tedious,” Dora admitted.</p> +<p>“Tedious?” echoed Smith in loud pathos. “It’s +hell! Say, I can tie a fancy knot in a bridle-rein +that can’t be beat by any puncher in the country, +but <i>darn</i> me if I can see the difference between a +adjective and one of these here adverbs! Once I +thought I knowed something—me, Smith—but say, +I don’t know enough to make a mark in the +road!”</p> +<p>Closing his eyes and gritting his teeth, he repeated:</p> +<p>“‘I have had, you have had, he has had.’”</p> +<p>“If you would have had about six drinks, I +think you could git that,” observed Tubbs +judicially, watching Smith’s mental suffering with +keen interest.</p> +<p>“Don’t be discouraged,” said Dora cheerfully, +seating herself beside him. “Let’s take a little +review. Do you remember what I told you about +this?”</p> +<p>She pointed to the letter <i>a</i> marked with the long +sound.</p> +<p>Smith ran both hands through his hair, while a +wild, panic-stricken look came upon his face.</p> +<p>“Dog-gone me! I know it’s a <i>a</i>, but I plumb +forget how you called it.”</p> +<p>Tubbs unhooked his toes from the chair-legs and +walked around to look over Smith’s shoulder.</p> +<p>“Smith, you got a great forgitter,” he said +sarcastically. “Why don’t you use your head a +little? That there is a Bar A. You ought to +have knowed that. The Bar A stock run all over +the Judith Basin.”</p> +<p>“Don’t you remember I told you that whenever +you saw that mark over a letter you should give +it the long sound?” explained Dora patiently.</p> +<p>“Like the <i>a</i> in ‘aig,’” elucidated Tubbs.</p> +<p>“Like the <i>a</i> in ‘snake,’” corrected the Schoolmarm.</p> +<p>“Or ’wake,’ or ’skate,’ or ‘break,’” said Smith +hopefully.</p> +<p>“Fine!” declared the Schoolmarm.</p> +<p>“I knowed that much myself,” said Tubbs enviously.</p> +<p>“If you’ll pardon me, Mr. Tubbs,” said Dora, +in some irritation, “there is no such word as +‘knowed.’”</p> +<p>“Why don’t you talk grammatical, Tubbs?” +Smith demanded, with alacrity.</p> +<p>“I talks what I knows,” said Tubbs, going back +to his chair.</p> +<p>“Have you forgotten all I told you about adjectives?”</p> +<p>“Adjectives is words describin’ things. They’s +two kinds, comparative and superlative,” Smith replied +promptly. He added. “Adjectives kind of +stuck in my craw.”</p> +<p>“Can you give me examples?” Dora felt encouraged.</p> +<p>“You got a horrible pretty hand,” Smith replied, +without hesitation. “‘Horrible pretty’ is +a adjective describin’ your hand.”</p> +<p>Dora burst out laughing, and Tubbs, without +knowing why, joined in heartily.</p> +<p>“Tubbs,” continued Smith, glaring at that person, +“has got the horriblest mug I ever seen, and +if he opens it and laffs like that at me again, I +aims to break his head. ’Horriblest’ is a superlative +adjective describin’ Tubbs’s mug.”</p> +<p>To Smith’s chagrin and Tubbs’s delight, Dora +explained that “horrible” was a word which could +not be used in conjunction with “pretty,” and +that its superlative was not “horriblest.”</p> +<p>Smith buried his head in his hands despondently.</p> +<p>“If I was where I could, I’d get drunk!”</p> +<p>“It’s nothing to feel so badly about,” said Dora +comfortingly. “Let’s go back to prepositions. +Can you define a preposition?”</p> +<p>Smith screwed up his face and groped for words, +but before he found them Tubbs broke in:</p> +<p>“A preposition is what a feller has to sell that +nobody wants,” he explained glibly. “They’s copper +prepositions, silver-lead prepositions, and onct +I had a oil preposition up in the Swift Current +country.”</p> +<p>Smith reached inside his coat and pulled out +the carved, ivory-handled six-shooter which he +wore in a holster under his arm. He laid it on +the table beside his grammar, and looked at Tubbs.</p> +<p>“Feller,” he said, “I hates to make a gun-play +before the Schoolmarm, but if you jump into this +here game again, I aims to try a chunk of lead on +you.”</p> +<p>“If book-learnin’ ud ever make me as peevish +as it does you,” declared Tubbs, rising hastily, “I +hopes I never knows nothin’.”</p> +<p>Tubbs slammed the door behind him as he went +to seek more amiable company in the bunk-house.</p> +<p>Save for the Indian woman, Smith and Dora +were now practically alone; for Ling had gone +to bed, and Susie was oblivious to everything except +fractions. Smith continued to struggle with +prepositions, adjectives, and adverbs, but he found +it difficult to concentrate his thoughts on them +with Dora so close beside him. He knew that +his slightest glance, every expression which crossed +his face, was observed by the Indian woman; and +although he did his utmost not to betray his feelings, +he saw the sullen, jealous resentment rising +within her.</p> +<p>She read aright the light in his eyes; besides, +her intuitions were greater than his powers of +concealment. When she could no longer endure +the sight of Smith and the Schoolmarm sitting side +by side, she laid down her work and slipped out +into the star-lit night, closing the door softly behind +her.</p> +<p>Smith’s judgment told him that he should end +the lesson and go after her, but the spell of love +was upon him, overwhelming him, holding him fast +in delicious thraldom. He had not the strength +of will just then to break it.</p> +<p>Dora had been reading “Hiawatha” aloud each +evening to Susie, Tubbs, and Smith, so when she +finally closed the grammar, she asked if he would +like to hear more of the Indian story, as he called +it, to which he nodded assent.</p> +<p>Dora read well, with intelligence and sympathy; +her trained voice was flexible. Then, too, she +loved this greatest of American legends. It appealed +to her audience as perhaps no other poem +would have done. It was real to them, it was +“life,” their life in a little different environment +and told in a musical rhythm which held them +breathless, enchanted.</p> +<p>Dora had reached the story of “The Famine.” +She knew the refrain by heart, and the wail of old +Nokomis was in her voice as she repeated from +memory:</p> +<table summary='poetry' style='margin:0 auto; '><tr><td> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 0.0em;'>“Wahonowin! Wahonowin!</p> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 0.0em;'>Would that I had perished for you!</p> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 0.0em;'>Would that I were dead as you are!</p> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 0.0em;'>Wahonowin! Wahonowin!</p> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 0.0em;'>· · · · · · · · · · </p> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 0.0em;'>“Then they buried Minnehaha;</p> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 0.0em;'>In the snow a grave they made her,</p> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 0.0em;'>In the forest deep and darksome,</p> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 0.0em;'>Underneath the moaning hemlocks;</p> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 0.0em;'>Clothed her in her richest garments,</p> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 0.0em;'>Wrapped her in her robes of ermine,</p> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 0.0em;'>Covered her with snow, like ermine;</p> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 0.0em;'>So they buried Minnehaha.”</p> +</td></tr></table> + +<p>The pathos of the lines never failed to touch +Dora anew. Her voice broke, and, pausing to recover +herself, she glanced at Smith. There were +tears in his eyes. The brutal chin was quivering +like that of a tender-hearted child.</p> +<p>“The man that wrote that was a <i>chief</i>,” he +said huskily. “It hurts me here—in my neck.” +He rubbed the contracted muscles of his throat. +“I’d feel like that, girl, if you should die.”</p> +<p>He repeated softly, and choked:</p> +<table summary='poetry' style='margin:0 auto; '><tr><td> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 0.0em;'>“All my heart is buried with you,</p> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 0.0em;'>All my thoughts go onward with you!”</p> +</td></tr></table> + +<p>The impression which the poem made upon +Smith was deep. It was a constant surprise to him +also. The thoughts it expressed, the sensations it +described, he had believed were entirely original with +himself. He had not conceived it possible that +any one else could feel toward a woman as he felt +toward Dora. Therefore, when the poet put many +of his heart-throbs into words, they startled him, +as though, somehow, his own heart were photographed +and held up to view.</p> +<p>Susie had finished her lesson, and, cramped from +sitting, was walking about the living-room to rest +herself, while this conversation was taking place. +Her glance fell upon a gaudy vase on a shelf, +and some thought came to her which made her +laugh mischievously. She emptied the contents of +the vase into the palm of her hand and, closing +the other over it, tiptoed into the dining-room +and stood behind Smith.</p> +<p>Dora and he, engrossed in conversation, paid +no attention to her. She put her cupped palms +close to Smith’s ear and, shaking them vigorously, +shouted:</p> +<p>“Snakes!”</p> +<p>The result was such as Susie had not anticipated.</p> +<p>With a shriek which was womanish in its shrillness, +Smith sprang to his feet, all but upsetting +the lamp in his violence. Unmixed horror was written +upon his face.</p> +<p>The girl herself shrank back at what she had +done; then, holding out several rattles for inspection, +she said:</p> +<p>“Looks like you don’t care for snakes.”</p> +<p>“You—you little——”</p> +<p>Only Susie guessed the unspeakable epithet he +meant to use. Her eyes warned him, and, too, he +remembered Dora in time. He said instead, with +a slight laugh of confusion:</p> +<p>“Snakes scares me, and rat-traps goin’ off.”</p> +<p>The color had not yet returned to his face when +a knock came upon the door.</p> +<p>In response to Susie’s call, a tall stranger +stepped inside—a stranger wide of shoulder, and +with a kind of grim strength in his young face.</p> +<p>From the unnatural brightness of the eyes of +Susie and of Smith, and their still tense attitudes, +Ralston sensed the fact that something had happened. +He returned Smith’s unpleasant look with +a gaze as steady as his own. Then his eyes fell +upon Dora and lingered there.</p> +<p>She had sprung to her feet and was still standing. +Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes luminous, +and the soft lamplight burnishing her brown hair +made the moment one of her best. Smith saw +the frank admiration in the stranger’s look.</p> +<p>“May I stop here to-night?” He addressed +Dora.</p> +<p>He had the characteristic Western gravity of +manner and expression, the distinguishing definiteness +of purpose. Though the quality of his +voice, its modulation, bespoke the man of poise +and education, the accent was unmistakably of the +West.</p> +<p>“There’s a bunk-house.” It was Smith who +answered.</p> +<p>His unuttered epithet still rankled; Susie +turned upon him with insulting emphasis:</p> +<p>“And you’d better get out to it!”</p> +<p>“Are you the boss here?” The stranger put +the question to Smith with cool politeness.</p> +<p>“What I say <i>goes!</i>”</p> +<p>Smith looked marvellously ugly.</p> +<p>Susie leaned toward him, and her childish face +was distorted with anger as she shrieked:</p> +<p>“<i>Not yet, Mister Smith!</i>”</p> +<p>Involuntarily, Dora and the stranger exchanged +glances in the awkward silence which followed. +Then, more to relieve her embarrassment than for +any other reason, Ralston said quietly, “Very +well, I will do as this—gentleman suggests,” and +withdrew.</p> +<p>“Good-night,” said Dora, gathering up her +books; but neither Smith nor Susie answered.</p> +<p>With both hands deep in his trousers’ pockets, +Smith was smiling at Susie, with a smile which +was little short of devilish; and the girl, throwing +a last look of defiance at him, also left the +room, violently slamming behind her the door of +the bed-chamber occupied by her mother and herself.</p> +<p>For a full minute Smith stood as they had left +him—motionless, his eyelids drooping. Rousing +himself, he went to the window and looked into +the moonlight-flooded world outside. Huddled in a +blanket, a squat figure sat on a fallen cottonwood +tree.</p> +<p>Smith eyed it, then asked himself contemptuously:</p> +<p>“Ain’t that pure Injun?”</p> +<p>Taking his hat, he too stepped into the moonlight.</p> +<p>The woman did not look up at his approach, so +he stooped until his cheek touched hers.</p> +<p>“What’s the matter, Prairie Flower?”</p> +<p>“My heart is under my feet.” Her voice was +harsh.</p> +<p>In the tone one uses to a sulky child, he said:</p> +<p>“Come into the house.”</p> +<p>“You no like me, white man. You like de +white woman.”</p> +<p>Smith reached under the blanket and took her +hand.</p> +<p>“Why don’t you marry de white woman?”</p> +<p>He pressed her hand tightly against his heart.</p> +<p>“Come into the house, Prairie Flower.”</p> +<p>Her face relaxed like that of a child when it +smiles through its tears. And Smith, in the hour +when the first real love of his life was at its zenith, +when his heart was so full of it that it seemed +well nigh bursting, walked back to the house with +the squaw clinging tightly to his fingers.</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<a name='VIII_THE_BUGHUNTER_ELUCIDATES' id='VIII_THE_BUGHUNTER_ELUCIDATES'></a> +<h2>VIII</h2> +<h3>THE BUG-HUNTER ELUCIDATES</h3> +</div> + +<p>The same instinct which made Ralston recognize +Susie as his friend told him that Smith was his +enemy; though, verily, that person who would have +construed as evidences of esteem and budding +friendship Smith’s black looks when Ralston presumed +to talk with Dora, even upon the most +ordinary topics, would have been dull of comprehension +indeed.</p> +<p>While no reason for remaining appeared to be +necessary at the MacDonald ranch, Ralston hinted +at hunting stray horses; and casually expressed a +hope that he might be able to pick up a bunch of +good ponies at a reasonable figure—which explanation +was entirely satisfactory to all save +Smith. The latter frequently voiced the opinion +that Ralston lingered solely for the purpose of +courting the Schoolmarm, an opinion which the +grub-liners agreed was logical, since they too, along +with the majority of unmarried males for fifty +miles around, cherished a similar ambition.</p> +<p>Dora had long since ceased to consider as extraordinary +the extended visits which strangers +paid to the ranch; therefore, she saw nothing +unusual in the fact that Ralston stayed on.</p> +<p>If furtive-eyed and restless passers-by arrived +after dark, slept in the hay near their unsaddled +horses, and departed at dawn, assuredly no person +at the MacDonald ranch was rude enough to ask +reasons for their haste. Its hospitality was as +boundless, as free, as the range itself; and if upon +leaving any guest had happened to express gratitude +for food and shelter, it is doubtful if any +incident could more have surprised Susie and her +mother, unless, mayhap, it might have been an +offer of payment for the same.</p> +<p>Ralston told himself that, since he could remain +without comment, the ranch was much better +situated for his purpose than Colonel Tolman’s +home; but the really convincing point in its favor, +though one which he refused to recognize as influencing +him in the least, was that he was nearer +Dora by something like eight miles than he would +have been at the Bar C. Then, too, though there +was nothing tangible to justify his suspicions, +Ralston believed that his work lay close at hand.</p> +<p>Like Colonel Tolman, he had come to think +that it was not the Indians who were killing; and +the nesters, though a spiritless, shiftless lot, had +always been honest enough. But the bunk-house +on the MacDonald ranch was often filled with the +material of which horse and cattle thieves are made, +and Ralston hoped that he might get a clue from +some word inadvertently dropped there.</p> +<p>He often thought that he never had seen a +more heterogeneous gathering than that which +assembled at times around the table. And with +Longfellow in the dining-room, ethnological dissertations +in one end of the bunk-house, and personal +reminiscences and experiences in gun-fights +and affairs of the heart in the other end, there was +afforded a sufficient variety of mental diversion +to suit nearly any taste.</p> +<p>McArthur in the rôle of desperado seemed preposterous +to Ralston; yet he remembered that Ben +Reed, a graduate of a theological seminary, who +could talk tears into the eyes of an Apache, was +the slickest stock thief west of the Mississippi. +He was well aware that a pair of mild eyes and +gentle, ingenuous manners are many a rogue’s most +valuable asset, and though the bug-hunter talked +frankly of his pilgrimages into the hills, there was +always a chance that his pursuit was a pose, his +zeal counterfeit.</p> +<p>One evening which was typical of others, Ralston +sat on the edge of his bunk, rolling an occasional +cigarette and listening with huge enjoyment to the +conversation of a group around the sheet-iron +stove, of which McArthur was the central figure.</p> +<p>McArthur, riding his hobby enthusiastically, +quite forgot the character of his listeners, and laid +his theories regarding the interchange of mammalian +life between America and Asia during the +early Pleistocene period, before Meeteetse Ed, Old +Man Rulison, Tubbs, and others, in the same language +in which he would have argued moot questions +with colleagues engaged in similar research. +The language of learning was as natural to +McArthur as the vernacular of the West was to +Tubbs, and in moments of excitement he lapsed into +it as a foreigner does into his native tongue under +stress of feeling.</p> +<p>“I maintain,” asserted McArthur, with a gesture +of emphasis, “that the Paleolithic man of +Europe followed the mastodon to North America +and here remained.”</p> +<p>Meeteetse Ed, whose cheeks were flushed, laid his +hot hand upon his forehead and declared plaintively +as he blinked at McArthur:</p> +<p>“Pardner, I’m gittin’ a headache from tryin’ +to see what you’re talkin’ about.”</p> +<p>“Air you sayin’ anything a-tall,” demanded Old +Man Rulison, suspiciously, “or air you joshin’?”</p> +<p>“Them’s words all right,” said Tubbs. “Onct +I worked under a section boss over on the Great +Northern what talked words like them. He believed +we sprung up from tuds and lizards—and the likes +o’ that. Yes, he did—on the square.”</p> +<p>“There are many believers in the theory of +evolution,” observed McArthur.</p> +<p>“That’s it—that’s the word. That’s what he +was.” Then, in the tone of one who hands out a +clincher, Tubbs demanded: “Look here, Doc, if +that’s so why ain’t all these ponds and cricks around +here a-hatchin’ out children?”</p> +<p>“Guess that’ll hold him for a minute,” Meeteetse +Ed whispered to his neighbor.</p> +<p>But instead of being covered with confusion by +this seemingly unanswerable argument, McArthur +gazed at Tubbs in genuine pity.</p> +<p>“Let me consider how I can make it quite clear +to you. Perhaps,” he said thoughtfully, “I cannot +do better than to give you Herbert Spencer’s +definition. Spencer defines evolution, as nearly as +I can remember his exact words, as an integration +of matter and concomita, dissipation of motion; +during which the matter passes from an indefinite +heterogeneity to a definite, incoherent heterogeneity, +and during which the retained motion undergoes +a parallel transformation. Materialistic, +agnostic, and theistic evolution——”</p> +<p>Meeteetse Ed fell off his chair in a mock faint +and crashed to the floor.</p> +<p>Susie, who had entered, saw McArthur’s embarrassment, +and refused to join in the shout of +laughter, though her eyes danced.</p> +<p>“Don’t mind him,” she said comfortingly, as she +eyed Meeteetse, sprawled on his back with his eyes +closed. “He’s afraid he’ll learn something. He +used to be a sheep-herder, and I don’t reckon he’s +got more’n two hundred and fifty words in his +whole vocabulary. Why, I’ll bet he never <i>heard</i> +a word of more’n three syllables before. Get up, +Meeteetse. Go out in the fresh air and build yourself +a couple of them sheep-herder’s monuments. +It’ll make you feel better.”</p> +<p>The prostrate humorist revived. Susie’s jeers +had the effect of a bucket of ice-water, for he had +not been aware that this blot upon his escutcheon—the +disgraceful epoch in his life when he had +earned honest money herding sheep—was known.</p> +<p>“My enthusiasm runs away with me when I +get upon this subject,” said McArthur, in blushing +apology to the group. “I am sorry that I +have bored you.”</p> +<p>“No bore a-tall,” declared Old Man Rulison +magnanimously. “You cut loose whenever you feel +like it: we kin stand it as long as you kin.”</p> +<p>After McArthur had gone to his pneumatic mattress +in the patent tent pitched near the bunk-house, +Ralston said to Susie:</p> +<p>“You and the bug-hunter are great friends, +aren’t you?”</p> +<p>“You bet! We’re pardners. Anybody that +gets funny with him has got me to fight.”</p> +<p>“Oh, it’s like that, is it?” Ralston laughed.</p> +<p>“We’ve got secrets—the bug-hunter and me.”</p> +<p>“You’re rather young for secrets, Susie.”</p> +<p>“Nobody’s too young for secrets,” she declared. +“Haven’t you any?”</p> +<p>“Sure,” Ralston nodded.</p> +<p>“I like you,” Susie whispered impulsively. +“Let’s swap secrets.”</p> +<p>He looked at her and wished he dared. He +would have liked to tell her of his mission, to ask +her help; for he realized that, if she chose, no +one could help him more. Like Smith, he recognized +that quality in her they each called “gameness,” +and even more than Smith he appreciated +the commingling of Scotch shrewdness and Indian +craft. He believed Susie to be honest; but he had +believed many things in the past which time had +not demonstrated to be facts. No, the chance was +too great to take; for should she prove untrustworthy +or indiscreet, his mission would be a failure. +So he answered jestingly:</p> +<p>“My secrets are not for little girls to know.”</p> +<p>Susie gave him a quick glance.</p> +<p>“Oh, you don’t look as though you had that +kind,” and turned away.</p> +<p>Ralston felt somehow that he had lost an opportunity. +He could not rid himself of the feeling +the entire evening; and he made up his mind +to cultivate Susie’s friendship. But it was too +late; he had made a mistake not unlike Dora’s. +Susie had felt herself rebuffed, and, like the Schoolmarm, +Ralston had laughed at her with his eyes. +It was a great thing—a really sacred thing to +Susie—this secret that she had offered him. The +telling of it to McArthur had been so delightful +an experience that she yearned to repeat it, but +now she meant never to tell any one else. Any +way, McArthur was her “pardner,” and it was +enough that he should know. So it came about +that afterwards, when Ralston sought her company +and endeavored to learn something of the +workings of her mind, he found the same barrier +of childish reserve which had balked Dora, and no +amount of tact or patience seemed able to break +it down.</p> +<p>The young deputy sheriff’s interest in Dora increased +in leaps and bounds. He experienced an +odd but delightful agitation when he saw the +sleepy white pony plodding down the hill, and +the sensation became one easily defined each +time that he observed Smith’s horse ambling +in the road beside hers. The feeling which inspired +Tubbs’s disgruntled comment, “Smith rides +herd on the Schoolmarm like a cow outfit in a bad +wolf country,” found an echo in Ralston’s own +breast. Truly, Smith guarded the Schoolmarm +with the vigilance of a sheep-dog.</p> +<p>He saw a possible rival in every new-comer, but +most of all he feared Ralston; for Smith was not +too blinded by prejudice to appreciate the fact +that Ralston was handsome in a strong, man’s +way, younger than himself, and possessed of the +advantages of education which enabled him to talk +with Dora upon subjects that left him, Smith, +dumb. Such times were wormwood and gall to +Smith; yet in his heart he never doubted but that +he would have Dora and her love in the end. Smith’s +faith in himself and his ability to get what he +really desired was sublime. The chasm between +himself and Dora—the difference of birth and education—meant +nothing to him. It is doubtful if +he recognized it. He would have considered himself +a king’s equal; indeed, it would have gone +hard with royalty, had royalty by any chance +ordered Smith to saddle his horse. He judged by +the standards of the plains: namely, gameness, +skill, resourcefulness; to him, there <i>were</i> no other +standards. After all, Dora Marshall was only a +woman—the superior of other women, to be sure, +but a woman; and if he wanted her—why not?</p> +<p>He would have been amazed, enraged through +wounded vanity, if it had been possible for him +to see himself from Dora’s point of view: a +subject for reformation; a test for many trite +theories; an erring human to be reclaimed by a +woman’s benign influence. Naturally, these thoughts +had not suggested themselves to Smith.</p> +<p>Ralston looked forward eagerly to the evening +meal, since it was almost the only time at which +he could exchange a word with Dora. Breakfast +was a hurried affair, while both she and Susie +were absent from the midday dinner. The shy, +fluttering glances which he occasionally surprised +from her, the look of mutual appreciation which +sometimes passed between them at a quaint bit of +philosophy or naïve remark, started his pulses +dancing and set the whole world singing a wordless +song of joy.</p> +<p>Somehow, eating seemed a vulgar function in +the Schoolmarm’s presence, and he wished with all +his heart that the abominable grammar lessons +which filled her evenings might some time end; in +which case he would be able to converse with her +when not engaged in rushing bread and meat to +and fro.</p> +<p>His most carefully laid plans to obtain a few +minutes alone with her were invariably thwarted +by Smith. And from the heights to which he had +been transported by some more than passing +friendly glance at the table, he was dragged each +evening to the depths by the sight of Dora and +Smith with their heads together over that accursed +grammar.</p> +<p>He commenced to feel a distaste for his bunk-house +associates, and took to wandering out of +doors, pausing most frequently in his meanderings +just outside the circle of light thrown +through the window by the dining-room lamp. +Dora’s guilelessness in believing that Smith’s interest +in his lessons was due to a desire for knowledge +did not make the tableau less tantalizing to +Ralston, but it would have been against every tenet +in his code to suggest to Dora that Smith was +not the misguided diamond-in-the-rough which she +believed him.</p> +<p>Smith, on the contrary, had no such scruples. +He lost no opportunity to sneer at Ralston. When +he discovered Dora wearing one of the first flowers +of spring, which Ralston had brought her, Smith +said darkly:</p> +<p>“That fresh guy is a dead ringer for a feller +that quit his wife and five kids in Livingston and +run off with a biscuit-shooter.”</p> +<p>Dora laughed aloud. The clean-cut and youthful +Ralston deserting a wife and five children for +a “biscuit-shooter” was not a convincing picture. +That she did not receive his insinuation seriously +but added fuel to the unreasoning jealousy beginning +to flame in Smith’s breast.</p> +<p>Yet Smith treated Ralston with a consideration +which was surprising in view of the wanton insults +he frequently inflicted upon those whom he +disliked. Susie guessed the reason for his superficial +courtesy, and Ralston, perhaps, suspected +it also. In his heart, Smith was afraid. First +and always, he was a judge of men—rather, of +certain qualities in men. He knew that should he +give intentional offense to Ralston, he would be +obliged either to retract or to back up his insult +with a gun. Ralston would be the last man to +accept an affront with meekness.</p> +<p>Smith did not wish affairs to reach this crisis. +He did not want to force an issue until he had +demonstrated to his own satisfaction that he was +the better man of the two with words or fists or +weapons. But once he found the flaw in Ralston’s +armor, he would speedily become the aggressor. +Such were Smith’s tactics. He was reckless with +caution; daring when it was safe.</p> +<p>The rôle he was playing gave him no concern. +Though the Indian woman’s spells of sullenness +irritated him, he conciliated her with endearing +words, caresses, and the promise of a speedy marriage. +He appeased her jealousy of Dora by +telling her that he studied the foolish book-words +only that he might the better work for her interests; +that he was fitting himself to cope with +the shrewd cattlemen with whom there were constant +dealings, and that when they were married, +the Schoolmarm should live elsewhere. Like others +of her sex, regardless of race or color, the Indian +woman believed because she wanted to believe.</p> +<p>Just where his actions were leading him, Smith +did not stop to consider. He had no fear of results. +With an overweening confidence arising from +past successes, he believed that matters would adjust +themselves as they always had. Smith wanted +a home, and the MacDonald cattle, horses, and +hay; but more than any of them he wanted Dora +Marshall. How he was going to obtain them all +was not then clear to him, but that when the time +came he could make a way, he never for a moment +doubted.</p> +<p>Smith’s confidence in himself was supreme. If +he could have expressed his belief in words, he +might have said that he could control Destiny, +shape events and his own life as he liked. He +had been shot at, pursued by posses, all but +lynched upon an occasion, and always he had +escaped in some unlooked-for manner little short +of miraculous. As a result, he had come to cherish +a superstitious belief that he bore a charmed life, +that no real harm could come to him. So he +courted each woman according to her nature as +he read it, and waited blindly for success.</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<a name='IX_SPEAKING_OF_GRASSHOPPERS' id='IX_SPEAKING_OF_GRASSHOPPERS'></a> +<h2>IX</h2> +<h3>SPEAKING OF GRASSHOPPERS——</h3> +</div> + +<p>It was Saturday, and, there being no school, +both Susie and Dora were at home. Ralston was +considering in which direction he should ride that +day when Susie came to him and after saying to +Smith with elaborate politeness, “Excuse me, Mr. +Smith, for whispering, but I have something very +private and confidential to say to Mr. Ralston,” +she shielded her mouth with her hand and said:</p> +<p>“Teacher and I are going fishing. We are +going up on the side-hill now to catch grasshoppers +for bait, and I thought maybe you’d like to help, +and to fish with us this afternoon.” She tittered in +his ear.</p> +<p>Susie’s action conveyed two things to Ralston’s +mind: first, that he had not been so clever as he +had supposed in dissembling his feelings; and +second, that Susie, recognizing them, was disposed +to render him friendly aid.</p> +<p>Smith noted Ralston’s brightening eye with suspicion, +jumping to the very natural conclusion that +only some pleasing information concerning the +Schoolmarm would account for it. When, a few +minutes later, he saw the three starting away together, +each with a tin or pasteboard box, he +realized that his surmise was correct.</p> +<p>Glowering, Smith walked restlessly about the +house, ignoring the Indian woman’s inquiring, +wistful eyes, cursing to himself as he wandered +through the corrals and stables, hating with a +personal hatred everything which belonged to +Ralston: his gentle-eyed brown mare; his expensive +Navajo saddle-blanket; his single-rigged +saddle; his bridle with the wide cheek pieces and +the hand-forged bit. It would have been a satisfaction +to destroy them all. He hated particularly +the little brown mare which Ralston brushed with +such care each morning. Smith’s mood was black +indeed.</p> +<p>But Ralston, as he walked between Dora and +Susie to the side-hill where the first grasshoppers +of spring were always found, felt at peace with +all the world—even Smith—and it was in his heart +to hug the elfish half-breed child as she skipped +beside him. Dora’s frequent, bubbling laughter +made him thrill; he longed to shout aloud like a +schoolboy given an unexpected holiday.</p> +<p>Each time that his eyes sought Dora’s, shadowed +by the wide brim of her hat, her eyelids drooped, +slowly, reluctantly, as though they fell against her +will, while the color came and went under her +clear skin in a fashion which filled him with delighted +wonder.</p> +<p>It may be said that there are few things in life +so absorbing as catching grasshoppers. While +Ralston previously had recognized this fact, he +never had supposed that it contained any element +of pleasure akin to the delights of Paradise. To +chase grasshoppers by oneself is one thing; to +pursue them in the company of a fascinating schoolmarm +is another; and when one has in his mind +the thought that ultimately he and the schoolmarm +may chance to fall upon the same grasshopper, +the chase becomes a sport for the gods +to envy.</p> +<p>Anent grasshoppers. While the first grasshopper +of early spring has not the devilish agility of +his August descendant, he is sufficiently alert to +make his capture no mean feat. It must be borne +in mind that the grasshopper is not a fool, and +that he appears to see best from the rear. Though +he remains motionless while the enemy is slipping +stealthily upon him, it by no means follows that +he is not aware of said enemy’s approach. The +grasshopper has a more highly developed sense +of humor than any other known insect. It is an +established fact that after a person has fallen upon +his face and clawed at the earth where the grasshopper +was but is not, the grasshopper will be +seen distinctly to laugh from his coign of vantage +beyond reach.</p> +<p>Furthermore, it is quite impossible to fathom +the mind of the grasshopper, his intentions or +habits; particularly those of the small, gray-pink +variety. He is as erratic in his flight as a clay +pigeon, though it is tolerably safe to assume +that he will not jump backward. He may not jump +at all, but, with a deceptive movement, merely sidle +under a sage-leaf. Where questions concerning +his personal safety are concerned, he shows rare +judgment, appearing to recognize exactly the +psychological moment in which to fly, jump, or sit +still.</p> +<p>No sluggard, be it known, can hope to catch +grasshoppers with any degree of success. It requires +an individual nimble of mind and body, +whose nerves are keyed to a tension, who is dominated +by a mood which refuses to recognize the +perils of snakes, cactus, and prairie-dog holes; +forgetful of self and dignity, inured to ridicule. +Such a one is justified in making the attempt.</p> +<p>The large, brownish-black, grandfatherly-looking +grasshopper is the most easily captured, though +not so satisfactory for bait as the pea-green or +the gray-pink. It was to the first variety that +Dora and Ralston devoted themselves, while Susie +followed the smaller and more sprightly around +the hill till she was out of sight.</p> +<p>Ralston became aware that no matter in which +direction the grasshopper he had marked for his +own took him, singularly enough he always ended +in pursuit of Dora’s. As a matter of fact, her +grasshopper looked so much more desirable than +his, that he could not well do otherwise than abandon +the pursuit of his own for hers.</p> +<p>Her low “Oh, thank you so much!” was so +heartfelt and sincere when he pushed the insect +through the slit in her pasteboard box that he truly +believed he would have run one all the way to +the Middle Fork of Powder River only to hear +her say it again. And then her womanly aversion +to inflicting pain, her appealing femininity when she +brought a bulky-bodied, tobacco-chewing grasshopper +for him to pinch its head into insensibility! +He liked this best of all, for, of necessity, their +fingers touched in the exchange, and he wondered +a little at his strength of will in refraining from +catching her hand in his and refusing to let go.</p> +<p>Finally a grasshopper of abnormal size went up +with a whir. Big he was, in comparison with +his kind, as the monster steer in the side-show, +the Cardiff giant, or Jumbo the mammoth.</p> +<p>“Oh!” cried Dora; “we must have him!” and +they ran side by side in wild, determined pursuit.</p> +<p>The insect sailed far and fast, but they could +not lose sight of him, for he was like an aeroplane +in flight, and when in an ill-advised moment he lit +to gather himself, they fell upon him tooth and +nail—to use a phrase. Dora’s hand closed over +the grasshopper, and Ralston’s closed over Dora’s, +holding it tight in one confused moment of delicious, +tongue-tied silence.</p> +<p>Her shoulder touched his, her hair brushed his +cheek. He wished that they might go on holding +down that grasshopper until the end of time. She +was panting with the exertion, her nose was moist +like a baby’s when it sleeps, and he noticed in a +swift, sidelong glance that the pupils of her eyes +all but covered the iris.</p> +<p>“He—he’s wiggling!” she said tremulously.</p> +<p>“Is he?” Ralston asked fatuously, at a loss for +words, but making no move to lift his hand.</p> +<p>“And there’s a cactus in my finger.”</p> +<p>“Let me see it.” Immediately his face was full +of deep concern.</p> +<p>He held her fingers, turning the small pink +palm upward.</p> +<p>“We must get it out,” he declared firmly. +“They poison some people.”</p> +<p>He wondered if it was imagination, or did her +hand tremble a little in his? His relief was not +unmixed with disappointment when the cactus spine +came out easily.</p> +<p>“They hurt—those needles.” He continued to +regard the tiny puncture with unabated interest.</p> +<p>“Tra! la! la!” sang Susie from the brow of +the hill. “Old Smith is comin’.”</p> +<p>Ralston dropped Dora’s hand, and they both +reddened, each wondering how long Susie had been +doing picket duty.</p> +<p>“Out for your failin’ health, Mister Smith?” +inquired Susie, with solicitude.</p> +<p>“I’m huntin’ horses, and hopin’ to pick up a +bunch of ponies cheap,” he replied with ugly significance +as he rode by.</p> +<p>And while the soft light faded from Ralston’s +eyes, the color leaped to his face; unconsciously +his fists clenched as he looked after Smith’s vanishing +back. It was the latter’s first overt act of +hostility; Ralston knew, and perhaps Smith intended +it so, that the clash between them must +now come soon.</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<a name='X_MOTHER_LOVE_AND_SAVAGE_PASSION_CONFLICT' id='X_MOTHER_LOVE_AND_SAVAGE_PASSION_CONFLICT'></a> +<h2>X</h2> +<h3>MOTHER LOVE AND SAVAGE PASSION CONFLICT</h3> +</div> + +<p>It was Sunday, a day later, when Susie came +into the living-room and noticed her mother sewing +muskrat around the top of a moccasin. It was +a man’s moccasin. The woman had made no men’s +moccasins since her husband’s death. The sight +chilled the girl.</p> +<p>“Mother,” she asked abruptly, “what do you +let that hold-up hang around here for?”</p> +<p>“Who you mean?” the woman asked quickly.</p> +<p>“That Smith!” Susie spat out the word like +something offensive.</p> +<p>The Indian woman avoided the girl’s eyes.</p> +<p>“I like him,” she answered.</p> +<p>“Mother!”</p> +<p>“Maybe he stay all time.” Her tone was stubborn, +as though she expected and was prepared to +resist an attack.</p> +<p>“You don’t—you <i>can’t</i>—mean it!”. Susie’s +thin face flushed scarlet with shame.</p> +<p>“Sa-ah,” the woman nodded, “I mean it;” and +Susie, staring at her in a kind of terror, saw that +she did.</p> +<p>“Oh, Mother! Mother!” she cried passionately, +dropping on the floor at the woman’s feet and +clasping her arms convulsively about the Indian +woman’s knees. “Don’t—don’t say that! We’ve +always been a little different from the rest. We’ve +always held our heads up. People like us and +respect us—both Injuns and white. We’ve never +been talked about—you and me—and now you are +going to spoil it all!”</p> +<p>“I get tied up to him right,” defended the +woman sullenly.</p> +<p>“Oh, Mother!” wailed the child.</p> +<p>“We need good white man to run de ranch.”</p> +<p>“But <i>Smith</i>—do you think <i>he’s</i> good? Good! +Is a rattlesnake good? Can’t you see what he is, +Mother?—you who are smarter than me in seeing +through people? He’s mean—onery to the marrow—and +some day sure—<i>sure</i>—he’ll turn, and +strike his fangs into you.”</p> +<p>“He no onery,” the woman replied, in something +like anger.</p> +<p>“It’s his nature,” Susie went on, without heeding +her. “He can’t help it. All his thoughts and +talk and schemes are about something crooked. +Can’t you tell by the things he lets drop that he +ought to be in the ’pen’? He’s treacherous, ungrateful, +a born thief. I saw him take Tubbs’s +halter, and there was the regular thief look in +his eyes when he cut his own name on it. I saw +him kick a dog, and he kicked it like a brute. He +kicked it in the ribs with his toe. Men—decent +men—kick a dog with the side of their foot. I +saw his horse fall with him, and he held it down +and beat it on the neck with a chain, where it +wouldn’t show. He’d hold up a bank or rob a +woman; he’d kill a man or a prairie-dog, and think +no more of the one than the other.</p> +<p>“I tell you, Mother, as sure as I sit here on +the floor at your feet, begging you, he’s going to +bring us trouble; he’s going to deal us misery! +I feel it! I <i>know</i> it!”</p> +<p>“You no like de white man.”</p> +<p>“That’s right; I don’t like the white man. He +wants a good place to stay; he wants your horses +and cattle and hay; and—he wants the Schoolmarm. +He’s making a fool of you, Mother.”</p> +<p>“He no make fool of me,” she answered complacently. +“He make fool of de white woman, +maybe.”</p> +<p>“Look out of the window and see for yourself.”</p> +<p>They arose together, and the girl pointed to +Smith and Dora, seated side by side on the cottonwood +log.</p> +<p>“Did he ever look at you like that, Mother?”</p> +<p>“He make fool of de white woman,” she reiterated +stubbornly, but her face clouded.</p> +<p>“He makes a fool of himself, but not of her,” +declared Susie. “He’s crazy about her—locoed. +Everybody sees it except her. Believe me, Mother, +listen to Susie just this once.”</p> +<p>“He like me. I stick to him;” but she went +back to her bench. The unfamiliar softness of +Smith’s face hurt her.</p> +<p>The tears filled Susie’s eyes and ran down her +cheeks. Her mother’s passion for this hateful +stranger was stronger than her mother-love, that +silent, undemonstrative love in which Susie had believed +as she believed that the sun would rise each +morning over there in the Bad Lands, to warm +her when she was cold. She buried her face in +her mother’s lap and sobbed aloud.</p> +<p>The woman had not seen Susie cry since she +was a tiny child, save when her father and White +Antelope died, and the numbed maternal instinct +stirred in her breast. She laid her dark, ringed +fingers upon Susie’s hair and stroked it gently.</p> +<p>“Don’t cry,” she said slowly. “If he make fool +of me, if he lie when he say he tie up to me right, +if he like de white woman better den me, I kill +him. I kill him, Susie.” She pointed to a bunch +of roots and short dried stalks which hung from +the rafters in one corner of the room. “See—that +is the love-charm of the Sioux. It was gifted +to me by Little Coyote’s woman—a Mandan. It +bring de love, and too much—it kill. If he make +fool of me, if he not like me better den de white +woman, I give him de love-charm of de Sioux. I +fix him! <i>I fix him right!</i>”</p> +<p>Out on the cottonwood log Smith and the Schoolmarm +had been speaking of many things; for +the man could talk fluently in his peculiar vernacular, +upon any subject which interested him or +with which he was familiar.</p> +<p>The best of his nature, whatever of good there +was in him, was uppermost when with Dora. He +really believed at such times that he was what +she thought him, and he condemned the shortcomings +of others like one speaking from the +lofty pinnacle of unimpeachable virtue.</p> +<p>In her presence, new ambitions, new desires, +awakened, and sentiments which he never had suspected +he possessed revealed themselves. He was +happy in being near her; content when he felt +the touch of her loose cape on his arm.</p> +<p>It never before had occurred to Smith that the +world through which he had gone his tumultuous +way was a beautiful place, or that there was joy +in the simple fact of being strongly alive. When +the sage-brush commenced to turn green and the +many brilliant flowers of the desert bloomed, when +the air was stimulating like wine and fragrant with +the scents of spring, it had meant little to Smith +beyond the facts that horse-feed would soon be +plentiful and that he could lay aside his Mackinaw +coat. The mountains suggested nothing but that +they held big game and were awkward places to +get through on horseback, while the deserts brought +no thoughts save of thirst and loneliness and choking +alkali dust. Upon a time a stranger had mentioned +the scenery, and Smith had replied ironically +that there was plenty of it and for him to help +himself!</p> +<p>But this spring was different—so different that +he asked himself wonderingly if other springs had +been like it; and to-day, as he sat in the sunshine +and looked about him, he saw for the first +time grandeur in the saw-toothed, snow-covered +peaks outlined against the dazzling blue of the +western sky. For the first time he saw the awing +vastness of the desert, and the soft pastel shades +which made their desolation beautiful. He breathed +deep of the odorous air and stared about him like +a blind man who suddenly sees.</p> +<p>During a silence, Smith looked at Dora with his +curiously intent gaze; his characteristic stare which +held nothing of impertinence—only interest, intense, +absorbing interest—and as he looked a +thought came to him, a thought so unexpected, so +startling, that he blinked as if some one had struck +him in the face. It sent a bright red rushing over +him, coloring his neck, his ears, his white, broad +forehead.</p> +<p>He thought of her as the mother of children—his +children—bearing his name, miniatures of himself +and of her. He never had thought of this +before. He never had met a woman who inspired +in him any such desire. He followed the thought +further. What if he should have a permanent +home—a ranch that belonged to him exclusively—“Smith’s +Ranch”—where there were white curtains +at the windows, and little ones who came +tumbling through the door to greet him when +he rode into the yard? A place where people +came to visit, people who reckoned him a person +of consequence because he stood for something. +He must have seen a place like it somewhere, the +picture was so vivid in his mind.</p> +<p>The thought of living like others never before +had entered into the scheme of his calculations. +Since the time when he had “quit the flat” back +in the country where they slept between sheets, +the world had been lined up against him in its +own defense. Life had been a constant game of +hare and hounds, with the pack frequently close +at his heels. He had been ever on the move, both +for reasons of safety and as a matter of taste. His +point of view was the abnormal one of the professional +law-breaker: the world was his legitimate +prey; the business of his life was to do as he +pleased and keep his liberty; to outwit sheriffs and +make a clean get-away. To be known among his +kind as “game” and “slick,” was the only distinction +he craved. His chiefest ambition had been +to live up to his title of “Bad Man.” In this he +had found glory which satisfied him.</p> +<p>“Well,” Dora asked at last, smiling up at him, +“what is it?”</p> +<p>Smith hesitated; then he burst out:</p> +<p>“Girl, do I stack up different to you nor anybody +else? Have you any feelin’ for me at all?”</p> +<p>“Why, I think I’ve shown my interest in trying +to teach you,” she replied, a little abashed by +his vehemence.</p> +<p>“What do you want to teach me for?” he +demanded.</p> +<p>“Because,” Dora declared, “you have possibilities.”</p> +<p>“Why don’t you teach Meeteetse Ed and +Tubbs?”</p> +<p>Dora laughed aloud.</p> +<p>“Candidly, I think it would be a waste of time. +They could never hope to be much more than we +see them here. And they are content as they are.”</p> +<p>“So was I, girl, until our trails crossed. I could +ride without grub all day, and sing. I could sleep +on a saddle-blanket like a tired pup, with only a +rock for a wind-break and my saddle for a pillow. +Now I can’t sleep in a bed. It’s horrible—this +mixed up feelin’—half the time wantin’ to holler +and laugh and the other half wantin’ to cry.”</p> +<p>“I don’t see why you should feel like that,” +said Dora gravely. “You are getting along. It’s +slow, but you’re learning.”</p> +<p>“Oh, yes, I’m learnin’,” Smith answered grimly—“fast.”</p> +<p>He saw her wondering look and went on fiercely.</p> +<p>“Girl, don’t you see what I mean? Don’t you +<i>sabe</i>? My feelin’ for you is more nor friendship. +I can’t tell you how I feel. It’s nothin’ I ever +had before, but I’ve heard of it a-plenty. It’s +love—that’s what it is! I’ve seen it, too, a-plenty.</p> +<p>“There’s two things in the world a feller’ll go +through hell for—just two: love and gold. I +don’t mean money, but gold—the pure stuff. +They’ll waller through snow-drifts, they’ll swim +rivers with the ice runnin’, they’ll crawl through +canyons and over trails on their hands and knees, +they’ll starve and they’ll freeze, they’ll work till +the blood runs from their blistered hands, they’ll +kill their horses and their pardners, for gold! +And they’ll do it for love. Yes, I’ve seen it a-plenty, +me—Smith.</p> +<p>“Things I’ve done, I’ve done, and they don’t +worry me none,” he went on, “but lately I’ve +thought of Dutch Joe. I worked him over for +singin’ a love-song, and I wisht I hadn’t. He’d +held up a stage, and was cached in my camp till +things simmered down. It was lonesome, and I’d +want to talk; but he’d sit back in the dark, away +from the camp-fire, and sing to himself about +’ridin’ to Annie.’ How the miles wasn’t long or +the trail rough if only he was ’ridin’ to Annie.’ +Sittin’ back there in the brush, he sounded like +a sick coyote a-hollerin’. It hadn’t no tune, and +I thought it was the damnedest fool song I ever +heard. After he’d sung it more’n five hundred +times, I hit him on the head with a six-shooter, +and we mixed. He quit singin’, but he held that +gretch against me as long as he lived.</p> +<p>“I thought it was because he was Dutch, but +it wasn’t. ’Twas love. Why, girl, I’d ride as +long as my horse could stand up under me, and +then I’d hoof it, just to hear you say, ‘Smith, +do you think it will rain?’”</p> +<p>“Oh, I never thought of this!” cried Dora, +as Smith paused.</p> +<p>Her face was full of distress, and her hands +lay tightly clenched in her lap.</p> +<p>“Do you mean I haven’t any show—no show +at all?” The color fading from Smith’s face left +it a peculiar yellow.</p> +<p>“It never occurred to me that you would misunderstand, +or think anything but that I wanted +to help you. I thought that you wanted to learn +so that you would have a better chance in life.”</p> +<p>“Did you—honest? Are you as innocent as +that, girl?” he asked in savage scepticism. “Did +you believe that I’d set and study them damned +verbs just so I’d have a better chanct in life?”</p> +<p>“You said so.”</p> +<p>“Oh, yes, maybe I <i>said</i> so.”</p> +<p>“Surely, <i>surely</i>, you don’t think I would intentionally +mislead you?”</p> +<p>“When a woman wants a man to dress or act +or talk different, she generally cares some.”</p> +<p>“And I do ‘care some’!” Dora cried impulsively. +“I believe that you are not making the +best of yourself, of your life; that you are better +than your surroundings; and because I do believe +in you, I want to help you. Don’t you +understand?”</p> +<p>Her explanation was not convincing to Smith.</p> +<p>“Is it because I don’t talk grammar, and you +think you’d have to live in a log-house and hang +out your own wash?”</p> +<p>Dora considered.</p> +<p>“Even if I cared for you, those things would +have weight,” she answered truthfully. “I am +content out here now, and like it because it is +novel and I know it is temporary; but if I were +asked to live here always, as you suggest, in a +log-house and hang out my own wash, I should +have to care a great deal.”</p> +<p>“It’s because I haven’t a stake, then,” he said +bitterly.</p> +<p>“No, not because you haven’t a stake. I merely +say that extreme poverty would be an objection.”</p> +<p>“But if I should get the <i>dinero</i>—me, Smith—plenty +of it? Tell me,” he demanded fiercely—“it’s +the time to talk now—is there any one else? +It’s me for the devil straight if you throw me! +You’d better take this gun here, plant it on my +heart, and pull the trigger. Because if I live—I’m +talkin’ straight—what I have done will be +just a kid’s play to what I’ll do, if I ever cut +loose for fair. Don’t throw me, girl! Give me +a show—if there ain’t any one else! If there is, +I’m quittin’ the flat to-day.”</p> +<p>Dora was silent, panic-stricken with the responsibility +which he seemed to have thrust upon +her, almost terrified by the thought that he was +leaving his future in her hands—a malleable object, +to be shaped according to her will for good +or evil.</p> +<p>A certain self-contained, spectacled youth, whose +weekly letters arrived with regularity, rose before +her mental vision, and as quickly vanished, leaving +in his stead a man of a different type, a man at +once unyielding and gentle, both shy and bold; a +man who seemed to typify in himself the faults +and virtues of the raw but vigorous West. Though +she hesitated, she replied:</p> +<p>“No, there is no one.”</p> +<p>And Ralston, fording the stream, lifted his eyes +midway and saw Smith raise Dora’s hand to his +lips.</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<a name='XI_THE_BEST_HORSE' id='XI_THE_BEST_HORSE'></a> +<h2>XI</h2> +<h3>THE BEST HORSE</h3> +</div> + +<p>There was a subtle change in Ralston, which +Dora was quick to feel. He was deferential, as +always, and as eager to please; but he no longer +sought her company, and she missed the quick +exchange of sympathetic glances at the table. It +seemed to her, also, that the grimness in his face +was accentuated of late. She found herself crying +one night, and called it homesickness, yet the +small items of news contained in the latest letter +from the spectacled youth had irritated her, and +she had realized that she no longer regarded church +fairs, choir practice, and oyster suppers as +“events.”</p> +<p>She wondered how she had offended Ralston, if +at all; or was it that he thought her bold, a +brazen creature, because she had let him keep her +hand so long upon the memorable occasion of the +grasshopper hunt? She blushed in the darkness +at the thought, and the tears slipped down her +cheeks again as she decided that this must be so, +since there could be no other explanation. Before +she finally slept, she had fully made up her mind +that she would show him by added reserve and +dignity of manner that she was not the forward +hoyden he undoubtedly believed her. And as a +result of this midnight decision, the Schoolmarm’s +“Good-morning, Mr. Ralston,” chilled that person +like a draught from cold storage.</p> +<p>Susie noticed the absence of their former cordiality +toward each other; and the obvious lack +of warmth filled Smith with keen satisfaction. He +had no notion of its cause; it was sufficient that +it was so.</p> +<p>As their conversation daily became more forced, +the estrangement more marked, Ralston’s wretchedness +increased in proportion. He brooded miserably +over the scene he had witnessed; troubled, aside +from his own interest in Dora, that she should be +misled by a man of Smith’s moral calibre. While he +had delighted in her unworldly, childlike belief in +people and things, in this instance he deeply regretted +it.</p> +<p>Ralston understood perfectly the part which +Smith desired to play in her eyes. He had heard +through Dora the stories Smith had told her of +wild adventures in which he figured to advantage, +of reckless deeds which he hinted would be impossible +since falling under her influence. He +posed as a brand snatched from the burning, and +conveyed the impression that his salvation was a +duty which had fallen in her path for her to perform. +That she applied herself to the task of +elevating Smith with such combined patience and +ardor, was the grievance of which Ralston had most +to complain.</p> +<p>In his darker moments he told himself that she +must have a liking for the man far stronger than +he had believed, to have permitted the liberty which +he had witnessed, one which, coming from Smith, +seemed little short of sacrilege. His unhappiness +was not lessened by the instances he recalled where +women had married beneath them through this +mistaken sense of duty, pity, or less commendable +emotions.</p> +<p>Upon one thing he was determined, and that +was never again to force his attentions upon her, +to take advantage of her helplessness as he had +when he had held her hand so tightly and, as he +now believed, against her wishes. Although she +did not show it, she must have thought him a bumpkin, +an oaf, an underbred cur. He groaned as he +ransacked his vocabulary for fitting words.</p> +<p>If only something would arise to reveal Smith’s +character to her in its true light! But this was +too much to hope. In his depression, it seemed +to Ralston that the sun would never shine for him +again, that failure was written on him like an I. D. +brand, that sorrow everlasting would eat and sleep +with him. In this mood, after a brief exchange +of breakfast civilities, far worse than none, he +walked slowly to the corral to saddle, cursing +Smith for the braggart he knew he was and for +the scoundrel he believed him to be.</p> +<p>Smith, it seemed, was riding that morning also, +for when Ralston led his brown mare saddled and +bridled from the stable, Smith was tightening the +cinch on his long-legged gray—the horse he had +taken from the Englishman. The Schoolmarm, in +her riding clothes, ran down the trail, calling impartially:</p> +<p>“Will one of you please get my horse for me? +He broke loose last night and is over there in the +pasture.”</p> +<p>For reply, both Ralston and Smith swung into +their saddles.</p> +<p>“I aims to get that horse. There’s no call +for you to go, feller.”</p> +<p>Above all else, it was odious to Ralston to be +addressed by Smith “feller.”</p> +<p>“If you happen to get to him first,” he answered +curtly. “And I’d like to suggest that my +name is Ralston.”</p> +<p>By way of answer, Smith dug the spurs cruelly +into the thin-skinned blooded gray. Ralston +loosened the reins on his brown mare, and it was +a run from the jump.</p> +<p>Each realized that the inevitable clash had come, +that no pretense of friendliness would longer be +possible between them, that from now on they would +be avowed enemies. As for Ralston, he was glad +that the crisis had arrived; glad of anything +which would divert him for ever so short a time +from his own bitter thoughts; glad of the test +which he could meet in the open, like a man.</p> +<p>The corral gate was open, and this led into a +lane something like three-quarters of a mile in +length, at the end of which was another gate, +opening into the pasture where the runaway pony +had crawled through the loose wire fence.</p> +<p>The brown mare had responded to Ralston’s +signal like the loyal, honest little brute she was. +The gravel flew behind them, and the rat-a-tat-tat +of the horses’ hoofs on the hard road was like the +roll of a drum. They were running neck and +neck, but Ralston had little fear of the result, +unless the gray had phenomenal speed.</p> +<p>Ralston knew that whoever reached the gate +first must open it. If he could get far enough in +the lead, he could afford to do so; if not, he +meant to “pull” his horse and leave it to Smith. +The real race would be from the gate to the pony.</p> +<p>The gray horse could run—his build showed +that, and his stride bore out his appearance. Yet +Ralston felt no uneasiness, for the mare had still +several links of speed to let out—“and then +some,” as he phrased it. The pace was furious +even to the gate; they ran neck and neck, like +a team, and the face of each rider was set in lines +of determination. Ralston quickly saw that in the +short stretch he would be unable to get sufficiently +in the lead to open the gate in safety. So he +pulled his horse a little, wondering if Smith would +do the same. But he did not. Instead, he spurred +viciously, and, to Ralston’s amazement, he went +at the gate hard. Lifting the gray horse’s head, +he went over and on without a break!</p> +<p>It was a chance, but Smith had taken it! He +never had tried the horse, but it was from the +English ranch, where he knew they were bred and +trained to jump. His mocking laugh floated back +to Ralston while he tore at the fastenings of the +gate and hurled it from him.</p> +<p>Ralston measured the gap between them and his +heart sank. It looked hopeless. The only thing +in his favor was that it was a long run, and the +gray might not have the wind or the endurance. +The little mare stood still, her nose out, her soft +eyes shining. As he lifted the reins, he patted +her neck and cried, breathing hard:</p> +<p>“Molly, old girl, if you win, it’s oats and a +rest all your life!”</p> +<p>He could have sworn the mare shared his +humiliation.</p> +<p>The saddle-leathers creaked beneath him at the +leap she gave. She lay down to her work like a +hound, running low, her neck outstretched, her +tail lying out on the breeze. Game, graceful, reaching +out with her slim legs and tiny hoofs, she +ate up the distance between herself and the gray +in a way that made even Ralston gasp. And still +she gained—and gained! Her muscles seemed like +steel springs, and the unfaltering courage in her +brave heart made Ralston choke with pride and +tenderness and gratitude. Even if she lost, the +race she was making was something to remember +always. But she was gaining inch by inch. The +sage-brush and cactus swam under her feet. When +Ralston thought she had done her best, given all +that was in her, she did a little more.</p> +<p>Smith knew, too, that she was gaining, though +he would not turn his head to look. When her +nose was at his horse’s rump, he had it in his heart +to turn and shoot her as she ran. She crept up +and up, and both Smith and Ralston knew that +the straining, pounding gray had done its best. +The work was too rough for its feet. There was +too much thoroughbred in it for lava-rock and sage-brush +hummocks. Blind rage consumed Smith as +he felt the increasing effort of each stride and +knew that it was going “dead” under him. He +used his spurs with savage brutality, but the brown +mare’s breath was coming hot on his leg. The +gray horse stumbled; its breath came and went in +sobs. Now they were neck and neck again. Then +it was over, the little brown mare swept by, and +Ralston’s rope, cutting the air, dropped about the +neck of the insignificant, white “digger” that had +caused it all.</p> +<p>“I guess you’re ridin’ the best horse to-day,” +said Smith, as he dropped from the saddle to retie +his latigo.</p> +<p>He gave the words a peculiar emphasis and inflection +which made the other man look at him.</p> +<p>“Molly and I have a prejudice against taking +dust,” Ralston answered quietly.</p> +<p>“It happens frequent that a feller has to get +over his prejudices out in this country.”</p> +<p>“That depends a little upon the fellow;” and +he turned Molly’s head toward the ranch, with the +pony in tow.</p> +<p>Smith said nothing more, but rode off across +the hills with all the evil in his nature showing +in his lowering countenance.</p> +<p>Dora’s eyes were brilliant as they always were +under excitement; and when Ralston dismounted +she stroked Molly’s nose, saying in a voice which +was more natural than it had been for days when +addressing him, “It was splendid! <i>She</i> is splendid!” +and he glowed, feeling that perhaps he +was included a little in her praise.</p> +<p>“You want to watch out now,” said Susie +soberly. “Smith’ll never rest till he’s ‘hunks.’”</p> +<p>Ralston thought the Schoolmarm hesitated, as +if she were waiting for him to join them, or were +going to ask him to do so; but she did not, and, +although it was some satisfaction to feel that he +had drawn first blood, he felt his despondency +returning as soon as Dora and Susie had ridden +away.</p> +<p>He walked aimlessly about, waiting for Molly +to cool a bit before he let her drink preparatory +to starting on his tiresome ride over the range. +Both he and the Colonel believed that the thieves +would soon grow bolder, and his strongest hope +lay in coming upon them at work. He had noted +that there were no fresh hides among those which +hung on the fence, and he sauntered down to have +another look at the old ones. With his foot +he turned over something which lay close against +a fence-post, half concealed in a sage-brush. +Stooping, he unrolled it and shook it out; then +he whistled softly. It was a fresh hide with the +brand cut out!</p> +<p>Ralston nodded his head in mingled satisfaction +and regret. So the thief was working from +the MacDonald ranch! Did the Indian woman +know, he wondered. Was it possible that Susie +was in ignorance? With all his heart, he hoped +she was. He walked leisurely to the house and +leaned against the jamb of the kitchen door.</p> +<p>“Have the makings, Ling?” He passed his +tobacco-sack and paper to the cook.</p> +<p>“Sure!” said Ling jauntily. “I like ’em +cigilette.”</p> +<p>And as they smoked fraternally together, they +talked of food and its preparation—subjects from +which Ling’s thoughts seldom wandered far. When +the advantages of soda and sour milk over baking +powder were thoroughly exhausted as a topic, +Ralston asked casually:</p> +<p>“Who killed your last beef, Ling? It’s hard +to beat.”</p> +<p>“Yellow Bird,” he replied. “Him good +butcher.”</p> +<p>“Yes,” Ralston agreed; “I should say that +Yellow Bird was an uncommonly good butcher.”</p> +<p>So, after all, it was the Indians who were killing. +Ralston sauntered on to the bunk-house +to think it over.</p> +<p>“Tubbs,” McArthur was saying, as he eyed +that person with an interest which he seldom bestowed +upon his hireling, “you really have a most +remarkable skull.”</p> +<p>Tubbs, visibly flattered, smirked.</p> +<p>“It’s claimed that it’s double by people what +have tried to work me over. Onct I crawled in +a winder and et up a batch of ’son-of-a-gun-in-a-sack’ +that the feller who lived there had jest +made. He come in upon me suddent, and the +way he hammered me over the head with the stove-lifter +didn’t trouble <i>him</i>, but,” declared Tubbs +proudly, “he never even knocked me to my +knees.”</p> +<p>“It is of the type of dolichocephalic,” mused +McArthur.</p> +<p>“A barber told me that same thing the last +time I had a hair-cut,” observed Tubbs blandly. +“‘Tubbs,’ says he, ‘you ought to have a massaj +every week, and lay the b’ar-ile on a-plenty.’”</p> +<p>“It is remarkably suggestive of the skulls found +in the ancient paraderos of Patagonia. Very +similar in contour—very similar.”</p> +<p>“There’s no Irish in me,” Tubbs declared with +a touch of resentment. “I’m pure mungrel—English +and Dutch.”</p> +<p>“It is an extremely curious skull—most peculiar.” +He felt of Tubbs’s head with growing interest. +“This bump behind the ear, if the system +of phrenology has any value, would indicate unusual +pugnacity.”</p> +<p>“That’s where a mule kicked me and put his +laig out of joint,” said Tubbs humorously.</p> +<p>“Ah, that renders the skull pathological; but, +even so, it is an interesting skull to an anthropologist—a +really valuable skull, it would be to +me, illustrating as it does certain features in dispute, +for which I have stubbornly contended in +controversies with the Preparator of Anthropology +at the École des Haute Études in Paris.”</p> +<p>“Why don’t you sell it to him, Tubbs?” suggested +Ralston, who had listened in unfeigned +amusement.</p> +<p>Tubbs, startled, clasped both hands over the top +of his head and backed off.</p> +<p>“Why, I need it myself.”</p> +<p>“Certainly—we understand that; but supposing +you were to die—supposing something happened +to you, as is liable to happen out here—you +wouldn’t care what became of your skull, once +you were good and dead. If it were sold, you’d +be just that much in, besides making an invaluable +contribution to science,” Ralston urged persuasively.</p> +<p>“It not infrequently happens that paupers, and +prisoners sentenced to suffer capital punishment, +dispose of their bodies for anatomical purposes, +for which they are paid in advance. As a matter +of fact, Tubbs,” declared McArthur earnestly, +“my superficial examination of your head has so +impressed me that upon the chance of some day +adding it to my collection I am willing to offer +you a reasonable sum for it.”</p> +<p>“It’s on bi-products that the money is made,” +declared Ralston soberly, “and I advise you not +to let this chance pass. You can raise money +on the rest of your anatomy any time; but selling +your head separately like this—don’t miss it, +Tubbs!”</p> +<p>“Don’t I git the money till you git my head?” +Tubbs demanded suspiciously.</p> +<p>“I could make a first payment to you, and +the remainder could be paid to your heirs.”</p> +<p>“My heirs! Say, all that I’ll ever git for my +head wouldn’t be a smell amongst my heirs. A +round-up of my heirs would take in the hull of +North Dakoty. Not aimin’ to brag, I got mavericks +runnin’ on that range what must be twelve-year-old.”</p> +<p>McArthur looked the disgust he felt at Tubbs’s +ribald humor.</p> +<p>“Your jests are exceedingly distasteful to me, +Tubbs.”</p> +<p>“That ain’t no jest. Onct I——”</p> +<p>“Let’s get down to business,” interrupted +Ralston. “What do you consider your skull +worth?”</p> +<p>“It’s wuth considerable to me. I don’t know +as I’m so turrible anxious to sell. I can eat +with it, and it gits me around.” Tubbs’s tone +took on the assumed indifference of an astute +horse trader. “I’ve always held my head high, as +you might say, and it looks to me like it ought to +bring a hunderd dollars in the open market. No, +I couldn’t think of lettin’ it go for less than a +hundred—cash.”</p> +<p>McArthur considered.</p> +<p>“If you will agree to my conditions, I will give +you my check for one hundred dollars,” he said +at last.</p> +<p>“That sounds reasonable,” Tubbs assented.</p> +<p>“I should want you to carry constantly upon +your person my name, address, and written instructions +as to the care of and disposal of your +skull, in the event of your demise. I shall also +insist that you do not voluntarily place your head +where your skull may be injured; because, as you +can readily see, if it were badly crushed, it would +be worthless for my purpose, or that of the scientific +body to whom I intend to bequeath my interest +in it, should I die before yourself.”</p> +<p>“I wasn’t aimin’ to lay it in a vise,” remarked +Tubbs.</p> +<p>While McArthur was drawing up the agreement +between them, Tubbs’s face brightened with a +unique thought.</p> +<p>“Say,” he suggested, “why don’t you leave +word in them instructions for me to be mounted? +I know a taxidermist over there near the Yellowstone +Park what can put up a b’ar or a timber +wolf so natural you wouldn’t know ’twas dead. +Wouldn’t it be kinda nice to see me settin’ around +the house with my teeth showin’ and an ear of corn +in my mouth? I’ll tell you what I’ll do: I’ll sell +you my hull hide for a hundred more. It might +cost two dollars to have me tanned, and with a +nice felt linin’ you could have a good rug out of +me for a very little money.”</p> +<p>McArthur replied ironically:</p> +<p>“I never have regarded you as an ornament, +Tubbs.”</p> +<p>Tubbs looked at the check McArthur handed +him, with satisfaction.</p> +<p>“That’s what I call clear velvet!” he declared, +and went off chuckling to show it to his friends.</p> +<p>“When you think of it, this is a very singular +transaction,” observed McArthur, wiping his fountain-pen +carefully.</p> +<p>“Yes,” and Ralston, no longer able to contain +himself, shouted with laughter; “it is.”</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<a name='XII_SMITH_GETS__HUNKS' id='XII_SMITH_GETS__HUNKS'></a> +<h2>XII</h2> +<h3>SMITH GETS “HUNKS”</h3> +</div> + +<p>Smith’s ugly mood was still upon him when he +picked up his grammar that evening. Jealous, +humiliated by the loss of the morning’s race, full +of revengeful thoughts and evil feelings, he wanted +to hurt somebody—something—even Dora. He +had a vague, sullen notion that she was to blame +because Ralston was in love with her. She could +have discouraged him in the beginning, he told +himself; she could have stopped it.</p> +<p>Unaccustomed as Smith was to self-restraint, +he quickly showed his frame of mind to Dora. +He had no <i>savoir faire</i> with which to conceal his +mood; besides, he entertained a feeling of proprietorship +over her which justified his resentment +to himself. Was she not to be his? Would he +not eventually control her, her actions, choose her +friends?</p> +<p>Dora found him a dense and disagreeable pupil, +and one who seemingly had forgotten everything +he had learned during previous lessons. His replies +at times were so curt as to be uncivil, and +a feeling of indignation gradually rose within her. +She was at a loss to understand his mood, unless +it was due to the result of the morning’s race; +yet she could scarcely believe that his disappointment, +perhaps chagrin, could account for his rudeness +to her.</p> +<p>When the useless lesson was finished, she closed +the book and asked:</p> +<p>“You are not yourself to-night. What is +wrong?”</p> +<p>With an expression upon his face which both +startled and shocked her he snarled:</p> +<p>“I’m sick of seein’ that lady-killer hangin’ +around here!”</p> +<p>“You mean——?”</p> +<p>“Ralston!”</p> +<p>Dora had never looked at Smith as she looked +at him now.</p> +<p>“I beg to be excused from your criticisms of +Mr. Ralston.”</p> +<p>Smith had not dreamed that the gentle, girlish +voice could take on such a quality. It cut him, +stung him, until he felt hot and cold by turns.</p> +<p>“Oh, I didn’t know he was such a friend,” he +sneered.</p> +<p>“Yes”—her eyes did not quail before the look +that flamed in his—“he is <i>just</i> such a friend!”</p> +<p>They had risen; and Smith, looking at her +as she stood erect, her head high in defiance, could +have choked her in his jealous rage.</p> +<p>He stumbled rather than walked toward the +door.</p> +<p>“Good-night,” he said in a strained, throaty +voice.</p> +<p>“Good-night.”</p> +<p>She stared at the door as it closed behind him. +She had something of the feeling of one who, making +a pet of a tiger, feels its claws for the first +time, sees the first indication of its ferocious +nature. This new phase of Smith’s character, +while it angered, also filled her with uneasiness.</p> +<p>It was later than usual when Smith came in to +say a word to the Indian woman, after Dora and +Susie had retired. He did not bring with him the +fumes of tobacco, the smoke of which rose in +clouds in the bunk-house, making it all but impossible +to see the length of the building; he +brought, rather, an odor of freshness, a feeling of +coolness, as though he had been long in the night +air.</p> +<p>The Indian woman sniffed imperceptibly.</p> +<p>“Where you been?”</p> +<p>His look was evil as he answered:</p> +<p>“Me? I’ve been payin’ my debts, me—Smith.”</p> +<p>He took her impassive hand in both of his and +pressed it against his heart.</p> +<p>“Prairie Flower,” he said, “I want you to tell +Ralston to go. <i>I hate him</i>.”</p> +<p>The woman looked at him, but did not answer.</p> +<p>“Will you?”</p> +<p>“Yes, I tell him.”</p> +<p>“When?”</p> +<p>She raised her narrowing eyes to his.</p> +<p>“<i>When you tell de white woman to go</i>.”</p> +<hr class='tb' /> + +<p>Ralston had felt that the old Colonel was growing +impatient with his seeming inactivity, so he decided, +the next morning, to ride to the Bar C and tell him +that he believed he had a clue. It would not be +necessary to keep Running Rabbit under close surveillance +until the beef in the meat-house was +getting low. Then the deputy sheriff meant not +to let him out of his sight.</p> +<p>Smith had not spoken to the man whom he had +come to regard as his rival since he had ridden +away from him the morning before. He had ignored +Ralston’s conversation at the table and avoided +him in the bunk-house. Now, engaged in trimming +his horse’s fetlocks, Smith did not look up +as the other man passed, but his eyes followed him +with a triumphant gleam as he went into the stable +to saddle Molly.</p> +<p>Ralston backed the mare to turn her in the stall, +and she all but fell down. He felt a little surprise +at her clumsiness, but did not grasp its meaning +until he led her to the door, where she stepped +painfully over the low door-sill and all but fell +again. He led her a step or two further, and she +went almost to her knees. The mare was lame in +every leg—she could barely stand; yet there was +not a mark on her—not ever so slight a bruise! +Her slender legs were as free from swellings as +when they had carried her past Smith’s gray; her +feet looked to be in perfect condition; yet, save +for the fact that she could stand up, she was as +crippled as if the bones of every leg were shattered.</p> +<p>It is doubtful if any but steel-colored eyes can +take on the look which Ralston’s contained as they +met Smith’s. His skin was gray as he straightened +himself and drew a hand which shook noticeably +the length of his cheek and across his mouth.</p> +<p>In great anger, anger which precedes some quick +and desperate act, almost every person has some +gesture peculiar to himself, and this was Ralston’s.</p> +<p>A less guilty man than Smith might have flinched +at that moment. The half-grin on his face faded, +and he waited for a torrent of accusations and +oaths. But Ralston, in a voice so low that it +barely reached him, a voice so ominous, so fraught +with meaning, that the dullest could not have misunderstood, +said:</p> +<p>“I’ll borrow your horse, Smith.”</p> +<p>Smith, like one hypnotized, heard himself saying:</p> +<p>“Sure! Take him.”</p> +<p>Ralston knew as well as though he had witnessed +the act that Smith had hammered the frogs +of Molly’s feet until they were bruised and sore as +boils. Her lameness would not be permanent—she +would recover in a week or two; but the abuse of, +the cruelty to, the little mare he loved filled Ralston +with a hatred for Smith as relentless and deep as +Smith’s own.</p> +<p>“A man who could do a thing like that,” said +Ralston through his set teeth, “is no common cur! +He’s wolf—all wolf! He isn’t staying here for +love, alone. There’s something else. And I swear +before the God that made me, I’ll find out what +it is, and land him, before I quit!”</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<a name='XIII_SUSIE_S_INDIAN_BLOOD' id='XIII_SUSIE_S_INDIAN_BLOOD'></a> +<h2>XIII</h2> +<h3>SUSIE’S INDIAN BLOOD</h3> +</div> + +<p>Coming leisurely up the path from the corrals, +Smith saw Susie sitting on the cottonwood log, +wrapped in her mother’s blanket. She was huddled +in a squaw’s attitude. He eyed her; he never had +seen her like that before. But, knowing Indians +better, possibly, than he knew his own race, Smith +understood. He recognized the mood. Her Indian +blood was uppermost. It rose in most half-breeds +upon occasion. Sometimes under the influence +of liquor it cropped out, sometimes anger +brought it to the surface. He had seen it often—this +heavy, smouldering sullenness.</p> +<p>Smith stood with his hands in his pockets, looking +at her. He felt more at ease with her than +ever before.</p> +<p>“What are you sullin’ about, Susie?”</p> +<p>She did not answer. Her pertness, her Anglo-Saxon +vivacity, were gone; her face was wooden, +expressionless; her restless eyes slow-moving and +dull; her cheek-bones, always noticeably high, +looked higher, and her skin was murky and dark.</p> +<p>“You look like a squaw with that sull on,” he +ventured again, and there was satisfaction in his +face.</p> +<p>It was something to know that, after all, Susie +was “Injun”—“pure Injun.” The scheme which +had lain dormant in his brain now took active shape. +He had wanted Susie’s help, but each time that he +had tried to conciliate her, his overtures had ended +in a fresh rupture. Now her stinging tongue was +dumb, and there was no aggressiveness in her +manner.</p> +<p>Smith, laying his hand heavily upon her shoulder, +sat down beside her, and a flash, a transitory gleam, +shone for an instant in her dull eyes; but she +did not move or change expression.</p> +<p>He said in a low voice:</p> +<p>“What you need is stirrin’ up, Susie.”</p> +<p>He watched her narrowly, and continued:</p> +<p>“You ought to get into a game that has some +ginger in it. This here life is too tame for a girl +like you.”</p> +<p>Without looking at him she asked:</p> +<p>“What kind of a game?” Her voice was lifeless, +guttural.</p> +<p>“It’s agin my principles to empty my sack to +a woman; but you’re diff’rent—you’re game—you +are, Susie.” His voice dropped to a whisper, and +the weight of his hand made her shoulder sag. +“Let’s you and me rustle a bunch of horses.”</p> +<p>Susie did not betray surprise at the startling +proposition by so much as the twitching of an +eyelid.</p> +<p>“What for?”</p> +<p>Smith replied:</p> +<p>“Just for the hell of it!”</p> +<p>She grunted, but neither in assent nor dissent; +so Smith went on in an eager, persuasive whisper:</p> +<p>“There’s Injun enough in you, girl, to make +horse-stealin’ all the same as breathin’. You jump +in with me on this deal and see how easy you lose +that sull. Don’t you ever have a feelin’ take holt +of you that you want to do something onery—steal +something, mix with somebody? I do. I’ve had +that notorious feelin’ workin’ on me strong for days +now, and I’ve got to get rid of it. If you’ll come +in on this, we’ll have the excitement and make a +stake, too. Talk up, girl—show your sand! Be +game!”</p> +<p>“What horses do you aim to steal?”</p> +<p>“Reservation horses. Say, the way I can burn +their brands and fan ’em over the line won’t trouble +<i>me</i>. I’ll come back with a wad—me, Smith—and +I’ll whack up even. What do you say?”</p> +<p>“What for a hand do I take in it?”</p> +<p>A smile of triumph lifted the corners of Smith’s +mouth.</p> +<p>“You gather ’em up and run ’em into a coulee, +that’s all. I’ll do the rest.”</p> +<p>“What do you want <i>me</i> to do it for?”</p> +<p>“Nobody’d think anything of it if they saw +you runnin’ horses, because you’re always doin’ it; +but they’d notice me.”</p> +<p>“Where’s the coulee?”</p> +<p>“I’ve picked it. I located my plant long ago. +I’ve found the best spot in the State to make a +plant.”</p> +<p>“Where are you goin’ to sell?”</p> +<p>Smith eyed her inscrutable face suspiciously.</p> +<p>“You’re askin’ lots of questions, girl. I tips +my hand too far to no petticoat. You trusts me +or you don’t. Will you come in?”</p> +<p>“All right,” said Susie after a silence; “I’ll +come in—‘just for the hell of it.’”</p> +<p>“Shake!”</p> +<p>She looked at his extended hand and wrapped +her own in her blanket.</p> +<p>“There’s no call to shake.”</p> +<p>“Is your heart mixed, Susie?” he demanded. +“Ain’t it right toward me?”</p> +<p>“It’ll be right enough when the time comes,” +she answered.</p> +<p>The reply did not satisfy Smith, but he told +himself that, once she was committed, he could +manage her, for, after all, Susie was little more +than a child. Smith felt uncommonly pleased with +himself for his bold stroke.</p> +<p>The new intimacy between Smith and Susie, the +sudden cessation of hostilities, caused surprise on +the ranch, but the Indian woman was the only one +to whom it gave pleasure. She viewed the altered +relations with satisfaction, since it removed the only +obstacle, as she believed, to a speedy marriage with +Smith.</p> +<p>“Didn’t I tell you he smart white man?” she +asked complacently of Susie.</p> +<p>“Oh, yes, he’s awful smart,” Susie answered +with sarcasm.</p> +<p>Ralston, more than any one else, was puzzled +by their apparent friendship. He had believed that +Susie’s antipathy for Smith was as deep as his +own, and he wondered what could have happened +to bring about such a sudden and complete revulsion +of feeling. He was disappointed in her. +He felt that she had weakly gone over to the +enemy; and it shook his confidence in her sturdy +honesty more than anything she could have done. +He believed that no person who understood Smith, +as Susie undoubtedly did, could make a friend and +confidant of him and be “right.” But sometimes +he caught Susie’s eyes fixed upon him in a kind +of wistful, inquiring scrutiny, which left the impression +that something was troubling her, something +that she longed to confide in some one upon +whom she could rely; but his past experience had +taught him the futility of attempting to force her +confidence, of trying to learn more than she volunteered.</p> +<p>Smith and Susie rode the surrounding country +and selected horses from the various bands. Three +or four bore Bear Chief’s brand, there were a +pinto and a black buckskin in Running Rabbit’s +herd, and a sorrel or two that belonged to Yellow +Bird. A couple of bays here were singled out, +a brown and black there, until they had the pick +of the range.</p> +<p>“We don’t want to get more nor you can cut +out alone and handle,” warned Smith. “We don’t +want no slip-up on the start.”</p> +<p>“I don’t aim to make no slip-up.”</p> +<p>“We’ve got lookers, we have,” declared Smith. +“And them chunky ones go off quickest at a forced +sale. I know a horse when I meet up with it, me—Smith.”</p> +<p>“But where you goin’ to cache ’em?” insisted +Susie.</p> +<p>“Girl, I ain’t been ridin’ this range for my +health. I’ll show you a blind canyon where a regiment +of soldiers couldn’t find a hundred head of +horses in a year; and over there in the Bad Lands +there’s a spring breakin’ out where a man dyin’ +of thirst would never think of lookin’ for it. We’re +all right. You’re a head-worker, and so am I.” +Smith chuckled. “We’ll set some of these Injuns +afoot, and make a clean-get-away.”</p> +<p>Smith was more than satisfied with the zest with +which Susie now entered into the plot, and the +shrewdness which she showed in planning details +that he himself had overlooked.</p> +<p>“You work along with me, kid, and I’ll make +a dead-game one out of you!” he declared with +enthusiasm. “When we make a stake, we’ll go +to Billings and rip up the sod!”</p> +<p>“I’ll like that,” said Susie dryly.</p> +<p>“When the right time comes, I’ll know it,” Smith +went on. “When I wakes up some mornin’ with +a feelin’ that it’s the day to get action on, I +always follows that feelin’—if it takes holt of me +anyways strong. I has to do certain things on +certain days. I hates a chilly day worse nor anything. +I wants to hole up, and I feels mean enough +to bite myself. But when the sun shines, it thaws +me; it draws the frost out of my heart, like. +I hates to let anybody’s blood when the sun shines. +I likes to lie out on a rock like a lizard, and I +feels kind. I’m cur’ous that way, about sun, me—Smith.”</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<a name='XIV_THE_SLAYER_OF_MASTODONS' id='XIV_THE_SLAYER_OF_MASTODONS'></a> +<h2>XIV</h2> +<h3>THE SLAYER OF MASTODONS</h3> +</div> + +<p>Dora and Susie had planned to botanize one +fine Saturday morning, and Susie, dressed for a +tramp in the hills, was playing with a pup in the +dooryard, waiting for Dora, when she saw Smith +coming toward her with the short, quick step which, +she had learned, with him denoted mental activity.</p> +<p>“This is the day for it,” he said decisively. +“I had that notorious feelin’ take holt of me when +I got awake. How’s your heart, girl?”</p> +<p>It had given a thump at Smith’s approach, and +Susie’s tawny skin had paled under its tan, but by +way of reply she gave the suggestive Indian sign +of strength.</p> +<p>“Good!” he nodded. “You’ll need a strong +heart for the ridin’ you’ve got to do to-day; but +I’m not a worryin’ that you can’t do it, kid, for +I’ve watched you close.”</p> +<p>“Guess I could ride a flyin’ squirrel if I had to,” +Susie replied shortly, “but Teacher wanted me to +go with her to get flowers. She doesn’t like to +go alone.”</p> +<p>“There’s no call for her to go alone. I’ll go +with her. It’s no use for me to get to the plant +before afternoon. I’ll go on this flower-pickin’ +spree, and be at the mouth of the canyon in time +to hold the first bunch of horses you bring in. +They’re pretty much scattered, you know. What +for an outfit you goin’ to wear? You don’t want +no flappin’ skirts to advertise you.”</p> +<p>Susie answered curtly:</p> +<p>“I got some sense.”</p> +<p>“You’re a sassy side-kicker,” he observed good-humoredly.</p> +<p>She pouted.</p> +<p>“I don’t care, I wanted to pick flowers.”</p> +<p>Smith said mockingly, “So do I, angel child. I +jest worships flowers!”</p> +<p>“From pickin’ flowers to stealin’ horses is some +of a jump.”</p> +<p>“I holds a record for long jumps.” As a final +warning Smith said: “Now, don’t make no mistake +in cuttin’ out, for we’ve picked the top horses +of the range. And remember, once you get ’em +strung out, haze ’em along—for there’ll be hell +a-poppin’ on the reservation when they’re missed.”</p> +<p>Susie had disappeared when the Schoolmarm came +out with her basket and knife, prepared to start, +and Smith gave some plausible excuse for her +change of plan.</p> +<p>“She told me to go in her place,” said Smith +eagerly, “and I know a gulch where there’s a +barrel of them Mormon lilies, and rock-roses, and +a reg’lar carpet of these here durn little blue +flowers that look so nice and smell like a Chinese +laundry. I can dig like a badger, too.”</p> +<p>Dora laughed, and, looking at him, noticed, as +she often had before, the wonderful vividness with +which his varying moods were reflected in his face, +completely altering his expression.</p> +<p>He looked boyish, brimming with the buoyant +spirits of youth. His skin had unwonted clearness, +his eyes were bright, his face was animated; +he seemed to radiate exuberant good-humor. Even +his voice was different and his laugh was less hard. +As he walked away with the Schoolmarm’s basket +swinging on his arm, he was for the time what he +should have been always. He had long since made +ample apology to Dora for his offense and there +had been no further outbreak from him of which +to complain.</p> +<p>The day’s work was cut out for Ralston also, +when he saw Yellow Bird and another Indian ride +away, each leading a pack-horse, and learned from +Ling that they had gone to butcher. They started +off over the reservation, in the direction in which +the MacDonald cattle ranged; with the intention, +Ralston supposed, of circling and coming out on +the Bar C range. He thought that by keeping +well to the draws and gulches he could remain fairly +well hidden and yet keep them in sight.</p> +<p>He heard voices, and turned a hill just in time +to see Smith take a flower gently from Dora’s +hand and, with some significant word, lay it with +care between the leaves of a pocket note-book.</p> +<p>Though it looked more to Ralston, all that Smith +had said was, “It might bring me luck.” And +Dora had smiled at his superstition.</p> +<p>Ralston would have turned back had it not been +too late: his horse’s feet among the rocks had +caused them to look up. As he passed Dora replied +to some commonplace, with heightened color, +and Smith stared in silent triumph.</p> +<p>Ralston cursed himself and the mischance which +had taken him to that spot.</p> +<p>“She’ll think I was spying upon her, like some +ignorant, jealous fool!” he told himself savagely. +“Why, why, is it that I must always blunder +upon such scenes, to make me miserable for days! +Can it be—can it possibly be,” he asked himself—“that +she cares for the man; that she encourages +him; that she has a foolish, Quixotic notion that +she can raise him to her own level?”</p> +<p>Was there really good in the man which he, +Ralston, was unable to see? Was he too much +in love with Dora himself to be just to Smith, +he wondered.</p> +<p>“No, no!” he reiterated vehemently. “No man +who would abuse a horse is fit for a good woman +to marry. I’m right about him—I know I am. +But can I prove it in time to save her?—not for +myself, for I guess I’ve no show; but from him?”</p> +<p>With a heartache which seemed to have become +chronic of late, Ralston followed the Indians’ lead +up hill and down, through sand coulees and between +cut-banks, at a leisurely pace. They seemed +in no hurry, nor did they make any apparent effort +to conceal themselves. They rode through several +herds of cattle, and passed on, drifting gradually +toward the creek bottom close to the reservation +line, where both Bar C and I. D. cattle came to +drink.</p> +<p>Ralston wondered if they would attempt to stand +him off; but his heart was too heavy for the possibility +of a coming fight to quicken his pulse to +any great extent. He believed that he would be +rather glad than otherwise if they should make a +stand. The thought that the tedious waiting game +which he had played so long might be ended did +not elate him. The ambition seemed to have gone +out of him. He had little heart in his work, and +small interest in the glory resulting from success.</p> +<p>He thought only of Dora as he lay full length +on the ground, plucking disconsolately at spears +of bunch-grass within reach, while he waited for +the sound of a shot in the creek bottom, or the +reappearance of the Indians.</p> +<p>He had not long to wait before a shot, a bellow, +and another shot told him that the time for action +had come. He pulled his rifle from its scabbard, +and laid it in front of him on his saddle. It was +curious, he thought, as he rode closer, that one +Indian was not on guard. Still, it was probable +that they had grown careless through past successes. +He was within a hundred yards of the +butchers before they saw him.</p> +<p>“Hello!” Yellow Bird’s voice was friendly.</p> +<p>“Hello!” Ralston answered.</p> +<p>“Fat cow. Fine beef,” vouchsafed the Indian.</p> +<p>“Fine beef,” agreed Ralston. “Can I help +you?”</p> +<p>The MacDonald brand stood out boldly on the +cow’s flank!</p> +<p>Ralston watched them until they had loaded their +meat upon the pack-horses and started homeward. +One thing was certain: if Running Rabbit had +butchered the Bar C cattle, he had done so under a +white man’s supervision. In this instance, with an +Indian’s usual economy in the matter of meat, he +had left little but the horns and hoofs. The Bar +C cattle had been butchered with the white man’s +indifference to waste.</p> +<p>Any one of the bunk-house crowd, except +McArthur, Ralston believed to be quite capable of +stealing cattle for beef purposes. But if they had +been stealing systematically, as it would appear, +why had they killed MacDonald cattle to-day? +Ralston still regarded the affair of the fresh hide +as too suspicious a circumstance to be overlooked, +and he meant to learn which of the white grub-liners +had been absent. He reasoned that the +Indians had a wholesome fear of Colonel Tolman, +and that it was unlikely they would venture upon +his range for such a purpose without a white man’s +moral support.</p> +<p>Smith had been missing frequently of late and +for so long as two days at a time, but this could +not be regarded as peculiar, since the habits of all +the grub-liners were more or less erratic. They +disappeared and reappeared, with no explanation +of their absence.</p> +<p>In his present frame of mind, Ralston had no +desire to return immediately to the ranch. He +wanted to be alone; to harden his heart against +Dora; to prepare his mind for more shocks such +as he had had of late. It was not an easy task +he had set himself.</p> +<p>After a time he dismounted, and, throwing down +his bridle-reins, dropped to the ground to rest, +while his horse nibbled contentedly at the sparse +bunch-grass. As he lay in the sunshine, his hands +clasped behind his head, the stillness acted like a +sedative, and something of the tranquillity about +him crept into his soul.</p> +<p>Upon one thing he was determined, and that was, +come what might, to be a <i>man</i>—a gentleman. If +in his conceit and eagerness he had misunderstood +the softness of Dora’s eyes, her shy tremulousness, +as he now believed he had, he could take his medicine +like a man, and go when the time came, without +whimpering, without protest or reproach. He +wanted to go away feeling that he had her respect, +at least; go knowing that there was not a single +word or action of his upon which she could look +back with contempt. Yes, he wanted greatly her +respect. She inspired in him this desire.</p> +<p>Ralston felt very humble, very conscious of his +own shortcomings, as he lay there while the afternoon +waned; but, humble as he was, resigned as +he believed himself to be, he could not think of +Smith with anything but resentment and contempt. +It hurt his pride, his self-respect, to regard Smith +in the light of a rival—a successful rival.</p> +<p>“By Gad!” he cried aloud, and with a heat which +belied his self-abnegation. “If he were only a <i>decent</i> +white man! But to be let down and out by +the only woman I ever gave a whoop for in all my +life, for a fellow like that! Say, it’s tough!”</p> +<p>Ralston’s newly acquired serenity, the depth of +which he had reason to doubt, was further disturbed +by a distant clatter of hoofs. He sat up +and watched the oncoming of the angriest-looking +Indian that ever quirted a cayuse over a reservation. +It was Bear Chief, whom he knew slightly. +Seeing Ralston’s saddled horse, the Indian pulled +up a little, which was as well, since the white man +was immediately in his path.</p> +<p>As the Indian came back, Ralston, who had +rolled over to let him pass, remarked dryly:</p> +<p>“The country is getting so crowded, it’s hardly +safe for a man to sit around like this. What’s the +excitement, Bear Chief?”</p> +<p>“Horse-thief steal Indian horses!” he cried, +pointing toward the Bad Lands.</p> +<p>Ralston was instantly alert.</p> +<p>“Him ridin’ my race-pony—fastest pony on de +reservation. Got big bunch. Runnin’ ’em off!”</p> +<p>Fast moving specks that rose and fell among +the hills of the Bad Lands bore out the Indian’s +words.</p> +<p>“Did you see him?”</p> +<p>Ralston was slipping the bit back in his horse’s +mouth and tightening the cinch.</p> +<p>“Yas, I see him. Long way off, but I see him.”</p> +<p>“Did you know him?”</p> +<p>“Yas, I know him.”</p> +<p>“Who was it?” Ralston was in the saddle +now.</p> +<p>“Little white man—what you call him ‘bug-hunter’—at +de MacDonald ranch.”</p> +<p>“McArthur!” Their horses were gathering +speed as they turned them toward the Bad Lands.</p> +<p>“Yas. Little; hair on face—so; wear what +you call dem sawed-off pants.”</p> +<p>From the description, Ralston recognized +McArthur’s English riding-breeches, which had +added zest to life for the bunk-house crowd when +he had appeared in them. The deputy-sheriff was +bewildered. It seemed incredible, yet there, still in +sight, was the flying band of horses, and Bear +Chief’s positiveness seemed to leave no room for +doubt.</p> +<p>“Oh, him one heap good thief,” panted Bear +Chief, in unwilling admiration, as their horses ran +side by side. “He work fast. No ’fraid. Cut ’em +out—head ’em off—turn ’em—ride through big +brush—jump de gulch—yell and swing de quirt, +and do him all ’lone! Dat no easy work—cut out +horses all ’lone. Him heap good horse-thief!”</p> +<p>What did it mean, anyhow? Ralston asked himself +the question again and again. Was it possible +that he had been deceived in McArthur? That, +after all, he was a criminal of an extraordinary +type? He found no answer to his questions, but +both he and Bear Chief soon realized that they +were exhausting their horses in a useless pursuit. +It was growing dark; the thief had too much start, +and, with the experience of an old hand, he drove the +horses over rocks, where they left no blabbing tracks +behind. Once well into the Bad Lands, he was +as effectually lost as if the earth had opened and +swallowed him.</p> +<p>So they turned their tired horses back, reaching +the ranch long after sundown. Ralston was still +unconvinced that it was not a case of mistaken +identity, and, hoping against hope, he asked some +one loafing about while he and Bear Chief unsaddled +if McArthur had returned.</p> +<p>“He’s been off prowlin’ all day, and ain’t in +yet,” was the answer; and Bear Chief grunted at +this confirmation of his accusation.</p> +<p>The Indian woman was waiting in the doorway +when they came up the path.</p> +<p>“You see Susie?” There was uneasiness in her +voice.</p> +<p>It was an unheard-of thing for Susie not to return +from her rides and visits before dark.</p> +<p>“Not since morning,” Ralston replied. “Has +any one gone to look for her? Is Smith here?”</p> +<p>“Smith no come home for supper.”</p> +<p>“There seems to have been a general exodus to-day,” +Ralston observed. “Are you feeling worried +about Susie?”</p> +<p>“I no like. Yas, I feel worry for Susie.”</p> +<p>It was the first evidence of maternal interest +that Ralston ever had seen the stoical woman show.</p> +<p>“If Ling will give me a bite to eat, I’ll saddle +another horse and ride down below. She may be +spending the night with some of her friends.”</p> +<p>“She no do that without tell me,” declared the +woman positively. “Susie no do that.”</p> +<p>She brought the food from the kitchen herself, +and padded uneasily from window to window while +they ate.</p> +<p>What was in the wind, Ralston asked himself, +that Susie, McArthur, and Smith should disappear +in this fashion on the same day? It was a singular +coincidence. Like her mother, Ralston had no +notion that Susie was stopping the night at any +ranch or lodge below. He, too, shared the Indian +woman’s misgivings.</p> +<p>He had finished and was reaching for his hat +when footsteps were heard on the hard-beaten dooryard. +They were slow, lagging, unfamiliar to the +listeners, who looked at each other inquiringly. +Then the Indian woman threw open the door, and +Susie, like the ghost of herself, staggered from the +darkness outside into the light.</p> +<p>No ordinary fatigue could make her look as she +looked now. Every step showed complete and utter +exhaustion. Her dishevelled hair was hanging in +strands over her face, her eyes were dark-circled, +she was streaked with dust and grime, and her thin +shoulders drooped wearily.</p> +<p>“Where you been, Susie?” her mother asked +sharply.</p> +<p>“Teacher said,” she made a pitiful attempt to +laugh, to speak lightly—“Teacher said ridin’ +horseback would keep you from gettin’ fat. I—I’ve +been reducin’ my hips.”</p> +<p>“Don’t you do dis no more!”</p> +<p>“Don’t worry—I shan’t!” And as if her +mother’s reproach was the last straw, Susie covered +her face with the crook of her elbow and cried +hysterically.</p> +<p>Ralston was convinced that the day had held +something out of the ordinary for Susie. He knew +that it would take an extraordinary ride so completely +to exhaust a girl who was all but born in +the saddle. But it was evident from her reply that +she did not mean to tell where she had been or +what she had been doing.</p> +<p>Although Ralston soon retired, he was awake +long after his numerous room-mates were snoring +in their bunks. There was much to be done on +the morrow, yet he could not sleep. He was not +able to rid himself of the thought that there was +something peculiar in the absence of Smith just at +this time, nor could he entirely abandon the belief +that McArthur would yet come straggling in, with +an explanation of the whole affair. He could not +think of any that would be satisfactory, but an +underlying faith in the little scientist’s honesty +persisted.</p> +<p>Toward morning he slept, and day was breaking +when a step on the door-sill of the bunk-house +awakened him. He raised himself slightly on his +elbow and stared at McArthur, looming large in +the gray dawn, with a skull carried carefully in +both hands.</p> +<p>“Ah, I’m glad to find you awake!” He tiptoed +across the floor.</p> +<p>His clothing was wrinkled with the damp, night +air, and his face looked haggard in the cold light, +but the fire of enthusiasm burned undimmed behind +his spectacles.</p> +<p>“Congratulate me!”</p> +<p>“I do—what for?”</p> +<p>“My dear sir, if I can prove to the satisfaction +of scientific sceptics that this cranium is not +pathological, I shall have bounded in a single day—night—bounded +from comparative obscurity to +the pinnacle of fame! Undoubtedly—beyond +question—a race of giants existed in North +America——”</p> +<p>“Pardon me,” Ralston interrupted his husky +eloquence; “but where have you been all night?”</p> +<p>“Ah, where have I <i>not</i> been? Walking—walking +under the stars! Under the stimulus of success, +I have covered miles with no feeling of fatigue. +Have you ever experienced, my dear sir, the sensation +which comes from the realization of a life-dream?”</p> +<p>“Not yet,” Ralston replied prosaically. “Where +was your horse?”</p> +<p>“Ah, yes, my horse. Where <i>is</i> my horse? I +asked myself that question each time that I stopped +to remove one of the poisonous spines of the cactus +from my feet. Whether my horse lost me or I lost +my horse, I am unable to say. I left him grazing +in a gulch, and was not again able to locate the +gulch. I wandered all night—or until Fate guided +me into a barbed wire fence, where, as you will +observe, I tore my trousers. I followed the fence, +and here I am—I and my companion”—McArthur +patted the skull lovingly—“this giant—the slayer +of mastodons—whose history lies concealed in ‘the +dark backward and abysm of time’!”</p> +<p>As he looked into Ralston’s non-committal eyes +with his own burning orbs, he realized that great +joy, like great sorrow, is something which cannot +well be shared.</p> +<p>“Forgive me,” he said with hurt dignity; “I +have again forgotten that you have no interest +in such things.”</p> +<p>“You are mistaken. I wanted to hear.”</p> +<p>After McArthur had retired to his pneumatic +mattress, Ralston lay wide-eyed, more mystified than +before. Had Bear Chief’s eyes deceived him, or +was McArthur the cleverest of rogues?</p> +<p>Breakfast was done when Ralston said:</p> +<p>“Will you be good enough to step into the +bunk-house, Mr. McArthur?”</p> +<p>Something in his voice chilled the sensitive man. +Ralston, whom he greatly admired, always had been +most friendly. He followed him now in wonder.</p> +<p>“You are sure this is the man, Bear Chief?”</p> +<p>The Indian had stepped forward at their entrance.</p> +<p>“Yas, I know him,” he reiterated.</p> +<p>McArthur looked from one to the other.</p> +<p>“Bear Chief accuses you of stealing his horses, +Mr. McArthur,” explained Ralston bluntly.</p> +<p>“What!”</p> +<p>“You slick little horse-thief, but I see you good. +Where you cache my race-pony?” The Indian’s +demand was a threat.</p> +<p>For reply, McArthur walked over and sat down +on the edge of a bunk, as if his legs of a sudden +were too weak to support him.</p> +<p>“Bear Chief swears he saw you, McArthur.” +Ralston’s tone was not unfriendly now, for something +within him pleaded the bug-hunter’s cause +with irritating persistence.</p> +<p>“Me a horse-thief? Running off race-ponies?” +McArthur found himself able to exclaim at last: +“But I had no horse of my own!”</p> +<p>“Have you any credentials—anything at all by +which we can identify you?”</p> +<p>“Not with me; but certainly I can furnish them. +The name of McArthur is not unknown in Connecticut,” +he answered with a tinge of pride.</p> +<p>“Where are your riding-breeches? Bear Chief +says you were wearing them yesterday. Can you +produce them now?”</p> +<p>McArthur, with hauteur, walked to the nails +where his wardrobe hung and fumbled among the +clothing.</p> +<p>They were gone!</p> +<p>His jaw dropped, and a slight pallor overspread +his face.</p> +<p>Susie, who had been listening from the doorway, +flung a flour-sack at his feet.</p> +<p>“Search my trunk, pardner,” she said with her +old-time impish grin.</p> +<p>McArthur mechanically did as she bade him, and +his riding-breeches dropped from the sack.</p> +<p>“I hope you’ll ’scuse me for makin’ so free with +your clothes, like,” she said, “but I just naturally +had to have them yesterday.”</p> +<p>A light broke in upon Ralston.</p> +<p>“You!”</p> +<p>“Yep, I did it, me—Susie.” Her tone and +manner were a ludicrous imitation of Smith’s. She +added: “I saw you all pikin’ in here, so I tagged.”</p> +<p>“But why”—Ralston stared at her in incredulity—“why +should <i>you</i> steal horses?”</p> +<p>“It’s this way,” Susie explained, in a loud, confidential +whisper: “I’ve been playin’ a little game +of my own. When the right time came, I meant +to let Mr. Ralston in on it, but when Bear Chief +saw me, I knew I’d have to tell, to keep my pardner +here from gettin’ the blame.”</p> +<p>“But the beard,”—Ralston still looked sceptical.</p> +<p>“Shucks! That’s easy. I saw Bear Chief before +he saw me, and I just took the black silk +hankerchief from my neck and tied it hold-up +fashion around the lower part of my face. Bear +Chief was excited when he saw his running horse +travelling out of the country at the gait we was +goin’ then.”</p> +<p>“I don’t see yet, Susie?”</p> +<p>She turned upon Ralston in good-natured contempt.</p> +<p>“Goodness, but you’re slow! Don’t you understand? +Smith’s my pal; we’re workin’ together. +He cooked this up—him takin’ the safe and easy +end of it himself. He sprung it on me that day +I had a sull on. Don’t you see his game? He +thinks if he can get me mixed up in something +crooked, he can manage me. He’s noticed, maybe, +that I’m not halter-broke. So I pretended to fall +right in with his plans, once I had promised, meanin’ +all the time to turn state’s evidence, or whatever +you call it, and send him over the road. I wanted +to show Mother and everybody else what kind of +a man he is. I don’t want no step-papa named +Smith.”</p> +<p>The three men stared in amazement at the intrepid +little creature with her canny Scotch eyes.</p> +<p>“And do you mean to say,” Ralston asked, “that +you’ve held your tongue and played your part +so well that Smith has no suspicions?”</p> +<p>“Hatin’ makes you smart,” she answered, “and +I hate Smith so hard I can’t sleep nights. No, +I don’t think he is suspicious; because I’m to +pack grub to him this morning, and if he was +afraid of me, he’d never let me know where he +was camped. He’s holdin’ the horses over there in +a blind canyon, and when I go over I’m to help +him blotch the brands.”</p> +<p>“We want to get the drop on him when he’s +using the branding-iron.”</p> +<p>“And you want to see that he shoves up his +hands and keeps them there,” suggested Susie +further, “for he’ll take big chances rather than +have the Schoolmarm see him ridin’ to the Agency +with his wrists tied to the saddle-horn.”</p> +<p>“I know.” Ralston knew even better than Susie +that Smith would fight like a rat in a corner to +avoid this possibility.</p> +<p>“My!” and Susie gave an explosive sigh, “but +it’s an awful relief not to have that secret to +pack around any longer, and to feel that I’ve got +somebody to back me up.”</p> +<p>A lump rose in Ralston’s throat, and, taking her +brown little paws in both of his, he said:</p> +<p>“To the limit, Susie—to the end of the road.”</p> +<p>“And my pardner’s in on it, too, if he wants +to be,” she declared loyally, slipping her arm +through McArthur’s.</p> +<p>“To be sure,” Ralston seconded cordially. “It +will be an adventure for your diary.” He added, +laying his hand upon McArthur’s shoulder: “I’m +more than sorry about the mistake this morning, +old man. Will you forgive Bear Chief and me?”</p> +<p>In all McArthur’s studious, lonely life, no person +ever had put his hand upon his shoulder and called +him “old man.” The quick tears filled his eyes, +and a glow, tingling in its warmth, rushed over +him. The simple, manly act made him Ralston’s +slave for life, but he answered in his quiet voice:</p> +<p>“The mistake was natural, my dear sir.”</p> +<p>“Smith will be gettin’ restless,” Susie suggested, +“for his breakfast must have been pretty slim. +We’d better be startin’.</p> +<p>“Now, I’ll take straight across the hills in a +bee-line, and the rest of you keep me in sight, but +follow the draws. When I drop into the canyon, +you cache yourselves until I come up and swing +my hat. I’ll do my best to separate Smith from +his gun, but if I can’t, I’ll throw you the sign +to jump him.”</p> +<p>“I shall arm myself with a pistol, and, if the +occasion demands, I shall not hesitate to use it,” +said McArthur, closing his lips with great firmness.</p> +<p>Bear Chief was given a rifle, and then there was +a scurrying about for cartridges. When they were +saddled, each rode in a different direction, to meet +again when out of sight of the ranch. With varied +emotions, they soon were following Susie’s lead, and +it was no easy task to keep the flying figure in +sight.</p> +<p>McArthur, panting, perspiring, choking his +saddle-horn to death, wondered if any person of his +acquaintance ever had participated in such a reckless +ride. The instructor in Dead Languages, it +is true, frequently had thrilled his colleagues with +his recital of a night spent in a sapling, owing to +the proximity of a she-bear, and McArthur always +had mildly envied him the adventure, but now, he +felt, if he lived to tell the tale, he had no further +cause for envy.</p> +<p>Bear Chief’s eyes were gleaming with the fires +of other days, while the faded overalls and flannel +shirt of civilization seemed to take on a look of +savagery.</p> +<p>Only Ralston’s eyes were sombre. He had no +thought of weakening, but he had no feeling of +elation; though, for the sake of his own self-respect, +he was glad to know that his suspicions +of Smith were not inspired by jealousy or malice. +Now that the opportunity for which he had hoped +and waited had come, his strongest feeling was one +of sorrow for Dora. With the tenderness of real +love, he shrank from hurting her, from mortifying +her by the exposé of Smith.</p> +<p>In no other way were the natures of the two +men more strongly contrasted than in this. When +Smith flamed with jealousy he wanted to hurt Dora +and Ralston alike, and when he had the advantage +he shoved the hot iron home. Ralston could be +just, generous even, and, though he believed she +had unreservedly given her preference to Smith, he +still yearned to shield her, to spare her pain and +humiliation.</p> +<p>Susie finally disappeared, and when she did not +come in sight again they knew she had reached +the rendezvous. Dismounting, they tied their +horses in a deep draw, and crawled to the top, +where they could watch for her signal.</p> +<p>“She’ll give him plenty of time,” said Ralston.</p> +<p>He had barely finished speaking when they saw +Susie at the top of the canyon wall waving her +hat.</p> +<p>“Something’s gone wrong,” said Ralston +quickly.</p> +<p>With rifles ready for action, the three of them +ran toward Susie.</p> +<p>Ralston and Bear Chief reached her together. +Without a word she pointed into the empty canyon, +where a dying camp-fire told the story. Smith had +been gone for hours.</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<a name='XV_WHERE_A_MAN_GETS_A_THIRST' id='XV_WHERE_A_MAN_GETS_A_THIRST'></a> +<h2>XV</h2> +<h3>WHERE A MAN GETS A THIRST</h3> +</div> + +<p>While the four stood staring blankly at the +trampled earth and the thin thread of smoke rising +from a smouldering stick on a bed of ashes, Smith, +miles away, was watching the skyline in the +direction from which he had come, and gulping +coffee from a tin can. He had slept—the print +of his body was still in the sand—but his sleep had +been broken and brief. He had ridden fast and all +night long, but he was not yet far enough away +to feel secure. There was always a danger, too, +that the horses would break for their home range, +although he kept the mare who led the band on +the picket rope when they were not travelling. His +own horse, always saddled, was picketed close.</p> +<p>“I’ll never make a turn like this alone again,” +he muttered discontentedly. “It’s too much like +work to suit me, and I ain’t in shape to make a hard +ride. I’ve got soft layin’ around the ranch.” He +stretched his stiff muscles and made a wry face. +Then he smiled. “I’d like to see that brat’s face +when she comes with my grub this mornin’.” He +looked off again to the skyline.</p> +<p>“I ketched her eyein’ me once or twice in a +way that didn’t look good to me; and I had that +notorious strong feelin’ take holt of me that she +wasn’t on the square. I’d better be sure nor sorry;—that’s +no josh. I takes no chances, me—Smith; +I tips my hand to no petticoat.”</p> +<p>He noted with relief that the wind was rising. +He was glad, for it would obliterate every print +and make tracking impossible. He had kept to the +rocks, as the unshod and now foot-sore horses bore +evidence, but, even so, there was always a chance +of tell-tale prints.</p> +<p>“I can take it easy after I get to water,” he +told himself. “This water business is ser’ous”—he +looked uneasily at the stretch of desolation ahead +of him—“but unless the Injuns lied, they’s <i>some</i>.</p> +<p>“I hope the boys are to home,” he went on, +“for if they are it won’t take us long to work +these brands over. When they take ’em off my +hands and I gets my wad, I’ll soak it away, me—Smith. +I’ll hand it in at the bank, and I’ll say to +the dude at the winder, ’Feller,’ I’ll say, ‘me +and a little Schoolmarm are goin’ to housekeepin’ +after while, so just hang on to that till I calls.’” +Smith grinned appreciatively at the picture.</p> +<p>“His eyes will stick out till you could snare ’em +with a log-chain, for I ain’t known as a marryin’ +man.” His face sobered. “I’ve got to get to +work and get a wad—she shot that into me +straight; and she’s right. I couldn’t ask no woman +like her to hang out her own wash in front of a +two-roomed shack. I got to get the <i>dinero</i>, and +between man and man, Smith, like you and me, I’m +nowise particular how I gets it, so long as she +don’t know. I’ll take any old chance, me—Smith. +And dead men’s eyes hasn’t got the habit of follerin’ +me around in the dark, like some I’ve knowed. +She’d think I was a horrible feller if—but shucks! +What’s done’s done.”</p> +<p>He lifted his arms and stretched them toward +the skyline, and his voice vibrated:</p> +<p>“I love you, girl! I love you, and I couldn’t +hurt you no more nor a baby!”</p> +<p>Before he coiled the picket-ropes and started the +horses moving, he got down on his knees and took +a mouthful of water from a lukewarm pool. He +spat it upon the ground in disgust.</p> +<p>“That’s worse nor pizen,” he declared with a +grimace. “You bet I’ve got to strike water to-day +somehow. The horses won’t hardly touch this, +and they’re all ga’nted up for the want of it. There +ought to be water over there in some of them +gulches, seems-like”—he looked anxiously at the +expanse stretching interminably to the northeast—“and +I’ll have to haze ’em along until we hit it.”</p> +<p>His tired horse seemed to sag beneath his weight +as he landed heavily in the saddle; and the band +of foot-sore horses, the hair of their necks and +legs stiff with sweat and dust, bore little resemblance +to the spirited animals that Susie had driven +from the reservation. It was now no effort to +keep up with them, and Smith herded them in front +of him like a flock of sheep. He wondered what +another day, perhaps two days more, of constant +travel would do, if fifty miles or so had used them +up. There was not now the fear of capture to +urge him forward, but the need of reaching water +was an equally great incentive to haste.</p> +<p>Smith travelled until late in the afternoon without +an audible complaint at the intense discomforts +of the day. He found no water, and he ate only +a handful of sugar as he rode. He journeyed constantly +toward the northeast, in which direction, +he thought, must be the ranch which was his destination. +At each intervening gulch a hope arose +that it might contain water, but always he was +disappointed. Between the alkali dust and the +heat of the midday sun, which was unusually +hot for the time of year, his lips were cracked and +his throat dry.</p> +<p>“Ain’t this hell!” he finally muttered fretfully. +“And no more jump in this horse nor a cow. I +can do without grub, but water! Oh, Lord! I +could lap up a gallon.”</p> +<p>The slight motion of his lips started them bleeding. +He wiped the blood away on the back of +his hand and continued:</p> +<p>“This is a reg’lar stretch of Bad Lands. If +them blamed Injuns hadn’t lied, I could have packed +water easy enough. They don’t seem to be no +end to it, and I must have come forty mile. You’re +in for it, Smith. It’s goin’ to be worse before +it’s better. If I could only lay in a crick—roll in +it—douse my face in it—soak my clothes in it! +God! I’m dry!”</p> +<p>He spurred his horse, but there was no response +from it. It was dead on its feet, between the +hard travel of the previous day and night and +another day without water. He cursed the horses +ahead as they lagged and necessitated extra steps.</p> +<p>He rode for awhile longer, until he realized that +at the snail’s pace they were moving he was making +little headway. A rest would pay better in the +long run, although there was some two hours of +daylight left.</p> +<p>The dull-eyed horses stood with drooping heads, +too thirsty and too tired to hunt for the straggling +spears of grass and salt sage which grew sparsely +in the alkali soil.</p> +<p>After Smith had unsaddled, he opened the grain-sack +which contained his provisions. Spreading +them out, he stood and eyed them with contempt.</p> +<p>“And I calls myself a prairie man,” he said +aloud, in self-disgust. “Swine-buzzom—when I’m +perishin’ of thirst! If only I’d put in a couple +of air-tights. Pears is better nor anything; they +ain’t so blamed sweet, they’re kind of cool, and they +has juice you can drink. And tomaters—if only +I had tomaters! This here dude-food, this strawberry +jam, is goin’ to make me thirstier than ever. +No water to mix the flour with, nothing to cook +in but salt grease. Smith, you’re up against it, +you are.”</p> +<p>He built a little sage-brush fire, over which he +cooked his bacon, and with it he ate a dry biscuit, +but his thirst was so great that it overshadowed +his hunger. Chewing grains of coffee stimulated +him somewhat, but the bacon and glucose jam +increased his thirst tenfold, if such a thing +were possible. His thoughts of Dora, and his +dreams of the future, which had helped him through +the afternoon, were no longer potent. He could +now think only of his thirst—of his overpowering +desire for water. It filled his whole mental horizon. +Water! Water! Water! Was there anything in +the world to be compared with it!</p> +<p>His face was deep-lined with distress as he sat +by the camp-fire, trying in vain to moisten his +lips with his dry tongue. One picture after another +arose before him: streams of crystal water which +he had forded; icy mountain springs at which he +had knelt and drank; deep wells from which he +had thrown whole bucketfuls away after he had +quenched what he then called thirst. Thirst! He +never had known thirst. What he had called thirst +was laughable in comparison with this awful longing, +this madness, this desire beside which all else +paled.</p> +<p>In any other than an alkali country, the lack +of water for the same length of time would have +meant little more than discomfort, but the parching, +drying effect of the deadly white dust entailed +untold suffering upon the traveller caught unprepared +as was Smith.</p> +<p>He rolled and smoked innumerable cigarettes, +rising at intervals to pace restlessly to and fro. +His lips and tongue were so parched that both +taste and feeling seemed deadened. Had he not +seen the smoke, it is doubtful if he could have +been sure he was smoking.</p> +<p>He wandered away from the fire after a time, +walking aimlessly, having no objective point. He +desired only to be moving. Something like a half-mile +from his camp he came into a shallow cut +which appeared to have been made during bygone +rainy seasons, but which now bore no evidence of +having carried water for many years. He followed +it mechanically, stumbling awkwardly in his high-heeled +cowboy boots over the rocks which had +washed into its bed from the alkali-coated sides. +Suddenly he cried aloud, with a shrill, penetrating +cry that was peculiar to him when surprised or +startled. He had inadvertently kicked up a rock +which showed moisture beneath it!</p> +<p>He began to run, with his mouth open, his +bloodshot eyes wide and staring. There was a +bare chance that it might come from one of those +desert springs which appear and disappear at +irregular intervals in the sand. As he ran, he saw +hoof-tracks in what had once been mud, and his +heart beat higher with hope. He had a thought +in his half-crazed brain that the water might +disappear before he could reach it, and he ran +like one frenzied with fear. The world was swimming +around him, his heart was pounding in his +breast, yet still he stumbled on at top speed.</p> +<div class='figcenter'> +<a name='linki_3' id='linki_3'></a> +<img src='images/img-197.jpg' alt='' title='' style='width: 320px; height: 481px;' /><br /> +<p class='caption' style='margin: 0 auto; text-align:center;width: 320px;'> +IT MEANT DEATH—BUT IT WAS WET!—IT WAS WATER!<br /> +</p> +</div> + +<p>The cut grew deeper, and indications of moisture +increased. He saw a growth of large sage-brush, +then a clump or two of rank, saw-edged +grass. These things meant water! He turned a +bend and there, beneath a high bank, was a pool +crusted to the edge with alkali!</p> +<p>Smith knew that it was strongly alkali; that +it meant certain illness—enough of it, death. +But it was wet!—it was water!—and he must +drink. He fell, rather than knelt, in it. When +taste came back he realized that it was flat and +lukewarm, but he continued to gulp it down. At +any other time it would have nauseated him, but +now he drank to his capacity. When he could +drink no more, he sat up—realizing what he had +done. He had swallowed liquid poison—nothing +less. The result was inevitable. He was going +to be ill—excruciatingly, terribly ill, alone in the +Bad Lands! This was as certain as was the fact +that night had come.</p> +<p>“I was so dry,” he whimpered, “I couldn’t help +it! I was so dry!” He scrambled to his feet.</p> +<p>“I gotta get back to camp. This water’s goin’ +to raise thunder when it begins to get in its work. +I gotta get back to my blankets and lay down.”</p> +<p>Before he reached the heap of ashes which he +called camp, the first symptoms of his coming +agony began to show themselves. He felt slightly +nauseated; then a quick, griping pain which was +a forerunner of others which were to make him +sweat blood.</p> +<p>Many of these springs and stagnant pools carry +arsenic in large quantities, and of such was the +water of which Smith had drunk. In his exhaustion, +the poison and accompanying impurities took +hold of him with a fierceness which it might not +have done had he been in perfect physical condition; +but his stomach, already disordered from +irregular and improper food, absorbed the poison +with avidity, and the result was an agony indescribable.</p> +<p>As he writhed on his saddle-blankets under the +stars, he groaned and cursed that unknown God +above him. His face and hands were covered with +a cold sweat; his forehead and finger-tips were +icy. The night air was chill, but he was burning +with an inward fever, and his thirst now was +akin to madness. With all his strength of will, +he fought against his desire to return to the pool.</p> +<p>Smith did not expect to die. He felt that if +he could keep his senses and not crawl back to +drink again, he would pull through somehow. The +living hell he now endured would pass.</p> +<p>He wallowed and threshed about like a suffering +animal, beating the earth with his clenched fists, +during the paroxysms of cutting, wrenching pain. +His suffering was supreme. All else in the world +shrank into insignificance beside it. No thoughts +of Dora fortified him; no mother’s face came to +comfort him; nor that of any human being he +had ever known. He was just Smith—self-centred—alone; +just Smith, fighting and suffering and +struggling for his life. His anguish found expression +in the single sentence:</p> +<p>“I’m sick! I’m sick! Oh, God! I’m sick!” +He repeated it in every key with every inflection, +and his moans lost themselves in the silence of the +desert.</p> +<p>Yet underneath it all, when his agony was at +its height, he still believed in himself. In a kind +of subconscious arrogance, he believed that he was +stronger than Fate, more powerful than Death. +He would not die; he would live because he wanted +to live. Death was not for him—Smith. For +others, but not for him.</p> +<p>At last the paroxysms became less frequent and +lost their violence. When they ceased altogether, +he lay limp and half-conscious. He was content +to remain motionless until the flies and insects of +the sand roused him to the fact that another day +had come.</p> +<p>He was incredibly weak, and it took all his remaining +strength to throw his forty-pound cow-saddle +upon his horse’s back. His knees shook +under him, and he had to rest before he could lift +his foot to the stirrup and pull himself into the +seat.</p> +<p>Before he rode away he turned and looked at +the hollow in the sand where his blankets had +been.</p> +<p>“That was a close squeak, Smith,” was all he +said.</p> +<p>He had no desire for breakfast; in fact, he +could not have eaten, for his tongue was swollen, +and his throat felt too dry to swallow. His skin +was the color of his saddle-leather, and his inflamed +eye-balls had the redness of live coals. Smith was +far from handsome that morning.</p> +<p>His own recent sufferings had in nowise made +him more merciful: he spurred his stiff and lifeless +horse without pity, but he spurred uselessly. +It stumbled under him as he drove the spiritless +band toward the hopeless waste ahead of him.</p> +<p>“Unless I’m turned around, we ought to get +out of this to-day,” he thought. The effort of +speaking aloud was too great to be made. “Unless +I’m lost, or fall off my horse, we ought to +make it sure.”</p> +<p>Distance had meant nothing to him during the +first evening and night of his ride. He had fixed +his eye upon the furthermost object within his +range of vision and ridden for it—buoyant, confident, +as his horse’s flying feet ate up the intervening +miles. Now he shrank from looking ahead. +He dreaded to lift his eyes to the interminable +desolation stretching before him. The minutes +seemed hours long; time was protracted as though +he had been eating hasheesh. He felt as if he +had ridden for a week, before his horse’s shadow +told him that noon had come. The jar of his +horse hurt him, and it all seemed unreal at times, +like a torturing nightmare from which he must soon +awake. He rode long distances with closed eyes +as the day wore on. The world, red and wavering, +swung around him, and he gripped his saddle-horn +hard. The only real thing, the agony of +which was too great to be mistaken for anything +else, was his thirst. This was superlatively intense. +There were moments when he had a desire +to slide easily from his horse into the sand and +lie still—just to be rid for a time of that jar that +hurt him so. He viewed the distance to the ground +contemplatively. It was not great. He would +merely crumple up like a drunken person and go +to sleep.</p> +<p>But these moments soon passed: the instinct of +self-preservation was quick to assert itself. Each +time, he took a fresh grip on the slack reins and +kept his horse plodding onward, ever onward, +through the heavy sand and blistering alkali dust, +and always to the northeast, where somewhere there +was relief which somehow he must reach.</p> +<p>Mile after mile crept under his horse’s lagging +feet. The midday sun beat down upon him, drying +the very blood in his veins, scorching him, shrivelling +him, and yet there seemed no end to the waterless +gulches, to the sand, the cactuses, the stunted sage-brush. +His horse was stumbling oftener, but he +felt no pity—only irritation that it had not more +stamina. A sort of numbness, the lethargy of +great weakness, was creeping over him; his heart +was sagging with a dull despair. He believed that +he must be lost, yet he was past cursing or complaining +aloud. Only an occasional gasp or a +fretful, inarticulate sound came when his horse +stumbled badly.</p> +<p>He thought he saw a barbed wire fence. A +barbed wire fence meant civilization! He swung +his horse and rode toward it. The dark spots +he had thought were posts were only sage-brush. +The smarting of his eye-balls and eyelids aroused +him to an astonishing fact: he was crying in his +weakness, crying of disappointment like a child! +But he was astonished most that he had tears to +shed—that they had not dried up like his blood.</p> +<p>Tears! He remembered his last tears, and they +kept on sliding down his cheek now as he recalled +the occasion. His father had given him a colt +back there where they slept between sheets. He +had broken it himself, and taught it tricks. It +whinnied to him when he passed the stable. The +other boys envied him his colt, and he meant to +show it at the fair. He came home one day and +the colt was gone. His father handed him a silver +dollar. He had thrown the money at his father +and struck him in the face, and while the tears +streamed from his eyes he had cursed his father +with the oaths with which his father had so frequently +cursed him; and he had kept on cursing +until he was beaten into unconsciousness. There +had been no love between them, ever, but he had +not expected that. Since then there had been no +time or inclination for tears, for it was then he +had “quit the flat.” The rage of his boyhood +came back to Smith as he thought of it now. He +swore, though it hurt him to speak.</p> +<p>His eyes were still smarting when he raised them +to see a horseman on a distant ridge. The sight +roused him like a stimulant. Was he friend or +foe? He reined his horse, and, drawing his rifle +from its scabbard, waited; for the stranger had +seen him and was riding toward him down the +ridge.</p> +<p>“If he ain’t my kind, I’ll have to stop him,” +Smith muttered.</p> +<p>The strength of excitement came to him, and +once more he sat erect in the saddle, fingering the +trigger as the horseman came steadily on.</p> +<p>“He rides like a Texican,” Smith thought. +There was something familiar in the stranger’s +outlines, the way he threw his weight in one stirrup, +but Smith was taking no chances. He put +out a hand in warning, and the other man stopped.</p> +<p>The swarthy face of the stranger wore a comprehending +grin. No honest man drove horses +across the Bad Lands. He threw the Indian sign +of friendship to Smith, and they each advanced.</p> +<p>“How far to water, Clayt?”</p> +<p>“Well, dog-gone me! Smith!”</p> +<p>“How far to water?” Smith yelled the words +in hoarse ferocity.</p> +<p>The stranger glanced at the barebacked horses, +and then at the shimmering heat waves of the +desert.</p> +<p>“Just around the ridge,” he answered. “My +God, man, didn’t you pack water?”</p> +<p>But Smith was already out of hearing.</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<a name='XVI_TINHORN_FRANK_SMELLS_MONEY' id='XVI_TINHORN_FRANK_SMELLS_MONEY'></a> +<h2>XVI</h2> +<h3>TINHORN FRANK SMELLS MONEY</h3> +</div> + +<p>Smith did not care for money in itself; that +is, he did not care for it enough to work for it, +or to hoard it when he had it. Yet perhaps even +more than most persons he loved the feel of it in +his fingers, the sensation of having it in his pocket. +Smith was vain, in his way, and money satisfied +his vanity. It gave him prestige, power, the attention +he craved. He could call any flashy talker’s +bluff when his pockets were full of money. It +imparted self-assurance. He could the better indulge +his propensity for resenting slights, either +real or fancied. Money would buy him out of +trouble. Yes, Smith liked the feel of money. He +took a roll of banknotes from the belt pocket of +his leather chaps and counted them for the third +time.</p> +<p>“I’ll buy a few drinks, flash this wad on them +pinheads in town, and then I’ll soak it away.” +He returned the roll to his pocket with an expression +of satisfaction upon his face.</p> +<p>He had done well with the horses. The “boys” +had paid him a third more than he had expected; +they had done so, he knew, as an incentive to +further transactions. And Smith had outlined a +plan to them which had made their eyes sparkle.</p> +<p>“It’s risky, but if you can do it——” they had +said.</p> +<p>“Sure, I can do it, and I’ll start as soon as +it’s safe after I get back to the ranch. I gotta +get to work and make a stake—<i>me</i>,” he had declared.</p> +<p>They had looked at him quizzically.</p> +<p>“The fact is, I’m tired of livin’ under my hat. +I aims to settle down.”</p> +<p>“And reform?” They had laughed uproariously.</p> +<p>“Not to notice.”</p> +<p>Smith sincerely believed that nothing stood between +him and Dora but his lack of money. Once +she saw it, the actual money, when he could go +to her and throw it in her lap, a hatful, and say, +“Come on, girl”—well, women were like that, he +told himself.</p> +<p>Ahead of Smith, on the dusty flat, was the +little cow-town, looking, in the distance, like a +scattered herd of dingy sheep. He was glad his +ride was ended for the day. He was thirsty, hot, +and a bit tired.</p> +<p>Tinhorn Frank, resting the small of his back +against a monument of elk and buffalo horns in +front of his log saloon, was the first to spy Smith +ambling leisurely into town.</p> +<p>“There’s Smithy!” he exclaimed to the man +who loafed beside him, “and he’s got a roll!”</p> +<p>His fellow lounger looked at him curiously.</p> +<p>“Tinhorn, I b’lieve you kin <i>smell</i> money; and +I swear they’s kind of a scum comes over your +eyes when you see it. How do you know he’s +carryin’ a roll?”</p> +<p>Tinhorn Frank laughed.</p> +<p>“I know Smithy as well as if I had made him. +I kin tell by the way he rides. I always could. +When he’s broke he’s slouchy-like. He don’t take +no pride in coilin’ his rope, and he jams his hat +over his eyes—tough. Look at him now—settin’ +square in the saddle, his rope coiled like a top +Californy cowboy on a Fourth of July. That’s +how I know. Hello, Smithy! Fall off and +arrigate.”</p> +<p>“Hullo!” Smith answered deliberately.</p> +<p>“How’s she comin’?”</p> +<p>“Slow.” He swung his leg over the cantle of +the saddle.</p> +<p>“What’ll you have?” Tinhorn slapped Smith’s +back so hard that the dust rose.</p> +<p>“Get me out somethin’ stimulating, somethin’ +fur-reachin’, somethin’ that you can tell where it +stops. I want a drink that feels like a yard of +barb-wire goin’ down.” Smith was tying his horse.</p> +<p>“Here’s somethin’ special,” said Tinhorn, when +Smith went inside. “I keeps it for my friends.”</p> +<p>Smith swallowed nearly a tumblerful.</p> +<p>“When I drinks, I drinks, and I likes somethin’ +I can notice.” He wiped the tears out of his eyes +with the back of his hand.</p> +<p>“I guarantee you kin notice that in about five +minutes. It’s a never failing remedy for man and +beast—not meaning to claim that its horse liniment +at all. Put it back, Smithy; your money +ain’t good here!”</p> +<p>Tinhorn Frank’s dark eyes gleamed with an +avaricious light at sight of the roll of yellow banknotes +which Smith flung carelessly upon the bar, +but he had earned his living by his wits too long +to betray eagerness. He masked the adamantine +hardness of his grasping nature beneath an air of +generous and bluff good-fellowship.</p> +<p>He was a dark man, with a skin of oily sallowness; +thickset, with something of the slow ungainliness +of a toad. His head was set low between +stooped shoulders, and his crafty eyes had in them +a look of scheming, scheming always for his own +interests. Smith knew his record as well as he +knew his own: a dance-hall hanger-on in his youth, +despised of men; a blackmailer; the keeper of a +notorious road-house; a petty grafter in a small +political office in the little cow-town. Smith understood +perfectly the source of his present interest, +yet it flattered him almost as much as if it had +been sincere, it pleased him as if he had been the +object of a gentleman’s attentions. When he had +money, Smith demanded satellites, sycophants who +would laugh boisterously at his jokes, praise him +in broad compliments, and follow him like a paid +retinue from saloon to saloon. This was enjoying +life! And upon this weakness, the least clever, the +most insignificant and unimportant person could +play if he understood Smith.</p> +<p>The word had gone down the line that Smith +was in town with money. They rallied around him +with loud protestations of joy at the sight of him. +Smith held the centre of the stage, he was the +conspicuous figure, the magnet which drew them +all. He gloried in it, revelled in his popularity; +and the “special brand” was beginning to sizzle +in his veins.</p> +<p>“I’m feelin’ lucky to-day, me—Smith!” he cried +exultantly. “I has a notorious idea that I can +buck the wheel and win!”</p> +<p>He had not meant to gamble—he had told himself +that he would not; but his admiring friends +urged him on, his blood was running fast and hot, +his heart beat high with confidence and hope. Big +prospects loomed ahead of him; success looked +easy. He flung his money recklessly upon the red +and black, and with throbbing pulses watched the +wheel go round.</p> +<p>Again and again he won. It seemed as if he +could not lose.</p> +<p>“I told you!” he cried. “I’m feelin’ lucky!”</p> +<p>When he finally stopped, his winnings were the +envy of many eyes.</p> +<p>“Set ’em up, Tinhorn! Everybody drink! +Bring in the horses!”</p> +<p>Bedlam reigned. It was “Smithy this” and +“Smithy that,” and it was all as the breath of +life to Smith.</p> +<p>“Tinhorn”—he leaned heavily on the bar—“when +I feels lucky like this, I makes it a rule +to crowd my luck. Are you game for stud?”</p> +<p>The film which the lounger had mentioned +seemed to cover Tinhorn’s eyes.</p> +<p>“I’m locoed to set agin such luck as yours, but +I like to be sociable, and you don’t come often.”</p> +<p>“I likes a swift game,” said Smith, as he pulled +a chair from the pine table. “Draw is good +enough for kids and dudes, but stud’s the only +play for men.”</p> +<p>“Now you’ve talked!” declared the admiring +throng.</p> +<p>“Keep ’em movin’, Tinhorn! Deal ’em out fast.”</p> +<p>“Smithy, you’re a cyclone!”</p> +<p>A hundred of Smith’s money went for chips.</p> +<p>“Dough is jest like mud to some fellers,” said +a voice enviously.</p> +<p>“I likes a game where you make or break on +a hand. I’ve lost thousands while you could spit, +me—Smith!”</p> +<p>“It’s like a chinook in winter just to see you +in town agin, Smithy.”</p> +<p>The “hole” card was not promising—it was +only a six-spot; but, backing his luck, Smith bet +high on it. Tinhorn came back at him strong. +He wanted Smith’s money, and he wanted it quick.</p> +<p>Smith’s next card was a jack, and he bet three +times its value. When Tinhorn dealt him another +jack he bought more chips and backed his pair, +for Tinhorn, as yet, had none in sight. The next +turn showed up a queen for Tinhorn and a three-spot +for Smith. And they bet and raised, and +raised again. On the last turn Smith drew another +three and Tinhorn another queen. With two pairs +in sight, Smith had him beaten. When Smith bet, +Tinhorn raised him. Was Tinhorn bluffing or did +he have another queen in the “hole”? Smith believed +he was bluffing, but there was an equal chance +that he was not. While he hesitated, the other +watched him like a hungry mountain lion.</p> +<p>“Are you gettin’ cold feet, Smithy?” There +was the suspicion of a sneer in the satellite’s voice. +“Did you say you liked to make or break on a +hand?”</p> +<p>“I thought you liked a swift game,” gibed Tinhorn.</p> +<p>The taunt settled it.</p> +<p>“I can play as swift as most—and then, some.” +He shoved a pile of chips into the centre of the +table with both hands. “Come again!”</p> +<p>Tinhorn did come again; and again, and again, +and again. He bet with the confidence of knowledge—with +a confidence that put the fear in Smith’s +heart. But he could not, and he would not, quit +now. His jaw was set as he pulled off banknote +after banknote in the tense silence which had fallen.</p> +<p>When the last of them fluttered to the table he +asked:</p> +<p>“What you got?”</p> +<p>For answer, Tinhorn turned over a third queen. +Encircling the pile of money and chips with his +arm, he swept them toward him.</p> +<p>Smith rose and kicked the chair out of his way.</p> +<p>“That’s the end of my rope,” he said, with a +hard laugh. “I’m done.”</p> +<p>“Have a drink,” urged Tinhorn.</p> +<p>“Not to-day,” he answered shortly.</p> +<p>The crowd parted to let him pass. Untying his +horse, he sprang into the saddle, and not much +more than an hour from the time he had arrived +he rode down the main street, past the bank where +he was to leave his roll, flat broke.</p> +<p>At the end of the street he turned in his saddle +and looked behind him. His satellites stood in +the bar-room door, loungers loafed on the curbstone, +a woman or two drifted into the General +Merchandise Store. The Postmaster was eying him +idly through his fly-specked window, and a group +of boys, who had been drawing pictures with their +bare toes in the deep white dust of the street, +scowled after him because his horse’s feet had +spoiled their work. His advent had left no more +impression than the tiny whirlwind in its erratic +and momentary flurry. The money for which he +had sweat blood was gone. Mechanically he +jambed his hands into his empty pockets.</p> +<p>“Hell!” he said bitterly. “Hell!”</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<a name='XVII_SUSIE_HUMBLES_HERSELF_TO_SMITH' id='XVII_SUSIE_HUMBLES_HERSELF_TO_SMITH'></a> +<h2>XVII</h2> +<h3>SUSIE HUMBLES HERSELF TO SMITH</h3> +</div> + +<p>Smith’s return to the ranch was awaited with +keen interest by several persons, though for different +reasons.</p> +<p>Bear Chief wanted to learn the whereabouts of +his race-horse, and seemed to find small comfort +in Ralston’s assurance that the proper authorities +had been notified and that every effort would be +made to locate the stolen ponies.</p> +<p>Dora was troubled that Smith’s educational +progress should have come to such an abrupt stop; +and she felt not a little hurt that he should disappear +for such a length of time without having +told her of his going, and disappointed in him, +also, that he would permit anything to interfere +with the improvement of his mind.</p> +<p>Susie’s impatience for his return increased daily. +Her chagrin over being outwitted by Smith was +almost comical. She considered it a reflection upon +her own intelligence, and tears of mortification +came to her eyes each time she discussed it with +Ralston. He urged her to be patient, and tried to +comfort her by saying:</p> +<p>“We have only to wait, Susie.”</p> +<p>“Yes, I thought that before, and look what +happened.”</p> +<p>“The situation is different now.”</p> +<p>“But maybe he’ll reform and we’ll never get +another crack at him,” she said dolefully.</p> +<p>Ralston shook his head.</p> +<p>“Don’t let that disturb you. Take certain +natures under given circumstances, and you can +come pretty near foretelling results. Smith will do +the same thing again, only on a bigger scale; that +is, unless he learns that he has been found out. He +won’t be afraid of you, because he will think that +you are as deep in the mire as he is; but if he +thought I suspected him, or the Indians, it would +make him cautious.”</p> +<p>“You don’t think he’s charmed, or got such a +stout medicine that nobody can catch him?”</p> +<p>Ralston could not refrain from smiling at the +Indian superstition which cropped out at times in +Susie.</p> +<p>“Not for a moment,” he answered positively. +“He appears to have been fortunate—lucky—but +in a case like this, I don’t believe there’s any luck +can win, in the long run, against vigilance, patience, +and determination; and the greatest of these is +patience.” Ralston, waxing philosophical went on: +“It’s a great thing to be able to wait, Susie—coolly, +smilingly, to wait—providing, as the phrase +goes, you hustle while you wait. One victory for +your enemy doesn’t mean defeat for yourself. It’s +usually the last trick that counts, and sometimes +games are long in the playing. Wait for your +enemy’s head, and when it comes up, <i>whack it</i>! +Neither you nor I, Susie, have been reared to believe +that when we are swatted on one cheek we +should turn the other.”</p> +<p>“No;” Susie shook her head gravely. “That +ain’t sense.”</p> +<p>The person who took Smith’s absence most deeply +to heart was the Indian woman. She missed him, +and, besides, she was tormented with jealous suspicions. +She knew nothing of his life beyond what +she had seen at the ranch. There might be another +woman. She suffered from the ever-present fear +that he might not come back; that he would go +as scores of grub-liners had gone, without a word +at parting.</p> +<p>In the house she was restless, and her moccasined +feet padded often from her bench in the corner to +the window overlooking the road down which he +might come. She sat for hours at a time upon an +elevation which commanded a view of the surrounding +country. Heavy-featured, moody-eyed, she was +the personification of dog-like fidelity and patience. +Naturally, it was she who first saw Smith jogging +leisurely down the road on his jaded horse.</p> +<p>The long roof of the MacDonald ranch, which +was visible through the cool willows, looked good +to Smith. It looked peaceful, and quiet, and inviting; +yet Smith knew that the whole Indian +police force might be there to greet him. He had +been gone many days, and much might have happened +in the interim. It was characteristic of +Smith that he did not slacken his horse’s pace—he +could squirm out somehow.</p> +<p>It gave him no concern that he had not a dollar +to divide with Susie, as he had promised, and +his chagrin over the loss of the money had vanished +as he rode. His temperament was sanguine, and +soon he was telling himself that so long as there +were cattle and horses on the range there was +always a stake for him. Following up this cheerful +vein of thought, he soon felt as comfortable as +if the money were already in his pocket.</p> +<p>Smith threw up his hand in friendly greeting +as the Indian woman came down the path to meet +him.</p> +<p>There was no response, and he scowled.</p> +<p>“The old woman’s got her sull on,” he muttered, +but his voice was pleasant enough when he asked: +“Ain’t you glad to see me, Prairie Flower?”</p> +<p>The woman’s face did not relax.</p> +<p>“Where you been?” she demanded.</p> +<p>He stopped unsaddling and looked at her.</p> +<p>“I never had no boss, me—Smith,” he answered +with significance.</p> +<p>“You got a woman!” she burst out fiercely.</p> +<p>Smith’s brow cleared.</p> +<p>“Sure I got a woman.”</p> +<p>“You lie to me!”</p> +<p>“I call her Prairie Flower—my woman.” He +reached and took her clenched hand.</p> +<p>The tense muscles gradually relaxed, and the +darkness lifted from her face like a cloud that has +obscured the sun. She smiled and her eyelids +dropped shyly.</p> +<p>“Why you go and no tell me?” she asked plaintively.</p> +<p>“It was a business trip, Prairie Flower, and I +like to talk to you of love, not business,” he replied +evasively.</p> +<p>She looked puzzled.</p> +<p>“I not know you have business.”</p> +<p>“Oh, yes; I do a rushin’ business—by spells.”</p> +<p>She persisted, unsatisfied:</p> +<p>“But what kind of business?”</p> +<p>Smith laughed outright.</p> +<p>“Well,” he answered humorously, “I travels a +good deal—in the dark of the moon.”</p> +<p>“Smith!”</p> +<p>She was keener than he had thought, for she +drew her right hand slyly under her left arm in the +expressive Indian sign signifying theft. He did +not answer, so she said in a tone of mingled fear +and reproach:</p> +<p>“You steal Indian horses!”</p> +<p>“Well?”</p> +<p>She grasped his coat-sleeve.</p> +<p>“Don’t do dat no more! De Indians’ hearts +are stirred. Dey mad. Dis time maybe dey not +ketch you, but some time, yes! You get more +brave and you steal from white man. You steal +two, t’ree cow, maybe all right, but when you +steal de white man’s horses de rope is on your neck. +I know—I have seen. Some time de thief he swing +in de wind, and de magpie pick at him, and de +coyote jump at him. Yes, I have seen it like +dat.”</p> +<p>Smith shivered.</p> +<p>“Don’t talk about them things,” he said impatiently. +“I’ve been near lynchin’ twice, and I +hates the looks of a slip-noose yet; but I gotta +have money.”</p> +<p>As he stood above her, looking down upon her +anxious face, a thought came to him, a plan so +simple that he was amazed that it had not occurred +to him before. Undoubtedly she had money in +the bank, this infatuated, love-sick-woman—the +Scotchman would have taught her how to save and +care for it; but if she had not, she had resources +which amounted to the same: the best of security +upon which she could borrow money. He was sure +that her cattle and horses were free of mortgages, +and there was the coming crop of hay. She had +promised him the proceeds from that, if he would +stay, but the sale of it was still months away.</p> +<p>“If I had a stake, Prairie Flower,” he said +mournfully, “I’d cut out this crooked work and +quit takin’ chances. But a feller like me has got +pride: he can’t go around without two bits in his +pocket, and feel like a man. If I had the price, +I’d buy me a good bunch of cattle, get a permit, +and range ’em on the reserve.”</p> +<p>“When we get tied right,” said the woman +eagerly, “I give you de stake <i>quick</i>.”</p> +<p>Smith shook his head.</p> +<p>“Do you think I’m goin’ to have the whole +country sayin’ I just married you for what you +got? I’ve got some feelin’s, me—Smith, and before +I marry a rich woman, I want to have a +little somethin’ of my own.”</p> +<p>She looked pleased, for Susie’s words had +rankled.</p> +<p>“How big bunch cattle you like buy? How +much money you want?”</p> +<p>He shook his head dejectedly.</p> +<p>“More money nor I can raise, Prairie Flower. +Five—ten thousand dollars—maybe more.” He +watched the effect of his words narrowly. She did +not seem startled by the size of the sums he mentioned. +He added: “There’s nothin’ in monkeyin’ +with just a few.”</p> +<p>“I got de money, and I gift it to you. My +heart is right to you, white man!” she said passionately.</p> +<p>“Do you mean it, Prairie Flower?”</p> +<p>“Yas, but don’t tell Susie.”</p> +<p>He watched her going up the path, her hips +wobbling, her step heavy, and he hated her. Her +love irritated him; her devotion was ridiculous. +He saw in her only a means to an end, and he was +without scruples or pity.</p> +<p>“She ain’t no more to me nor a dumb brute,” +he said contemptuously.</p> +<p>Smith felt that he was able to foretell with considerable +accuracy the nature of his interview with +Susie upon their meeting, and her opening words +did not fall short of his expectations.</p> +<p>“You’re all right, you are!” she said in her +high voice. “I’d stick to a pal like you through +thick and thin, I would! What did you pull out +like that for anyhow?”</p> +<p>Smith chuckled.</p> +<p>“Well, sir, Susie, it fair broke my heart to +start off without seein’ your pretty face and hearin’ +your sweet voice again, but the fact is, I got +so lonesome awaitin’ for you that I just naturally +had to be travellin’. I ups and hits the breeze, and +I has no pencil or paper to leave a note behind. +It wasn’t perlite, Susie, I admits,” he said mockingly.</p> +<p>“Dig up that money you’re goin’ to divide.” +Susie looked like a young wildcat that has been +poked with a stick.</p> +<p>Smith drew an exaggerated sigh and shook his +head lugubriously.</p> +<p>“Child, I’m the only son of Trouble. I gets +in a game and I loses every one of our honest, +hard-earned dollars. The tears has been pilin’ out +of my eyes and down my cheeks for forty miles, +thinkin’ how I’d have to break the news to you.”</p> +<p>“Smith, you’re just a common, <i>common</i> thief!” +All the scorn of which she was capable was in her +voice. “To steal from your own pal!”</p> +<p>“Thief?” Smith put his fingers in his ears. +“Don’t use that word, Susie. It sounds horrid, +comin’ from a child you love as if she was your +own step-daughter.”</p> +<p>The muscles of Susie’s throat contracted so it +hurt her; her face drew up in an unbecoming +grimace; she cried with a child’s abandon, indifferent +to the fact that her tears made her ludicrously +ugly.</p> +<p>“Smith,” she sobbed, “don’t you ever feel sorry +for anybody? Couldn’t you ever pity anybody? +Couldn’t you pity me?”</p> +<p>Smith made no reply, so she went on brokenly;</p> +<p>“Can’t you remember that you was a kid once, +too, and didn’t know how, and couldn’t, fight grown +up people that was mean to you?—and how you +felt? I know you don’t <i>have</i> to do anything for +me—you don’t <i>have</i> to—but won’t you? Won’t +you do somethin’ good when you’ve got a chance—just +this once, Smith? Won’t you go away from +here? You don’t care anything at all for Mother, +Smith, and she’s all I’ve got!” She stretched her +hands toward him appealing, while the hot tears +wet her cheeks. She was the picture of childish +humiliation and misery.</p> +<p>Smith looked at her and listened without derision +or triumph. He looked at her in simple curiosity, +as he would have looked at a suffering animal +biting itself in pain. The unexpected outbreak interested +him.</p> +<p>Through a blur of tears, Susie read something +of this in his face, and her hands dropped limply +to her sides. Her appeal was useless.</p> +<p>It was not that Smith did not understand her +feelings. He did—perfectly. He knew how deep +a child’s hurt is. He had been hurt himself, and +the scar was still there. It was only that he did +not care. He had lived through his hurt, and so +would she. It was to his interest to stay, and +first and always he considered Smith.</p> +<p>“You needn’t say anything,” Susie said slowly, +and there was no more supplication in her voice. +“I thought I knew you before, Smith, but I know +you better now. When a white man is onery, he’s +meaner than an Injun, and that’s the kind of a +white man you are. I’ll never forget this. I’ll +never forget that I’ve crawled to you, and you +listened like a stone.”</p> +<p>Smith answered in a voice that was not unkind—as +he would have warned her of a sink-hole or +a bad crossing:</p> +<p>“You can’t buck me, Susie, and you’d better +not try. You’re game, but you’re just a kid.”</p> +<p>“Kids grow up sometimes;” and she turned +away.</p> +<p>McArthur, strolling, while he enjoyed his pipe, +came upon Susie lying face downward, her head +pillowed on her arm, on a sand dune not far from +the house. He thought she was asleep until she +sat up and looked at him. Then he saw her +swollen eyes.</p> +<p>“Why, Susie, are you ill?”</p> +<p>“Yes, I’m sick here.” She laid her hand upon +her heart.</p> +<p>He sat down beside her and stroked the streaked +brown hair timidly.</p> +<p>“I’m sorry,” he said gently.</p> +<p>She felt the sympathy in his touch, and was +quick to respond to it.</p> +<p>“Oh, pardner,” she said, “I just feel awful!”</p> +<p>“I’m sorry, Susie,” he said again.</p> +<p>“Did <i>your</i> mother ever go back on you, pardner?”</p> +<p>McArthur shook his head gravely.</p> +<p>“No, Susie.”</p> +<p>“It’s terrible. I can’t tell you hardly how it +is; but it’s like everybody that you ever cared +for in the world had died. It’s like standin’ over +a quicksand and feelin’ yourself goin’ down. It’s +like the dreams when you wake up screamin’ and +you have to tell yourself over and over it isn’t +so—except that I have to tell myself over and +over it <i>is</i> so.”</p> +<p>“Susie, I think you’re wrong.”</p> +<p>She shook her head sadly.</p> +<p>“I wish I was wrong, but I’m not.”</p> +<p>“She worries when you are late getting home, +or are not well.”</p> +<p>“Yes, she’s like that,” she nodded. “Mother +would fight for me like a bear with cubs if anybody +would hurt me so she could see it, but the +worst hurt—the kind that doesn’t show—I guess +she don’t understand. Before now I could tell +anybody that come on the ranch and wasn’t nice +to me to ’git,’ and mother would back me up. +Even yet I could tell you or Tubbs or Mr. Ralston +to leave, and they’d have to go. But Smith?—no! +He’s come back to stay. And she’ll let him +stay, if she knows it will drive me away from home. +Mother’s Injun, and she can only read a little and +write a little that my Dad taught her, and she +wears blankets and moccasins, but I never was +’shamed of Mother before. If she marries Smith, +what can I do? Where can I go? I could take +my pack outfit and start out to hunt Dad’s folks, +but if Mother marries Smith, she’ll need me after +a while. Yet how can I stay? I feel sometimes +like they was two of me—one was good and one +was bad; and if Mother lets Smith turn me out, +maybe all the bad in me would come to the top. +But there’s one thing I couldn’t forget. Dad used +to say to me lots of times when we were alone—oh, +often he said it: ‘Susie, girl, never forget +you’re a MacDonald!’”</p> +<p>McArthur turned quickly and looked at her.</p> +<p>“Did your father say that?”</p> +<p>Susie nodded.</p> +<p>“Just like that?”</p> +<p>“Yes; he always straightened himself and said +it just like that.”</p> +<p>McArthur was studying her face with a peculiar +intentness, as if he were seeing her for the first +time.</p> +<p>“What was his first name, Susie?”</p> +<p>“Donald.”</p> +<p>“Donald MacDonald?”</p> +<p>“Yes; there was lots of MacDonalds up there +in the north country.”</p> +<p>“Have you a picture, Susie?”</p> +<p>A rifle-shot broke the stillness of the droning +afternoon. Susie was on her feet the instant. +There was another—then a fusillade!</p> +<p>“It’s the Indians after Smith!” she cried. +“They promised me they wouldn’t! Come—stand +up here where you can see.”</p> +<p>McArthur took a place beside her on a knoll +and watched the scene with horrified eyes. The +Indians were grouped, with Bear Chief in advance.</p> +<p>“They’re shootin’ into the stable! They’ve got +him cornered,” Susie explained excitedly. “No—look! +He’s comin’ out! He’s goin’ to make a +run for it! He’s headed for the house. He can +run like a scared wolf!”</p> +<p>“Do they mean to kill him?” McArthur asked +in a shocked voice.</p> +<p>“Sure they mean to kill him. Do you think +that’s target practice? But look where the dust +flies up—they’re striking all around him—behind +him—beside him—everywhere but in him! They’re +so anxious that they’re shootin’ wild. Runnin’ +Rabbit ought to get him—he’s a good shot! He +<i>did</i>! No, he stumbled. He’s charmed—that Smith. +He’s got a strong medicine.”</p> +<p>“He’s not too brave to run,” said McArthur, +but added: “I ran, myself, when they were after +me.”</p> +<p>“He’d better run,” Susie replied. “But he’s +after his gun; he means to fight.”</p> +<p>“He’ll make it!” McArthur cried.</p> +<p>Susie’s voice suddenly rang out in an ascending, +staccato-like shriek.</p> +<p>“Oh! Oh! Oh! Mother, go back!” but the cracking +rifles drowned Susie’s shrill cry of entreaty.</p> +<p>The Indian woman, with her hands high above +her head, the palms open as if to stop the singing +bullets, rushed from the house and stopped only +when she had passed Smith and stood between him +and danger. She stood erect, unflinching, and +while the Indians’ fire wavered Smith gained the +doorway.</p> +<p>Gasping for breath, his short upper lip drawn +back from his protruding teeth in the snarl of +a ferocious animal, he snatched a rifle from the +deer-horn gun-rack above the door.</p> +<p>The Indian woman was directly in line between +him and his enemies.</p> +<p>“Get out of the way!” he yelled, but she did +not hear him.</p> +<p>“The fool!” he snarled. “The fool! I’ll have +to crease her.”</p> +<p>He lifted his rifle and deliberately shot her in +the fleshy part of her arm near the shoulder. +She whirled with the shock of it, and dropped.</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<a name='XVIII_A_BAD__HOMBRE' id='XVIII_A_BAD__HOMBRE'></a> +<h2>XVIII</h2> +<h3>A BAD HOMBRE</h3> +</div> + +<p>The Indians ceased firing when the woman +fell, and when Susie reached her mother Smith +was helping her to her feet, and it was Smith +who led her into the house and ripped her sleeve.</p> +<p>It was only a painful flesh-wound, but if the +bullet had gone a few inches higher it would have +shattered her shoulder. It was a shot which told +Smith that he had lost none of his accuracy of +aim.</p> +<p>He always carried a small roll of bandages in +his hip-pocket, and with these he dressed the +woman’s arm with surprising skill.</p> +<p>“When you needs a bandage, you generally +needs it bad,” he explained.</p> +<p>He wondered if she knew that it was his shot +which had struck her. If she did know, she said +nothing, though her eyes, bright with pain, followed +his every movement.</p> +<p>“Looks like somebody’s squeaked,” Smith said +meaningly to Susie.</p> +<p>“Nobody’s squeaked,” she lied glibly. “They’re +mad, and they’re suspicious, but they didn’t see +you.”</p> +<p>“If they’d go after me like that on suspicion,” +said Smith dryly, “looks like they’d be plumb +hos-tile if they was sure. Is this here war goin’ +to keep up, or has they had satisfaction?”</p> +<p>Through Susie, a kind of armistice was arranged +between Smith and the Indians. It took much +argument to induce them to defer their vengeance +and let the law take its course.</p> +<p>“You’ll only get in trouble,” she urged, “and +Mr. Ralston will see that Smith gets all that’s +comin’ to him when he has enough proof. He’s +stole more than horses from me,” she said bitterly, +“and if I can wait and trust the white man to +handle him as he thinks best, you can, too.”</p> +<p>So the Indians reluctantly withdrew, but both +Smith and Susie knew that their smouldering resentment +was ready to break out again upon the slightest +provocation.</p> +<p>Susie’s assurance that the attack of the Indians +was due only to suspicion did not convince Smith. +He noticed that, with the exception of Yellow +Bird, there was not a single Indian stopping at +the ranch, and Yellow Bird not only refused to +be drawn into friendly conversation, but distinctly +avoided him.</p> +<p>Smith knew that he was now upon dangerous +ground, yet, with his unfaltering faith in himself +and his luck, he continued to walk with a firm +tread. If he could make one good turn and get +the Indian woman’s stake, he told himself, then +he and Dora could look for a more healthful +clime.</p> +<p>The Schoolmarm never had appeared more trim, +more self-respecting, more desirable, than when in +her clean, white shirt-waist and well-cut skirt she +stepped forward to greet him with a friendly, outstretched +hand. His heart beat wildly as he took it.</p> +<p>“I was afraid you had gone ‘for keeps,’” she +said.</p> +<p>“Were you <i>afraid</i>?” he asked eagerly.</p> +<p>“Not exactly afraid, to be more explicit, but I +should have been sorry.” She smiled up into his +face with her frank, ingenuous smile.</p> +<p>“Why?”</p> +<p>“You were getting along so well with your +lessons. Besides, I should have thought it unfriendly +of you to go without saying good-by.”</p> +<p>“Unfriendly?” Smith laughed shortly. “Me +unfriendly! Why, girl, you’re like a mountain to +me. When I’m tired and hot and all give out, I +raises my eyes and sees you there above me—quiet +and cool and comfortable, like—and I takes a fresh +grip.”</p> +<p>“I’m glad I help you,” Dora replied gently. +“I want to.”</p> +<p>“I’m in the way of makin’ a stake now,” Smith +went on, “and when I gets it”—he hesitated—“well, +when I gets it I aims to let you know.”</p> +<p>When Dora went into the house, to her own +room, Smith stepped into the living-room, where +the Indian woman sat by the window.</p> +<p>“You like dat white woman better den me?” +she burst out as he entered.</p> +<p>“Prairie Flower,” he replied wearily, “if I had +a dollar for every time I’ve answered that question, +I wouldn’t be lookin’ for no stake to buy cattle +with.”</p> +<p>“De white woman couldn’t give you no stake.”</p> +<p>He made no reply to her taunt. He was thinking. +The words of a cowpuncher came back to +him as he sat and regarded with unseeing eyes the +Indian woman. The cowpuncher had said: “When +a feller rides the range month in and month out, +and don’t see nobody but other punchers and Injuns, +some Mary Moonbeam or Sally Star-eyes begins +to look kind of good to him when he rides +into camp and she smiles as if she was glad he +had come. He gits used to seein’ her sittin’ on +an antelope hide, beadin’ moccasins, and the country +where they wear pointed-toed shoes and sit in +chairs gits farther and farther away. And after +awhile he tells himself that he don’t mind smoke +and the smell of buckskin, and a tepee is a better +home nor none, and that he thinks as much of this +here Mary Moonbeam or Sally Star-eyes as he could +think of any woman, and he wonders when the +priest could come. And while he’s studyin’ it over, +some white girl cuts across his trail, and, with the +sight of her, Mary Moonbeam or Sally Star-eyes +looks like a dirty two-spot in a clean deck.” The +cowpuncher’s words came back to Smith as though +they had been said only yesterday.</p> +<p>“Why don’t you say what you think?” the +woman asked, uneasy under his long stare.</p> +<p>“No,” said Smith, rousing himself; “the +Schoolmarm couldn’t give me no stake; and money +talks.”</p> +<p>“When you want your money?”</p> +<p>“Quick.”</p> +<p>“How much you want?”</p> +<p>“How much you got?” he asked bluntly. He +was sure of her, and he was in no mood to finesse.</p> +<p>“Eight—nine thousand.”</p> +<p>“If I’m goin’ to do anything with cattle this +year, I want to get at it.”</p> +<p>“I give you de little paper MacDonald call +check. I know how to write check,” she said +with pride.</p> +<p>Smith shook his head. A check was evidence.</p> +<p>“It’s better for you to go to the bank and get +the cash yourself. Meeteetse can hitch up and take +you. It won’t bother your arm none, for you ain’t +bad hurt. Nine thousand is quite a wad to get +without givin’ notice, and I doubt if you gets it, +but draw all you can. Take a flour-sack along +and put the stuff in it; then when you gets home, +pass it over to me first chance. Don’t let ’em +load you down with silver—I hates to pack silver +on horseback.”</p> +<p>To all of which instructions the woman agreed.</p> +<p>That she might avoid Susie’s questions, she did +not start the next morning until Susie was well +on her way to school. Then, dressed in her gaudiest +skirt, her widest brass-studded belt, her best and +hottest blanket, she was ready for the long drive.</p> +<p>Smith put a fresh bandage on her arm, and +praised the scrawling signature on the check which +she had filled out after laborious and oft-repeated +efforts. He made sure that she had the flour-sack, +and that the check was pinned securely inside +her capacious pocket, before he helped her in the +wagon. He had been all attention that morning, +and her eyes were liquid with gratitude and devotion +as she and Meeteetse drove away. She turned +before they were out of sight, and her face brightened +when she saw Smith still looking after them. +She thought comfortably of the fast approaching +day when she would be envied by the women who +had married only “bloods” or “breeds.”</p> +<p>Smith, as it happened, was remarking contemptuously +to Tubbs, as he nodded after the disappearing +wagon:</p> +<p>“Don’t that look like a reg’lar Injun outfit? +One old white horse and a spotted buzzard-head; +harness wired up with Mormon beeswax; a lopsided +spring seat; one side-board gone and no +paint on the wagon.”</p> +<p>“You’d think Meeteetse’d think more of hisself +than to go ridin’ around with a blanket-squaw.”</p> +<p>“He <i>said</i> he was out of tobacer, but he probably +aims to get drunk.”</p> +<p>“More’n likely,” Tubbs agreed. “Meeteetse’s +gittin’ to be a reg’lar squawman anyhow, hangin’ +around Injuns so much and runnin’ with ’em. He +believes in signs and dreams, and he ain’t washed +his neck for six weeks.”</p> +<p>“Associatin’ too much with Injuns will spile a +good man. Tubbs,” Smith went on solemnly, “you +ain’t the feller you was when you come.”</p> +<p>“I knows it,” Tubbs agreed plaintively. “I +hain’t half the gumption I had.”</p> +<p>“It hurts me to see a bright mind like yours +goin’ to seed, and there’s nothin’ll do harm to a +feller quicker nor associatin’ with them as ain’t his +equal. Tubbs, like you was my own brother, I says +that bug-hunter ain’t no man for you to run with.”</p> +<p>“He ain’t vicious and the likes o’ that,” said +Tubbs, in mild defense of his employer.</p> +<p>“What’s ’vicious’ anyhow?” demanded Smith. +“Who’s goin’ to say what’s vicious and what ain’t? +I says it’s vicious to lie like he does about them +idjot skulls and ham-bones he digs out and brings +home, makin’ out that they might be pieces of +fellers what could use one of them cotton-woods for +a walkin’ stick and et animals the size of that +meat-house at a meal.”</p> +<p>“He never said jest that.”</p> +<p>“He might as well. What I’m aimin’ at is that +it’s demoralizin’ to get interested in things like +that and spend your life diggin’ up the dead. It’s +too tame for a feller of any spirit.”</p> +<p>“It’s nowise dang’rous,” Tubbs admitted.</p> +<p>“If I thought you was my kind, Tubbs, I’d +give you a chance. I’d let you in on a deal that’d +be the makin’ of you.”</p> +<p>“All I needs is a chanct,” Tubbs declared +eagerly.</p> +<p>“I believe you,” Smith replied, with flattering +emphasis.</p> +<p>A disturbing thought made Tubbs inquire +anxiously:</p> +<p>“This here chanct your speakin’ of—it ain’t +work, is it?—real right-down work?”</p> +<p>“Not degradin’ work, like pitchin’ hay or +plowin’.”</p> +<p>“I hates low-down work, where you gits out +and sweats.”</p> +<p>“I see where you’re right. There’s no call for +a man of your sand and <i>sabe</i> to do day’s work. +Let them as hasn’t neither and is afraid to take +chances pitch hay and do plowin’ for wages.”</p> +<p>Tubbs looked a little startled.</p> +<p>“What kind of chances?”</p> +<p>Smith looked at Tubbs before he lowered his +voice and asked:</p> +<p>“Wasn’t you ever on the rustle none?”</p> +<p>Tubbs reflected.</p> +<p>“Onct back east, in I-ó-wa, I rustled me a set +of underwear off’n a clothes-line.”</p> +<p>Smith eyed Tubbs in genuine disgust. He had +all the contempt for a petty-larceny thief that the +skilled safe-breaker has for the common purse-snatcher. +The line between pilfering and legitimate +stealing was very clear in his mind. He said +merely,</p> +<p>“Tubbs, I believe you’re a bad <i>hombre</i>.”</p> +<p>“They <i>is</i> worse, I s’pose,” said Tubbs modestly, +“but I’ve been pretty rank in my time.”</p> +<p>“Can you ride? Can you rope? Can you cut +out a steer and burn a brand? Would you get +buck-ague in a pinch and quit me if it came to a +show-down? Are you a stayer?”</p> +<p>“Try me,” said Tubbs, swelling.</p> +<p>“Shake,” said Smith. “I wisht we’d got +acquainted sooner.”</p> +<p>“And mebby I kin tell you somethin’ about +brands,” Tubbs went on boastfully.</p> +<p>“More’n likely.”</p> +<p>“I kin take a wet blanket and a piece of copper +wire and put an addition to an old brand so it’ll +last till you kin git the stock off’n your hands. +I’ve never done it, but I’ve see it done.”</p> +<p>“I’ve heard tell of somethin’ like that,” Smith +replied dryly.</p> +<p>“Er you kin draw out a brand so you never +would know nothin’ was there. You take a chunk +of green cottonwood, and saw it off square; then +you bile it and bile it, and when it’s hot through, +you slaps it on the brand, and when you lifts it +up after while the brand is drawed out.”</p> +<p>“Did you dream that, Tubbs?”</p> +<p>“I b’leeve it’ll work,” declared Tubbs stoutly.</p> +<p>“Maybe it would work in I-ó-wa,” said Smith, +“but I doubts if it would work here. Any way,” +he added conciliatingly, “we’ll give it a try.”</p> +<p>“And this chanct—it’s tolable safe?”</p> +<p>“Same as if you was home in bed. When I says +’ready,’ will you come?”</p> +<p>“Watch my smoke,” answered Tubbs.</p> +<p>Smith’s eyes followed Tubbs’s hulking figure as +he shambled off, and his face was full of derision.</p> +<p>“Say”—he addressed the world in general—“you +show me a man from I-ó-wa or Nebrasky and +I’ll show you a son-of-a-gun.”</p> +<p>Tubbs was putty in the hands of Smith, who +could play upon his vanity and ignorance to any +degree—though he believed that beyond a certain +point Tubbs was an arrant coward. But Smith +had a theory regarding the management of cowards. +He believed that on the same principle that +one uses a whip on a scared horse—to make it +more afraid of that which is behind than of that +which is ahead—he could by threats and intimidations +force Tubbs to do his bidding if the occasion +arose. Tubbs’s mental calibre was 22-short; but +Smith needed help, and Tubbs seemed the most +pliable material at hand. That Tubbs had pledged +himself to something the nature of which he knew +only vaguely, was in itself sufficient to receive +Smith’s contempt. He had learned from observation +that little dependence can be placed upon +those who accept responsibilities too readily and +lightly, but he was confident that he could utilize +Tubbs as long as he should need him, and after +that—Smith shrugged his shoulders—what was an +I-ó-wan more or less?</p> +<p>Altogether, he felt well satisfied with what he +had accomplished in the short while since his +return.</p> +<p>When Susie came home from school, Smith was +looking through the corral-fence at a few ponies +which Ralston had bought and driven in, to give +color to his story.</p> +<p>“See anything there you’d like?” she inquired, +with significant emphasis.</p> +<p>“I’d buy the bunch if I was goin’ to set me +some bear-traps.” Smith could see nothing to +praise in anything which belonged to Ralston.</p> +<p>Susie missed her mother immediately upon going +into the house, and in their sleeping-room she saw +every sign of a hurried departure.</p> +<p>“Where’s mother gone?” she asked Ling.</p> +<p>“Town.”</p> +<p>“To town? To see a doctor about her arm?”</p> +<p>“Beads.”</p> +<p>“Beads?”</p> +<p>“Blue beads, gleen beads. She no have enough +beads for finish moccasin.”</p> +<p>“When’s she comin’ home?”</p> +<p>“She come ’night.”</p> +<p>Forty miles over a rough road, with her bandaged +arm, for beads! It did not sound reasonable +to Susie, but since Smith was accounted for, and +her mother would return that night, there seemed +no cause for worry. Susie could not remember +ever before having come home without finding her +mother somewhere in the house, and now, as she +fidgeted about, she realized how much she would +miss her if that which she most feared should +transpire to separate them.</p> +<p>She walked to the door, and while she stood idly +kicking her heel against the door-sill she saw +Ralston, who was passing, stoop and pick up a +scrap of paper which had been caught between +two small stones. She observed that he examined +it with interest, but while he stood with his lips +pursed in a half-whistle a puff of wind flirted it +from his fingers. He pursued it as though it had +value, and Susie, who was not above curiosity, +joined in the chase.</p> +<p>It lodged in one of the giant sage-brushes which +grew some little distance away on the outer edge +of the dooryard, and into this brush Ralston +reached and carefully drew it forth. He looked +at it again, lest his eyes had deceived him, then he +passed it to Susie, who stared blankly from the +scrap of paper to him.</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<a name='XIX_WHEN_THE_CLOUDS_PLAYED_WOLF' id='XIX_WHEN_THE_CLOUDS_PLAYED_WOLF'></a> +<h2>XIX</h2> +<h3>WHEN THE CLOUDS PLAYED WOLF</h3> +</div> + +<p>The Indian woman was restless; she had been +so from the time they had lost sight of the town, +but her restlessness had increased as the daylight +faded and night fell.</p> +<p>“You’re goin’ to bust this seat in if you don’t +quit jammin’ around,” Meeteetse Ed warned her +peevishly.</p> +<p>Meeteetse was irritable, a state due largely to +the waning exhilaration of a short and unsatisfactory +spree.</p> +<p>The woman clucked at the horses, and, to the +great annoyance of her driver, reached for the +reins and slapped them on the back.</p> +<p>“They’re about played out,” he growled. +“Forty miles is a awful trip for these buzzard-heads +to make in a day. We orter have put up +some’eres overnight.”</p> +<p>“I could have stayed with Little Coyote’s +woman.”</p> +<p>“We orter have done it, too. Look at them +cayuses stumblin’ along! Say, we won’t git in before +’leven or twelve at this gait, and I’m so +hungry I don’t know where I’m goin’ to sleep +to-night.”</p> +<p>“Little Coyote’s woman gifted me some sa’vis +berries.”</p> +<p>“Aw, sa’vis berries! I can’t go sa’vis berries,” +growled Meeteetse. “They’re too sweet. The only +way they’re fit to eat is to dry ’em and pound ’em +up with jerked elk—then they ain’t bad eatin’. +I’ve et ’most ev’ry thing in my day. I’ve et wolf, +and dog, and old mountain billy-goat, and bull-snakes, +and grasshoppers, so you kin see I ain’t +finnicky, but I can’t stummick sa’vis berries.” He +asked querulously: “What’s ailin’ of you?”</p> +<p>The Indian woman, who had been studying the +black clouds as they drifted across the sky to dim +the starlight, said in a half-whisper:</p> +<p>“The clouds no look good to me. They look +like enemies playin’ wolf. I feel as if somethin’ +goin’ happen.”</p> +<p>The bare suggestion of the supernatural was +sufficient to alarm Meeteetse. He asked in a +startled voice:</p> +<p>“How do you feel?”</p> +<p>“I feel sad. My heart drags down to de ground, +and it seem like de dark hide somethin’.”</p> +<p>Meeteetse elongated his neck and peered fearfully +into the darkness.</p> +<p>“What do you think it hides?” he asked in a +husky whisper.</p> +<p>She shook her head.</p> +<p>“I don’t know, but I have de bad feelin’.”</p> +<p>“I forgot to sleep with my feet crossed last +night,” said Meeteetse, “and I dreamed horrible +dreams all night long. Maybe they was warnin’s. +I can’t think of anything much that could happen +to us though,” he went on, having forgotten some +of his ill-nature in his alarm for his personal +safety. “These here horses ain’t goin’ to run +away—I wisht they would, fer ’t would git us +quite a piece on our road. We ain’t no enemies +worth mentionin’, and we ain’t worth stealin’, so +I don’t hardly think your feelin’ means any wrong +for us. More’n likely it’s jest somebody dead.”</p> +<p>This thought, slightly consoling to Meeteetse, +did not seem to comfort the Indian woman, who +continued to squirm on the rickety seat and to +strain her eyes into the darkness.</p> +<p>“If anybody ud come along and want to mix +with me—say, do you see that fist? If ever I hit +anybody with that fist, they’ll have to have it dug +out of ’em. I don’t row often, but when I does—oh, +lordy! lordy! I jest raves and caves. I was +home on a visit onct, and my old-maid aunt gits +a notion of pickin’ on me. Say, I ups and runs +her all over the house with an axe! I’m more er +less a dang’rous character when I’m on the peck. +Is that feelin’ workin off of you any?” he inquired +anxiously.</p> +<p>“It comes stronger,” she answered, and her grip +tightened on the flour-sack she held under her +blanket.</p> +<p>“I wisht I knowed what it was. I’m gittin’ all +strung up myself.” His popping eyes ached from +trying to see into the darkness around them. “If +we kin git past them gulches onct! That ud be +a dum bad place to roll off the side. We’d go +kerplunk into the crick-bottom. Gosh! what was +that?” He stopped the weary horses with a terrific +jerk.</p> +<p>It was only a little night prowler which had +scurried under the horses’ feet and rustled into the +brush.</p> +<p>“You see how on aidge I am! I’ll tell you,” +he went on garrulously—the sound of his own voice +was always pleasant to Meeteetse: “I take more +stock in signs and feelin’s than most people, for I’ve +seen ’em work out. Down there in Hermosy there +was a feller made a stake out’n a silver prospect, +and he takes it into his head to go back to Nebrasky +and hunt up his wife, that he’d run off and left +some time prev’ous. As the date gits clost for +him to leave, he got glummer and glummer. He’d +skerce crack a smile. The night before the stage +was comin’ to git him, he was settin’ in a ’dobe +with a dirt roof, rared back on the hind legs of +his chair, with his hands in his pockets.</p> +<p>“‘Boys,’ he says, ‘I’ll never git back to +Genevieve. I feels it; I knows it; I’ll bet you +any amount I’m goin’ to cash in between here +and Nebrasky. I’ve seen myself in my coffin four +times hand-runnin’, when I was wide awake.’</p> +<p>“Everybody had their mouths open to let out +a holler and laff when jest then one of the biggest +terrantuler that I ever see dropped down out’n +the dirt and straw and lands on his bald head. It +hangs on and bites ’fore anybody kin bresh it off, +and, ’fore Gawd, he ups and dies while the medicine +shark is comin’ from the next town!”</p> +<p>His companion did not find Meeteetse’s reminiscence +specially interesting, possibly because she had +heard it before, so at its conclusion she made no +comment, but continued to watch with anxious eyes +the clouds and the road ahead.</p> +<p>“Now if that ud been me,” Meeteetse started +to say, in nowise disconcerted by the unresponsiveness +of his listener—“if that ud——”</p> +<p>“Throw up your hands!” The curt command +came out of the night with the startling distinctness +of a gun-shot. The horses were thrown back +on their haunches by a figure at their head.</p> +<p>Meeteetse not only threw up his hands, but his +feet. He threw them up so high and so hard +that he lost his equilibrium, and, as a result, the +ill-balanced seat went over, carrying with it +Meeteetse and the Indian woman.</p> +<p>The latter’s mind acted quickly. She knew that +her errand to the bank had become known. Undoubtedly +they had been followed from town. As +soon as she could disentangle herself from +Meeteetse’s convulsive embrace, she threw the flour-sack +from her with all her strength, hoping it +would drop out of sight in the sage-brush. It was +caught in mid-air by a tall figure at the wagon-side.</p> +<p>“Thank you, madam,” said a hollow voice, +“Good-night.”</p> +<p>It was all done so quickly and neatly that +Meeteetse and the Indian woman were still in the +bottom of the wagon when two dark figures clattered +past and vanishing hoof-beats told them the +thieves were on their way to town.</p> +<p>“Well, sir!” Meeteetse found his feet, also his +tongue, at last.</p> +<p>“Well, sir!” He adjusted the seat.</p> +<p>“Well, sir!” He picked up the reins and +clucked to the horses.</p> +<p>“Well, sir! I know ’em. Them’s the fellers +that held up the Great Northern!”</p> +<p>The Indian woman said not a word. Her heart +was filled with despair. What would Smith say? +was her thought. What would he do? She felt +intuitively how great would be his disappointment. +How could she tell him?</p> +<p>She drew the blanket tighter about her shoulders +and across her face, crouching on the seat like a +culprit.</p> +<p>The ranch-house was dark when they drove into +the yard, for which she was thankful. She left +Meeteetse to unharness, and, without striking a +light or speaking to Susie, crept between her +blankets like a frightened child.</p> +<p>Smith, in his dreams, had heard the rumble of +the wagon as it crossed the ford, and he awoke +the next morning with a sensation of pleasurable +anticipation. In his mind’s eye, he saw the banknotes +in a heap before him. There were all kinds +in the picture—greasy ones, crisp ones, tattered +bills pasted together with white strips of paper. +He rather liked these best, because the care with +which they had been preserved conveyed an idea +of value. They had been treasured, coveted by +others, counted often.</p> +<p>Eager, animated, his eyes bright, his lips curving +in a smile, Smith hurried into his clothes and +to the ranch-house, to seek the Indian woman. He +heard her heavy step as she crossed the floor of +the living-room, and he waited outside the door.</p> +<p>“Prairie Flower!” he whispered as she stood +before him.</p> +<p>She avoided his eyes, and her fingers fumbled +nervously with the buckle of her wide belt.</p> +<p>“Could you get it?”</p> +<p>“Most of it.”</p> +<p>“Where is it?” His eyes gleamed with the +light of avarice.</p> +<p>She drew in her breath hard.</p> +<p>“It was stole.”</p> +<p>His face went blood-red; the cords of his neck +swelled as if he were straining at a weight. She +shrank from the snarling ferocity of his mouth.</p> +<p>“You lie!” The voice was not human.</p> +<p>He clenched his huge fist and knocked her down.</p> +<p>She was on the ground when Susie came out.</p> +<p>“Mother!”</p> +<p>The woman blinked up at her.</p> +<p>“I slip. I gettin’ too fat,” she said, and +struggled to her feet.</p> +<p>Elsewhere, with great minuteness of detail, +Meeteetse was describing the exciting incident of +the night, and what would have happened if only +he could have laid hold of his gun.</p> +<p>“Maybe they wouldn’t ’a’ split the wind if I +could have jest drawed my automatic in time! As +’twas, I put up the best fight I could, with a +woman screamin’ and hangin’ to me for pertection. +I rastled the big feller around in the road there +for some time, neither of us able to git a good +holt. He was glad enough to break away, I kin +tell you. They’s no manner o’ doubt in my mind +but them was the Great Northern hold-ups.”</p> +<p>“But what would they tackle <i>you</i> for?” demanded +Old Man Rulison. “Everybody knows <i>you</i> +ain’t got nothin’, and you say all they took from +the old woman was a flour-sack full of dried sa’vis +berries. It’s some of a come-down, looks to me, +from robbing trains to stealin’ stewin’-fruit.”</p> +<p>“Well, there you are.” Meeteetse shrugged his +shoulders. “That’s your mystery. All I knows +is, that I pulled ha’r every jump in the road to +save them berries.”</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<a name='XX_THE_LOVE_MEDICINE_OF_THE_SIOUX' id='XX_THE_LOVE_MEDICINE_OF_THE_SIOUX'></a> +<h2>XX</h2> +<h3>THE LOVE MEDICINE OF THE SIOUX</h3> +</div> + +<p>Still breathing hard, Smith hunted Tubbs.</p> +<p>“Tubbs, will you be ready for business, to-day?”</p> +<p>“The sooner, the quicker,” Tubbs answered, +with his vacuous wit.</p> +<p>“Do you know the gulch where they found that +dead Injun?”</p> +<p>“Yep.”</p> +<p>“Saddle up and meet me over there as quick +as you can.”</p> +<p>“Right.” Tubbs winked knowingly, and immediately +after breakfast started to do as he was +bid.</p> +<p>Smith’s face was not good to look upon as he +sat at the table. He took no part in the conversation, +and scarcely touched the food before +him. His disappointment was so deep that it +actually sickened him, and his unreasoning anger +toward the woman was so great that he wanted to +get out of her sight and her presence. She was +like a dog which after a whipping tries to curry +favor with its master. She was ready to go to +him at the first sign of relenting. She felt no +resentment because of his injustice and brutality. +She felt nothing but that he was angry at her, +that he kept his eyes averted and repelled her +timid advances. Her heart ached, and she would +have grovelled at his feet, had he permitted her. +In her desperation, she made up her mind to try +on him the love-charm of the Sioux women. It +might soften his heart toward her. She would +have sacrificed anything and all to bring him back.</p> +<p>Smith was glad to get away into the hills for +a time. He was filled with a feverish impatience +to bring about that which he so much desired. The +picture of the ranch-house with the white curtains +at the windows became more and more attractive +to him as he dwelt upon it. He looked upon it +as a certainty, one which could not be too quickly +realized to please him. Then, too, the atmosphere +of the MacDonald ranch had grown distasteful to +him. With that sudden revulsion of feeling which +was characteristic, he had grown tired of the place, +he wanted a change, to be on the move again; +but, of more importance than these things, he +sensed hostility in the air. There was something +significant in the absence of the Indians at the +ranch. There was an ominous quiet hanging over +the place that chilled him. He had a feeling that +he was being followed, without being able to detect +so much as a shadow. He felt as if the world +were full of eyes—glued upon him. Sudden sounds +startled him, and he had found himself peering into +dark stable corners and stooping to look where the +shadows lay black in the thick creek-brush.</p> +<p>He told himself that the trip through the Bad +Lands had unnerved him, but the explanation was +not satisfying. Through it all, he had an underlying +feeling that something was wrong; yet he +had no thought of altering his plans. He wanted +money, and he wanted Dora. The combination was +sufficient to nerve him to take chances.</p> +<p>Tubbs was waiting in the gulch. Smith looked +at the spot where White Antelope’s body had lain, +and reflected that it was curious how long the black +stain of blood would stay on sand and gravel. +He had been lucky to get out of that scrape so +easily, he told himself as he rode by.</p> +<p>“I guess you know what you’re up against, +feller,” he said bluntly, as he and Tubbs met.</p> +<p>“I inclines to the opinion that it’s a little cattle +deal,” Tubbs replied facetiously.</p> +<p>“You inclines right. Now, here’s our play—listen. +The Bar C outfit is workin’ up in the mountains, +so they won’t interfere with us none, and +about three or three and a half days’ drive from +here there’s some fellers what’ll take ’em off our +hands. We gets our wad and divvies.”</p> +<p>“What for a hand do I take?”</p> +<p>“By rights, maybe, we ought to do our work +at night, but I’ve rode over the country, and it +looks safe enough to drive ’em into the gulch to-day. +They isn’t a human in sight, and if one +shows up, I reckon you know what to do.”</p> +<p>“It sounds easy enough, if it works,” said +Tubbs dubiously.</p> +<p>“If it works? Feller, if you’ve got a yeller +streak, you better quit right here.”</p> +<p>“I merely means,” Tubbs hastened to explain, +“that it sounds so easy that it makes me sore +we wasn’t doin’ it before.”</p> +<p>The reply appeared to pacify Smith.</p> +<p>“I hates to fool with cattle,” he admitted, +“’specially these here Texas brutes that spread +out, leavin’ tracks all over the flat, and they can’t +make time just off green grass. Gimme horses—but +horses ain’t safe right now, with the Injuns +riled up. Now, you start out and gather up what +you can, and hold ’em here till I get back. I’ll +go to the ranch and get a little grub together and +get here as quick as it’s safe.”</p> +<p>Smith galloped back to the ranch, to learn that +Dora had ridden to the Agency to spend the day. +He was keenly disappointed that he had missed the +opportunity of saying good-by. She had chided +him before for not telling her of his contemplated +absence, and he had promised not to neglect to +do so again; for she was in the habit of arranging +the table for her night-school and waiting +until he came. Then it occurred to Smith that +he might write. He was delighted with the idea, +and undoubtedly Dora would be equally delighted +to receive a letter from him. It would +show her that he remembered his promise, and also +give her a chance to note his progress. Since Smith +had learned that a capital letter is used to designate +the personal pronoun, and that a period is +placed at such points as one’s breath gives out, +he had begun to think himself something of a +scholar.</p> +<p>His enthusiasm grew as he thought of it, and +he decided that while he was about it he would +write a genuine love-letter.</p> +<p>Borrowing paper, an erratic pen, and ink pale +from frequent watering, from a shelf in the living-room, +he repaired to the dining-room table and +gave himself up to the throes of composition.</p> +<p>Bearing in mind that the superlative of dear +is dearest, he wrote:</p> +<div class='blockquot'> +<p><span style='font-variant: small-caps'>Dearest Girl</span>.</p> +<p>I have got to go away on bizness. I had +ought to hav said good-by but I cant wate till +you gets back so I thort I wold write. I love +you. I hates everyboddy else when I think of +you. I dont love no other woman but you. Nor +never did. If ever I go away and dont come back +dont forget what I say because I will be ded, I +mean it. I will hav a stak perty quick then I +will show you this aint no josh. You no the +rest, good-by for this time.</p> +<div class='ra'> +<p><span style='font-variant: small-caps'>Smith</span>.</p> +</div> + +</div> +<p>The perspiration stood out on his forehead, and +he wiped it away with his ink-stained fingers.</p> +<p>“Writin’ is harder work nor shoein’ a horse,” +he observed to Ling, and added for the Indian +woman’s benefit, “I’m sendin’ off to get me a pair +of them Angory saddle-pockets.”</p> +<p>His explanation did not deceive the person for +whom it was intended. With the intuition of a +jealous woman, she knew that he was writing a +letter which he would not have her see. She meant +to know, if possible, to whom he was writing, and +what. Although she did not raise her eyes from +her work when he replaced the pen and ink, she +did not let him out of her sight. She believed +that he had written to Dora, and she was sure of +it when, thinking himself unobserved, he crept to +Dora’s open window, outside of the house, and +dropped the letter into the top drawer of her +bureau, which stood close.</p> +<p>As soon as Smith was out of sight, she too crept +stealthily to the open window. A red spot burned +on either swarthy cheek, and her aching heart beat +fast. She took the letter from the drawer, and, +going toward the creek, plunged into the willows, +with the instinct of the wounded animal seeking +cover.</p> +<p>The woman could read a little—not much, but +better than she could write. She had been to the +Mission when she was younger, and MacDonald +had labored patiently to teach her more. Now, +concealed among the willows, sitting cross-legged +on the ground, she spelled out Smith’s letter word +by word,</p> +<p>I love you. I hates everyboddy else when I +think of you. I don’t love no other woman but +you. Nor never did.</p> +<p>She read it slowly, carefully, each word sinking +deep. Then she stroked her hair with long, +deliberate strokes, and read it again.</p> +<p>I don’t love no other woman but you. Nor +never did.</p> +<p>She laid the letter on the ground, and, folding +her arms, rocked her body to and fro, as though +in physical agony. When she shut her lips they +trembled as they touched each other, but she made +no sound. The wound in her arm was beginning +to heal. It itched, and she scratched it hard, +for the pain served as a kind of counter-irritant. +A third time she read the letter, stroking her +hair incessantly with the long, deliberate strokes. +Then she folded it, and, reaching for a pointed +stick, dug a hole in the soft dirt. In the bottom +of the hole she laid the letter and covered it with +earth, patting and smoothing it until it was level. +Before she left she sprinkled a few leaves over +the spot.</p> +<p>She looked old and ugly when she went into +the house, seeming, for the first time, the woman +of middle-age that she was. Quietly, purposefully, +she drew out a chair, and, standing upon it, took +down from the rafters the plant which Little +Coyote’s woman, the Mandan, had given her. It +had hung there a long time, and the leaves crumpled +and dropped off at her touch. She filled a basin +with water and put the plant and root to soak, +while she searched for a sharp knife. Turning her +back to the room and facing the corner, like a +child in mischief, she peeled the outer bark from +the root with the greatest care. The inner bark +was blood-red, and this too she peeled away carefully, +very, very carefully saving the smallest +particles, and laid it upon a paper. When she +had it all, she burned the plant; but the red inner +bark she put in a tin cup and covered it with +boiling water, to steep.</p> +<p>“Don’t touch dat,” she warned Ling.</p> +<p>The afternoon was waning when she went again +to the willows, but the air was still hot, for the +rocks and sand held the heat until well after nightfall. +In the willows she cut a stick—a forked stick, +which she trimmed so that it left a crotch with a +long handle. Hiding the stick under her blanket, +she stepped out of the willows, and seemed to be +wandering aimlessly until she was out of sight of +the house and the bunk-house. Then she walked +rapidly, with a purpose. Her objective point was +a hill covered so thickly with rocks that scarcely +a spear of grass grew upon it. The climb left +her short of breath, she wiped the perspiration +from her face with her blanket, but she did not +falter. Stepping softly, listening, she crept over +the rocks with the utmost caution, peering here +and there as if in search of something which she +did not wish to alarm. A long, sibilant sound +stopped her. She located it as coming from under +a rock only a few feet away, and a little gleam +of satisfaction in her sombre eyes showed that she +had found that for which she searched. The angry +rattlesnake was coiled to strike, but she approached +without hesitancy. Calculating how far +it could throw itself, she stood a little beyond its +range and for a moment stood watching the glitter +of its wicked little eyes, the lightning-like action +of its tongue. When she moved, its head followed +her, but she dexterously pinned it to the rock with +her forked stick and placed the heel of her moccasin +upon its writhing body. Then, stooping, she +severed its head from its body with her knife.</p> +<p>She put the head in a square of cloth and continued +her search. After a time, she found another, +and when she went down the hill there were three +heads in the blood-soaked square of cloth. She +hid them in the willows, and went into the house +to stir the contents of the tin cup. She noted +with evident satisfaction that it had thickened somewhat. +Little Coyote’s woman had told her it would +do so. She found a bottle which had contained +lemon extract, and this she rinsed. She measured +a teaspoonful of the thick, reddish-brown liquid +and poured it into the bottle, filling it afterward +with water. The cup she took with her into the +willows. Laying the heads of the snakes upon a +flat stone, she cut them through the jaws, and, +extracting the poison sac, stirred the fluid into the +tin cup. While she stirred, she remembered that +she had heard an owl hoot the night before. It +was an ill-omen, and it had sounded close. The +hooting of an owl meant harm to some one. She +wondered now if an owl feather would not make +the medicine stronger. She set down her cup and +looked carefully under the trees, but could find no +feathers. Ah, well, it was stout enough medicine +without it!</p> +<p>She had brought a long, keen-bladed hunting-knife +into the willows, and she dipped the point +of it into the concoction—blowing upon it until it +dried, then repeating the process. When the point +of the blade was well discolored, she muttered:</p> +<p>“Dat’s de strong medicine!”</p> +<p>Her eyes glittered like the eyes of the snakes +among the rocks, and they seemed smaller. Their +roundness and the liquid softness of them was gone. +She looked “pure Injun,” as Smith would have +phrased it, with murder in her heart. Deliberately, +malevolently, she spat upon the earth beneath which +the letter lay, before she returned to the house.</p> +<p>She heard Susie’s voice in the Schoolmarm’s +room, and quickly hid the knife behind a mirror +in the living-room, where she hid everything which +she wished to conceal, imagining, for some unknown +reason, that no one but herself would ever think +of looking there. Susie often had thought laughingly +that it looked like a pack-rat’s nest.</p> +<p>The woman poured the liquid which remained +in the tin cup into another bottle, frowning when +she spilled a few precious drops upon her hand. +This bottle she also hid behind the mirror.</p> +<p>In Dora Marshall’s room, Susie was examining +the teacher’s toilette articles, which held an unfailing +interest for her. She meant to have an exact +duplicate of the manicure set and of the hairbrush +with the heavy silver back. To Susie, these +things, along with side-combs and petticoats that +rustled, were symbols of that elegance which she +longed to attain.</p> +<p>As she stood by the bureau, fumbling with the +various articles, she caught sight of a box through +the crack of the half-open drawer. She had seen +that battered box before. It was the grasshopper +box—for there was the slit in the top.</p> +<p>Susie was not widely experienced in matters of +sentiment, but she had her feminine intuitions, besides +remarkably well-developed reasoning powers +for her years.</p> +<p>Why, she asked herself as she continued to stare +through the crack, why should Teacher be cherishing +that old bait-box? Why should she have it +there among her handkerchiefs and smelly silk +things, and the soft lace things she wore at her +throat? Why—unless she attached value to it? +Why—unless it was a romantic and sacred keepsake?</p> +<p>Susie rather prided herself on being in touch +with all that went on, and now she had an uneasy +feeling that she might have missed something. She +remembered the day of their fishing trip well, and +at the time had thought she had scented a budding +romance. Had they quarrelled, she wondered?</p> +<p>She sat on the edge of the bed and swung her +feet.</p> +<p>“My, but won’t it seem lonesome here without +Mr. Ralston?” Susie sighed deeply.</p> +<p>“Is he going away?” Dora asked quickly.</p> +<p>“He’ll be goin’ pretty soon now, because he’s +found most of his strays and bought all the ponies +he wants.”</p> +<p>“I suppose he will be glad to get back among +his friends.”</p> +<p>Susie thought Teacher looked a little pale.</p> +<p>“Maybe he’ll go back and get married.”</p> +<p>“Did he say so?”</p> +<p>Susie was <i>sure</i> she was paler.</p> +<p>“No,” she replied nonchalantly. “I just +thought so, because anybody that’s as good-looking +as he is, gets gobbled up quick. Don’t you think +he is good-looking?”</p> +<p>“Oh, he does very well.”</p> +<p>“Gee whiz, I wish he’d ask me to marry him!” +said Susie unblushingly. “You couldn’t see me +for dust, the way I’d travel. But there’s no +danger. Look at them there skinny arms!”</p> +<p>“Susie! What grammar!”</p> +<p>“Those there skinny arms.”</p> +<p>“Those.”</p> +<p>“Those skinny arms; those hair; those eyes—soft +and gentle like a couple of augers, Meeteetse +says.” Susie shook her head in mock despondency. +“I’ve tried to be beautiful, too. Once I cut a +piece out of a newspaper that told how you could +get rosy cheeks. It gave all the different things +to put in, so I sent off and got ’em. I mixed ’em +like it said and rubbed it on my face. There +wasn’t any mistake about my rosy cheeks, but you +ought to have seen the blisters on my cheek-bones—big +as dollars!”</p> +<p>“I’m sure you will not be so thin when you +are older,” Dora said consolingly, “and your hair +would be a very pretty color if only you would +wear a hat and take a little care of it.”</p> +<p>Susie shook her head and sighed again.</p> +<p>“Oh, it will be too late then, for he will be +snapped up by some of those stylish town girls. +You see.”</p> +<p>Dora put buttons in her shirt-waist sleeves in +silence.</p> +<p>“I think he liked to stay here until you quarrelled +with him.”</p> +<p>“I quarrelled with him?”</p> +<p>“Oh, didn’t you?” Susie was innocence itself. +“You treat him so polite, I thought you must have +quarrelled—such a chilly polite,” she explained.</p> +<p>“I don’t think <i>he</i> has observed it,” Dora answered +coldly.</p> +<p>“Oh, yes, he has.” Susie waited discreetly.</p> +<p>“How do you know?”</p> +<p>“When you come to the table and say, Good-morning, +and look at him without seeing him, I +know he’d a lot rather you cuffed him.”</p> +<p>“What a dreadful word, Susie, and what an +absurd idea!”</p> +<p>Susie noted that Teacher’s eyes brightened.</p> +<p>“<i>You’ll</i> be goin’ away, too, pretty soon, and I +s’pose you’ll be glad you will never see him again. +But,” she added dolefully, “ain’t it awful the way +people just meets and parts?”</p> +<p>Dora was a long time finding that for which +she was searching among the clothes hanging on a +row of nails, and Susie, rolling her eyes in that +direction, was sure, very sure, that she saw Teacher +dab at her lashes with the frilly ruffle of a petticoat +before she turned around.</p> +<p>“When did he say he was going?”</p> +<p>“He didn’t say; but to-day or to-morrow, I +should think.”</p> +<p>“If he cared so much because I am cool to him, +he certainly would have asked me why I treated +him so. But he didn’t care enough to ask.”</p> +<p>Teacher’s voice sounded queer even to herself, +and she seemed intensely interested in buttoning her +boots.</p> +<p>“Pooh! I know why. It’s because he thinks +you like that Smith.”</p> +<p>“Smith!”</p> +<p>“Yes, Smith.”</p> +<p>The jangle of Ling’s triangle interrupted the +fascinating conversation.</p> +<p>“How perfectly foolish!” gasped Dora.</p> +<p>“Not to Smith,” Susie replied dryly, “nor to +Mr. Ralston.”</p> +<p>Susie looked at the unoccupied chairs at the +table as she and Dora seated themselves. Ralston’s, +Tubbs’s, Smith’s, and McArthur’s chairs were +vacant.</p> +<p>“Looks like you’re losin’ your boarders fast, +Ling,” she remarked.</p> +<p>“Good thing,” Ling answered candidly.</p> +<p>The Indian woman gulped her coffee, but refused +the food which was passed to her. A strange +faintness, accompanied by nausea, was creeping +upon her. Her vision was blurred, and she saw +Meeteetse Ed, at the opposite end of the table, +as through a fog. She pushed back her chair +and went into the living-room, swaying a little as +she walked. A faint moan caught Susie’s ear, and +she hastened to her mother.</p> +<p>The woman was lying on the floor by the bench +where she sewed, her head pillowed on her rag-rug.</p> +<p>“Mother! Why, what’s the matter with your +hand? It’s swelled!”</p> +<p>“I heap sick, Susie!” she moaned. “My arm +aches me.”</p> +<p>“Look!” cried Susie, who had turned back her +sleeve. “Her arm is black—a purple black, and +it’s swellin’ up!”</p> +<p>“Oh, I heap sick!”</p> +<p>“What did you do to your arm, Mother? Did +you have the bandage off?”</p> +<p>“Yes, it come off, and I pin him up,” said +Ling, who was standing by.</p> +<p>A paroxysm of pain seized the woman, and she +writhed.</p> +<p>“It looks exactly like a rattlesnake bite! I saw +a fellow once that was bit in the ankle, and it +swelled up and turned a color like that,” declared +Susie in horror. “Mother, you haven’t been foolin’ +with snakes, or been bit?”</p> +<p>The woman shook her head.</p> +<p>“I no been bit,” she groaned, and her eyes had +in them the appealing look of a sick spaniel.</p> +<p>Dora and Susie helped her to her room, and +though they tried every simple remedy of which +they had ever heard, to reduce the rapidly swelling +arm, all seemed equally unavailing. The woman’s +convulsions hourly became more violent and frequent, +while her arm was frightful to behold—black, +as it was, from hand to shoulder with coagulated +blood.</p> +<p>“If only we had an idea of the cause!” cried +Dora, distracted.</p> +<p>“Mother, can’t you imagine anything that +would make your arm bad like this? Try to think.”</p> +<p>But though drops of perspiration stood on the +woman’s forehead, and her grip tore the pillow, +she obstinately shook her head.</p> +<p>“I be better pretty soon,” was all she would +say, and tried to smile at Susie.</p> +<p>“If only some one would come!” Dora went +to the open window often and listened for Ralston’s +voice or McArthur’s—the latter having gone for +his mail.</p> +<p>The strain of watching the woman’s suffering +told on both of the girls, and the night by her +bedside seemed centuries long. Toward morning +the paroxysms appeared to reach a climax and +then to subside. They were of shorter duration, +and the intervals between were longer.</p> +<p>“She’s better, I’m sure,” Dora said hopefully, +but Susie shook her head.</p> +<p>“I don’t think so; she’s worse. There’s that +look behind, back of her eyes—that dead look—can’t +you see it? And it’s in her face, too. I +don’t know how to say what I mean, but it’s there, +and it makes me shiver like cold.” The girl looked +in mingled awe and horror at the first human +being she ever had seen die.</p> +<p>Unable to endure the strain any longer, Dora +went into the fresh air, and Susie dropped on her +knees by the bedside and took her mother’s limp +hand in both of hers.</p> +<p>“Oh, Mother,” she begged pitifully, “say +something. Don’t go away without sayin’ something +to Susie!”</p> +<p>With an effort of will, the woman slowly opened +her dull eyes and fixed them upon the child’s face.</p> +<p>“Yas,” she breathed; “I <i>want</i> to say something.”</p> +<p>The words came slowly and thickly.</p> +<p>“I no—get well.”</p> +<p>“Oh, Mother!”</p> +<p>Unheeding the wail, perhaps not hearing it, she +went on, stopping often between words:</p> +<p>“I steal—from you—my little girl. I bad +woman, Susie. It is right I die. I take de money—out +of de bank dat MacDonald leave us—to give +to Smith. De hold-ups steal de money on—de +road. I have de bad heart—Susie—to do dat. I +know now.”</p> +<p>“You mustn’t talk like that, Mother!” cried +Susie, gripping her hand convulsively. “You +thought you’d get it again and put it back. You +didn’t mean to steal from me. I know all about +it. And I’ve got the money. Mr. Ralston found +a check you had thrown away—you’d signed your +name on it in the wrong place. When we saw +the date, and what a lot of money it was, and +found you had gone to town, we guessed the rest. +It was easy to see Smith in that. So we held +you up, and got it back. We knew there was +no danger to anybody, but, of course, we felt bad +to worry and frighten you.”</p> +<p>“I’m glad,” said the woman simply. She had +no strength or breath or time to spare. “Dey’s +more. I tell you—I kill Smith—if he lie. He lie. +He bull-dog white man. I make de strong medicine +to kill him—and I get de poison in my arm when +de bandage slip. Get de bottles and de knife +behind de lookin’-glass—I show you.”</p> +<p>Susie quickly did as she was bid.</p> +<p>“De lemon bottle is de love-charm of de Sioux. +One teaspoonful—no more, Little Coyote’s woman +say. De other bottle is de bad medicine. Be +careful. Smith—make fool—of me—Susie.” +What else she would have said ended in a gurgle. +Her jaw dropped, and she died with her glazing +eyes upon Susie’s face.</p> +<p>Susie pulled the gay Indian blanket gently over +her mother’s shoulders, as if afraid she would be +cold. Then she slipped a needle and some beads +and buckskin, to complete an unfinished moccasin, +underneath the blanket. Her mother was going on +a long journey, and would want occupation. There +were no tears in Susie’s eyes when she replaced the +bottles and the skinning knife with the discolored +blade behind the mirror.</p> +<p>The wan little creature seemed to have no tears +to shed. She was unresponsive to Dora’s broken +words of sympathy, and the grub-liners’ awkward +condolences—they seemed not to reach her heart at +all. She heard them without hearing, for her mind +was chaos as she moved silently from room to +room, or huddled, a forlorn figure, on the bench +where her mother always had sat.</p> +<p>Breakfast was long since over and the forenoon +well advanced when she finally left the silent house +and crept like the ghost of her spirited self down +the path to the stable and into the roomy stall +where her stout little cow-pony stood munching +hay.</p> +<p>In her sorrow, the dumb animal was the one +thing to which she turned. He lifted his head +when she went in, and threw his cropped ears +forward, while his eyes grew limpid as a horse’s +eyes will at the approach of some one it knows +well and looks to for food and affection.</p> +<p>They had almost grown up together, and the +time Susie had spent on his back, or with him in +the corral or stall, formerly had been half her +waking hours. They had no fear of each other; +only deep love and mutual understanding.</p> +<p>“Oh, Croppy! Croppy!” her childish voice +quavered. “Oh, Croppy, you’re all I’ve got left!” +She slipped her arms around his thick neck and hid +her face in his mane.</p> +<p>He stopped eating and stood motionless while +she clung to him, his ears alert at the sound of +the familiar voice.</p> +<p>“What <i>shall</i> I do!” she wailed in an abandonment +of grief.</p> +<p>In her inexperience, it seemed to Susie, that with +her mother’s death all the world had come to an +end for her. Undemonstrative as they were, and +meagre as had been any spoken words of affection, +the bond of natural love between them had seemed +strong and unbreakable until Smith’s coming. +They had been all in all to each other in their +unemotional way; and now this unexpected tragedy +seemed to crush the child, because it was something +which never had entered her thoughts. It +was a crisis with which she did not know how to +cope or to bear. The world could never be blacker +for her than it was when she clung sobbing to the +little sorrel pony’s thick neck that morning. The +future looked utterly cheerless and impossible to endure. +She had not learned that no tragedy is so +blighting that there is not a way out—a way which +the sufferer makes himself, which comes to him, or +into which he is forced. Nothing stays as it is. But +it appeared to Susie that life could never be different, +except to be worse.</p> +<p>She had talked much to McArthur of the outside +world, and questioned him, and a doubt had +sprung up as to the feasibility of searching for +her kinsfolk, as she had planned. There were +many, many trails and wire fences to bewilder one, +and people—hundreds of people—people who were +not always kind. His answers filled her with vague +fears. To be only sixteen, and alone, is cause +enough for tears, and Susie shed them now.</p> +<p>McArthur, with a radiant face, was riding +toward the ranch to which he had become singularly +attached. His saddle-pockets bulged with mail, +and his elbows flapped joyously as he urged his +horse to greater speed. He looked up eagerly at +the house as he crossed the ford, and his kind eyes +shone with happiness when he rode into the stable-yard +and swung out of the saddle.</p> +<p>He heard a sound, the unmistakable sound of +sobbing, as he was unsaddling. Listening, he +knew it came from somewhere in the stable, so he +left his horse and went inside.</p> +<p>It was Susie, as he had thought. She lifted her +tear-stained face from the pony’s mane when he +spoke, and he knew that she was glad to see him.</p> +<p>“Oh, pardner, I thought you’d <i>never</i> come!”</p> +<p>“The mail was late, and I stayed with the +Major to wait for it. What has gone wrong?”</p> +<p>“Mother’s dead,” she said. “She was poisoned +accidentally.”</p> +<p>“Susie! And there was no one here?” The +news seemed incredible.</p> +<p>“Only Teacher and me—no one that knew what +to do. We sent Meeteetse for a doctor, but he +hasn’t come yet. He probably got drunk and +forgot what he went for. It’s been a terrible +night, pardner, and a terrible day!”</p> +<p>McArthur looked at her with troubled eyes, and +once more he stroked her hair with his gentle, +timid touch.</p> +<p>“Everything just looks awful to me, with Dad +and mother both gone, and me here alone on this +big ranch, with only Ling and grub-liners. And +to think of it all the rest of my life like this—with +nobody that I belong to, or that belongs to +me!”</p> +<p>Something was recalled to McArthur with a start +by Susie’s words. He had forgotten!</p> +<p>“Come, Susie, come with me.”</p> +<p>She followed him outside, where he unbuckled +his saddle-pocket and took a daguerreotype from +a wooden box which had come in the mail. The +gilt frame was tarnished, the purple velvet lining +faded, and when he handed the case to Susie she +had to hold it slanting in the light to see the +picture.</p> +<p>“Dad!”</p> +<p>She looked at McArthur with eyes wide in +wonder.</p> +<p>“Donald MacDonald, my aunt Harriet’s brother, +who went north to buy furs for the Hudson Bay +Company!” McArthur’s eyes were smiling +through the moisture in them.</p> +<p>“We’ve got one just like it!” Susie cried, +still half unable to believe her eyes and ears.</p> +<p>“I was sure that day you mimicked your father +when he said, ‘Never forget you are a MacDonald!’ +for I have heard my aunt say that a +thousand times, and in just that way. But I +wanted to be surer before I said anything to you, +so I sent for this.”</p> +<p>“Oh, pardner!” and with a sudden impulse +which was neither Scotch nor Indian, but entirely +of herself, Susie threw her arms about his neck +and all but choked him in the only hug which +Peter McArthur, A.M., Ph.D., could remember ever +having had.</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<a name='XXI_THE_MURDERER_OF_WHITE_ANTELOPE' id='XXI_THE_MURDERER_OF_WHITE_ANTELOPE'></a> +<h2>XXI</h2> +<h3>THE MURDERER OF WHITE ANTELOPE</h3> +</div> + +<p>It was nearly dusk, and Ralston was only a few +hundred yards from the Bar C gate, when he met +Babe, highly perfumed and with his hair suspiciously +slick, coming out. Babe’s look of disappointment +upon seeing him was not flattering, but +Ralston ignored it in his own delight at the meeting.</p> +<p>“What was your rush? I was just goin’ over +to see you,” was Babe’s glum greeting.</p> +<p>“And I’m here to see you,” Ralston returned, +“but I forgot to perfume myself and tallow my +hair.”</p> +<p>“Aw-w-w,” rumbled Babe, sheepishly. “What’d +you want?”</p> +<p>“You know what I’m in the country for?”</p> +<p>Babe nodded.</p> +<p>“I’ve located my man, and he’s going to drive +off a big bunch to-night. There’s two of them +in fact, and I’ll need help. Are you game for +it?”</p> +<p>“Oh, mamma!” Babe rolled his eyes in ecstasy.</p> +<p>“He has a horror of doing time,” Ralston went +on, “and if he has any show at all, he’s going +to put up a hard fight. I’d like the satisfaction of +bringing them both in, single-handed, but it isn’t +fair to the Colonel to take any chances of their +getting away.”</p> +<p>“Who is it?”</p> +<p>“Smith.”</p> +<p>“That bastard with his teeth stickin’ out?”</p> +<p>Ralston laughed assent.</p> +<p>“Pickin’s!” cried Babe, with gusto. “I’d like +to kill that feller every mornin’ before breakfast. +Will I go? Will I? <i>Will</i> I?” Babe’s crescendo +ended in a joyous whoop of exultation. “Wait +till I ride back and tell the Colonel, and git my +ca’tridge belt. I take it off of an evenin’ these +tranquil times.”</p> +<p>Ralston turned his horse and started back, so +engrossed in thoughts of the work ahead of him +that it was not until Babe overtook him that he +remembered he had forgotten to ask Babe’s business +with him.</p> +<p>“Well, I guess the old Colonel was tickled +when he heard you’d spotted the rustlers,” said +Babe, as he reined in beside him. “He wanted to +come along—did for a fact, and him nearly seventy. +He’d push the lid off his coffin and climb out at +his own funeral if somebody’d happen to mention +that thieves was brandin’ his calves.”</p> +<p>“You said you had started to the ranch to see +me.”</p> +<p>“Oh, yes—I forgot. Your father sent word to +the Colonel that he was sellin’ off his cattle and +goin’ into sheep, and wanted the Colonel to let +you know.”</p> +<p>“The poor old Governor! It’ll about break his +heart, I know; and I should be there. At his +time of life it’s a pretty hard and galling thing +to quit cattle—to be forced out of the business +into sheep. It’s like bein’ made to change your +politics or religion against your will.”</p> +<p>“’Fore I’d wrangle woolers,” declared Babe, +“I’d hold up trains or rob dudes or do ’most +any old thing. Say, I’ve rid by sheep-wagons when +I was durn near starvin’ ruther than eat with a +sheep-herder or owe one a favor. Where do you +find a man like the Colonel in sheep?” demanded +Babe. “You don’t find ’em. Nothin’ but a lot +of upstart sheep-herders, that’s got rich in five +years and don’t know how to act.”</p> +<p>“Oh, you’re prejudiced, Babe. Not all sheepmen +are muckers any more than all cattlemen are +gentlemen.”</p> +<p>“I’m not prejudiced a-<i>tall</i>!” declared Babe excitedly. +“I’m perfectly fair and square. Woolers is +demoralizin’. Associate with woolers, and it takes +the spirit out of a feller quicker’n cookin.’ In +five years you won’t be half the man you are now +if you go into sheep. I’ll sure hate to see it!” +His voice was all but pathetic as he contemplated +Ralston’s downfall.</p> +<p>“I think you will, though, Babe, if I get out +of this with a whole hide.”</p> +<p>“You’ll be so well fixed you can git married +then?” There was some constraint in Babe’s tone, +which he meant to be casual.</p> +<p>Ralston’s heart gave him a twinge of pain.</p> +<p>“I s’pose you’ve had every chance to git +acquainted with the Schoolmarm,” he observed, +since Ralston did not reply.</p> +<p>“She doesn’t like me, Babe.”</p> +<p>“<i>What</i>!” yelled Babe, screwing up his face in +a grimace of surprise and unbelief.</p> +<p>“She would rather talk to Ling than to me—at +least, she seems far more friendly to any one +else than to me.”</p> +<p>“Say, she must be loony not to like you!”</p> +<p>Ralston could not help laughing outright at +Babe’s vigorous loyalty.</p> +<p>“It’s not necessarily a sign of insanity to dislike +me.”</p> +<p>“She doesn’t go that far, does she?” demanded +Babe.</p> +<p>“Sometimes I think so.”</p> +<p>“You don’t care a-tall, do you?”</p> +<p>“Yes,” Ralston replied quietly; “I care a +great deal. It hurts me more than I ever was +hurt before; because, you see, Babe, I never loved +a woman before.”</p> +<p>“Aw-w-w,” replied Babe, in deepest sympathy.</p> +<p>Smith had congratulated himself often during +the day upon the fact that he could not have +chosen a more propitious time for the execution +of his plans—at least, so far as the Bar C outfit +was concerned. His uneasiness passed as the protecting +darkness fell without their having seen a +single person the entire day.</p> +<p>When the last glimmer of daylight had faded, +Tubbs and Smith started on the drive, heading the +cattle direct for their destination. They were +fatter than Smith had supposed, so they could not +travel as rapidly as he had calculated, but he and +Tubbs pushed them along as fast as they could +without overheating them.</p> +<p>The darkness, which gave Smith courage, made +Tubbs nervous. He swore at the cattle, he swore +at his horse, he swore at the rocks over which his +horse stumbled; and he constantly strained his roving +eyes to penetrate the darkness for pursuers. +Every gulch and gully held for him a fresh terror.</p> +<p>“Gee! I wisht I was out of this onct!” burst +from him when the howl of a wolf set his nerves +jangling.</p> +<p>“What’d you say?” Smith stopped in the +middle of a song he was singing.</p> +<p>“I said I wisht I was down where the monkeys +are throwin’ nuts! I’m chilly,” declared Tubbs.</p> +<p>“Chilly? It’s hot!”</p> +<p>Smith was light-hearted, sanguine. He told himself +that perhaps it was as well, after all, that +the hold-ups had got off with the “old woman’s” +money. She might have made trouble when she +found that he meant to go or had gone with Dora.</p> +<p>“You can’t tell about women,” Smith said to +himself. “They’re like ducks: no two fly alike.”</p> +<p>He felt secure, yet from force of habit his hand +frequently sought his cartridge-belt, his rifle in +its scabbard, his six-shooter in the holster under +his arm. And while he serenely hummed the songs +of the dance-halls and round-up camps, two silent +figures, so close that they heard the clacking of +the cattle’s split hoofs, Tubbs’s vacuous oaths, +Smith’s contented voice, were following with the +business-like persistency of the law.</p> +<p>The four mounted men rode all night, speaking +seldom, each thinking his own thoughts, dreaming +his own dreams. Not until the faintest light +grayed the east did the pursuers fall behind.</p> +<p>“We’re not more’n a mile to water now”—Smith +had made sure of his country this time—“and +we’ll hold the cattle in the brush and take +turns watchin’.”</p> +<p>“It’s a go with me,” answered Tubbs, yawning +until his jaws cracked. “I’m asleep now.”</p> +<p>Ralston and Babe knew that Smith would camp +for several hours in the creek-bottom, so they +dropped into a gulch and waited.</p> +<p>“They’ll picket their horses first, then one of +them will keep watch while the other sleeps. Very +likely Tubbs will be the first guard, and, unless +I’m mistaken, Tubbs will be dead to the world in +fifteen minutes—though, maybe, he’s too scared to +sleep.” Ralston’s surmise proved to be correct +in every particular.</p> +<p>After they had picketed their horses, Smith told +Tubbs to keep watch for a couple of hours, while +he slept.</p> +<p>“Couldn’t we jest switch that programme +around?” inquired Tubbs plaintively. “I can’t +hardly keep my eyes open.”</p> +<p>“Do as I tell you,” Smith returned sharply.</p> +<p>Tubbs eyed him with envy as he spread down +his own and Tubbs’s saddle-blankets.</p> +<p>“I ain’t what you’d call ‘crazy with the heat.’” +Tubbs shivered. “Couldn’t I crawl under one of +them blankets with you?”</p> +<p>“You bet you can’t. I’d jest as lief sleep with +a bull-snake as a man,” snorted Smith in disgust, +and, pulling the blankets about his ears, was lost +in oblivion.</p> +<p>“I kin look back upon times when I’ve enj’yed +myself more,” muttered Tubbs disconsolately, as +he paced to and fro, or at intervals climbed wearily +out of the creek-bottom to look and listen.</p> +<p>Ralston and Babe had concealed themselves behind +a cut-bank which in the rainy season was a +tributary of the creek. They were waiting for +daylight, and for the guard to grow sleepy and +careless. With little more emotion than hunters +waiting in a blind for the birds to go over, the +two men examined their rifles and six-shooters. +They talked in undertones, laughing a little at +some droll observation or reminiscence. Only by a +sparkle of deviltry in Babe’s blue eyes, and an +added gravity of expression upon Ralston’s face, +at moments, would the closest observer have known +that anything unusual was about to take place. +Yet each realized to the fullest extent the possible +dangers ahead of them. Smith, they knew to be +resourceful, he would be desperate, and Tubbs, ignorant +and weak of will as he was, might be +frightened into a kind of frenzied courage. The +best laid plans did not always work out according +to schedule, and if by any chance they were discovered, +and the thieves reached their guns, the +odds were equal. But it was not their way to talk +of danger to themselves. That there was danger +was a fact, too obvious to discuss, but that it was +no hindrance to the carrying out of their plans +was also accepted as being too evident to waste +words upon.</p> +<p>While the east grew pink, they talked of mutual +acquaintances, of horses they had owned, of guns +and big game, of dinners they had eaten, of socks +and saddle blankets that had been stolen from +them in cow outfits—the important and trivial +were of like interest to these old friends waiting for +what, as each well knew, might be their last sunrise.</p> +<p>Ralston finally crawled to the top of the cut-bank +and looked cautiously about.</p> +<p>“It’s time,” he said briefly.</p> +<p>“<i>Bueno</i>.” Babe gave an extra twitch to the +silk handkerchief knotted about his neck, which, +with him, signified a readiness for action.</p> +<p>He joined Ralston at the top of the cut-bank.</p> +<p>“Not a sign!” he whispered. “Looks like you +and me owned the world, Dick.”</p> +<p>“We’ll lead the horses a little closer, in case we +need them quick. Then, we’ll keep that bunch of +brush between us and them, till we get close enough. +You take Tubbs, and I’ll cover Smith—I want that +satisfaction,” he added grimly.</p> +<p>It was a typical desert morning, redolent with +sage, which the night’s dew brought out strongly. +The pink light changing rapidly to crimson was +seeking out the draws and coulees where the purple +shadows of night still lay. The only sound was +the cry of the mourning doves, answering each +other’s plaintive calls. And across the panorama +of yellow sand, green sage-brush, burning cactus +flowers, distant peaks of purple, all bathed alike +in the gorgeous crimson light of morning, two +dark figures crept with the stealthiness of Indians.</p> +<p>From behind the bush which had been their objective-point +they could hear and see the cattle +moving in the brush below; then a horse on picket +snorted, and as they slid quietly down the bank +they heard a sound which made Babe snicker.</p> +<p>“Is that a cow chokin’ to death,” he whispered, +“or one of them cherubs merely sleepin’?”</p> +<p>In sight of the prone figures, they halted.</p> +<p>Smith, with his hat on, his head pillowed on his +saddle, was rolled in an old army blanket; while +Tubbs, from a sitting position against a tree, had +fallen over on the ground with his knees drawn +to his chin. His mouth, from which frightful +sounds of strangulation were issuing, was wide +open, and he showed a little of the whites of his +eyes as he slumbered.</p> +<p>“Ain’t he a dream?” breathed Babe in Ralston’s +ear. “How I’d like a picture of that face to keep +in the back of my watch!”</p> +<p>Smith’s rifle was under the edge of his blanket, +and his six-shooter in its holster lay by his head; +but Tubbs, with the carelessness of a green hand +and the over-confidence which had succeeded his +nervousness, had leaned his rifle against a tree and +laid his six-shooter and cartridge-belt in a crotch.</p> +<p>Ralston nodded to Babe, and simultaneously they +raised their rifles and viewed the prostrate forms +along the barrels.</p> +<p>“Put up your hands, men!”</p> +<p>The quick command, sharp, stern, penetrated the +senses of the men inert in heavy sleep. Instantly +Smith’s hand was upon his gun. He had reached +for it instinctively even before he sat up.</p> +<p>“Drop it!” There was no mistaking the intention +expressed in Ralston’s voice, and the gun +fell from Smith’s hand.</p> +<p>The red of Smith’s skin changed to a curious +yellow, not unlike the yellow of the slicker rolled +on the back of his saddle. Panic-stricken for the +moment, he grinned, almost foolishly; then his +hands shot above his head.</p> +<p>A line of sunlight dropped into the creek-bottom, +and a ray was caught by the deputy’s badge +which shone on Ralston’s breast. The glitter of +it seemed to fascinate Smith.</p> +<p>“You”—he drawled a vile name. “I orter +have known!”</p> +<p>Still dazed with sleep, and not yet comprehending +anything beyond the fact that he had been +advised to put up his hands, and that a stranger +had drawn an uncommonly fine bead on the head +which he was in honor bound to preserve from +mutilation, Tubbs blinked at Babe and inquired +peevishly:</p> +<p>“What’s the matter with you?” He had forgotten +that he was a thief.</p> +<p>“Shove up your hands!” yelled Babe.</p> +<p>With an expression of annoyance, Tubbs did as +he was bid, but dropped them again upon seeing +Ralston.</p> +<p>“Oh, hello!” he called cheerfully.</p> +<p>“Put them hands back!” Babe waved his rifle-barrel +significantly.</p> +<p>“What’s the matter with you, feller?” inquired +Tubbs crossly. Though he now recollected the +circumstances under which they were found, +Ralston’s presence robbed the situation of any +seriousness for him. It did not occur to Tubbs +that any one who knew him could possibly do him +harm.</p> +<p>“Keep your hands up, Tubbs,” said Ralston +curtly, “and, Babe, take the guns.”</p> +<p>“What for a josh is this anyhow?”—in an +aggrieved tone. “Ain’t we all friends?”</p> +<p>“Shut up, you idjot!” snapped Smith irritably. +His glance was full of malevolence as Babe took +his guns. The yellow of his skin was now the only +sign by which he betrayed his feelings. To all +other appearances, he was himself again—insolent, +defiant.</p> +<p>When it thoroughly dawned upon Tubbs that +they were cornered and under arrest, he promptly +went to pieces. He thrust his hands so high above +his head that they lifted him to tiptoe, and they +shook as with palsy.</p> +<p>“Stack the guns and get our horses, Babe,” +said Ralston.</p> +<p>“Mine’s hard for a stranger to ketch,” said +Smith surlily. “I’ll get him, for I don’t aim to +walk.”</p> +<p>“All right; but don’t make any break, Smith,” +Ralston warned.</p> +<p>“I’m not a fool,” Smith answered gruffly.</p> +<p>Ralston’s face relaxed as Smith sauntered toward +his horse. He was glad that they had been taken +without bloodshed, and, now the prisoners’ guns +had been removed, that possibility was passed.</p> +<p>Smith’s horse was a newly broken bronco, and +he was a wild beggar, as Smith had said; but he +talked to him reassuringly as the horse jumped to +the end of his picket-rope and stood snorting and +trembling in fright, and finally laid his hand upon +his neck and back. The fingers of one hand were +entwined in the horse’s mane, and suddenly, with +a cat-like spring made possible only by his desperation, +Smith landed on the bronco’s back. +With a yell of defiance which Ralston and Babe +remembered for many a day, he kicked the animal +in the ribs, and, as it reared in fright, it pulled +loose from the picket-stake. Smith reached for +the trailing rope, and they were gone!</p> +<p>Ralston shot to cripple the horse, but almost +with the flash they were around the bend of the +creek and out of sight. The breathless, speechless +seconds seemed minutes long before he heard +Babe coming.</p> +<p>“Aw-w-w!” roared that person in consternation +and chagrin, as he literally dragged the horses +behind him.</p> +<p>Ralston ran to meet him, and a glance of understanding +passed between them as he leaped into +the saddle and swept around the bend like a whirlwind, +less than thirty seconds behind Smith.</p> +<p>Babe knew that he must secure Tubbs before he +joined in the pursuit, and he was pulling the rawhide +riata from his saddle when Tubbs, inspired +by Smith’s example and imbued with the hysterical +courage which sometimes comes to men of his type +in desperate straits, made a dash for his rifle, and +reached it. He threw it to his shoulder, but, quick +as he was, Babe was quicker.</p> +<div class='figcenter'> +<a name='linki_4' id='linki_4'></a> +<img src='images/img-284.jpg' alt='' title='' style='width: 324px; height: 485px;' /><br /> +<p class='caption' style='margin: 0 auto; text-align:center;width: 324px;'> +SMITH REACHED FOR THE TRAILING ROPE AND THEY WERE GONE!<br /> +</p> +</div> + +<p>With the lightning-like gesture which had made +his name a byword where Babe himself was unknown, +he pulled his six-shooter from its holster +and shot Tubbs through the head. He fell his +length, like a bundle of blankets, and, even as he +dropped, Babe was in the saddle and away.</p> +<p>It was a desperate race that was on, between +desperate men; for if Smith was desperate, Ralston +was not less so. Every fibre of his being was +concentrated in the determination to recapture the +man who had twice outwitted him. The deputy +sheriff’s reputation was at stake; his pride and +self-respect as well; and the blood-thirst was rising +in him with each jump of his horse. Every other +emotion paled, every other interest faded, beside +the intensity of his desire to stop the man ahead of +him.</p> +<p>Smith knew that he had only a chance in a +thousand. He had seen Ralston with a six-shooter +explode a cartridge placed on a rock as far away +as he could see it, and he was riding the little +brown mare whose swiftness Smith had reason to +remember.</p> +<p>But he had the start, his bronco was young, +its wind of the best, and it might have speed. +The country was rough, Ralston’s horse might fall +with him. So long as Smith was at liberty there +was a fighting chance, and as always, he took it.</p> +<p>The young horse, mad with fright, kept to the +serpentine course of the creek-bottom, and Ralston, +on the little mare, sure-footed and swift as a jack-rabbit, +followed its lead.</p> +<p>The race was like a steeple-chase, with boulders +and brush and fallen logs to be hurdled, and +gullies and washouts to complicate the course. And +at every outward curve the <i>pin-n-gg!</i> of a bullet +told Smith of his pursuer’s nearness. Lying flat +on the barebacked horse, he hung well to the side +until he was again out of sight. The lead plowed +up the dirt ahead of him and behind him, and +flattened itself against rocks; and at each futile +shot Smith looked over his shoulder and grinned +in derision, though his skin had still the curious +yellowness of fear.</p> +<p>The race was lasting longer than Smith had +dared hope. It began to look as if it were to +narrow to a test of endurance, for although +Ralston’s shots missed by only a hair’s breadth at +times, still, they missed. If Smith ever had prayed, +he would have prayed then; but he had neither +words nor faith, so he only hoped and rode.</p> +<p>A flat came into sight ahead and a yell burst +from Ralston—a yell that was unexpected to himself. +A wave of exultation which seemed to come +from without swept over him. He touched the +mare with the spur, and she skimmed the rocks as +if his weight on her back were nothing. It was +smoother, and he was close enough now to use his +best weapon. He thrust the empty rifle into its +scabbard, and shot at Smith’s horse with his six-shooter. +It stumbled; then its knees doubled under +it, and Smith turned in the air. The game was +up; Smith was afoot.</p> +<p>He picked up his hat and dusted his coat-sleeve +while he waited, and his face was yellow and evil.</p> +<p>“That was a dum good horse,” was Babe’s +single comment as he rode up.</p> +<p>“Get back to camp!” said Ralston peremptorily, +and Smith, in his high-heeled, narrow-soled boots, +stumbled ahead of them without a word.</p> +<p>He looked at Tubbs’s body without surprise. +Sullen and surly, he felt no regret that Tubbs, +braggart and fool though he was, was dead. Smith +had no conscience to remind him that he himself +was responsible.</p> +<p>Babe shook out Smith’s blue army blanket and +rolled Tubbs in it. Smith had bought it from a +drunken soldier, and he had owned it a long time. +It was light and almost water-proof; he liked it, +and he eyed Babe’s action with disfavor.</p> +<p>“I reckon this gent will have to spend the day +in a tree,” said Babe prosaically.</p> +<p>“Couldn’t you use no other blanket nor that?” +demanded Smith.</p> +<p>It was the first time he had spoken.</p> +<p>“Don’t take on so,” Babe replied comfortingly. +“They furnish blankets where you’re goin’.”</p> +<p>He went on with his work of throwing a hitch +around Tubbs with his picket-rope.</p> +<p>Ralston divided the scanty rations which Smith +and Tubbs, and he and Babe, had brought with +them. He made coffee, and handed a cup to Smith +first. The latter arose and changed his seat.</p> +<p>“I never could eat with a corp’ settin’ around,” +he said disagreeably.</p> +<p>Smith’s fastidiousness made Babe’s jaw drop, +and a piece of biscuit which had made his cheek +bulge inadvertently rolled out, but was skillfully +intercepted before it reached the ground.</p> +<p>“I hope you’ll excuse us, Mr. Smith,” said Babe, +bowing as well as he could sitting cross-legged +on the ground. “I hope you’ll overlook our forgittin’ +the napkins and toothpicks.”</p> +<p>When they had finished, they slung Tubbs’s +body into a tree, beyond the reach of coyotes. +The cattle they left to drift back to their range. +Tubbs’s horse was saddled for Smith, and, with +Ralston holding the lead rope and Babe in the +rear, the procession started back to the ranch.</p> +<p>Smith had much time to think on the homeward +ride. He based his hopes upon the Indian woman. +He knew that he could conciliate her with a look. +She was resourceful, she had unlimited influence +with the Indians, and she had proven that she was +careless of her own life where he was concerned. +She was a powerful ally. The situation was not +so bad as it had seemed. He had been in tighter +places, he told himself, and his spirits rose as he +rode. Without the plodding cattle, they retraced +their steps in half the time it had taken them to +come, and it was not much after midday when +they were sighted from the MacDonald ranch.</p> +<p>The Indians that Smith had missed were at the +ford to meet them: Bear Chief, Yellow Bird, Running +Rabbit, and others, who were strangers to +him. They followed as Ralston and Babe rode +with their prisoner up the path to put him under +guard in the bunk-house.</p> +<p>Susie, McArthur, and Dora were at the door +of the ranch-house, and Susie stepped out and +stopped them when they would have passed.</p> +<p>“You can’t take him there; that place is +for our <i>friends</i>. There’s the harness-house below. +The dogs sleep there. There’ll be room for one +more.”</p> +<p>The insult stung Smith to the quick.</p> +<p>“What <i>you</i> got to say about it? Where’s your +mother?”</p> +<p>With narrowed eyes she looked for a moment +into his ugly visage, then she laid her hand upon +the rope and led his horse close to the open +window of the bedroom.</p> +<p>“There,” and she pointed to the still figure on +its improvised bier. “There’s my mother!”</p> +<p>Smith looked in silence, and once more showed +by his yellowing skin the fear within him. The +avenue of escape upon which he had counted almost +with certainty, was closed to him. At that moment +the harsh, high walls of the penitentiary loomed +close; the doors looked wide open to receive him; +but, after an instant’s hesitation, he only shrugged +his shoulders and said:</p> +<p>“Hell! I sleeps good anywhere.”</p> +<p>In deference to Susie’s wishes, Ralston and Babe +had swung their horses to go back down the path +when Smith turned in his saddle and looked at +Dora. She was regarding him sorrowfully, her +eyes misty with disappointment in him; and Smith +misunderstood. A rush of feeling swept over him, +and he burst out impulsively:</p> +<p>“Don’t go back on me! I done it for you, girl! +I done it to make <i>our stake</i>!”</p> +<p>Dora stood speechless, bewildered, confused +under the astonished eyes upon her. She was appalled +by the light in which he had placed her; and +while the others followed to the harness-house below, +she sank limply upon the door-sill, her face +in her hands.</p> +<p>Smith sat on a wagon-tongue, swinging his legs, +while they cleaned out the harness-house a bit for +his occupancy.</p> +<p>“Throw down some straw and rustle up a +blanket or two,” said Babe; and McArthur pulled +his saddle-blankets apart to contribute the cleanest +toward Smith’s bed.</p> +<p>Something in the alacrity the “bug-hunter” +displayed angered Smith. He always had despised +the little man in a general way. He uncinched his +saddle on the wrong side; he clucked at his horse; +he removed his hat when he talked to women; he +was a weak and innocent fool to Smith, who lost +no occasion to belittle him. Now, when the +prisoner saw him moving about, free to go and +come as he pleased, while he, Smith, was tied like +an unruly pup, it, of a sudden, made his gorge +rise; and, with one of his swift, characteristic +transitions of mood, Smith turned to the Indians +who guarded him.</p> +<p>“You never could find out who killed White +Antelope—you smart-Alec Injuns!” he sneered +contemptuously. “And you’ve always wanted to +know, haven’t you?” He eyed them one by one. +“Why, you don’t know straight up, you women +warriors! I’ve a notion to tell you who killed +White Antelope—just for fun—just because I +want to laugh, me—Smith!”</p> +<p>The Indians drew closer.</p> +<p>“You think you’re scouts,” he went on tauntingly, +“and you never saw White Antelope’s +blanket right under your nose! Put it back, feller”—he +nodded at McArthur. “I don’t aim to sleep +on dead men’s clothes!”</p> +<p>The Indians looked at the blanket, and at +McArthur, whom they had grown to like and +trust. They recognized it now, and in the corner +they saw the stiff and dingy stain, the jagged tell-tale +holes.</p> +<p>McArthur mechanically held it up to view. He +had not the faintest recollection where it had been +purchased, or of whom obtained. Tubbs always +had attended to such things.</p> +<p>No one spoke in the grave silence, and Smith +leered.</p> +<p>“I likes company,” he said. “I’m sociable inclined. +Put him in the dog-house with me.”</p> +<p>Susie had listened with the Indians; she had +looked at the blanket, the stain, the holes; she +saw the blank consternation in McArthur’s face, +the gathering storm in the Indians’ eyes. She +stepped out a little from the rest.</p> +<p>“Mister <i>Smith</i>!” she said. “<i>Mister</i> Smith”—with +oily, sarcastic emphasis—“how did you know +that was White Antelope’s blanket, when you never +<i>saw</i> White Antelope?”</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<a name='XXII_A_MONGOLIAN_CUPID' id='XXII_A_MONGOLIAN_CUPID'></a> +<h2>XXII</h2> +<h3>A MONGOLIAN CUPID</h3> +</div> + +<p>With his hands thrust deep in his trousers +pockets, Ralston leaned against the corner of the +bunk-house, from which point of vantage he could +catch a glimpse of the Schoolmarm’s white-curtained +window. He now had no feeling of elation +over his success. Smith was a victorious captive. +Ralston’s heart ached miserably, and he wished +that the day was ended and the morning come, +that he might go, never to return.</p> +<p>He too had seen the mist in Dora’s eyes; and, +with Smith’s words, the air-castles which had persistently +built themselves without volition on his +part, crumbled. There was nothing for him to +do but to efface himself as quickly and as completely +as possible. The sight of him could only +be painful to Dora, and he wished to spare her all +of that within his power.</p> +<p>He looked at the foothills, the red butte rising +in their midst, the tinted Bad Lands, the winding, +willow-fringed creek. It was all beautiful in its +bizarre colorings; but the spirit of the picture, +the warm, glowing heart of it, had gone from it +for him. The world looked a dull and lifeless +place. His love for Dora was greater than he had +known, far mightier than he had realized until the +end, the positive end, had come.</p> +<p>“Oh, Dora!” he whispered in utter wretchedness. +“Dear little Schoolmarm!”</p> +<p>In the room behind the white-curtained window +the Schoolmarm walked the floor with her cheeks +aflame and as close to hysteria as ever she had +been in her life.</p> +<p>“What <i>will</i> he think of me!” she asked herself +over and over again, clasping and unclasping her +cold hands. “What <i>can</i> he think but one thing?”</p> +<p>The more overwrought she became, the worse the +situation seemed.</p> +<p>“And how he looked at me! How they all +looked at me! Oh, it was too dreadful!”</p> +<p>She covered her burning face with her hands.</p> +<p>“There isn’t the slightest doubt,” she went on, +“but that he thinks I knew all about it. Perhaps”—she +paused in front of the mirror and stared into +her own horrified eyes—“perhaps he thinks I belong +to a gang of robbers! Maybe he thinks I +am Smith’s tool, or that Smith is my tool, or +something like that! Oh, whatever made him say +such a thing! ‘Our stake—<i>our</i> stake’—and—‘I +done it for you!’”</p> +<p>Another thought, still more terrifying occurred +to her excited mind:</p> +<p>“What if he should have to arrest me as an +accomplice!”</p> +<p>She sat down weakly on the edge of the bed.</p> +<p>“Oh,” and she rocked to and fro in misery, +“if only I never had tried to improve Smith’s +mind!”</p> +<p>The tears slipped from under the Schoolmarm’s +lashes, and her chin quivered.</p> +<p>Worn out by the all night’s vigil at her mother’s +bedside, and the exciting events of the morning, +Susie finally succumbed to the strain and slept the +sleep of exhaustion. It was almost supper-time +when she awakened. Passing the Schoolmarm’s +door, she heard a sound at which she stopped and +frankly listened. Teacher was crying!</p> +<p>“Ling, this is an awful world. Everything +seems to be upside down and inside out!”</p> +<p>“Plenty tlouble,” agreed Ling, stepping briskly +about as he collected ingredients for his biscuits.</p> +<p>“Don’t seem to make much difference whether +you love people or hate ’em; it all ends the same +way—in tears.”</p> +<p>“Plitty bad thing—love.” Ling solemnly measured +baking-powder. “Make people cly.”</p> +<p>Susie surmised correctly that Ling’s ears also +had been close to a nearby keyhole.</p> +<p>“There’d ’a’ been fewer tears on this ranch if +it hadn’t been for Smith.”</p> +<p>“Many devils—Smith.”</p> +<p>Susie sat on the corner of his work-table, and +there was silence while he deftly mixed, rolled, +and cut his dough.</p> +<p>“Mr. Ralston intends to go away in the morning,” +said Susie, as the biscuits were slammed in +the oven.</p> +<p>Ling wagged his head dolorously.</p> +<p>“And they’ll never see each other again.”</p> +<p>His head continued to wag.</p> +<p>“Ling,” Susie whispered, “we’ve got to <i>do</i> +something.” She stepped lightly to the open door +and closed it.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> + +<p>There were few at the supper-table that night, +and there was none of the noisy banter which +usually prevailed. The grub-liners came in softly +and spoke in hushed tones, out of a kind of respect +for two empty chairs which had been the recognized +seats of Tubbs and the Indian woman.</p> +<p>Ralston bowed gravely as Dora entered—pale, +her eyes showing traces of recent tears. Susie +was absent, having no heart for food or company, +and preferring to sit beside her mother for the +brief time which remained to her. Even Meeteetse +Ed shared in the general depression, and therefore +it was in no spirit of flippancy that he observed +as he replaced his cup violently in its saucer:</p> +<p>“Gosh A’mighty, Ling, you must have biled a +gum-boot in this here tea!”</p> +<p>Dora, who had drank nearly half of hers, was +unable to account for the peculiar tang which +destroyed its flavor, and Ralston eyed the contents +of his cup doubtfully after each swallow.</p> +<p>“Like as not the water’s gittin’ alkali,” ventured +Old Man Rulison.</p> +<p>“Alkali nothin’. That’s gum-boot, or else a +plug of Battle Ax fell in.”</p> +<p>Ling bore Meeteetse’s criticisms with surprising +equanimity.</p> +<p>A moment later the lights blurred for Dora.</p> +<p>“I—I feel faint,” she whispered, striving to +rise.</p> +<p>Ralston, who had already noted her increasing +pallor, hastened around the table and helped her +into the air. Ling’s immobile face was a study +as he saw them leave the room together, but satisfaction +was the most marked of its many expressions. +He watched them from the pantry window +as they walked to the cottonwood log which +served as a garden-seat for all.</p> +<p>“I wonder if it was that queer tea?”</p> +<p>“It has been a hard day for you,” Ralston +replied gently.</p> +<p>Dora was silent, and they remained so for some +minutes. Ralston spoke at last and with an effort.</p> +<p>“I am sorry—sorrier than I can tell you—that +it has been necessary for me to hurt you. I should +rather, far, far rather, hurt myself than you, Miss +Marshall—I wish I could make you know that. +What I have done has been because it was my +duty. I am employed by men who trust me, and I +was in honor bound to follow the course I have; +but if I had known what I know now—if I had +been sure—I might in some way have made it +easier for you. I am going away to-morrow, and +perhaps it will do no harm to tell you that I had +hoped”—he stopped to steady his voice, and went +on—“I had hoped that our friendship might end +differently.</p> +<p>“I shall be gone in the morning before you are +awake, so I will say good-night—and good-by.” +He arose and put out his hand. “Shall I send +Susie to you?”</p> +<p>The lump in Dora’s throat hurt her.</p> +<p>“Wait a minute,” she whispered in a strained +voice. “I want to say something, too, before you +go. I don’t want you to go away thinking that +I knew anything of Smith’s plans; that I knew +he was going to steal cattle; that he was trying +to make a ’stake’ for us—for <i>me</i>. It is all a +misunderstanding.”</p> +<p>Dora was looking straight ahead of her, and +did not see the change which came over Ralston’s +face.</p> +<p>“I never thought of Smith in any way except +to help him,” she went on. “He seemed different +from most that stopped here, and I thought if +I could just start him right, if only I could show +him what he might do if he tried, he might be +better for my efforts. And, after all, my time and +good intentions were wasted. He deceived me in +making me think that he too wanted to make +more of his life, and that he was trying. And +then to make such a speech before you all!”</p> +<p>“Don’t think about it—or Smith,” Ralston answered. +“He has come to his inevitable end. +When there’s bad blood, mistaken ideals, and wrong +standards of living, you can’t do much—you can’t +do anything. There is only one thing which controls +men of his type, and that is fear—fear of +the law. His love for you is undoubtedly the best, +the whitest, thing that ever came into his life, but +it couldn’t keep him straight, and never would. +Don’t worry. Your efforts haven’t hurt him, or +you. You are wiser, and maybe he is better.”</p> +<p>“It’s awfully good of you to comfort me,” said +Dora gratefully.</p> +<p>“Good of me?” he laughed softly. “Little +Schoolmarm”—he laid a hand upon each shoulder +and looked into her eyes—“I love you.”</p> +<p>Her pupils dilated, and she breathed in wonder.</p> +<p>“You <i>love</i> me?”</p> +<p>“I do.” He brushed back a wisp of hair which +had blown across her cheek, and, stooping, kissed +her deliberately upon the mouth.</p> +<p>Inside the house a radiant Mongolian rushed +from the pantry window into the room where Susie +sat. He carried a nearly empty bottle which had +once contained lemon extract, and his almond eyes +danced as he handed it to her, whispering gleefully:</p> +<p>“All light! Good medicine!”</p> +<p>The big kerosene lamp screwed to the wall in +the living-room had long since been lighted, but +Susie still sat on the floor, leaning her cheek against +the blanket which covered the Indian woman. The +house was quiet save for Ling in the kitchen—and +lonely—but she had a fancy that her mother would +like to have her there beside her; so, although +she was cramped from sitting, and the house was +close after a hot day, she refused all offers to +relieve her.</p> +<p>She was glad to see McArthur when he tapped +on the door.</p> +<p>“I thought you’d like to read the letter that +came with the picture,” he said, as he pulled up +a chair beside her. “I want you to know how +welcome you will be.”</p> +<p>He handed her the letter, with its neat, old-fashioned +penmanship, its primness a little tremulous +from the excitement of the writer at the time +she had penned it. Susie read it carefully, and +when she had finished she looked up at him with +softened, grateful eyes.</p> +<p>“Isn’t she good!”</p> +<p>“The kindest of gentlewomen—your Aunt +Harriet.”</p> +<p>“My Aunt Harriet!” Susie said it to herself +rapturously.</p> +<p>“She hasn’t much in her life now—<i>she’s</i> lonely, +too—and if you can be spoiled, Susie, you soon +will be well on the way—between Aunt Harriet +and me.” He stroked her hair fondly.</p> +<p>“And I’m to go to school back there and live +with her. I can’t believe it yet!” Susie declared. +“So much has happened in the last twenty-four +hours that I don’t know what to think about first. +More things have happened in this little time than +in all my life put together.”</p> +<p>“That’s the way life seems to be,” McArthur +said musingly—“a few hours at a tension, and +long, dull stretches in between.”</p> +<p>“Does she know—does Aunt Harriet know—how +<i>green</i> I am?”</p> +<p>McArthur laughed at her anxiety.</p> +<p>“I am sure,” he replied reassuringly, “that she +isn’t expecting a young lady of fashion.”</p> +<p>“Oh, I’ve got clothes,” said Susie. “Mother +made me a dress that will be just the thing to wear +in that—what do you call it?—train. She made it +out of two shawls that she bought at the Agency.”</p> +<p>McArthur looked startled at the frock of red, +green, and black plaids which Susie took from a +nail behind the door.</p> +<p>“The colors seem a little—a little——”</p> +<p>“If that black was yellow, it <i>would</i> look better,” +Susie admitted. “I’ve got a new Stetson, too.”</p> +<p>“It will take some little time to arrange your +affairs out here, and in the meantime I’ll write +Aunt Harriet to choose a wardrobe for you and +send it. It will give her the greatest pleasure.”</p> +<p>“Can I take Croppy and Daisy May?”</p> +<p>“Daisy May?”</p> +<p>“The pet badger,” she explained. “I named her +after a Schoolmarm we had—she looks so solemn +and important. I can keep her on a chain, and +she needn’t eat until we get there,” Susie pleaded.</p> +<p>Trying not to smile at the mental picture of +himself arriving in the staid college town, with +a tawny-skinned child in a red, green, and black +frock, a crop-eared cayuse, and a badger on a +chain, McArthur ventured it as his opinion that +the climate would be detrimental to Daisy May’s +health.</p> +<p>“You undoubtedly will prefer to spend your +summers here, and it will be pleasant to have +Croppy and Daisy May home to welcome you.”</p> +<p>Susie’s face sobered.</p> +<p>“Oh, yes, I must come back when school is +over. I wouldn’t feel it was right to go away +for always and leave Dad and Mother here. Besides, +I guess I’d <i>want</i> to come back; because, +after all, you know, I’m half Injun.”</p> +<p>“I wish you’d try and sleep, and let me sit +here,” urged McArthur kindly.</p> +<p>Susie shook her head.</p> +<p>“No; Ling will stay after awhile, and I’m not +sleepy or tired now.”</p> +<p>“Well, good-night, little sister.” He patted her +head, while all the kindliness of his gentle nature +shone from his eyes.</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<a name='XXIII_IN_THEIR_OWN_WAY' id='XXIII_IN_THEIR_OWN_WAY'></a> +<h2>XXIII</h2> +<h3>IN THEIR OWN WAY</h3> +</div> + +<p>Through the chinks in the logs, where the +daubing had dropped out, Smith watched the lights +in the ranch-house. He relieved the tedium of the +hours by trying to imagine what was going on +inside, and in each picture Dora was the central +figure. Now, he told himself, she was wiping the +dishes for Ling, and teaching him English, as +she often did; and when she had finished she would +bring her portfolio into the dining-room and write +home the exciting events of the day. He wondered +what had “ailed” the Indian woman, that +she should die so suddenly; but it was immaterial, +since she <i>was</i> dead. He knew that Susie would sit +by her mother; probably in the chair with the +cushion of goose-feathers. It was his favorite +chair, though it went over backwards when he +rocked too hard. Ralston—curse him!—was sitting +on one of the benches outside the bunk-house, telling +the grub-liners of Smith’s capture, and the +bug-hunter was making notes of the story in his +journal. But, alas! as is usual with the pictures +one conjures, nothing at all took place as Smith +fancied.</p> +<p>When all the lights, save the one in the living-room, +had gone out, there was nothing to divert +his thoughts. Babe, who was on guard outside, +refused to converse with him, and he finally lay +down, only to toss restlessly upon the blankets. +The night seemed unusually still and the stillness +made him nervous; even the sound of Babe’s back +rubbing against the door when he shifted his +position was company. Smith’s uneasiness was unlike +him, and he wondered at it, while unable to +conquer it. It must have been nearly midnight +when, staring into the darkness with sleepless eyes, +he felt, rather than heard, something move outside. +It came from the rear, and Babe was at +the door for only a moment before he had struck +a match on a log to light a cigarette. The sound +was so slight that only a trained ear like Smith’s +would have detected it.</p> +<p>It had sounded like the scraping of the leg of +an overall against a sage-brush, and yet it was +so trifling, so indistinct, that a field mouse might +have made it. But somehow Smith knew, he was +sure, that something human had caused it; and as +he listened for a recurrence of the sound, the conviction +grew upon him that there was movement and +life outside. He was convinced that something was +going to happen.</p> +<p>His judgment told him that the prowlers were +more likely to be enemies than friends—he was in +the enemies’ country. But, on the other hand, +there was always the chance that unexpected help +had arrived. Smith still believed in his luck. The +grub-liners might come to his rescue, or “the +boys,” who had been waiting at the rendezvous, +might have learned in some unexpected way what +had befallen him. Even if they were his enemies, +they would first be obliged to overpower Babe, and, +he told himself, in the “ruckus” he might somehow +escape.</p> +<p>But even as he argued the question pro and +con, unable to decide whether or not to warn Babe, +a stifled exclamation and the thud of a heavy body +against the door told him that it had been answered +for him. Wide-eyed, breathless, his nerves at a +tension, his heart pounding in his breast, he interpreted +the sounds which followed as correctly +as if he had been an eye-witness to the scene.</p> +<p>He could hear Babe’s heels strike the ground as +he kicked and threshed, and the inarticulate epithets +told Smith that his guard was gagged. He +knew, too, that the attack was made by more than +two men, for Babe was a young Hercules in +strength.</p> +<p>Were they friends or foes? Were they Bar C +cowpunchers come to take the law into their own +hands, or were they his hoped-for rescuers? The +suspense sent the perspiration out in beads on +Smith’s forehead, and he wiped his moist face with +his shirt-sleeve. Then he heard the shoulders +against the door, the heavy breathing, the strain +of muscles, and the creaking timber. It crashed +in, and for a second Smith’s heart ceased to beat. +He sniffed—and he knew! He smelled buckskin +and the smoke of tepees. He spoke a word or +two in their own tongue. They laughed softly, +without answering. From instinct, he backed into +a corner, and they groped for him in the darkness.</p> +<p>“The rat is hiding. Shall we get the cat?” +The voice was Bear Chief’s.</p> +<p>Running Rabbit spoke as he struck a match.</p> +<p>“Come out, white man. It is too hot in here +for you.”</p> +<p>Smith recovered himself, and said as he stepped +forward:</p> +<p>“I am ready, friends.”</p> +<p>They tied his hands and pushed him into the +open air. Babe squirmed in impotent rage as he +passed. Dark shadows were gliding in and out of +the stable and corrals, and when they led him to a +saddled horse they motioned him to mount. He +did so, and they tied his feet under the horse’s +belly, his wrists to the saddle-horn. Seeing the +thickness of the rope, he jested:</p> +<p>“Friends, I am not an ox.”</p> +<p>“If you were,” Yellow Bird answered, “there +would be fresh meat to-morrow.”</p> +<p>There were other Indians waiting on their horses, +deep in the gloom of the willows, and when the +three whom Smith recognized were in the saddle +they led the way to the creek, and the others fell +in behind. They followed the stream for some distance, +that they might leave no tracks, and there +was no sound but the splashing and floundering of +the horses as they slipped on the moss-covered +rocks of the creek-bed.</p> +<p>Smith showed no fear or curiosity—he knew +Indians too well to do either. His stoicism was +theirs under similar circumstances. Had they been +of his own race, his hope would have lain in throwing +himself upon their mercy; for twice the instinctive +sympathy of the white man for the under +dog, for the individual who fights against overwhelming +odds, had saved his life; but no such +tactics would avail him now.</p> +<p>His hope lay in playing upon their superstitions +and weaknesses; in winning their admiration, +if possible; and in devising means by which to +gain time. He knew that as soon as his absence +was discovered an effort would be made to rescue +him. He found some little comfort, too, in telling +himself that these reservation Indians, broken +in spirit by the white man’s laws and restrictions, +were not the Indians of the old days on the Big +Muddy and the Yellowstone. The fear of the +white man’s vengeance would keep them from going +too far. And so, as he rode, his hopes rose gradually; +his confidence, to a degree, returned; and +he even began to have a kind of curiosity as to +what form their attempted revenge would take.</p> +<p>The slowness of their progress down the creek-bed +had given him satisfaction, but once they left +the water, there was no cause for congratulation +as they quirted their horses at a breakneck speed +over rocks and gullies in the direction of the Bad +Lands. He could see that they had some definite +destination, for when the horses veered somewhat +to the south, Running Rabbit motioned them northward.</p> +<p>“He was there yesterday; Running Rabbit +knows,” said Bear Chief, in answer to an Indian’s +question; and Smith, listening, wondered where +“there” might be, and what it was that Running +Rabbit knew.</p> +<p>He asked himself if it could be that they were +taking him to some desert spring, where they +meant to tie him to die of thirst in sight of water. +The alkali plain held many forms of torture, as +he knew.</p> +<p>His captors did not taunt or insult him. They +rode too hard, they were too much in earnest, to +take the time for byplay. It was evident to Smith +that they feared pursuit, and were anxious to reach +their objective point before the sun rose. He knew +this from the manner in which they watched the east.</p> +<p>Somehow, as the miles sped under their horses’ +feet, the ride became more and more unreal to Smith. +The moon, big, glorious, and late in rising, silvered +the desert with its white light until they looked to +be riding into an ocean. It made Smith think of +the Big Water, by moonlight, over there on the +Sundown slope. Even the lean, dark figures riding +beside him seemed a part of a dream; and Dora, +when he thought of her, was shadowy, unreal. He +had a strange feeling that he was galloping, galloping +out of her life.</p> +<div class='figcenter'> +<a name='linki_5' id='linki_5'></a> +<img src='images/img-308.jpg' alt='' title='' style='width: 366px; height: 552px;' /><br /> +<p class='caption' style='margin: 0 auto; text-align:center;width: 366px;'> +THEY QUIRTED THEIR HORSES AT BREAKNECK SPEED IN THE DIRECTION OF THE BAD LANDS.<br /> +</p> +</div> + +<p>There were times when he felt as if he were +floating. His sensations were like the hallucinations +of fever, and then he would find himself called back +to a realization of facts by the swish of leather +thongs on a horse’s flank, or some smothered, half-uttered +imprecation when a horse stumbled. The +air of the coming morning fanned his cheeks, its +coolness stimulated him, and something of the fairy-like +beauty of the white world around him impressed +even Smith.</p> +<p>They had left the flatter country behind them, +and were riding among hills and limestone cliffs, +Running Rabbit winding in and out with the certainty +of one on familiar ground. The way was +rough, and they slackened their pace, riding one +behind the other, Indian file.</p> +<p>Running Rabbit reined in where the moonlight +turned a limestone hill to silver, and threw up +his hand to halt.</p> +<p>He untied the rope which bound Smith’s hands +and feet.</p> +<p>“You can’t coil a rope no more nor a gopher,” +said Smith, watching him.</p> +<p>“The white man does many things better than +the Indian.” Running Rabbit went on coiling the +rope.</p> +<p>He motioned Smith to follow, and led the way +on foot.</p> +<p>“I dotes on these moonlight picnics,” said Smith +sardonically, as he panted up the steep hills, his +high-heeled boots clattering among the rocks in +contrast to the silent footsteps of the Indian’s +moccasined feet.</p> +<p>Running Rabbit stopped where the limestone hill +had cracked, leaving a crevice wide at the top and +shallowing at the bottom.</p> +<p>“This is a good place for a white man who +coils a rope so well, to rest,” he said, and seated +himself near the edge of the crevice, motioning +Smith to be seated also.</p> +<p>“Or for white men who shoot old Indians in +the back to think about what they have done.” +Yellow Bird joined them.</p> +<p>“Or for smart thieves to tell where they left +their stolen horses.” Bear Chief dropped cross-legged +near them.</p> +<p>“Or for those whose forked tongue talks love +to two women at once to use it for himself.” The +voice was sneering.</p> +<p>“Smith, you’re up against it!” the prisoner +said to himself.</p> +<p>As the others came up the hill, they enlarged +the half-circle which now faced him. Recovering +himself, he eyed them indifferently, one by one.</p> +<p>“I have enemies, friends,” he said.</p> +<p>“White Antelope had no enemies,” Yellow Bird +replied.</p> +<p>“The Indian woman had no enemies,” said Running +Rabbit.</p> +<p>“It is our friends who steal our horses”—Bear +Chief’s voice was even and unemotional.</p> +<p>Their behavior puzzled Smith. They seemed now +to be in no hurry. Without gibes or jeers, they sat +as if waiting for something or somebody. What +was it? He asked himself the question over and +over again. They listened with interest to the +stories of his prowess and adventures. He flattered +them collectively and individually, and they +responded sometimes in praise as fulsome as has +own. All the knowledge, the tact, the wit, of which +he was possessed, he used to gain time. If only he +could hold them until the sun rose. But why had +they brought him there? With all his adroitness +and subtlety, he could get no inkling of their intentions. +The suspense got on Smith’s nerves, +though he gave no outward sign. The first gray +light of morning came, and still they waited. The +east flamed.</p> +<p>“It will be hot to-day,” said Running Rabbit. +“The sky is red.”</p> +<p>Then the sun showed itself, glowing like a red-hot +stove-lid shoved above the horizon.</p> +<p>In silence they watched the coming day.</p> +<p>“This limestone draws the heat,” said Smith, +and he laid aside his coat. “But it suits me. I +hates to be chilly.”</p> +<p>Bear Chief stood up, and they all arose.</p> +<p>“You are like us—you like the sun. It is warm; +it is good. Look at it. Look long time, white +man!”</p> +<p>There was something ominous in his tone, and +Smith moistened his short upper lip with the tip +of his tongue.</p> +<p>“Over there is the ranch where the white woman +lives. Look—look long time, white man!” He +swung his gaunt arm to the west.</p> +<p>“You make the big talk, Injun,” sneered Smith, +but his mouth was dry.</p> +<p>“Up there is the sky where the clouds send +messages, where the sun shines to warm us and the +moon to light us. There’s antelope over there in +the foothills, and elk in the mountains, and sheep +on the peaks. You like to hunt, white man, same +as us. Look long time on all—for you will never +see it again!”</p> +<p>The sun rose higher and hotter while the Indian +talked. He had not finished speaking when Smith +said:</p> +<p>“God!”</p> +<p>A look of indescribable horror was on his face. +His skin had yellowed, and he stared into the crevice +at his feet. Now he understood! He knew why +they waited on the limestone hill! An odor, scarcely +perceptible as yet, but which, faint as it was, sickened +him, told him his fate. It was the unmistakable +odor of rattlesnakes!</p> +<p>The crevice below was a breeding-place, a rattlesnakes’ +den. Smith had seen such places often, and +the stench which came from them when the sun +was hot was like nothing else in the world. The +recollection alone was almost enough to nauseate +him, and he always had ridden a wide circle at +the first whiff.</p> +<p>His aversion for snakes was like a pre-natal +mark. He avoided cowpunchers who wore rattlesnake +bands on their hats or stretched the skin over +the edge of the cantle of their saddles. He always +slept with a hair rope around his blankets when he +spent a night in the open. He would not sit in a +room where snake-rattles decorated the parlor +mantel or the organ. A curiosity as to how they +had learned his peculiarity crept through the paralyzing +horror which numbed him, and as if in answer +the scene in the dining-room of the ranch rose before +him. “I hates snakes and mouse-traps goin’ +off,” he had said. Yes, he remembered.</p> +<p>The Indians looked at his yellow skin and at +his eyes in which the horror stayed, and laughed. +He did not struggle when they stood him, mute, +upon his feet and bound him, for Smith knew Indians. +His lips and chin trembled; his throat, +dry and contracted, made a clicking sound when +he swallowed. His knees shook, and he had no +power to control the twitching muscles of his arms +and legs.</p> +<p>“He dances,” said Yellow Bird.</p> +<p>As the sun rose higher and streamed into the +crevice, the overpowering odor increased with the +heat. The yellow of Smith’s skin took on a greenish +tinge.</p> +<p>“Ugh!” An Indian laid his hand upon his +stomach. “Me sick!”</p> +<p>A bit of limestone fell into the crevice and +bounded from one shelf of rock to the other. Upon +each ledge a nest of rattlesnakes basked in the +sun, and a chorus of hisses followed the fall of +the stone.</p> +<p>“They sing! Their voices are strong to-day,” +said Running Rabbit.</p> +<p>The Indians threw Smith upon the edge of the +crevice, face downward, so that he could look below. +With his staring, bloodshot eyes he saw them +all—dozens of them—a hundred or more! Crawling +on the shelves and in the bottom, writhing, wriggling, +hissing, coiled to strike! Every marking, +every shading, every size—Smith saw them all with +his bulging, fascinated eyes. The Indians stoned +them until a forked tongue darted from every +mouth and every wicked eye flamed red.</p> +<p>The thick rope was tied under Smith’s arms, and +a noose thrown over a huge rock. They shoved him +over the edge—slowly—looking at him and each +other, laughing a little at the sound of reptile fury +from below. It was the end. Smith’s eyes opened +before they let him drop, and his lips drew back +from his white, slightly protruding teeth. They +thought he meant to beg at last, and, rejoicing, +waited. He looked like a coyote, a coyote when its +ribs are crushed, its legs broken; when its eyes +are blurred with the death film, and its mouth drips +blood. He gathered himself—he was all but fainting—and +threw back his head, looking at Bear +Chief. He snarled—there was no tenderness in his +voice when he gave the message:</p> +<p>“Tell <i>her</i>, you damned Injuns—tell the Schoolmarm +I died game, me—Smith!”</p> +<hr class='ppg-pb' /> +<div class='ce'> +<p>TITLES SELECTED FROM</p> +<p style='font-size:1.4em;'>GROSSET & DUNLAP’S LIST</p> +</div> + +<div class='ce'> +<p style='font-size:0.8em;'>May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap’s list.</p> +</div> + +<hr class='minor' /> + +<p><span style='text-decoration:underline'>THE SECOND WIFE</span>. By Thompson Buchanan. Illustrated +by W. W. Fawcett. Harrison Fisher wrapper printed in four +colors and gold.</p> +<p>An intensely interesting story of a marital complication in +a wealthy New York family involving the happiness of a +beautiful young girl.</p> +<p><span style='text-decoration:underline'>TESS OF THE STORM COUNTRY</span>. By Grace Miller White. +Illustrated by Howard Chandler Christy.</p> +<p>An amazingly vivid picture of low class life in a New +York college town, with a heroine beautiful and noble, who makes +a great sacrifice for love.</p> +<p><span style='text-decoration:underline'>FROM THE VALLEY OF THE MISSING</span>. By Grace Miller +White. +Frontispiece and wrapper in colors by Penrhyn Stanlaws.</p> +<p>Another story of “the storm country.” Two beautiful children +are kidnapped from a wealthy home and appear many years +after showing the effects of a deep, malicious scheme behind +their disappearance.</p> +<p><span style='text-decoration:underline'>THE LIGHTED MATCH</span>. By Charles Neville Buck. Illustrated +by R. F. Schahelitz.</p> +<p>A lovely princess travels incognito through the States and +falls in love with an American man. There are ties that bind her +to someone in her own home, and the great plot revolves round +her efforts to work her way out.</p> +<p><span style='text-decoration:underline'>MAUD BAXTER</span>. By C. C. Hotchkiss. Illustrated by Will +Grefe.</p> +<p>A romance both daring and delightful, involving an American +girl and a young man who had been impressed into English +service during the Revolution.</p> +<p><span style='text-decoration:underline'>THE HIGHWAYMAN</span>. By Guy Rawlence. Illustrated by +Will Grefe.</p> +<p>A French beauty of mysterious antecedents wins the love +of an Englishman of title. Developments of a startling character +and a clever untangling of affairs hold the reader’s interest.</p> +<p><span style='text-decoration:underline'>THE PURPLE STOCKINGS</span>. By Edward Salisbury Field. +Illustrated in colors; marginal illustrations.</p> +<p>A young New York business man, his pretty sweetheart, +his sentimental stenographer, and his fashionable sister are all +mixed up in a misunderstanding that surpasses anything in the +way of comedy in years. A story with a laugh on every page.</p> +<hr class='minor' /> + +<div class='ce'> +<p style='font-size:0.8em;'>Ask for a complete free list of G. & D. Popular Copyrighted Fiction.</p> +<p style='font-variant:small-caps;'>Grosset & Dunlap, 526 West 26th St., New York</p> +</div> + +<hr class='ppg-pb' /> +<div class='ce'> +<p style='font-size:1.6em;'>The Master’s Violin</p> +<p>By MYRTLE REED</p> +</div> + +<div class='figleft'> +<img src='images/illus-ad1.jpg' alt='' title='' style='width: 120px; height: 159px;' /><br /> +</div> + +<p>A Love Story with a musical atmosphere. +A picturesque, old +German virtuoso is the reverent +possessor of a genuine Cremona. +He consents to take as +his pupil a handsome youth who +proves to have an aptitude for +technique, but not the soul of +the artist. The youth has led the +happy, careless life of a modern, +well-to-do young American, and +he cannot, with his meagre past, +express the love, the longing, the passion and the tragedies +of life and its happy phases as can the master who +has lived life in all its fulness. But a girl comes into +his existence, a beautiful bit of human driftwood that +his aunt had taken into her heart and home; and through +his passionate love for her, he learns the lessons that life +has to give—and his soul awakens.</p> +<p>Founded on a fact well known among artists, but not +often recognized or discussed.</p> +<hr class='mini' /> + +<p>If you have not read <span style='font-variant: small-caps'>“Lavender and Old Lace</span>” by the +same author, you have a double pleasure in store—for +these two books show Myrtle Reed in her most delightful, +fascinating vein—indeed they may be considered as masterpieces +of compelling interest.</p> +<hr class='minor' /> + +<div class='ce'> +<p style='font-size:0.8em;'>Ask for a complete free list of G. & D. Popular Copyrighted Fiction.</p> +<p style='font-variant:small-caps;'>Grosset & Dunlap, 526 West 26th St., New York</p> +</div> + +<hr class='ppg-pb' /> +<div class='ce'> +<p style='font-size:1.6em;'>The Prodigal Judge</p> +<p>By VAUGHAN KESTER</p> +</div> + +<p>This great novel—probably the most popular book in +this country to-day—is as human as a story from the pen +of that great master of “immortal laughter and immortal +tears,” Charles Dickens.</p> +<p>The Prodigal Judge is a shabby outcast, a tavern hanger-on, +a genial wayfarer who tarries longest where the inn +is most hospitable, yet with that suavity, that distinctive +politeness and that saving grace of humor peculiar to the +American man. He has his own code of morals—very +exalted ones—but honors them in the breach rather than +in the observance.</p> +<p>Clinging to the Judge closer than a brother, is Solomon +Mahaffy—fallible and failing like the rest of us, but with +a sublime capacity for friendship; and closer still, perhaps, +clings little Hannibal, a boy about whose parentage +nothing is known until the end of the story. Hannibal +is charmed into tolerance of the Judge’s picturesque +vices, while Miss Betty, lovely and capricious, is charmed +into placing all her affairs, both material and sentimental, +in the hands of this delightful old vagabond.</p> +<p>The Judge will be a fixed star in the firmament of +fictional characters as surely as David Harum or Col. +Sellers. He is a source of infinite delight, while this story +of Mr. Kester’s is one of the finest examples of American +literary craftmanship.</p> +<hr class='minor' /> + +<div class='ce'> +<p style='font-size:0.8em;'>Ask for a complete free list of G. & D. Popular Copyrighted Fiction.</p> +<p style='font-variant:small-caps;'>Grosset & Dunlap, 526 West 26th St., New York</p> +</div> + +<hr class='ppg-pb' /> +<div class='ce'> +<p>A FEW OF</p> +<p>GROSSET & DUNLAP’S</p> +<p style='font-size:1.6em;'>Great Books at Little Prices</p> +</div> + +<p>WHEN A MAN MARRIES. By Mary Roberts Rinehart. +Illustrated by Harrison Fisher and Mayo Bunker.</p> +<p>A young artist, whose wife had recently divorced him, finds that +a visit is due from his Aunt Selina, an elderly lady having ideas +about things quite apart from the Bohemian set in which her +nephew is a shining light. The way in which matters are temporarily +adjusted forms the motif of the story.</p> +<p>A farcical extravaganza, dramatized under the title of “Seven Days”</p> +<p>THE FASHIONABLE ADVENTURES OF JOSHUA +CRAIG. By David Graham Phillips. Illustrated.</p> +<p>A young westerner, uncouth and unconventional, appears in +political and social life in Washington. He attains power in politics, +and a young woman of the exclusive set becomes his wife, undertaking +his education in social amenities.</p> +<p>“DOC.” GORDON. By Mary E. Wilkins-Freeman. Illustrated +by Frank T. Merrill.</p> +<p>Against the familiar background of American town life, the +author portrays a group of people strangely involved in a mystery. +“Doc.” Gordon, the one physician of the place, Dr. Elliot, his +assistant, a beautiful woman and her altogether charming daughter +are all involved in the plot. A novel of great interest.</p> +<p>HOLY ORDERS. By Marie Corelli.</p> +<p>A dramatic story, in which is pictured a clergyman in touch with +society people, stage favorites, simple village folk, powerful financiers +and others, each presenting vital problems to this man “in +holy orders”—problems that we are now struggling with in America.</p> +<p>KATRINE. By Elinor Macartney Lane. With frontispiece.</p> +<p>Katrine, the heroine of this story, is a lovely Irish girl, of lowly +birth, but gifted with a beautiful voice.</p> +<p>The narrative is based on the facts of an actual singer’s career, +and the viewpoint throughout is a most exalted one.</p> +<p>THE FORTUNES OF FIFI. By Molly Elliot Seawell +Illustrated by T. de Thulstrup.</p> +<p>A story of life in France at the time of the first Napoleon. Fifi, +a glad, mad little actress of eighteen, is the star performer in a third +rate Parisian theatre. A story as dainty as a Watteau painting.</p> +<p>SHE THAT HESITATES. By Harris Dickson. Illustrated +by C. W. Relyea.</p> +<p>The scene of this dashing romance shifts from Dresden to St. +Petersburg in the reign of Peter the Great, and then to New Orleans.</p> +<p>The hero is a French Soldier of Fortune, and the princess, who +hesitates—but you must read the story to know how she that hesitates +may be lost and yet saved.</p> +<hr class='minor' /> + +<div class='ce'> +<p style='font-variant:small-caps;'>Grosset & Dunlap, 526 West 26th St., New York</p> +</div> + +<hr class='ppg-pb' /> +<div class='ce'> +<p>TITLES SELECTED FROM</p> +<p style='font-size:1.6em;'>GROSSET & DUNLAP’S LIST</p> +<div style='margin-top:1em'></div> +</div> + +<div class='ce'> +<p style='font-size:0.8em;'>May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap’s list.</p> +</div> + +<p><span style='text-decoration:underline'>A CERTAIN RICH MAN</span>. By William Allen White.</p> +<p>A vivid, startling portrayal of one man’s financial greed, its +wide spreading power, its action in Wall Street, and its effect on +the three women most intimately in his life. A splendid, entertaining +American novel.</p> +<p><span style='text-decoration:underline'>IN OUR TOWN</span>. By William Allen White. Illustrated by F. +R. Gruger and W. Glackens.</p> +<p>Made up of the observations of a keen newspaper editor, +involving the town millionaire, the smart set, the literary set, the +bohemian set, and many others. All humorously related and sure +to hold the attention.</p> +<p><span style='text-decoration:underline'>NATHAN BURKE</span>. By Mary S. Watts.</p> +<p>The story of an ambitious, backwoods Ohio boy who rose +to prominence. Everyday humor of American rustic life permeates +the book.</p> +<p><span style='text-decoration:underline'>THE HIGH HAND</span>. By Jacques Futrelle. Illustrated by Will +Grefe.</p> +<p>A splendid story of the political game, with a son of the +soil on the one side, and a “kid glove” politician on the other. +A pretty girl, interested in both men, is the chief figure.</p> +<p><span style='text-decoration:underline'>THE BACKWOODSMEN</span>. By Charles G. D. Roberts. Illustrated.</p> +<p>Realistic stories of men and women living midst the savage +beauty of the wilderness. Human nature at its best and worst +is well protrayed.</p> +<p><span style='text-decoration:underline'>YELLOWSTONE NIGHTS</span>. By Herbert Quick.</p> +<p>A jolly company of six artists, writers and other clever +folks take a trip through the National Park, and tell stories around +camp fire at night. Brilliantly clever and original.</p> +<p><span style='text-decoration:underline'>THE PROFESSOR’S MYSTERY</span>. By Wells Hastings and +Brian Hooker. Illustrated by Hanson Booth.</p> +<p>A young college professor, missing his steamer for Europe, +has a romantic meeting with a pretty girl, escorts her home, and +is enveloped in a big mystery.</p> +<hr class='minor' /> + +<div class='ce'> +<p style='font-size:0.8em;'>Ask for a complete free list of G. & D. Popular Copyrighted Fiction.</p> +<p style='font-variant:small-caps;'>Grosset & Dunlap, 526 West 26th St., New York</p> +</div> + +<hr class='ppg-pb' /> +<div class='ce'> +<p style='font-size:1.6em;'>B. M. Bower’s Novels</p> +<p style='font-size:1.2em;'>Thrilling Western Romances</p> +</div> + +<div class='ce'> +<p style='font-size:0.8em;'>Large 12 mos. Handsomely bound in cloth. Illustrated</p> +</div> + +<p><span style='text-decoration:underline'>CHIP, OF THE FLYING U</span></p> +<p>A breezy wholesome tale, wherein the love affairs of Chip and +Delia Whitman are charmingly and humorously told. Chip’s +jealousy of Dr. Cecil Grantham, who turns out to be a big, blue +eyed young woman is very amusing. A clever, realistic story of +the American Cow-puncher.</p> +<p><span style='text-decoration:underline'>THE HAPPY FAMILY</span></p> +<p>A lively and amusing story, dealing with the adventures of +eighteen jovial, big hearted Montana cowboys. Foremost amongst +them, we find Ananias Green, known as Andy, whose imaginative +powers cause many lively and exciting adventures.</p> +<p><span style='text-decoration:underline'>HER PRAIRIE KNIGHT</span></p> +<p>A realistic story of the plains, describing a gay party of Easterners +who exchange a cottage at Newport for the rough homeliness +of a Montana ranch-house. The merry-hearted cowboys, the +fascinating Beatrice, and the effusive Sir Redmond, become living, +breathing personalities.</p> +<p><span style='text-decoration:underline'>THE RANGE DWELLERS</span></p> +<p>Here are everyday, genuine cowboys, just as they really exist. +Spirited action, a range feud between two families, and a Romeo +and Juliet courtship make this a bright, jolly, entertaining story, +without a dull page.</p> +<p><span style='text-decoration:underline'>THE LURE OF DIM TRAILS</span></p> +<p>A vivid portrayal of the experience of an Eastern author, +among the cowboys of the West, in search of “local color” for a +new novel. “Bud” Thurston learns many a lesson while following +“the lure of the dim trails” but the hardest, and probably the most +welcome, is that of love.</p> +<p><span style='text-decoration:underline'>THE LONESOME TRAIL</span></p> +<p>“Weary” Davidson leaves the ranch for Portland, where conventional +city life palls on him. A little branch of sage brush, +pungent with the atmosphere of the prairie, and the recollection of +a pair of large brown eyes soon compel his return. A wholesome +love story.</p> +<p><span style='text-decoration:underline'>THE LONG SHADOW</span></p> +<p>A vigorous Western story, sparkling with the free, outdoor, +life of a mountain ranch. Its scenes shift rapidly and its actors play +the game of life fearlessly and like men. It is a fine love story from +start to finish.</p> +<hr class='minor' /> + +<div class='ce'> +<p style='font-size:0.8em;'>Ask for a complete free list of G. & D. Popular Copyrighted Fiction.</p> +<p style='font-variant:small-caps;'>Grosset & Dunlap, 526 West 26th St., New York</p> +</div> + +<!-- generated by ppgen.rb version: 2.58 --> +<!-- timestamp: Sun Dec 07 17:42:35 -0700 2008 --> + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of 'Me-Smith', by Caroline Lockhart + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 'ME-SMITH' *** + +***** This file should be named 27438-h.htm or 27438-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/2/7/4/3/27438/ + +Produced by Roger Frank and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + +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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